by Jean Chapman
‘So if I was there…?’ Cannon asked, looking over at the programme as Charlie found and pointed out the names Archie Granger and Jonathan Beale in the main three star events of the meeting.
‘We,’ Charlie corrected.
‘I would have a chance of meeting him?’
‘I’ll see to it,’ Charlie said as they reached the kitchen door.
‘Now what are you seeing to?’ Steve asked.
‘Nothing that involves doing anything with those hands, I hope,’ Chrissie added as she drew the last of her aromatic bread from the oven.
Archie was already installed in a many cushioned carver chair, while his father was pouring tea into a variety of mugs. ‘Find a seat,’ he invited.
‘Mr Cannon wants to meet the young man who lives at Morbury Hall,’ Charlie said.
‘Jonathan?’ Archie queried. ‘Why?’
‘So he does live there?’ Cannon answered question with question.
‘I guess.’ Archie shrugged. ‘I think he’s a relation of some kind, he’s certainly looked after. His horses alone must be worth a fortune.’
‘So you don’t know who he is?’
‘Well, we know his name,’ Archie frowned then went on, ‘but it’s quite odd. Sometimes when we’re exercising or grazing our horses together, he’s so friendly and sounds sort of Irish, or Irish American. Then other times, when his grooms are around, he changes, he’s sort of defensive, speaks rather posh, public school, and all that.’
Cannon absorbed that information then asked, ‘Is there a woman at the Hall?’
‘There must be staff, a cook, or …’ Charlie said.
‘There’s a housekeeper, I think,’ Archie said.
‘There’s been talk in the village about “his women”,’ Chrissie said sharply. ‘I expect he could afford to pay quite a few.’
‘Chrissie!’ her husband censored.
‘It’s true!’ she retorted. ‘The more money a man has, the more he can dazzle the girls, play around, and the silly madams keep falling for it, all starry-eyed, until he moves on to the next. The gossip in the village shop is that they come and go as regularly as summer follows spring, and winter, autumn.’
Steve shook his head, the men exchanged glances but made no further comment.
Chrissie picked up one of the new loaves and savagely cut it into huge pieces, each one having a good share of the outside crust. Cannon swallowed in anticipation as she fetched a kilo-sized pat of home-churned butter and a wheel of cheese on its own huge dish, along with knives and plates.
‘Manage that, can you?’ she asked Charlie as she spread a crust with butter, loaded it with cheese and placed it carefully in his bandaged hands.
‘Mr Cannon, John, dig in,’ she invited.
‘Simple fare, simple life,’ Steve said, then added bitterly, ‘if only we could be left alone to enjoy it.’
‘That’s everyone’s right,’ Cannon said grimly. The complete injustice and victimization this family was enduring made him determined to help. ‘What are you going to do about the next event?’
There was a silence, then Archie said, ‘My horse is at the top of her form – you’ve seen that – or neither of us would be here, and it’s my life dream, but …’ He stopped and looked at his father.
‘It’s becoming too big a but,’ Steve Granger said, ‘it’s costing not just money, but lives.’
‘So!’ Charlie said, dropping cheese and crust to the table. ‘All everyone has suffered, all I’ve lost, is for nothing. If you give up now, these people, this man, has won!’
There was silence after this emotional outburst. Cannon looked up to find Chrissie’s gaze upon him.
‘What do you want us to do about this next event?’ she asked.
Two days later, Cannon was towing a small hired caravan behind his classic Willy Jeep. He was proud of the fact that his beloved vehicle was still in good enough condition for the work.
‘We’re on the way to what could be, to say the very least, an uncomfortable few days,’ Liz said, ‘and you’re having a job not to grin your silly head off.’
He gently patted the steering-wheel. ‘The old gel’s going so well. It’s all the hours I’ve spent on her.’
‘Why are cars, ships and things always “gels”?’ Liz asked.
‘Because they’re temperamental, of course,’ he answered, ‘always have a surprise up their sleeves.’
He had been surprised when it had been Chrissie Granger who had finally persuaded her husband to attend these trials, and that Liz had immediately volunteered to be there, help keep an eye on the family.
Cannon was convinced that with Spracks over in the USA trying to get the better of a man called “The Harvester” and his set of gangsters, it was the ideal time for looking into Charlie’s tragedies, and the Grangers’ troubles, in the UK.
‘Ah! We’re nearly there,’ he exclaimed as they turned a corner to confront a large yellow sign with a bold black arrow directing the way to Owton Bassset Horse Trials.
Cannon, unused to towing anything, very cautiously took a sharp left turn into what was no more than a track. More signs directed them past the entrances for the general public, along to a gate for riders and owners. They had been given owners’ passes by Steve, and showing these to the stewards, they passed from lane to fields until they reached the parking area for the horse transporters, and began the search for the Grangers’ lorry.
‘Chrissie said they always leave early,’ Cannon said, ‘so I imagine they will be right at the front of all this lot.’
‘Does anyone stay with Chrissie while her husband and son are away?’ Liz wondered as they slowly wove their way through the crowd of lorries, cars, awnings, horses, bikes, barrows, hay bales, all the clutter necessary to horses and their carers.
‘Apparently her brother goes up from the village. He spends a lot of his spare time giving them a hand, and …’ He pointed ahead to where he could see the Grangers’ lorry parked near a boundary copse of young oaks and silver birches, ‘Steve would never agree to leave his wife on her own anyway, not after all the things that have happened.’
Steve came striding to meet them. ‘Hi, you made it! Good! Now if you unhitch your caravan, we can man-handle it into the space between us and the next lorry, and you can park your car over under the hedge.’ He pointed to where a line of 4X4s and cars were already lined up.
‘So where’s Charlie?’ Cannon asked as Steve made them coffee.
‘Gone to give some advice to a blacksmith who’s on site and not used to dealing with event horses. At the same time he’s looking out for Jonathan.’
‘And Archie?’
‘Just taken the horse to the trot-up in front of the house,’ Steven told them.
‘The trot-up?’ Liz queried. ‘Is that the first event?’
Steve laughed. ‘No, no. All entrants have to pass the vet before they can compete. They’re trotted up and down, usually in front of whatever great mansion the event is held at, so the vet can see they are sound before they’re allowed to take part.’
‘Sounds like a picture opportunity,’ Liz said.
‘Think there’s a bit of that in it,’ Steve said, ‘good publicity.’
They were not the only ones heading that way, although clearly some horses had already undergone this trot-up test, and were being led back to their temporary stabling. It was a busy two-way traffic.
Once out of the lorry park, they walked through a large field where white lettered and numbered areas had been marked out by low white boards.
‘This is where the dressage tests will be held,’ Steve said, ‘and once we circle around this spinney, you can see Owton House.’
‘House?’ Liz said as she saw the scale and grandeur of the three-storey, stone-built mansion embellished with a central pillared portico. Each end of the grand edifice was glorified with a taller, castellated, square tower; the huge perimeter of the flat roof had balustrades, and classical statues at regular intervals all around. Al
coves at various places on the façade also boasted statues or huge urns looped with carved swags of laurels.
‘It’s more mansion plus castle,’ Liz decided. ‘It feels like an honour to be here just to see this.’
‘The income doesn’t do the estate any harm, either,’ Steve said, leading the way towards where Archie stood with his horse among a group of some twenty or so others. In turn, each person was asked to run with his or her horse along a gravelled path in front of the House, and back to where the vet and other officials waited.
Some of the horses were being called in for a more detailed examination, but not Jess. The grey looked fit to trot on and, if asked, would quite happily complete the whole cross-country course there and then, towing Archie.
‘Is that it?’ Cannon asked.
‘Yes, back to the lorry now,’ Steve said. ‘Chrissie makes us up meals we take straight out of the lorry freezer and put into the oven. There’s a huge chicken casserole for us all tonight.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Liz said, ‘I think Archie wants you.’
They turned to look back, and Archie raised a hesitant hand.
‘And there’s a young man with a huge black horse,’ Cannon said.
‘Ah! That’ll be Jonathan Beale,’ Steve said, but before they could head that way, the two young men separated. Archie came towards them and Jonathan Beale was taken over by two well-built men in black and silver tee-shirts with a circle of letters on back and front.
‘Team Jonathan,’ Cannon guessed.
‘Got Austin’s build,’ Liz added quietly. ‘Look more like minders than grooms.’
CHAPTER 12
‘Jonathan wants us to meet someone,’ Archie said as he reached them, ‘though he certainly didn’t want his men to know about it.’ ‘Humm! Something odd about all of that set-up,’ his father growled. ‘You know him, I’ve nodded to him, but who would he want us to meet?!’
Archie shrugged. ‘Don’t know, but he loves hearing about you and Mum, what we do on the farm, Sunday dinners when the family come from the village, things like that … so I’ve invited them to supper tonight.’
‘Them?’ his father queried.
‘Only Jonathan and this … whoever he wants us to meet.’
‘Just hope your mother’s packed plenty of things we can bulk the meal out with,’ Steve said with little enthusiasm.
‘But whoever his visitor is, we get to meet Jonathan,’ Cannon reminded him, ‘and that’s what we’re here for.’
Later, while Steve dealt with the casserole, Cannon set the table, and Liz went to the caravan and put frozen roast potatoes in their oven to add to the meal. They also contributed wine and cans of lager and cider they had brought with them from The Trap.
And then they waited.
It was Cannon who noticed the woman who walked slowly by, looking up between the vehicles to the table set with glasses, wine and drinks, but though she half smiled, she carried on walking. He frowned, puzzled, sure he had seen her somewhere before.
Then he remembered. It was at the event Hoskins had taken him to in the pouring rain. There were differences, then she had looked out of place, wrongly dressed in a cheap, see-through plastic mac and high-heeled white shoes she had struggled to free from the mud. Now she had on the kind of clothes worn for such occasions, trousers, leather boots and a sporty tee-shirt with British Eventing blazoned on front and back.
‘Well, I’m getting hungry,’ Steve said after a time. ‘How long do we wait?’
Archie was just getting to his feet to go and look when Jonathan ran past, but before any of them could even exclaim, he was back – accompanied by the woman Cannon had recognized.
Jonathan Beale was all smiles as, leading the woman by the hand, he said, ‘I’d like you all to meet my mother.’
As one, the men all stood up as she smiled at them.
‘Gee, that’s nice! Hi to you all. I’ve heard a lot about you from Jonathan, and I begin to see why he likes you so much,’ she said.
‘American,’ Cannon murmured, feeling as if a little piece of some complex jigsaw puzzle might be moving into place, but he certainly could not see the whole picture.
‘Yep,’ she said, ‘and my name’s Barbara, but please call me Babs.’
‘Babs,’ Cannon acknowledged with a nod and introduced ‘my partner Liz, and Charlie Brown.’
Charlie acknowledged her with a respectful, ‘Ma’am.’
‘Babs,’ she corrected again, and looked about to comment on his bandaged hands, when Steve decided the meal would be well past its best if they did not eat immediately.
Cannon pulled out a chair between himself and Liz, but the casserole and potatoes had barely reached the table when one of thuggish-looking Team Jonathan in a black and silver tee-shirt stopped at the end of their vehicle space.
‘Oh! There you are, Mr Jonathan,’ he said, ‘been looking for you. Can you come, message from the boss.’
‘A message from America?’ Jonathan queried. ‘What about?’
‘For your ears only,’ the man said, his gaze going around those seated at the table.
‘OK,’ Jonathan said, and with a general ‘excuse me’, rose without glancing at anyone, certainly not at the mother he had so recently and proudly introduced.
Cannon noticed Babs too kept her eyes lowered. He stood up on the pretext of pouring wine for everyone and put himself between her and the minder. Then they all saw a second man in black and silver tee-shirt stroll casually by.
‘Mean to make sure he gets the message,’ Charlie muttered ironically, as the second man returned the way he had come, and scrutinized them all again.
‘Feel as if this place is all eyes,’ Steve muttered, ‘and that we’d better watch our tongues.’
‘You’ve got it right there,’ Babs agreed in a whisper. Then she looked across at Charlie and said in a much louder voice, ‘Y’know, I’ve never seen anyone manage so well as you with those bandages.’
‘He’s what you’d call adaptable,’ Cannon said.
‘I’ve had to be,’ Charlie said.
Feeling the need to keep the conversation in safe waters, Cannon asked, ‘Tell me, Archie, what time are you scheduled for the event tomorrow?’
‘And will that be the dressage?’ Liz asked. ‘I’m new to all this, you must remember.’
‘Look,’ Steve said, losing patience with the small talk, ‘we’ll serve for Jonathan. We can pop it into the microwave when he comes back.’
‘Do you think he will?’ Archie asked.
Babs put a forefinger in front of her lips as if unsure how to answer.
‘I’ll go after him, if you’re worried,’ Charlie offered.
She shook her head. ‘It’s not like that,’ she said.
Cannon desperately wanted to ask just what it was all like. This secret American mother was like a thread that hung unwoven into a picture, the larger canvas Betterson had talked about. Cannon did not like loose ends, just as he had never believed in coincidences – American coincidences.
‘I don’t think he’ll risk coming back,’ Babs said, ‘not now, not tonight.’
‘Risk?’ Charlie questioned.
‘He won’t risk upsetting those men, or the man they work for, he relies on them totally for these events,’ Archie said, and there was an element of annoyance in his voice, an underlying plea for the subject to be dropped.
‘That is right,’ Babs agreed and the meal was started and finished in near silence.
‘I’ll clear away and wash up,’ Liz volunteered.
‘Thanks,’ Steve said, ‘then Archie and me can go see our horse is well settled for the night.’
‘Where are you staying, Babs?’ Liz asked as she began to clear the table.
‘I’m booked in at a local hotel for three nights,’ she said, ‘but I had to park my car fields and fields away. I hope I can find it again.’
‘I’ll walk you back,’ Cannon immediately volunteered, ‘I always like a run, or a walk, before bedtim
e.’
‘That would be great,’ Babs said.
‘Right, off we go then,’ Cannon said.
‘What happened to Charlie’s hands?’ Babs asked as they walked on together, through a narrow strip of woodland out to a huge expanse of meadowland.
No danger of anyone overhearing anything here, they could see for miles.
When he told her of the explosion at the cottages and Joe Brown’s death, Babs stopped walking as if shock had deprived her of movement.
‘Another victim,’ she said eventually.
‘There’s a lot I’d like to ask you …’
‘I bet!’ she exclaimed, then in a less aggressive tone repeated, ‘I bet, and I’ve plenty to tell …’
‘But you really are Jonathan’s mother? His birth mother?’
‘Yeah.’ She grimaced, then smiled. ‘The agony and the ecstasy – for my sins, I am. He’s the one joy in my life.’
‘So how come an American lady has a son who lives on an English country estate, can sound as if he went to top public schools here, yet at other times, according to Archie, can sound American or even Irish?’
She gave a gasp of surprised laughter. ‘How can you sum up my family history in a sentence?’
‘Have I?’
‘The public school came much later, but four generations back, my family were Irish immigrants in the USA. They worked their way down to the State of Kentucky.’
Cannon silently registered the words Austin had scrawled on a toilet wall. Coincidence? No chance, he thought.
‘With their knowledge of horses, and the number of horse breeders in that area, it was almost inevitable,’ Babs was saying, with a touch of pride in her voice, ‘that a generation later my great grandfather had prospered enough to import Irish horses to America, had improved a blood line and begun to have winners on the big race tracks.’
‘The Kentucky Derby,’ Cannon contributed, ‘the most exciting few minutes in world racing. Is that right?’
‘It is,’ Babs said enthusiastically, but then she shook her head. ‘I was part of that world until …’ Her pace slowed as if the energy needed to tell her story and move at the same time was too great. ‘This is where it gets personal.’
