'What's that?' I asked good-humouredly, expecting another request for an exclusive interview.
'I think it's time you let me in on this one, Victoria. My keen nose for scandal smells a juicy tale of corruption and skulduggery and I want to be in on it. What precisely is the low-down on Musgrave?'
I didn't bother to argue. Even if Musgrave had nothing to do with Edward's death, I was certain to obtain a more sympathetic hearing at the Jockey Club on my appeal if I could prove a direct link between Brennan's riding and the odds offered by a crooked bookmaker. I told James about my suspicions over the running of the Worcester race and how I was certain that Brennan and Musgrave were in each other's pockets. Brennan's performance at Kempton the day before had only confirmed my theory. James was cock-a-hoop at the prospect of a scandal.
'I like this a lot,' he announced as soon as I had finished. 'I can see it already splashed across the front page of the Sportsman:
"TOP JOCKEY AND BOOKIE IN BETS PROBE."
Yes, this could be very good indeed.'
'Hold on. Don't forget yours truly. I want you to make it clear that I was the innocent party at Worcester and that Ralph was utterly blameless. That's even more important than clearing me.'
'I won't let you down. I'll get cracking straight away, checking out all the races over the past six months when Brennan has been riding the likely favourite. Whenever it's drifted in the market and then been beaten, we'll find out if Musgrave was responsible for the odds going out.'
'It's not just horses ridden by Brennan, don't forget. At Worcester he was on one of the less fancied runners, and devoted his energies to stopping me winning on the favourite.'
'And Musgrave offered generous odds on your horse?'
'Got it in one.'
'That means rather more work to do. I suppose I'll have to look into every race in which Brennan has been riding to see if anything untoward happened. That's a pretty major task and it's going to take some time, I'm afraid.' James was sounding a little less ecstatic.
'You can do it,' I urged him. 'Why not start with yesterday's race at Kempton and work backwards? At least it's still fresh in everybody's mind.'
'I agree. I'll try and persuade the editor to order the videos of that race and yours at Worcester, although it won't be easy. He's so tight he makes Jack Benny seem generous.'
'Jack who?'
'Forget it. I'd better crack on with the work. Promise you'll keep in touch and I'll let you know as soon as I've got anything. Bye – and Victoria, take care.'
Having finished with James, I wrote to Sir Arthur Drewe. Penning a letter to the steward who has reported you to Portman Square takes a fair amount of courage and to give me inspiration I took out the incriminating photograph of the noble baronet from its hiding place in my wardrobe. It did the trick.
Dear Sir Arthur,
I have just cleared out my late husband's possessions and in doing so found a touching photograph of you giving the benefit of your racing knowledge to a lucky permit holder. I had forgotten how striking your racing colours are and didn't realise that you knew how to ride so well. I wondered whether you and your wife would like the original back for your album or if you would prefer I disposed of it in any manner I saw fit. No doubt the racing press would welcome its inclusion in their picture library for the day when you are appointed senior steward. Assuring you of my best intentions at all times,
Victoria Pryde.
I addressed the envelope to Sir Arthur at his estate in Gloucestershire and gleefully stuck on a first class stamp. I would have given anything to see the old boy's face as he read that over breakfast.
There wasn't much else I could do with myself for the rest of the day, except catch up with the form books and, most importantly of all, telephone my mother and talk to Freddie. He always enjoyed staying with his grandmother and she for her part loved having him. I could tell from his cheerful voice that I wasn't missed and he was quite content to ride around the farm on the pony which my mother kept for that very purpose. I was extremely glad that he was no longer at Ralph's. Up until yesterday I had never given any serious thought to potential danger to myself, let alone to Freddie. Musgrave's threat had changed all that and last night's events had vindicated my decision to send the boy away. There now had to be a real risk that whoever wanted me dead would try again.
Arming myself against another attack was one of my first priorities, but to be honest I had no idea where to begin. Eau de cologne had done the trick the other night although it was hardly likely to be as effective a second time. I considered buying a gun, but even if I managed to obtain one I was a rotten shot and would be more likely to injure myself than anybody else. A knife was a more practical possibility yet even then I wasn't confident of being dextrous enough to wield it properly. In the end I settled on the idea of a container with a suitably toxic substance that I could throw or spray into an attacker's face and I made a note to ask Amy for a suitable suggestion when we next talked. As a lawyer who had acted for all sorts of hardened criminals she was bound to know about that kind of thing. I spent the rest of the day and Saturday sleeping and recuperating and on Sunday felt well enough to drive over to my mother's house to see Freddie. As far as I know, nobody followed me there or back.
On Monday the doctor called again – personally I would have been just as happy with the vet – and after a lot of umming and aahing, punctuated by the occasional prodding of my back with his cold hands, he declared that nothing was broken and the bruising would soon go down. As far as he was concerned, I was fit to walk around the place and as from Friday could ride again. Ralph was delighted and made me promise to take things easy all week and return to race riding the following Monday. Reluctantly I agreed. I could do nothing until James Thackeray came up with the further information on Musgrave, or there was a positive response to the notice in the Sportsman about Corcoran. Amy had telephoned on Sunday and agreed to contact me as soon as she received any serious response. She didn't pretend to be hopeful, Monday's silence suggested she might be right.
Tuesday morning started badly with a letter from Tom. I had had no contact with him since his arrest, as his lawyers had advised him against communicating with me. As a likely, albeit reluctant, witness for the prosecution I was deemed one of the enemy. Happily it now seemed that he had decided to ignore his lawyer's advice and, recognising the handwriting on the envelope, I eagerly tore it open. The letter, headed Brixton Prison, made sad reading.
My dear Victoria,
How are you? You have been constantly in my thoughts since this whole ghastly business began. I like to tell myself that it is all a bad dream and that I will wake up in the morning in Wantage and leap out of bed to ride out. This ceil is damp and cramped, and I'd swap it for a horse-box any day. Victoria, you know I didn't kill Edward. There were times when I wanted him dead but that's a far cry from actual murder. I've heard from my brief (that's what they call your barrister in here) that Jamie Brown told the police about our conversation that day after the Gold Cup and the police are going to call him as a witness at the trial. Poor old Jamie! I'm sure he thought it would get you and not me into trouble. He never did like women jockeys! I understand the police are claiming that I drove Edward out to the pit – do you remember the time we had a picnic out there? – and then killed him and set fire to the car to destroy any evidence or any trace of the body. I can't remember what happened that night after we left the pub; all I know is I'm innocent. My solicitor tells me that you're trying to find out who really killed him. Please be careful. Freddie mustn't grow up an orphan. Yours with love, Tom.
Looking again at the envelope, I suspected that it might have been opened and resealed before reaching me. Thank God the letter didn't contain anything that might incriminate Tom, except possibly the reference to our picnic at the chalk pit. I remembered it well.
I couldn't be sure, looking back, whose idea it was; all I knew was that it had been a glorious summer's day and, I suppose, like any other i
llicit lovers, we had gone up there in search of privacy. We had made love on an old rug that Tom kept in the back of his car, covered in dog hairs. It was the first time I had ever done it in the open air. What I would give to be able to do it again with him. The sound of Ralph's voice telling me that Amy was on the phone put an end to any such further reflection. I rushed to the receiver in the hope that she had some news from Ireland.
'I think we've hit the bull's eye!' she said, gleefully. 'After three obscene calls and a man who tried to sell me a share in a racehorse, I eventually got a call this morning from the man himself.'
'How can you be sure it was him?'
'I did what you told me. I asked him the amount of wages that had been taken that day from Tom Radcliffe's yard. He sounded a bit shaken but still managed the correct answer – nineteen hundred and fifty pounds.'
'Great, that's our man all right. Will he talk to me?'
'Yes, but only on certain conditions.'
'Go on, tell me the worst.'
'He'll only meet you in Ireland; you mustn't tell the police beforehand and you've got to come on your own. And finally he wants five thousand pounds to admit publicly that he was being blackmailed by Edward.'
'Obviously this blackmail business is contagious. But five thousand pounds! Where will I find that kind of money? I've only got about five hundred in the bank and it's not as if the winners are coming in by the handful.'
'What about your percentage for winning the Gold Cup?'
'The bank's already been promised that. You see there's the additional bank loan on the cottage to keep up and clothes and food for Freddie.'
'Couldn't Ralph lend it to you?'
'I've asked enough of him already. I can't even raise any money against the cottage as it was in Edward's name and now belongs to Freddie, in trust of course.'
'You could always ask your father-in-law, or Sir Arthur,' Amy chipped in.
'You mean, do my own spot of blackmailing?'
'I'm only joking – or I think I am. Even if you do somehow raise the money, how can you trust Corcoran? For all you know he could make you hand it over in some dark lonely spot and then do a runner. Result, unhappiness.'
'I know, the same thing had occurred to me. All this stuff about coming on my own and not telling the police is pretty damned suspicious.'
'First Edward and then you?' Amy asked rhetorically. 'It's unlikely. He wouldn't have talked to me about it if he had that in mind.'
'I suppose so, but he might see it as the only way to get at me. He's not very bright, you know.'
'Does that mean you no longer want to see him? He's phoning back at three o'clock for an answer and if it's on to make the necessary arrangements.'
'No, I'm definitely going ahead. I've no option, whatever the risks. What's the time now?' I had left my watch upstairs in my bedroom.
'Ten-thirty and I'm just wondering which client I'm going to charge the last hour out to!'
'I'm sorry, Amy. I really do appreciate what you're doing for me and I'll try to pay you back one day.'
'Don't worry, I wasn't being serious. Look, why don't I come with you? Corcoran doesn't know me from Adam, or rather Eve, and provided I keep at a safe distance I can keep tabs on what's happening and at least be near at hand if he tries anything.'
'I couldn't ask that of you. You've done enough already and as you yourself just said, this could be dangerous.'
'All the more reason for me to be there. You set about trying to raise the money and I'll try and beat Mr Corcoran down on his charges. I'll be in touch after he's called back this afternoon.'
'Thank you, you're a real friend.'
'Don't embarrass me. By the way, is Saturday all right for you to rendezvous?'
'Fine. I'm not riding again until Monday and we can fly there and back over the weekend. At my expense of course.'
'We'll argue about that later. Perhaps we could go to the races before meeting him. I've never been racing in Ireland before.'
'What a great idea. Hold on, I'll have a look and see where they're running. You never know, I might even try and find someone to give me a spare ride.'
I put the receiver down and walked across the hall to the kitchen, where a racing calendar was pinned up on the wall beside the Aga. Limerick and Fairyhouse had the honour. I returned to the phone and suggested that we tried Limerick and met Corcoran in the town afterwards. Amy sounded delighted.
'It's agreed. I'll tell Corcoran we'll meet him there after the races. For the kind of money he's demanding I don't see why we can't lay down the odd condition.'
'Bravo, that's fighting talk. I'll wait to hear from you.'
* * *
I liked the idea of having a ride over there and on the basis of nothing ventured nothing gained, decided to call Willie O'Keefe, a trainer with stables in County Limerick. Willie had chatted me up over the years and had promised to give me a ride if I ever came over.
I obtained his number from directory enquiries and dialled it straight away. Willie was at home, but only just. He was on his way to the races where, he said, he had a sure thing running. He sounded delighted to hear from me and when I told him I was coming over for the weekend to Limerick he took the hint and asked if I wanted that spare ride he had always promised.
'I'd love to,' I said, 'if you've got anything entered.'
'For sure I have,' he replied in his rich Irish brogue. 'What an honour this is for the rider of the Gold Cup winner to be phoning me, a humble Irish trainer and asking for mounts.'
'Stop taking the mickey,' I replied. 'The honour's all mine.'
'I've just the thing. He's called Jimmy the One and he's entered in a two mile handicap chase. He's a stone cold certainty.'
I remembered that with Willie they always were. 'But haven't you already promised the ride?' I asked, not wanting to go round jocking somebody else off.
'No bother. It's only my nephew, Shaun, and the way he's riding at the moment even the horses are begging for the virus. I think it's a great idea and I look forward to seeing you in the weighing room before the first.'
I thanked him and spent the rest of the morning in Cirencester and then Cheltenham trying to pawn my wedding ring and a gold bracelet my grandmother had left me.
That afternoon Amy phoned me back with Corcoran's proposals. At four-thirty, I was to go to Mrs Moloney's tea rooms in Limerick, where I was to await further instructions. After ten minutes' tough negotiations Amy had been able to beat his financial demands down to four thousand pounds, two thousand up front on the day of the meeting and the remainder after he had made a statement to the police in England. It was agreed that he would travel back with us that weekend to avoid any risk of his having second thoughts and pocketing the money.
Amy herself was becoming a little sceptical.
'How do we know we can trust him? He's a self-confessed thief and for all we know may even have murdered your husband. Don't you think we should play safe and call the police in now and let them help us?'
'Are you being serious? I doubt whether the English police have any jurisdiction in Ireland, although you'll know that better than I do, and in any event Wilkinson regards this whole blackmail business as something I've dreamt up to protect Tom. Can you see the Garda offering to tail me, or for that matter Corcoran being so naive as not to notice?'
'I thought you said he wasn't very bright.'
'I did, but that doesn't mean he's not cunning. No, we're going to have to do it this way and take the risk. If you don't want to come along I quite understand, I really do.'
'Of course I want to come. It was my idea, wasn't it? I'm not going to let you go and meet this man on your own under any circumstances. What's more, I'm coming armed.' That reminded me that I'd forgotten to ask Amy about my own protection.
'What? You're bringing a gun with you?'
'Don't be ridiculous. Where could I get a gun from? I'm bringing a bottle of ammonia which, I'm reliably informed, will temporarily blind any would-be assail
ant.'
'Can you do me a favour?'
'What's that?'
'Bring two bottles with you.'
She laughed. 'And how are you getting on raising the money?'
'Pretty badly. Fifteen hundred pounds so far, but I've decided I'm going to ask my mother for a loan.'
'Can she afford it?'
'Probably not, but when she realises how much hangs on all this she'll help and she knows I'll repay her as soon as I can.'
'As long as you're sure, otherwise I'll lend you the rest. Let's just hope it's going to be money well spent.'
* * *
By Friday I had two thousand pounds in my hands – a fat wad of fifty and twenty pound notes – and I felt an irresistible urge to keep on counting it. I had spent the morning schooling two novice chasers for Ralph and my back had come through without any twinges of pain. During the week I had made no attempt to pursue any of my other leads, having reached a temporary impasse as far as Musgrave was concerned and being too afraid to risk any further contact with Brennan. I had a sneaking suspicion that it had been the jockey who had run me off the road – I had no proof, just an instinct – and I had no desire to give him a second chance to hasten my departure from this world. To my surprise, I hadn't heard from Sir Arthur Drewe. I had somehow expected that he would contact me immediately on receiving my letter to find out what I was after, but it now appeared that he was prepared to play a waiting game and possibly even to call my bluff. What could I do then? To be honest, I didn't have the faintest idea. The last person I expected to see that afternoon appeared just after five o'clock. Eleanor Pryde swept into Ralph's house as if she owned the place and asked if she could have five minutes alone with me in private. I was having a cup of tea with Ralph at the time, discussing future race plans, and I have never seen him so lost for words. Tall and refined, with a generous application of rouge on both cheeks, Eleanor conveyed an unmistakable air of authority: here was a woman who was used to giving orders and expected them to be obeyed. I agreed to her request, remarking, to Ralph's horror, that it was the first time in five years as my mother-in-law that she had ever voluntarily sought out my company for such a long period. Having been ushered unctuously by Ralph into his study – he even apologised for the mess it was in – Lady Pryde went straight into the attack. I had expected to be harangued about Freddie and asked how I could be so selfish as to want to bring him up. Not a bit of it. Her first act was to thrust out her right hand in front of me and demand: 'Where is it then?'
Declared Dead Page 12
