BLINDFOLD

by Lyndon Stacey

  The hand on his jacket front tightened convulsively. `You're comet' with me. Joey wants to talk to you.'

  `Well, tell him to make an appointment like everyone else,' Gideon said mildly. He was almost enjoying himself now, confident of his ability to handle Curly.

  Footsteps sounded behind him.

  `I'd say you've got a tiger by the tail there, Curly,' a soft voice remarked. `I'd tread carefully, if I were you.'

  Telltale relief showed momentarily on Curly's face but gave way to resentment as he realised Joey had observed his dilemma. `I can manage,' he asserted, but in reality put up little resistance as Gideon disengaged his grasp with a twisting movement of his own arm.

  `Sure you can, pal,' Joey said, not troubling to disguise the scorn in his voice.

  Gideon turned to him. `You wanted to see me?'

  With the big man's arrival the odds had turned against him in a decisive way but if he no longer had the upper hand, he could at least retain the semblance of control.

  `Not here,' Joey replied shortly, turning away towards the hangar-like building.

  He seemed confident that Gideon would follow, as indeed, after picking up his helmet, he did. For one thing, he felt that having come so far looking for information without any luck, he was unlikely to get a better opportunity to shed some light on things; and for another, he probably had little choice.

  They trailed across the tarmac past a number of parked cars to a small door in the side of the structure, Joey leading, Gideon following, mopping his lip with his neckerchief, and Curly bringing up the rear, grumbling under his breath.

  The room they entered was square and spartan, with whitepainted breeze-block walls, a coffee table of sorts and an assortment of chairs offering varying degrees of comfort. It appeared to be the workers' restroom-cum-canteen, with a cupboard in the corner, on top of which stood a microwave and a kettle, and half a dozen mugs on a tray.

  In one of the least uncomfortable-looking chairs a boiler-suited

  youth reclined. He looked round, eyes widening as he caught sight of Gideon's battered features.

  `Out,' Joey said with a jerk of his head. The lad didn't argue. As the door shut behind him, Joey turned to Gideon. `Coffee?' Surprised, he shook his head. `No, thanks.'

  Curly made a noise that was something between a snort and a cough, and was chock-full of stifled indignation.

  Joey glanced at him with disfavour. `You keep out of this. You tried the bull-in-the-china-shop approach and it gained you sodall. I warned you it wouldn't work, so now we'll try it my way. Sit down and shut up.'

  Curly retreated to the side of the room where he stood looking out of the window, visibly seething. His refusal to sit down presumably salved his wounded pride, Gideon thought, but it bothered Joey not at all. He was by far the more dangerous opponent.

  The big man seemed in no hurry. He ht a cigarette and drew in a lungful of pollution with an air of enjoyment.

  Gideon propped a hip against the back of one of the PVCcovered armchairs and waited. Under the jacket and the thick, white fisherman's jumper he wore, his heart was doing doubletime but he was determined Joey shouldn't know it.

  Joey began to pace the room, passing Gideon twice. Gideon didn't so much as look at him.

  On the third circuit he stopped and blew smoke into Gideon's face. Their eyes met.

  `The thing is, pal,' Joey said finally, `this whole business has nothing to do with us - with Curly and me. We were just extra muscle, hired on the night. Even if you tell the police about us, it won't get you anywhere. We'll deny everything. We'll say it was just a lads' night out that got out of hand. We can find witnesses that'll say we were all drinking. You and me had an argument and things got a bit rough. You took it the wrong way. The police won't be interested, you know. They've got better things to do and not enough men to do them, as it is.'

  Gideon watched him steadily. He knew Joey was right. Presented in that way it would just confirm what the police were already more than halfway to believing.

  `And the horse?'

  Joey shrugged, lifting his hands expressively. `A horse, officer? What would I want with a horse? Cars are my thing, cars and bikes. Anything you can't mend with a spanner and I don't want to know.'

  `All right, I take your point. So what's the deal? If I lay off the police, will you tell me what it was all about?' It was a forlorn hope but worth a try.

  Joey laughed shortly. `I think not, pal. No, this is the deal: you stay away from the police and I don't tell the Guv'nor you've been poking your nose in where it's not wanted. That way we don't get no grief and you get to keep your kneecaps. Right?'

  Put like that, it was quite reasonable, Gideon thought, but one part of him just wouldn't let it go. As Joey started to turn away, taking his silence for assent, he said, `Who flies the helicopter?' `What helicopter?' He paused, frowning over his shoulder. `At the Grange.'

  `That's got nothing to do with this.' `Is it Renson or Slade?'

  Joey whirled back incredulously. `You just don't get it, do you? They'll take you apart if they find you snooping. You mess with them and you'd better make sure your affairs are in order!' His ice blue eyes flashed not six inches from Gideon's own.

  `Thank you,' he said quietly. `For what?'

  `Now I know they're up to something. Before, I wasn't sure.' Joey looked at him long and hard, shaking his head slightly. `Why do you care?' he asked finally.

  Gideon hesitated. He'd been about to mention his sister but instinct held him back. Apparently Jez hadn't said anything so he wouldn't either. It was better if the relationship wasn't known.

  He shrugged but before he could formulate an answer they were interrupted by the reopening of the door by which the mechanic had left. They all looked round and Joey backed off a step.

  `So. What's going on here, boys?' The busty blonde who stood in the doorway wore a red boiler suit, pulled in above curvy hips with a white, elasticated belt, and managed to look both tough and sexy at the same time. She spoke in the same northern accent that the `boys' did.

  `Terry told me we had company, and he said he thought there might be trouble.' Her large, mascara'd blue eyes narrowed as she looked the visitor up and down, and Gideon was sure she hadn't missed Joey's hasty retreat. `You been in an accident?'

  `He fell off his bike, Ma,' Joey lied easily, and Gideon did a double take. Ma? Good Lord, she couldn't be his mother, surely? She wasn't much more than five foot four!

  `He fell? Or he was pushed?' the blonde asked dryly, coming into the room and closing the door behind her. `I don't suppose Curly had anything to do with it.'

  Curly scowled from across the room and Joey retreated a step or two more. Neither of them answered.

  As the silence lengthened, the woman shrugged her shoulders. `All right. Whatever I may feel about what you get up to on your own time, it's obviously none of my business. But that being so, I'll thank you to keep it off my premises. Ellie Fletcher,' she announced, advancing upon her visitor and holding out a somewhat oily hand.

  Gideon shook the hand, feeling a degree or two happier about his situation. He surveyed her with interest. Her age was difficult to gauge. At first sight she could be taken for mid-thirties but closer scrutiny revealed lines around the eyes and mouth, and knowing her for Joey's mother, Gideon guessed she must be nearer fifty.

  `Big Ellie?' he enquired with amusement.

  `The very same,' she confirmed, with a twinkle. `And you are?' 'Gideon Blake.'

  She glanced at the motorbike helmet still looped on his arm. `I didn't hear a bike. Did you really fall off?'

  `No.' Gideon saw no point in elaborating. From Joey's reaction it was obvious that Ellie knew little or nothing of their affairs.

  `I see. You're on a vow of silence, too,' she observed with a touch of exasperation. `Well, as I said before, I won't have any trouble here. There's a Citroen out there waiting to be masked for spraying, so I suggest you two get back to work.' She waved a hand in their direction. `Go o
n. Get out!'

  Still scowling, Curly started for the door, followed with obvious reluctance by Joey who gave a warning shake of the head before he disappeared from view.

  Gideon responded with a mocking half-smile.

  `I'm not going to pry,' Ellie said as the door shut behind them, `but I'll just say this. Be careful around Curly, he's got a nasty temper. He got that from his father. He was the biggest mistake I ever made and I've made a few, I can tell you!'

  `So they are brothers?' Gideon probed, casually. 'Half-brothers,' Ellie confirmed. `Joey's the eldest, he's a good boy. His father was killed racing motorbikes. Mike Dylan; you may have heard of him. But Curly ... well, he's my son and I probably shouldn't say it, but he's a bad one. Always in trouble. Jealous of his brother, I think. Joey's the one with the looks and the brains, and Curly's never known whether to love or hate him for it.' `And Jez?'

  `What do you know about Jez?' she demanded suspiciously. `Not a lot. I ... er ... helped her find her puppy the other day,' he said, ruthlessly editing the facts.

  'Ah, that was you, was it? Thanks, and thank your friend the vet. Jez was made up over visiting that place. She's a good kid really, you know. Just a bit wild at times. Her father works the oil rigs, so we don't see much of him.'

  She looked harassed and Gideon felt sorry for her. For a woman with principles, as she seemed to be, hers must be the family from hell.

  `Christ, I don't know why I'm telling you all this!' she said suddenly. `What must you be thinking?'

  Gideon was saved from the necessity of answering by the reappearance of Joey, doubtless uneasy about the direction the conversation might be taking.

  `You're wanted in the workshop, Ma.'

  `Can't you manage for five minutes without me?' she asked testily.

  `Sure we can, but you said you wanted to see the paint mix before we loaded it.'

  `Yeah, I know I did. I'll be through in a minute, love. I'll just see Gideon out.'

  Joey shot him a look of intense dislike before going back to the workshop.

  At the door, as Gideon took his leave, Ellie put her hand on his arm. `I don't pretend to know what's going on, Gideon. But you seem like a nice bloke. Take my advice and stay away from Curly and his crowd. I've seen his work before, and believe me, you got off lightly this time!'

  SIX

  WHEN MARY COLLINS TELEPHONED Gideon three days later for a progress update, as arranged, he was able to report that he'd nearly finished the portrait of Sovereign. One day of bitterly cold winds and two of sleet had been a strong inducement to stay in and work. He did, however, suggest that to complete the picture it might be nice to have Tom himself depicted at the horse's head. Mary fell in happily with this idea, and invited Gideon over the next day to choose a suitable photograph from which to work.

  The day was a slightly better one than of late, less windy but still dull and cold. A phone call to the Priory had failed to unearth any available transport and he had to resign himself to piling on the layers and taking the Norton. As he made his way to the shed that served as a garage for the bike, he cast a thoughtful look at Rachel's Mini but it really wasn't a viable option. The thought of driving the twenty or so miles to the stud with his knees up round his ears and his head bowed didn't attract him at all.

  Rachel had spent the best part of the last three days in the spare

  room, emerging from time to time to change the compact disc, dispense coffee and admire Gideon's work.

  Although she hadn't mentioned it recently, he supposed she would be moving on in a day or two when her new commission started in Bournemouth. He'd have to make his own coffee again then. For now, he was banned from the spare room, forbidden to look until she'd completed its transformation; a plan with which he fell in good-humouredly, only hoping that the result was something that Giles, as his landlord, would find acceptable.

  Happy living alone, Gideon had nevertheless adjusted almost seamlessly to Rachel's undemanding presence. She wafted around the Gatehouse in a haze of mohair and silk, leaving a trace of light perfume on the air, and causing as little disturbance as did Elsa the cat. Elsa herself, usually disdainful of strangers, had also quickly accepted Rachel, apparently regarding her now as part of the fixtures and fittings and even going so far as to curl up on her lap in front of the fire once or twice.

  Although she seemed a little on edge for a day or two, Rachel had never spoken of the incident in Blandford and beyond enquiring, upon his return, if she was all right, Gideon had not done so either. After all, it was her business and none of his.

  For his own part, once he'd cleaned up, the results of his second brush with Curly were more uncomfortable than visible, and if Rachel noticed anything amiss she didn't comment on it. Stripping off helmet, gloves and scarf in the yard outside the Collinses' rambling, stone farmhouse, Gideon noted with relief the absence of Tom's Range Rover. Mary didn't drive but there were one or two vehicles parked there, including a large, muddy car he didn't recognise, and he wondered if perhaps either Mary or the stud had visitors.

  He found the back door unlocked and let himself in, softly calling out as he did so. Mary was seated at her kitchen table, surrounded by masses of photographs and newspaper cuttings, some neatly arranged in albums and scrapbooks, some loose. As Gideon shut the door behind him, she jumped visibly, apparently not having heard his call and coming back with a start from a world of memories.

  'Gideon! You made me jump!'

  He apologised, grinning, and went round the table to give her a hug.

  `I'd almost forgotten you were coming,' she said pulling a handkerchief from a pocket in her cardigan and blowing her nose. `Which is silly, because that's the reason I got all this lot out in the first place. Anyway, I'll make a pot of tea. The kettle's already boiled once and I expect you're frozen if you came on that bike of yours.' She twisted out of his embrace and went over to the old-fashioned range.

  `I am a bit,' Gideon agreed, moving to stand beside her and warm his hands. Out of the window to his right he could see someone moving about by the stables. `Visitors at the stud?' he asked, ducking his head to get a better look.

  `No, that's Gerald.' Mary said, reaching up to a shelf for an old Coronation tin. `Roly's replacement, remember? He and Anthony are down in the yard helping the vet.' She began to put an assortment of biscuits on to a willow-patterned plate.

  `Trouble?'

  `Oh, no. Just jabs and teeth. It's that time of year again. You should go down and see Anthony afterwards. He's changed a lot since you last saw him. He should really be in college today but as Tom's not here he stayed behind to help the vet.' She poured boiling water into the teapot and turned to clear a space on the table for the cups and saucers.

  `Still determined to take over from his dad when the time comes?' Gideon asked with a smile. Anthony Collins, fourteen when he'd first met him, had even then been ready to dedicate his whole life to the stud and the horses.

  `Oh, yes,' Mary said with pride. `I don't think that will ever change.'

  She put the plate of biscuits on the table and paused, putting her hand up to cover her mouth.

  `What's the matter, Mary?' Gideon asked gently, stepping towards her. `You've been crying haven't you? Do you want to tell me about it or would you rather be alone?'

  She sniffed, shook her head and pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket again. `No, don't go. I shall be all right in a moment.' `Is it Tom?' Gideon remembered the tension between them on his last visit.

  Tears rushed to her eyes and she gulped. Gideon put his arms round her and the simple act of sympathy released the floodgates. Mary buried her face in his shoulder and wept convulsively.

  A minute or two later, when the sobs had subsided into sniffs, she pulled away from him and dried her eyes.

  `I'm sorry,' she said after a moment. `It's just, I've been so miserable and I've no one to talk to. Anthony's too young, and anyway he's a boy.'

  `Well, I can't change my sex,' Gideon observed. `But I'm told
I'm quite a good listener.'

  Mary lowered her gaze, silent for a moment, then said, `Oh, Gideon, he's changed so! I suppose it first started about three years ago, just after Annabel went off to university. I thought he was worried about the expense, or perhaps that she was leaving home - you know how close they were. And it's true, after a few weeks he seemed better. But about a year or so ago it started again and these last few weeks he's been like a bear with a sore head. I can't seem to do anything right. Whatever it is that's worrying him, he's taking it out on me.'

  `How does he seem with the horses, and Anthony?'

  `Oh, fine,' she said quickly. `He's always got time for them, but I hardly ever see him now except for mealtimes. We ... well, he's even taken to sleeping up at the yard sometimes.' Her voice shook and she dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. `He says it's to keep an eye on the mares when they're foaling. It's what Roly used to do.'

  `But surely that's Gerald's job now?'

  `You would have thought so, wouldn't you, but Tom wants to do it all himself. Seems obsessed with it, almost.'

  `Sit down,' Gideon said, pushing her gently but firmly into a chair. `I'll bring the teapot over and we'll have that cuppa. It must be brewed by now.'

  Mary cleared a space amongst the memories for the tray, and Gideon put it down carefully.

  There were dozens of photographs. Some in colour, some black and white, many faded and spotted with brown oxide; they all recorded the past triumphs of the Collinses' horses, some still living, others long gone. Here and there lay newspaper cuttings that had fallen out of scrapbooks. `Local Breeder Takes On The Heavies and Wins!' shouted one; `Winterbourne's Shires Do The Business!' declared another. There were many, too, that recalled the meteoric career of their showiumping legend, Popsox.

  `That's a good one of Tom,' Gideon said, pointing to a ten-byeight colour print of the stud owner holding one of his horses. `Can I take that one?'

  `Yes, of course,' Mary nodded. `That's the one I'd picked out too.'

  `Tom isn't worried about money, is he?' Gideon asked, taking a seat. `I mean, any more than usual?'