I drained the last of my beer. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I do.’
‘And does Elspeth know her little lad’s being a naughty boy?’
‘Shouldn’t think so. Mamma wouldn’t stand for it. She runs the show.’
‘Sounds like some sort of family secret to me, if the biography might throw it up. But what could it be?’
‘That, Uncle George, is what I need to find out – before there’s another “accident”. I may not miss the flak next time.’
FIFTEEN
‘Harry, how are you?’ Nigel Broadbent, my solicitor, pumped my hand, beamed at me and gestured to a chair in his office. ‘Have a seat. What can I do for you?’
Monday morning, grey, damp and depressing, matching my mood exactly. I’d been mulling over Uncle George’s words since we met last Friday. None of them were in any way comforting. But the devil must be faced, and if there were no coffers to feather Silvie’s nest, I needed to know.
‘Thanks for seeing me. Bit short notice, I know, but I was only made aware of the problem two or three days ago.’
‘And what might this problem be?’ Nigel was still beaming, leaning on his forearms as he bent forward over the desk.
‘It’s regarding my half-sister, Silvie Radcliffe. I believe my mother had a trust fund of some sort drawn up to mature on Silvie’s eighteenth birthday, in a few weeks’ time. Is it possible I could see this document, please?’
Nigel’s smile wavered. ‘What has prompted you to ask?’
‘Is there a problem?’ I didn’t want to play fencing games – I just needed to see for myself what was written down. And, because of how Uncle George had phrased it, what get-out clause it might contain.
‘Hmmm.’ Nigel sat up straight. ‘The problem is you say your mother was instrumental in engaging our firm’s services, yes?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘I am aware of the sad fact of your mother’s death, of course. But your own name may not appear anywhere on this particular document. And if that is the case, there may be a problem with data protection.’
He reached for the phone and asked his secretary to locate the file and bring it in.
‘I’m pretty sure my name won’t figure. I was just a kid, sixteen, when Silvie was born. All I know is what my mother told me.’
‘And that was?’
‘A large sum of money would be paid to Silvie on her eighteenth birthday. I was assured it was paid for by her father.’
‘And do you know the father’s name?’
‘Yes. My Uncle George, my father’s elder brother.’
His eyebrows lifted just a fraction before he had them firmly under control again. ‘Did this George Radcliffe tell you himself he was the father?’
‘Well, no. But he is. My mother was in a terrible state after Father’s death. It was an accident, you see, a shooting accident, so it was an almighty shock to her to lose him. As a couple they were very close and when he died it knocked her over. Uncle George was grieving too; they kind of propped each other up.’ I made a rueful face. ‘A little too well.’
‘I see.’ Nigel looked down at his fountain pen, rolling it back and forth between his thumb and index finger. If he was trying to save me embarrassment, it was far too long ago and too late to do that.
There was a tap on the door and a tall woman in a dark blue suit entered and placed a folder on the desk.
‘Thank you, Karen.’ Nigel dismissed her with a nod and reached for the document. He slid it from the folder and immersed himself in reading it through.
I sat and waited.
After a few minutes, he raised his head and eyed me. ‘I’m afraid I can’t agree to your request to view this, Harry.’
‘But surely …’
He lifted a hand, silencing me. ‘There’s a specific clause on confidentiality, I’m afraid.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘Nothing.’ He smiled gently. ‘Be patient for a little while longer. As soon as Silvie’s birthday arrives she’ll be eligible to receive the money.’
‘I don’t understand.’ I shook my head. ‘I rather thought there was no money.’
‘Quite the contrary.’ Nigel tapped the folder with his pen. We have invested the whole sum from the moment we were instructed and it has now accrued very substantially. And if Silvie wishes, after she takes possession, we can re-invest on her behalf.’
‘So,’ I said, slowly trying to get my head round it, ‘there’s no problem, no clause that would preclude her taking the money?’
‘None.’
‘Does it have signatures?’
‘Yes.’
‘How many?’
‘Two.’
‘My mother, presumably.’ Nigel nodded. ‘And … Silvie’s father?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, thanks very much for looking into it for me. You’re quite sure I can’t take just a quick glance?’
He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Please don’t worry yourself over it. Everything is in perfect order.’
We shook hands. Then on my way to the door, a thought hit me.
‘Nigel, if Silvie … if she doesn’t … live, to see her birthday, what happens then?’
‘The money reverts to her benefactor.’
‘I see,’ I said slowly.
‘There’s no reason why she shouldn’t reach eighteen, is there?’
‘Her health is pretty fragile,’ I admitted. It was something I always tried to push away from my mind whenever Silvie was ill, which was quite often as she was subject to respiratory infections. His face altered, the affable smile fading.
‘I’m sorry, very sorry. But the money is specifically for her alone. You do understand that, don’t you?’
‘Of course!’ I bristled. ‘I wasn’t interested in any of it for myself.’
‘No, no,’ he placated me, ‘I never thought for a moment you were under a misapprehension regarding the allocation of the money.’ He held the office door open for me. ‘As I say, leave it to us. Whatever circumstances occur, we are here to look after your best interests, and those of Silvie’s, of course.’
‘Thank you, it’s appreciated.’
His beaming, reassuring smile had reappeared. ‘You don’t have to concern yourself with anything. When Silvie’s birthday arrives, we will be in touch immediately, all right?’
Anything but, I thought, but it was required of me so I nodded. ‘Yes.’
Back at the cottage, I resisted a whisky, settled for a strong coffee then reached for the phone and dialled Uncle George’s mobile.
‘Are you OK to talk?’
‘Yes, fine. I’m in the greenhouse. There are only tomato plants listening.’
‘I’ve been to see Nigel, just got home.’
‘Right.’ There was barely concealed excitement in the one word.
‘No, not right at all, Uncle George.’
‘Oh?’
‘He was cagey as could be. Said there was a confidentiality clause.’
‘So you didn’t find anything out at all?’
‘I didn’t, no. Well, that’s not quite true. Apparently the amount of money is, according to him, “substantial”.’ A silence followed. ‘You did say you’d tell me everything once I’d been to see the solicitor. I’d like us to meet.’
He sighed heavily. ‘Yes, yes, I did. And I keep my word so … when?’
‘As soon as possible – this Friday any good?’
‘Yes, can’t make it before.’
‘Fine.’
‘Same arrangements as before?’
‘Fine,’ I said again.
‘Right then, Friday.’
I replaced the receiver. Going through to the kitchen, I made a quick bite and took it back to eat at my desk. I’d reached the part in the biography when Elspeth was beginning to make a name as a trainer. She had been bringing on Moneymagnet with the Yorkshire Cup in mind. If the horse won, it would be a boost to her reputation and stables and, hopefully, produce a rash of new prospec
tive owners.
It isn’t essential for trainers to actually attend in person but most do, especially at a prestigious meeting. The owners seem to expect it as part of the payback from all their folding stuff passing from their pockets or banks to the trainer’s. So it was with a smidgeon of distrust when I came to an entry in her racing diary that detailed Moneymagnet to run at York races followed by a question mark and Victor Maudsley’s name pencilled in, supposedly, to be there instead of her. What could have been more important to Elspeth that day? Not a lot of things, I’d have thought.
I put a question mark in the margin of my script at that point. It needed sorting. Everything up to that point had gone so smoothly with the writing that there was bound to be a hiccup that brought my creative output to a shuddering halt. Now the question had derailed my ongoing writing flow.
Only one thing to do: go and chat it through with Her Ladyship.
I saved my material, stretched my arms to the ceiling and rotated my neck and shoulders, then sent her an email asking for a time to see her.
I was expecting a slight delay and had gone to stick the kettle on for a mug of tea when her email shot back. It basically said, ‘come now’. A horsebox was already on the way back to Unicorn Stables from Nottingham races. Stan was driving and could pick me up in fifteen minutes. Would that do?
‘Yes, please,’ I replied. And closed down my computer.
When the horsebox arrived ten minutes later I was already out in the lane, standing by the cottage gate. The cab door on the passenger side swung open. I climbed in and Pete hutched up, leaving me a bit of space to park myself.
‘How’s it going, mate?’ Stan, ratting cap at a jaunty angle, grinned across at me and engaged gear.
‘Pretty good. Did you get a result at Nottingham?’
‘Sure did.’ His grin was wide. ‘Buckshee came in three lengths clear at twelve to one. Elspeth’s going to be in a happy mood – it was a six-thousand race.’
‘Very nice.’ I nodded. And indeed the atmosphere was light and cheerful. ‘She’s a good trainer.’
‘Yeah, shame she’s decided to call it quits.’
‘She’s old, though, ain’t she?’ Pete piped up.
‘Don’t let her hear you say that,’ Stan warned. ‘Else you’ll be down the road.’
‘Will be any road, won’t I, when she goes.’
‘You’ll need a reference.’
‘Nah.’ Pete stuck his chest out. ‘Reckon I can get a stable job easy. Plenty of trainers are taking on.’
‘The ignorance of youth, eh?’ Stan shook his head at the lad’s words. ‘A lot of them will be much harder to work for.’
Pete slumped back and didn’t reply.
‘How did you get on when you brought Scarlet Salvia back?’ I asked. ‘She was expected to walk it, wasn’t she?’
Stan chuckled. ‘Evening stables were over and Elspeth was entertaining some owners. We got Bloody Sal stabled and fed then buggered off down the pub. Reckon Elspeth’d calmed down by next morning ’cos she didn’t say much.’
I became aware that Pete was staring at me. I turned and looked directly at him. ‘What?’
‘I’ve just remembered. When Stan and I were coming back in the box with Bloody Sal, there was an accident at the Saxondale roundabout.’
‘They happen,’ I said, ‘frequently. It’s noted for it.’
‘Yeah, but that’s what made me forget.’
‘What’re you rabbiting on about?’
Pete turned to Stan. ‘Well, you were driving. Just as we got to the roundabout, remember, there was a horsebox a few cars in front and it was the one. But then the accident happened and I was looking out for you, trying to help, an’ I forgot all about it.’
‘Get on with it.’
‘I’m telling you, ain’t I?’ Pete yelped.
I felt a rise of excitement. ‘Are you saying you saw the horsebox I was looking for?’
‘That’s right. It was a cream one an’ it had some damage above the wheel arch.’
‘Well done, Pete. You’re saying it was on the approach to the roundabout – which way did it go?’
He seemed to be trying to reconstruct the scene in his mind. Then, nodding decisively, he said, ‘Newark, down the A46. And I’ll tell you something else – I saw the trainer’s name an’ all. Written on the rear it was.’
‘Who?’ I urged. ‘What trainer was it?’
He scowled with concentration.
‘Come on, lad, think.’ Stan added encouragement.
‘Hang on, I’m trying to, ain’t I?’ Then his scowl cleared, he grinned and slammed a fist into his palm. ‘Got it! It was Fred Sampson.’
I felt the shock hit my solar plexus.
Fred Sampson’s box had been coming back from Nottingham races. And the man helping Fred Sampson was the man I’d sat next to whilst eating bacon sandwiches in the stable lads’ canteen, the person who professed to know nothing about the box or its whereabouts.
He was also the jockey I had landed on top of at Huntingdon races.
It was Carl.
SIXTEEN
My meeting with Elspeth had a surreal feel to it. I found it hard to concentrate. Thoughts crowded and jostled through my mind. One piece of jigsaw had dropped into place. It had been Carl driving the horsebox that had parked across the lane and caused the car accident that had landed Darren in hospital. Now the question was who had paid him?
Or could he have been bribed, even blackmailed into it?
I dragged my attention back to what Elspeth was saying.
‘I’m impressed. You’re galloping on faster than Shergar. No, really,’ she nodded, ‘and it seems to be good stuff. My publisher was on the phone to me yesterday enquiring how it was progressing. Told him I was giving you a free hand but we’d had a couple of meetings. Now I can ring him and update him properly.’
I nodded and let her do the talking. All I wanted to do right now was escape back to the cottage, pour a whisky and mull over the facts I’d just found out. I needed to speak to Mike as well, to get his take on it.
‘So,’ Elspeth paused for breath, ‘what’s your problem?’
I hastily adjusted my thought patterns.
‘I need to clarify a race meeting. According to your racing diary for that date, it seemed you didn’t attend. And it was potentially a very important race, not one you’d have missed, I should have thought. So, why did you?’
‘Let me rake out my personal diary for that year. You’re fortunate, I’m a magpie. I do save all my diaries.’ She smiled at me. ‘I keep them locked away in a chest in my bedroom. Some things, I’m sure you will agree, are very personal. Help yourself to more coffee and nibbles, I won’t be long.’ She walked gracefully from the room.
I did as I’d been bidden and refreshed my coffee mug. The ‘nibbles’, like everything else at Unicorn Stables, were first class. Traditional home-made biscuits, they were very moreish. Whatever she paid her housekeeper, the lady earned it. I crunched on a strawberry shortbread finger and was grateful for a few minutes alone.
Now I had a name to work from I could plan my next move. I could, of course, approach Carl face-to-face, demand an explanation. Let him know I knew. But it would not be the best move. I not only needed to know why he’d done it but just who was behind him pulling the strings – Carl was just a bit player in this production.
I wondered if it could have been Carl who had entered the cottage with the intention to set fire to it. No, he didn’t know where I lived. Even as the thought went through my mind, I knew, beyond doubt, it was Carl. When we’d been sitting in the stable lads’ canteen he’d passed a comment which at the time hadn’t registered. I’d thought he was being particularly tactless in talking about my racing future. But he’d slipped up without realizing it. He’d actually called my cottage by name – Harlequin Cottage. There was no reason why he would have known that – unless he’d been given the specific address, along with an order to try out a spot of arson.
&
nbsp; I felt anger rising in me. His actions had caused a lot of pain to Leo and, but for the cat, the cottage could have burned down. I was going to have a showdown with Carl very soon, I thought grimly.
The door opened. Elspeth entered holding a very feminine-looking diary. She sat down near me and opened the pink cover. ‘Right, now, what was the date again?’
I reined in my anger and told her.
‘Hmmmm, yes, I do see what prompted you to check with me. Of course, if I’d been able to, I’d definitely have been at the racecourse …’
‘But?’ I prompted, not wanting her to slide out of telling me the reason behind her decision.
‘It was the year Marriot was twelve. And he was the reason I couldn’t leave the house. He was very poorly, in bed. I sent Victor to the races in my stead. We were still married, you understand, at that time.’
‘Right.’
She smiled and shook her head gently. ‘I might be a very successful trainer’ – no fake modesty about Elspeth – ‘but I’m also a mother.’ Giving an expressive shrug, she added, ‘In a situation like that, there’s no contest.’
She was showing me a different side to her I’d not seen before. Elspeth was the iron lady of racing, in a lot of people’s opinion, but what she had just told me implied a soft centre. At least as far as Marriot was concerned. I had no doubt that Marriot also knew, and turned it to his own advantage when he wanted to. Her next words confirmed it.
‘My weak spot, of course,’ she said softly and poured herself more coffee. I noted she didn’t mention her daughter, Paula.
‘Do you wish Marriot were following in your footsteps? As a trainer, I mean, taking over here at Unicorn Stables?’
‘You don’t own your children, Harry. They have freedom when they reach adulthood. What I would like doesn’t come into it. You have to let them go. The name of the game is life.’ She might have said it in a light-hearted way, but underneath I suspected there was a big hurt that he had turned his back on her way of life and, because it was so intrinsically a part of her, on Elspeth herself.
‘Do you want to take any more box files back with you?’ Elspeth reverted to her normal razor-edged business self. Again, I suspected, we were getting a little too close to home on the subject of Marriot.
Dead Certainty Page 11
