His voice cracked and he shook his head, staring hard at nothing in particular. ‘I can’t even remember what I wanted to talk to you about.’
Franklin perceived his distress and put a hand on his shoulder.
‘Never mind now,’ he said gently. ‘A gun, though? My God! Did you tell the police?’
Ross laughed harshly. ‘Oh, sure, they’d have loved that! “A gun?” they’d have said. “What, no hand grenades?” No, I figure they’ve heard just about every story there is concerned with drinking, and then some. They weren’t exactly receptive. Apparently I was found in the jeep, three times over the limit and with the whisky bottle beside me. They just weren’t interested in excuses.’
Franklin shook his head. ‘I’m so sorry, Ross. How much have you told the Colonel?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, how could I? How much could I say before he started to guess there was a lot more to it than he was being told? If I didn’t tell him the whole, he would just think it was a tall story. And who could blame him?’
Franklin studied Ross’ taut profile as they stood watching Clown pulling at his haynet.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I had no right to get you involved in all this. It just didn’t occur to me there’d be any danger to you, personally.’
Ross disagreed. ‘It wasn’t your fault. You and McKinnon only asked me to keep my eyes and ears open. It was my idea to start stirring the hornet’s nest. The way I see it, it’s my fault if I got stung.’
Franklin pursed his lips. ‘Well, whatever the case, it’s gone far enough. I’m not having your career ruined for my sake. The Colonel must be told, whether McKinnon likes it or not. Personally, I would’ve told him in the first place but McKinnon wouldn’t have it, and since I employed him to advise . . .’ He shrugged.
‘Look, let’s wait a bit,’ Ross urged. ‘The Colonel hasn’t sent me packing yet – though God alone knows why! His attitude towards me would be bound to change if he knew the truth. Other people would notice and wonder, maybe even Mr X himself. This thing could snowball and we don’t want anyone else getting hurt. Let’s just let it ride for the moment.’
‘But Bill and the others – they’re treating you like dirt,’ Franklin protested. ‘It’s not fair to let you carry the can for something you didn’t do.’
‘Bill and I have never seen eye to eye,’ Ross pointed out. ‘And now I know that you believe me, I think I can cope with the others.’
Franklin was still doubtful. ‘If you’re sure, but I don’t like it, Ross. It’s getting out of hand.’
‘Well, we’ve obviously got him worried,’ Ross observed. ‘Maybe he’ll make a mistake. Or maybe I’ll remember something useful.’
Franklin wasn’t convinced. ‘He’s made one push to get you out of the way. If he sees it hasn’t worked he may make another. What then? Have you thought of that?’
Ross had and he didn’t like it any more than Franklin appeared to.
‘I just wish I knew what it was he thought I was close to discovering. It’s so frustrating.’
‘Perhaps he doesn’t know either. On the phone you told me you thought you might have something important to discuss,’ Franklin said. ‘What if he listened in somehow and decided to nobble you before you could share it with me, whatever it was?’
‘I thought of that. But he couldn’t have bargained on me not remembering,’ Ross said. ‘So he can’t have thought I knew anything very important. The whole thing must just have been a precaution. I was nosing around and he wanted me out of the picture.’
Franklin ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. ‘Sometimes I feel perhaps I should have the horses destroyed and finish this business once and for all, but then there’s Clown. I could never do that to Peter. He’s had a rough enough time of it already.’
‘I don’t know that it would help, either. It might even make things worse. I mean, he’s already shown he’s not unwilling to use other targets. If it’s a grudge, it’s not just going to go away because the horses do.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Franklin said wearily. They had completed their circumnavigation of the yard and stopped beside his Range Rover.
‘Listen, Ross, I don’t know how to thank you . . .’
‘What for?’ he enquired. ‘Getting myself in a hole? I’ve blundered around making trouble for myself and upsetting a whole lot of other people and for what? I just seem to have muddied the waters a bit more, if anything.’
‘The professionals have done no better,’ Franklin observed. ‘But I meant, thank you for caring enough to try. And I can assure you that when you go to court you’ll have the best legal defence in your corner that money can buy.
‘Anyway,’ he glanced at his watch, ‘I must be going. I called in on my way to the Chinese takeaway. It’s Cook’s night off and we normally go out but Peter has got it into his head he wants a Chinese.’ He grimaced. ‘Not my cup of tea, I’m afraid. I prefer good, traditional English cooking myself. You can’t beat roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Strange thing that – it’s the only thing I really miss about Peter’s mother. When she could be bothered, Marsha was a dab hand in the kitchen, though to look at her you wouldn’t think she could make toast without a recipe.’ He smiled at the memory.
Ross hesitated only fractionally, then gave voice to a suspicion he had long harboured. ‘When did you find out about Marsha and Darcy?’
Franklin raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t miss much, do you?’
Ross relaxed. It appeared he hadn’t offended and, furthermore, had guessed right.
‘I suspected,’ Franklin said. ‘But Darcy himself told me in the end. I couldn’t blame him, exactly, though I was disappointed. She was an attractive woman and almost always got what she wanted, sooner or later. Usually sooner. If she had her eye on him, he wouldn’t have stood a chance – he wasn’t much more than a boy, after all.’
‘So you didn’t fall out over it?’ Ross thought his forbearance remarkable.
Franklin smiled and shook his head. ‘No, not really. The marriage was over by then, in all but name, and I couldn’t see what good it would do to alienate the boy just when we needed to stick together as a family. He’d owned up and apologised, said it only happened once and the affair was over. As far as I was concerned, that was an end to it.’ He opened the door of the Range Rover and paused. ‘What made you think of that?’
Ross shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know, something he said once. More the way he said it, I suppose. I can’t really remember.’
‘He’s always had an eye for the girls,’ Franklin confessed. ‘Takes after his father, I suppose.’ He started the engine. ‘Look, Ross, take care of yourself, okay? Leave the detecting to the detectives for a bit. Your first concern should be getting fit and winning classes.’
Ross grinned. ‘Okay, boss.’
‘And if you change your mind about telling the Colonel . . .’
‘Sure. I’ll let you know.’
The next day, Friday, started promisingly with a note from the Colonel to say that if Ross felt up to it, the horses would compete as planned that weekend and he should prepare them accordingly. The note was brief and businesslike and gave no hint as to the Colonel’s disposition, but Ross considered it a hopeful sign.
Although it was clear that his workmates still regarded him with disgust, the prospect of action lifted everybody’s spirits a notch or two and gave the team a common aim. The atmosphere in the yard improved noticeably.
Ross worked hard all day, riding all the horses that were entered for the show at the weekend, assessing their performance and demeanour after the enforced break in their routine. His own condition improved hourly, although the state of his cracked ribs hadn’t been improved by the attentions of Leo and Irish and would clearly be tender for some days to come.
As he finished his last session of the day and leaned on the gate watching Clown roll luxuriously in the soft sand of the school, Danny
came to stand beside him.
‘Hi, kid,’ Ross said, without turning his head.
Danny was silent.
Ross sighed. ‘Come to add your two cents’ worth?’ he enquired.
Danny shuffled his feet. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said that night. You know, about the whisky and jumping to conclusions?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Ross waited.
‘Well, the thing is . . . I wanted you to know I don’t believe you did it. Drink and drive, I mean. You wouldn’t. It’s just not the sort of thing you’d do. I know what they’re saying but I don’t believe it. I just wanted you to know.’ His somewhat wandering avowal of faith having reached its end, he rather spoilt it by adding, ‘You didn’t, did you?’
Ross supposed it was a measure of his low physical and mental state that a simple show of confidence could bring a lump to his throat, but his mouth twitched in response to this postscript.
‘No, Danny. I didn’t,’ he said gravely, still not looking round. ‘And thanks.’
‘I just wanted you to know,’ Danny repeated.
Saturday morning dawned fair but with a blustery wind, which had sprung up overnight. The preparations for the show ran smoothly, every member of the team carrying out their own particular tasks like parts of a well-oiled machine. Nobody spoke much, although that was not unusual. Time was at a premium and they were all working hard.
Maggie came out with a well-stocked lunchbox just as they were loading the horses and handed it to Danny. Normally she wished Ross good luck. Today she hardly glanced at him.
When all the four-footed passengers were safely aboard and the last bolts fastened, Ross made his way round to the driver’s side of the cab and opened the door.
‘I think not,’ Bill said firmly, coming up behind him. ‘The Colonel would rather I drive.’ He stared defiantly up at Ross like a bull terrier taking a stand.
Ross felt quick anger rise in him but clenched his jaw against the retort. After all, he really couldn’t blame them. He shrugged and turned away. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said. ‘I’ll travel in the back.’
The show was a big one, which suited Ross. The less the concentration of people who knew him, the better. As it was, he was sure it hadn’t gone unnoticed that Bill had driven the lorry. He kept his head down and concentrated on the job in hand.
The competition was fierce but the horses were jumping well and more than held their own, and in spite of his antipathy Bill couldn’t hide his pleasure as first Simone then Bishop qualified for classes at the bigger shows later that year. Ross was pleased too but he couldn’t help wondering gloomily who would be partnering the horses by then.
The Richmond clan turned up to see Clown jump in two classes but, try as he might, Ross wasn’t able to win a rosette for the birthday boy.
Peter accepted the disappointment with his customary good manners but he was very quiet, and once or twice Ross found he was being regarded with a particularly solemn stare. He wondered what the boy had been told.
Before they left, Franklin drew Ross to one side and told him that in place of the written-off jeep, he had an old Land-Rover that Ross was welcome to use for as long as he liked.
Or until they take my licence, Ross thought, thanking him.
‘Well, actually, it was Darcy’s idea,’ Franklin admitted. ‘It only sits around doing nothing. It’s a bit rough, I’m afraid, but roadworthy.’
‘You want to watch the clutch,’ Darcy said, coming over. ‘It’s a bit of a sod. And one of the front wheels needs balancing, as I remember, but basically it’s okay.’
Ross thanked him as well and he shrugged and waved a dismissive hand. ‘Hey, forget it. It’s no big deal and it’ll do it good to be used. We’ll drop it by later.’
‘That’s great. I need to go over to Amesbury on Monday and I’m not quite sure whether I’m allowed to use ours at the moment.’
If Darcy had indeed been jealous of Ross’ popularity with Peter, as the Colonel had suggested, then he appeared to have got over it now, Ross reflected as he trudged wearily back to the horsebox with Clown after they left. He couldn’t have been more amiable. Perhaps he found it easier to contend with a tarnished idol. Peter had certainly seemed subdued. No doubt it was uncharitable, but Ross couldn’t help wondering just what Darcy might have said to the youngster.
‘A penny for ’em,’ a voice said at his elbow
‘Mick!’ Ross turned, delightedly. ‘Nice to see you. How’s tricks?’
‘Collarbone’s good as mended and I’ll have the plaster off my foot next week, all being well,’ Mick Colby declared cheerfully. ‘All in all, better than you, from what I’ve been hearing. How’re you doing?’
‘I’m workin’ on it,’ Ross said. ‘I suppose you read the papers?’
Colby nodded, grinning. ‘You just can’t bear to be out of the news, can you? So, who got you into that little mess?’
Ross looked at him sharply. ‘Why do you say that?’
Colby shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ve seen enough of you, one way or another, to know that it’s not your style. Crazy you might be but you’re not stupid.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate that,’ Ross said sincerely.
‘So, how’s that red tornado you’ve been riding lately? Is he here today?’
‘Not today,’ Ross said, pleased to let the uncomfortable subject drop. ‘He’s got two classes tomorrow, though, and he’s fighting fit.’
Mick seemed disposed to stick around and with his cheerful company the rest of the day passed very pleasantly. He got on well with Danny and when Roland turned up shortly before lunch, good spirits turned to hilarity. Bill regarded their determined light-heartedness with open disapproval but said little.
Ross’ success with Telamon appeared to have dampened the rumourmongers’ efforts a little and for the first part of the day he encountered if not friendly smiles, then at least no open hostility. As the day wore on, however, it became apparent that someone had been busy spreading the details of his latest misdeeds and his reception in many quarters turned a little frosty.
He found he’d grown used to the cold.
By the time the last round had been jumped and the horses loaded, the Oakley Manor team had collected two trophies, several rosettes and a respectable amount of prize money. Ross was dog-tired and never happier to leave the driving to Bill.
‘You should take it easy, Yank. You look like death only slightly warmed up.’ Mick seemed genuinely concerned.
‘Thanks! The original Job’s Comforter. Couldn’t you think of anything really depressing to say?’
Mick laughed. ‘I just thought you could do with a little advice from a friend. See you tomorrow, maybe.’
‘Sure, Limey,’ Ross responded. ‘If I make it through the night!’
In fact, Ross slept through most of the return journey, shifting restlessly to ease the discomfort of his cracked ribs and throbbing knee. Despite his light-hearted banter with Mick, in his waking moments he seriously wondered how much longer he could keep going with his troublesome knee, even if he was given the chance.
The second day of the show was almost as successful as the first, although the proceedings were complicated somewhat by the wind, which had strengthened still further overnight and blew the ring decorations and some of the flimsier fences over with what became a monotonous regularity.
The horses reacted variously to this when it happened, ranging from Woody’s bombproof reliability to Telamon’s professed terror, which Ross suspected was a total sham. Nevertheless, counterfeit or no, it didn’t stop the stallion bucking him off in the middle of the main ring when nearly five foot of planks collapsed dramatically a few yards away.
Ross picked himself resignedly up off the turf and followed the chestnut from the ring to the accompaniment of sympathetic applause.
In the collecting ring he found Stephen Douglas had caught the horse, and walked over, expecting to be on the receiving end of a snide remark or two.
>
His rival, however, seemed disinclined to gloat. ‘He’s a bugger, isn’t he?’ Douglas remarked with what looked suspiciously like the beginnings of a friendly smile.
‘You can say that again,’ Ross agreed, slightly bemused by this completely unheralded behavioural swing. Thanking Stephen, he took back the reins.
When Telamon more than redeemed himself later by winning one of the biggest classes of the afternoon, ahead of Stephen Douglas and Danielle Moreaux, Ross was over the moon. He felt a certain affinity with the rogue horse. After all, they were both badly in need of proving themselves.
‘You did it, you crazy son-of-a-gun!’ he said, slapping the arching red neck as he remounted for the prize-giving. Telamon tossed his head, sensing as some horses do that he’d done well and feeling pleased with himself.
As they lined up to receive their rosetes, Stephen Douglas glanced across at Ross with an uncertain smile.
‘Well done. You gave him a great ride,’ he said, reddening a little.
Ross blinked. ‘Thanks,’ he said.
It appeared to be a day for surprises and not all of them pleasant.
After having collected an unlucky four faults on Woodsmoke in his final class, Ross rode Bishop into the ring feeling heartily glad that it was his last ride of the day. The black had fully recovered from his injury and jumped with smooth precision, giving each obstacle a good clearance and never looking like making a mistake. In spite of his own fatigue, Ross was lifted by admiration for the horse.
As he gave him a loose rein and walked him towards the exit, the loudspeaker announced, ‘A lovely clear round there for Ross Wakelin and Black Bishop. Maybe one of the last times we shall see this partnership, as I believe the horse has been sold. A shame, that. Next to jump we have number two-two-five, Sally Patterson on her own Magpie.’
Ross was stunned.
Where the hell had they got their information? How could it be that the show commentator knew before he did? His face stony, he rode through the collecting ring and on to the public thoroughfare before he dismounted.
‘Ross! Is it true?’ Danny was instantly beside him. ‘Who told them that?’
Cut Throat Page 38
