Time to Pay

by Lyndon Stacey

  Sensing she was on the point of whirling round and away, he stopped, crouched down, and gazed into the distance. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her and, after perhaps half a minute, she lowered her head and regarded him curiously, her nostrils flaring to the rhythm of her heaving flanks.

  With his mind, he invited her; blanking everything else out; picturing her stepping closer; trying to radiate security and calm.

  For a moment, he thought it wasn’t going to work. He hadn’t taken the time he normally would, knowing he couldn’t expect Tilly to keep the other horses waiting in the chill air. But then he heard the mare’s hooves swishing in the grass, and something bumped gently against his shoulder. Warm breath huffed in his ear and her whiskers tickled the side of his face.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he murmured, and with a slow hand took hold of the rein that trailed from her bit. ‘There’s a good girl.’

  Rubbing her soft muzzle, he rose smoothly to his feet and patted her steaming neck, before leading her across to join the others.

  ‘I’d give you ten thousand pounds if you could teach me how to do that,’ Tilly said frankly. ‘But I know you couldn’t. That was way beyond technique.’

  Gavin had dismounted from the grey and now stood sulkily beside it, viewing Gideon with disfavour.

  ‘Shall I take the mare down to Melanie?’ Gideon asked.

  ‘No, that’s all right. We’ll be going round again, so she’ll make her way back to the bottom. I’ll just bring the last two up.’

  The whistle was blown again, and Ivan’s two set off, making the run in an orderly manner, much to Tilly’s relief and Gavin’s added humiliation.

  With Ivan switched onto the grey, the whole process was repeated with no further drama, and the cavalcade set off back down the lane to the yard, much to Gideon’s relief. By the end of the second gallop, his calf and thigh muscles had been on fire with the strain of the unaccustomed position. The horses were quiet now, and Tilly dropped back to ride with him.

  ‘You said you wanted to ask me something? Is it about Nero?’

  ‘Well, not exactly. At least, I don’t think so. Not directly. I had another look at that list . . .’

  Tilly looked puzzled.

  ‘You know, the one we showed you, the other day. It’s actually a list of names and phone numbers.’

  ‘Really? Whose?’

  Gideon slowed the chestnut a little so that they dropped back from the pair in front.

  ‘Julian Norris; Sam Bentley; Robin Tate . . .’

  Tilly was shaking her head slightly, lips pursed. ‘I know Julian, of course – I told you about that.’

  ‘Adam Tetley . . .’

  ‘Tetley. Adam Tetley.’ Tilly turned sharply to look at Gideon, causing her mount to throw its head up and fidget sideways. ‘My God! I’d forgotten about him.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘He was a friend of Damien’s from way back; I think from his pony-club days. We didn’t hear anything of him for ages, and then, soon after Damien started training, Adam called and asked if we’d train a couple of horses for him. He was one of our first owners. Actually, strangely enough, Comet was one of his.’

  ‘Was . . .’

  ‘Yes. It was all rather messy, really. He bought the horses in his company’s name, and when they ran it was good advertising – you know the kind of thing. Only, after a while, he became very unreliable. The training fees began to come through weeks late and then stopped altogether. Adam always had an excuse – you know – cash-flow problems; just waiting to finalise such-and-such a deal and then he’d be fine. I think Damien gave him more leeway than normal because of old times, but eventually he had to put his foot down. He told Adam that if he didn’t pay, we’d have to sell one of the horses to cover the debt.’

  ‘So is that what happened?’

  ‘More or less. But, when the chips were down, it turned out that Adam didn’t actually own the company, after all. He was only the financial director, and the first his boss knew about the horses was when our solicitors contacted him direct, with our ultimatum.’

  ‘Ah . . .’

  ‘Yes. As you can imagine, he was given his marching orders like a shot, and the horses came to us in settlement.’

  ‘But you didn’t sell them.’

  ‘We sold one, but we’d just got this sponsorship deal from Skyglaze, so Damien decided to keep Comet. This all happened five or six years ago. He was a good horse in his day, but he’s getting a little long in the tooth now.’

  ‘Well, that explains the ex-wife’s attitude, anyway.’

  ‘Did you ring him, then?’

  ‘Yeah, I did. You see, I only had initials until then. When I mentioned Damien, the former Mrs Adam Tetley was hostile, to say the least.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Adam must have been creaming the company profits for some time, because the two of them were living the life of Riley. The horses were just part of it. When it all came apart – it came apart big-time! He lost his job, his five-bedroomed house, and three cars. And then his wife walked out on him. He was lucky the company didn’t take him to court, but it was all a fearful mess and I suppose they didn’t want that kind of publicity.’

  ‘It’s hard to believe Tetley thought he’d get away with it,’ Gideon said. ‘Surely he must have known he’d be found out eventually.’

  ‘Damien reckoned he had a gambling habit. You know, convinced the big win was just around the corner and he’d be able to pay the money back, with no-one any the wiser.’

  ‘So, does Rockley know all this?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t tell him. I’d forgotten all about it,’ Tilly said. ‘Oh, my God! You don’t mean . . .? No – Adam would never have done something like that.’

  ‘Someone did,’ he reminded her. ‘And it sounds as though this guy had ample motive.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ she said again.

  ‘You ought to tell Rockley.’

  ‘Yes, I will. But I still can’t believe he did it. Adam hit rock bottom, that’s for sure, but I never heard that he blamed Damien – even if his wife did.’

  ‘If he’s in the clear, he’s got nothing to worry about,’ Gideon pointed out.

  They’d dropped well behind the others by now, and the front pair had reached the gate and gone through into the yard. As they covered the last hundred yards or so Tilly seemed lost in her thoughts, and Gideon reflected that this new twist had blown his racing-syndicate theory right out of the water. There was no way that Damien would have wanted to do business with Tetley again after what had happened, old friend or not. In fact, it made it very unlikely that he’d have wanted to contact the man at all.

  Did that mean the list was an old one? Compiled before he’d known Tetley for what he was? But that didn’t really fit because Julian Norris’ name had been crossed out and – according to Tilly – he’d only died the previous year.

  Back to square one. The difference now was that in place of mild interest, Gideon had a burning curiosity.

  ‘Er – Tilly. Could I ask a favour?’

  ‘Yes – sure.’ She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

  ‘When you talk to Rockley, could you not mention the list just yet?’

  ‘Well, OK. I suppose I could say I just remembered about Adam. I could say you asked about Comet and that reminded me. But why?’

  Gideon hesitated, realising he had no choice but to confide in Tilly. It wasn’t fair to expect her to withhold information from the police without offering an explanation.

  ‘I just want a little bit more time to try and work out what the list is all about. I mean, it’s not as if it can have anything to do with what happened to Damien anyway, because Julian Norris’ name is on there.’ He paused, seeing that she still didn’t look convinced. ‘The thing is, Lloyd’s name is on there, too. Or his wife’s, I’m not sure which – their initials are the same.’

  ‘Lloyd is? But that’s weird.’

  ‘Yeah. I know. But that’s why I did
n’t want to show it to Rockley just yet.’

  ‘OK. Have you asked Lloyd about it?’ Tilly said, as they turned into the yard.

  ‘No, I haven’t, yet, but he’s got a copy of the paper – I hope you don’t mind.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘But I haven’t said anything about the phone numbers. I wanted to see what he came up with himself. Pippa doesn’t know either – can we leave it that way for now?’

  Tilly slid her feet out of the stirrups and dismounted. ‘Gavin, get that horse away from the others before he kicks somebody! Honestly! You haven’t got the sense you were born with! And that wasn’t much,’ she added, under her breath.

  She turned back to Gideon. ‘Don’t you think you might be playing this list thing up too much? I told you, Damien was always writing stuff down in a kind of shorthand. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything sinister.’

  Gideon dismounted and looked at her across Comet’s back.

  ‘Humour me. Please?’

  She shrugged. ‘OK.’

  ‘And you won’t mention it to Lloyd or Pippa?’

  ‘Not if you don’t want me to. But let me know if you find anything, won’t you?’

  Spurred on by the sudden realisation that Pippa’s birthday was only a couple of weeks away, and aided in his resolve by what the weatherman had called ‘prolonged showers’, Gideon spent most of Tuesday working on the portrait of Skylark. With classical music on the radio, a slice of cold quiche for lunch, and no interruptions, he worked through until late afternoon, at which time he pushed aside his tray of pastels, stretched, and informed an eager Zebedee that it was time to go for a walk.

  It was still raining and, after trudging round the Graylings woods for an hour or so, Gideon returned to the Gatehouse, firmly shut the front door, pulled the curtains on a darkening world and lit the fire.

  In due course he fed Elsa and Zebedee, and was standing with the fridge door open, wondering what he could concoct that might be even remotely appetising from half a tin of salmon, a cold baked potato, and a pot of strawberry yoghurt, when the telephone rang.

  ‘Hi, handsome. Want some company?’ a husky voice enquired.

  ‘Now, which one are you?’ Gideon wondered aloud.

  ‘I’m the rich bitch that’s going to give you a clip round the ear if you don’t behave!’ Eve warned him. ‘I was going to say I’d come over, but now I’m not sure I will . . .’

  Gideon laughed. ‘Oh, please! Please come and see me.’

  ‘That’s better. And again . . .’

  ‘Please come – I haven’t seen you for three days and I’ve missed you . . .’

  ‘OK, OK – you can stop now. I’ll be there in about three-quarters.’

  ‘I’ve missed you dreadfully,’ Gideon continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘And if you happened to pass a fish and chip shop, mine’s a large cod and chips with salt but no vinegar.’

  ‘You cheeky bastard!’

  ‘Well, I’ve got nothing in the fridge.’

  ‘You don’t deserve me!’ she told him, and put the phone down.

  Left to kick his heels for the best part of an hour, Gideon switched on the light in the porch, put a bottle of wine to chill and went back into his studio to take a critical look at the portrait. After a period away from the easel he could often see better where – if anywhere – he was going wrong.

  This time, he was pleased with his work. Skylark’s handsome head looked out of the paper at him, eyes shining and coat looking soft to the touch. All it needed was tidying up, adding the whiskers and other delicate finishing touches, and it would be ready for the framer.

  Whistling softly with satisfaction, Gideon turned out the light and went back into the hall.

  There, on the table beside the telephone, lay the list and, on a whim, he picked up the receiver and dialled the one number that had remained unanswered the night before.

  For several seconds it looked as though he was going to be out of luck again but then, just as Gideon was on the point of giving up, there was a click and a male voice said, in the tone of one whose patience had been stretched to the limit, ‘If that’s you, Hodgkins, I’ll string you up by your balls from the flagpole!’

  ‘Well, that’s one way to get rid of nuisance callers,’ Gideon said with amusement.

  ‘Oh, that’s not Hodgkins, is it? I do apologise. Who is it?’

  ‘I was about to ask the same.’

  ‘Sorry. Garth; Garth Stephenson. Somehow the boys have got hold of my mobile number and they’ve been plaguing me with calls and text messages, night and day, since the day before yesterday. I’m going to have to ask Orange to give me a new number.’

  ‘You’re a schoolteacher?’

  ‘Yes. PE. Sorry, who did you say you are?’

  ‘I didn’t, actually.’ Gideon decided to opt for the partial truth. ‘I’m a friend of Tilly Daniels. She found your number amongst her brother’s things, but no name. I offered to check it out for her.’

  ‘Tilly . . .? Oh, good Lord! Damien Daniels’ sister. I heard about that. What a terrible thing to happen. They don’t have much luck, do they?’ Stephenson didn’t appear to find anything strange in Gideon’s rather weak excuse for ringing.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Well, I mean, with Marcus’ suicide and everything.’

  ‘Oh, I see. No, they don’t. Would you have any idea why Damien would have your number written down? Were you in touch with him recently?’

  ‘No. As far as I can remember, I’ve never spoken to him personally in my life. I knew Marcus – but not well . . .’ The voice on the end of the phone tailed off then came back strongly. ‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t help you.’

  ‘Well, do you by any chance know Sam Bentley?’

  ‘Listen, I’m sorry – Mr er . . .?’

  ‘Gideon.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’m sorry, Gideon – I really have to go. I’m supposed to be on duty in the prep room in five minutes. Give my condolences to Damien’s sister. Goodbye.’

  Gideon put the phone down and stood looking at it, wondering what, if anything, could be gleaned from the conversation, apart from the fact that an evening prep class presumably denoted a boarding school.

  Considering Gideon’s flimsy pretext, Stephenson’s reaction to his call had been remarkably patient, and Gideon couldn’t really blame him for his eagerness to terminate it. What he couldn’t decide was whether the man would have rung off just as quickly if Gideon hadn’t mentioned Sam Bentley. Unfortunately, there was no way of knowing.

  It was three o’clock in the morning when Gideon awoke.

  For a moment he lay still, heavy with sleep, wondering what had woken him. Eve lay close, her cheek and one arm on his chest, and he could hear her breathing, quiet and steady. It hadn’t been her, then.

  A short burst of barking sounded from downstairs, and Gideon sat up, carefully displacing Eve, who turned over, sighed deeply and snuggled down again.

  Zebedee very rarely barked at night and, even muffled as it was by thick stone walls and heavy oak doors and floorboards, Gideon could sense the dog’s urgency. Something was bothering him.

  Quickly and quietly, Gideon got out of bed and crossed to the window. It was almost pitch black outside, and although he could just make out the cream-coloured roof of the Land Rover beyond the front hedge, he could see little else. Feeling for his clothes, he pulled on jeans and a jumper, and pushed his feet into moccasins before leaning across to give Eve’s shoulder a gentle shake.

  ‘Wha . . .? What’s the matter?’

  ‘Shh! Zebedee’s barking, and after the other night, I think I’d better just check it out.’ Anticipating her next move, he said quickly, ‘No, don’t put the light on.’

  The bedclothes rustled as she sat up.

  ‘I’ll come too,’ she whispered.

  ‘No, you stay there. It’s probably just a badger or something.’

  ‘I’d like to see a badger.’ She slid ac
ross and got out of bed.

  ‘Honestly, Eve. It’s probably nothing.’

  ‘Last time you just went to check on something you got clobbered,’ she reminded him. ‘You need someone to look after you.’ Her body showed as a faint silhouette as she hopped, stepping into her trousers.

  ‘OK, but be quick and quiet. No lights; if there is someone there, we don’t want to scare him off.’

  ‘Speak for yourself. Personally, that sounds like a great idea.’

  Gideon ignored her, easing the door open and pausing to listen.

  From the foot of the stairs came a low, rumbling growl.

  ‘All right, lad. I’m coming,’ he said softly.

  By the time Gideon reached the bottom of the stairs, with Eve close behind him, he could see that Zebedee was standing staring at the front door, ears and hackles up.

  Gideon picked up a torch from the hall table, and Eve touched his arm.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be better to call the police, Gideon? Please.’

  ‘For a badger?’

  ‘You don’t know it’s a badger.’

  ‘Well, unless they’ve got a car in the area, who or whatever it is’ll be long gone by the time the police get here. I’ll just take a look, but I’ll be careful.’

  ‘Take Zeb, then.’

  ‘No, I’d rather he was here with you,’ Gideon told her.

  ‘Now you’re sounding really scary.’

  His hand on the front-door bolt, Gideon dropped a kiss on her brow.

  ‘I just don’t want him chasing badgers,’ he said, slid the bolts back and turned the key. ‘Have you got him? He’ll try and make a run for it.’

  Moments later he was out in the cold night air and closing the door quietly behind him. After the unlit house, the darkness in the garden was less intense, and he was easily able to make out the path leading to the front gate, the roof of the Land Rover parked in the lane, and the dark swell of trees beyond. Cloud masked the moon, and all but a scattering of stars, and a chill wind rustled the dry brown leaves of the hedge.

  Gideon stood still, all his senses straining to catch whatever it was that had upset the dog.

  Nothing.

  No sight or sound of anything unusual.