'Is that as bad as it sounds?'
'From your point of view, it couldn't be much worse. I can't somehow see the Lord Pryde, as he will now be called, sitting back and watching his son lose custody of the heir to the family name.'
'Nor can I. I can just picture Lady Pryde turning up in court to say what a decent loving chap her son has always been, forced to stay at home and care for Freddie while I gallivant about the country riding racehorses.'
'Hold on, Victoria, it's not that hopeless. There is some justice in this world. However impressive Edward's pedigree, it'll end up being your word against his and if you can show him to be an outright scoundrel you'll win custody even if his father's the Pope, if you know what I mean.'
'Isn't that a bit of a problem – and I'm not referring to the Pope! I'd have to come clean on all this horse fixing business and surely the courts aren't going to be that attracted to a self-confessed crooked jockey?'
Amy looked genuinely worried. 'I'm afraid you could be right. What's more, if that found its way to the Jockey Club you'd lose your licence and in the present climate might even end up on a conspiracy to defraud charge. I'm sorry I'm not being very helpful.'
'It's not your fault. I didn't expect any miracle solution. What about divorce? Would my position be any different?'
'It could be if you were the complaining party. These days, though, they go in for the consent approach, trying not to talk about blame.'
'There's no way Edward would ever consent. What about unreasonable behaviour?'
'You mean other than the race fixing? You'll have to keep a record from now on every time he hits you and any other disagreeable piece of conduct. Do you still sleep together?'
'He insists on it. Sexual relations, as they say, are virtually non-existent although he hates the idea of anybody else touching me.'
'And have they?'
'Do I have to answer that one?'
She gave me a quizzical look and continued. 'Well, tell me when you feel ready. You see, the courts aren't too keen to find irretrievable breakdown when the husband and wife are still cohabiting. They do sometimes, but it's pretty unusual.'
'So in a nutshell, my position is hopeless.'
'You make me feel terrible. I'm sorry, I just wish you had told me about this earlier. I could see you weren't happy but I didn't want to pry or do the "I told you so" bit.'
'You're the last person I can blame. To be honest, it's an even bigger mess than it seems. Do you mind if I keep in touch? It helps so much, being able to tell someone.'
'You must tell me,' said Amy firmly. 'And something may just turn up.'
'And I thought an optimistic lawyer was a contradiction in terms! Aren't you meant to be back at work? You said something about a meeting at twelve-thirty.'
Amy glanced at her watch and rose to leave. I kissed her, paid the bill and hurried back by taxi to Paddington. All I wanted to do now was see my little boy.
Chapter 3
I arrived back in the early afternoon and gave Mrs Parsons the rest of the day off. During the National Hunt season, I didn't have a lot of opportunities to play with Freddie and I wanted to make the most of having his undivided attention. We were playing hide and seek when he discovered the diary. He had hidden in his father's huge mahogany wardrobe which, apart from the bed, took up most of the spare room. Edward usually kept it locked, but for some reason had forgotten to take away the key when he had gone out at lunchtime. Freddie handed me the diary as if he had discovered the crown jewels.
'Do you think it's special? Will daddy be pleased with me?'
'Let mummy have a look at it, and then we'll decide.' I gave him some toys to play with and, curiosity getting the better of me, sat down beside the fire and went through it. It was a small, well-worn pocket diary in black leather with Edward's initials embossed on it in gold. It was five years old and to my disappointment the calendar entries merely recorded his appointments or lunch dates and contained no chronicle of his innermost thoughts. I had hoped that I was going to learn something new about my husband.
I flicked through to the back and to the pages intended for addresses and telephone numbers. No names were listed, only sets of initials and against each a figure. Some of the initials had been crossed out and the different coloured inks suggested that the list had been added to and amended over the years. I wondered whether it stood for his investments on the Stock Market or even the bookies to whom he was indebted and decided to make my own list to try and decipher the code when I had more time. I was just going to fetch a pen and paper when Edward returned. It was obvious from his unsteady gait that he had been drinking and I thought I noticed his right hand shaking as he tried to hang up his coat. He kissed Freddie and, ignoring me, moved uncertainly towards the stairs. I decided to go on the attack: 'You had a phone call last night. Some man who wouldn't give his name. He just said that my victory had upset a lot of people. Your bookie, I presume?'
Edward went visibly grey. 'What did he sound like?'
'There was nothing particularly distinctive about his voice. Very flat and matter-of-fact. I didn't get the impression he was best pleased.'
'Did he say anything else?'
'Nothing significant. I'm sure he'll call again.'
'Don't you bloody sneer! You've got me into this mess and now you're going to help me get out of it. If you hadn't tried so hard yesterday, my problems would be over now.'
'I suppose you backed Pride of Limerick, then?'
'There's no need to be so smug. Because you weren't meant to be trying, my bookie laid the world and his wife against Cartwheel winning and was nearly trampled to death in the rush. You could at least have thrown the race in the stewards' room but, oh no, you had to go and claim that Pride of Limerick had taken your ground.'
'How do you know that?'
'None of your god-damned business. I also know it was a majority decision and it was only because you smiled so sweetly at that fool Allsopp you got away with it. You've really done it this time. This particular bookie means business. No one likes dropping a quarter of a million pounds and on top of that he'll expect me to come up with the hundred grand I owe him.'
'A hundred thousand! How the hell have you managed that?'
'Mind your own bloody business.'
'Don't pay. Gambling debts aren't enforceable, you know. The worst they can do is report you to Tattersalls. Although I suppose being warned off wouldn't be good publicity for the son of the Lord Chief Justice.'
'What do you mean?'
'Haven't you heard? Daddy's got the big job.'
'Has he now?' A wicked gleam came into Edward's eyes. I could see he was already plotting something.
'That's the first bit of good news I've had today. Anyway Tatts is out. Those bets are all illegal; I don't pay tax even though they're made off course.'
'So they can't even embarrass you into paying?'
'Don't be so naive. People like this aren't interested in social graces when it comes to collecting. They'll use any method that produces a result. I can see a little holiday is called for.'
He ran up the stairs, only to return two minutes later.
'Have you been nosing around in my wardrobe?'
'No, of course not.'
'Are you sure?' His voice had become markedly more aggressive.
'You know I never…' At that moment Freddie came out of the kitchen where he had been playing.
'Daddy! Has mummy told you about the book we found in your cupboard?'
Edward looked at me and smiled.
'Really darling? How clever of you. I'm sure mummy was just about to hand it over, weren't you, mummy?'
His outstretched hand waited menacingly for me to surrender the diary. Reluctantly I took it from my pocket and handed it over.
'I suppose you couldn't resist reading it,' he snarled as he snatched it from my hand.
I nodded and countered: 'And I suppose you're not going to tell me what the entries at the back stand for?'
'Why not? Since you've become my partner in crime there's precious little you can do about it and after all, married couples aren't meant to have any secrets from each other, are they? Freddie darling, go and play in your bedroom for ten minutes will you, whilst I have a little chat with mummy.'
He beckoned me to sit opposite him by the fire while he fingered through the diary. Without showing the slightest trace of embarrassment or regret he started explaining: 'As you've no doubt already gathered, the last few pages are the most interesting. Each of these initials stands for what I call one of my investors, and the figure against his or her name, the amount of their monthly investment.'
'What do you mean, investors? What, for God's sake, are they investing in?'
He grinned mischievously. 'My silence. A very precious commodity indeed.'
I leant over and grabbed the diary from his hand. It was still open at the relevant pages.
'You mean, you're a blackmailer, and these are your victims? You bastard!'
'Cut out the moralising. I can do without lectures on that front from a crooked jockey. I'm only telling you all this to let you know that we're not the only people who do things they shouldn't.'
I looked down the list, and tried to decipher the initials. 'Who is A.D., who presumably pays you one hundred pounds a month?'
'That, darling, is your favourite steward, Sir Arthur Drewe.'
'Drewe?'
'One and the same. Who'd have believed it of him? For our purposes he has the added advantage of standing at Worcester and Fontwell.'
'I follow. So that's why you were so confident there would be no problems with the stewards in those races. Does that also explain why Drewe was so intent on taking the race from me yesterday?'
'And he very nearly did so. If only those other oafs hadn't been so susceptible to your confounded smile.'
'And what was Sir Arthur's crime?'
'A little bit of indiscreet adultery, spiced with a desire for the odd burst of flagellation. It was just bad luck for Arthur that I know the young lady in question. And of course old Lady Drewe is not an understanding shrew. That's rather a clever rhyme, isn't it?'
I ignored him and looked down the list again. 'And who's M.C., who pays you thirty pounds a month? What's his sin?'
'Ah, M.C. Michael Corcoran.'
'The one who works in Tom Radcliffe's yard?'
'Yes. I don't charge him much because now and again he provides useful information about what's happening there, and I don't just mean about the horses.'
I was speechless. Michael Corcoran had come over to work for Tom Radcliffe when he first started training. A good-looking Irish boy, now in his late twenties, he had failed to make the grade as a jockey and had stayed on as a stable lad. I recovered my composure and resumed my questioning. 'What have you got on Corcoran then? He's a single man, so it can't be adultery. Which of the other ten commandments has he broken?'
'The eighth, as it happens. Do you remember all those years ago when the wages were stolen from Radcliffe's office?'
I remembered it well. About two thousand pounds had gone missing which, at that time, Tom could ill afford. They never caught the culprit, but the police were certain it was an inside job.
'Well…' Edward continued, 'that was Michael's handiwork. He had got himself in bother with the bookies and took the easy way out. He made the mistake of confessing to me as one of Radcliffe's most respectable owners at that time, and asking my advice.'
'And this is how you repaid his trust?'
'Precisely. I told him not to say a word about it to anyone, and he's been indebted to me, literally, ever since.'
'What if he just upped and left one day?'
'I've considered that, and told him if he ever entertained such an idea I'd send an anonymous letter to his mother in Ireland. One thing these Irish boys hate is the idea of family disgrace, you know.'
'And who are these others – E.F., D.T., T.C., A.P.B. What have they done?'
'They're nobody you know. Pillars of society who have committed minor peccadilloes which they would prefer not to be made public. I don't charge them anymore.'
'E.B.?'
'Eamon Brennan. He's my most reliable payer, although after his performance in front of the stewards yesterday, he may have to increase the size of his investment.'
'And his error of judgement?'
'Greed. When he accepted that retainer last year with Rhodes he insisted on a cash payment on top. Only he forgot to tell the Jockey Club about it. Rhodes spilled the beans to me one night when he was in his cups.'
I looked over the list again. One set of initials was particularly faded.
'And G.P. Who's that? Not our local doctor?'
'Much funnier than that, darling. Have a guess.'
I went through in my mind all the racing people we knew and then other acquaintances who might fit into the venal category.
'I give up. What has he or she done that earns you two hundred pounds a month?'
'That's the present figure, but with today's news I think an increase is clearly called for. G.P. stands for Gerald Pryde.'
'What! Your own father? I don't believe it! Nobody could sink to that.'
'Really? I found it pretty easy.'
'And his crime?'
'A touch of professional dishonesty. I was in my last year at Oxford when it happened. My father was then still at the bar, and although very successful and famous, as a criminal lawyer was not earning the big fees you now hear about. Unfortunately he had inherited the Prydes' gambling streak and managed to lose a bundle on the Stock Market. He's too afraid of my mother to go and ask her for a loan so he used another means to find the wherewithal.'
'What other means?'
'Do you remember the Lorenz murder trial?'
I nodded, although I wasn't certain I did.
'My father was conducting Lorenz's defence on legal aid. In fact, Lorenz was as rich as Croesus through his drug and prostitution business, but it wouldn't have done to declare that to the Inland Revenue. My father, in his desperation, agreed to accept an additional ten thousand pounds for acting for him.'
'What's wrong with that?'
'Only that you're supposed to be paid solely by the legal aid fund and any other payment would be regarded as highly improper. Somehow, I don't think he told his clerk about it, let alone the tax man.'
'How did you find out about it?'
"Pure luck. I came across the letter from Lorenz setting out the arrangements in the old man's desk drawer one weekend when I was looking for some spare cash. I thought it was well worth keeping, just in case.'
'And your father goes on paying you?'
'We call it my allowance. I just let him know one day that I was sympathetic to the predicament he had found himself in, and suggested casually that he kept my allowance on. After all, his money will be mine one day anyway.'
I stared at him in disgust and revulsion. He was even baser and more corrupt than I had believed possible. I shuddered at the thought I had once loved him.
'Is that it, then?' I asked, making no attempt to disguise my contempt.
'Not quite. Have a look over the page.'
I turned over to what was the back page of the diary. There was a single entry with only one set of initials, and no figure against them.
Edward grinned.
'Recognise them?'
'How much were you intending to charge me for my investment?'
'I thought about a hundred pounds a month. That would be fair, wouldn't it?'
Chapter 4
The telephone rang before I could make any further comment, and Edward walked across the sitting room to answer it. Whoever was on the other end of the line soon had him breaking into a sweat and the hitherto complacent tone
in his voice rapidly gave way to one of panic.
'You know that's impossible!' he shouted. 'It's not' my fault she disobeyed her instructions.' He kept shaking his head as the caller dominated the conversation. 'Don't do that,' he pleaded, when at last given an opportunity to talk. 'Just give me time. I guarantee I'll come up with some of it and I can assure you she won't make the same mistake twice. That's all I need, one more chance.' The call ended abruptly and he was still shaking as he put the receiver down.
I wasted no time in making my position clear. 'If it's me you're referring to, it was no mistake that I won yesterday, and I have absolutely no intention of doing your dirty work again. From now on, you can sort out your own mess. I'm leaving you, Edward, and I'm taking Freddie with me.'
'And leave me at the mercy of these people? No, you silly bitch, you're not going anywhere! You're going to stay here and next time, when I tell you to lose, you'll do just that.'
His first blow caught me just above the eye and I fell backwards onto one of the armchairs by the fire.
'Now will you realise that I'm serious?'
The noise attracted Freddie, who came running down to the bottom of the stairs. I shouted at him to go and get help. The next thing I knew Edward had leapt on top of me and started to throttle me with both hands. The pain around my neck was excruciating and soon spread to behind my eyes as I fought with increasing panic for air. At least my left arm was still free and I felt desperately along the top of the coffee table for something to grab and hit him with. The maniacal look in his eyes left me in no doubt that he was mad enough to kill me. I had no desire to die and leave my son alone with this monster as a father. With one final lunge I managed to pick up the silver ashtray, a present from his mother, which was on the edge of the table. Lifting my left arm and mustering all my strength, I hit him repeatedly on the side of the temple. He ignored the blows and tightened his grip. By now my head felt as if it was about to explode and all I could see was a warm red glow like a harvest moon. I was done for.
Declared Dead Page 4
