Taking the Fall (14 page)

He emptied his glass of champagne. His hands were actually shaking. As his glass was refilled by a servant, it was trembling. He knew he was going to have to get a grip of himself. He took another drink and excused himself, finding his way to an enormous bathroom. There he looked at himself in the mirror and loosened his starched collar a little. He held his hand out in front of the mirror. His fingers still shook. Hatred was doing this to him, hatred of a passionate and thrilling kind. He was actually under the roof of one of his enemies, and was in the very same room as all three of them. He had an urge to trash things. He had to control himself, to save himself from committing some small act of vandalism, to bide his time. He had to disguise his feelings and shut his mouth, however bitter a game it was. He was going to have to ride covered up, as Petie Quinn would say.

He didn’t get much time before he had a chance to practise. Just as he turned to lock the bathroom door it opened and Duke Cadogan swept in. But where Duncan expected hostility, Duke was utterly charming.

‘Duncan!’ he said, holding out a large manicured and beringed hand for shaking. ‘You must think me so rude that I haven’t had a chance to say hello yet. But honestly, I have so many guests here tonight – not all of them as interesting as racing people, but I have to be the good host to everyone equally – you know how it is, don’t you.’ He pumped Duncan’s hand. ‘Anyway, good to meet you finally.’

His accent was cut-glass. Duncan understood that he’d been educated at Eton before going on to Oxford. It was a different world, but Duke seemed very good at putting the jockey at ease.

‘Is Lorna looking after you properly?’

‘She is, thank you.’

Duke looked over his shoulder, as if someone else might come in. He lowered his voice and touched Duncan’s elbow. ‘I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. I’m a bit of an anxious fellow when it comes to my daughter, you know? I shouldn’t have set those chaps on you. Bad form. Can you forgive an overprotective father?’

‘Of course I can.’

‘Splendid fellow! Now, I hope you’re getting stuck into the Krug out there. Understand it’s one of the few things a jockey can drink without putting on weight!’

‘I’m doing my best with it.’

‘Racing tomorrow?’

‘Not for me.’

‘Really? Perhaps you’re not riding for the right people. We’ll have to have a conversation about that. Anyway, I need the little boys’ room, so I’ll catch up with you later.’

Duncan left the bathroom feeling slightly dazed by the charm offensive. Surely Cadogan knew that he was Charlie’s son? Was it just possible that he hadn’t put the two things together? Or was he just good at doing that thing about keeping your enemies close?

He made his way through the guests to find Lorna. As he did so, Sanderson squeezed past him, putting his mouth close to Duncan’s ear to say, ‘Boom!’

Keep doing that
, was Duncan’s thought.
You’re telling me what you fear most.

Christie made her way behind Sanderson, with her nose in the air.

Duncan spent the evening watching people. Not so anyone would notice; but he took it all in. He could pretty much detect who was in Cadogan’s inner circle, which of course included Sanderson and Osborne. There were a few minor celebs who shared jokes with them all, but even amongst those, he could tell who was intimate and who was just decoration. Midnight approached. One thing Duncan couldn’t stomach was the idea of all the air-kissing that would happen.

He whispered in Lorna’s ear: ‘I’d like some fresh air. Let’s take a bottle and sit outside to see the New Year in. Just me and you.’

Lorna’s eyes glittered. She got up, grabbed a bottle of Krug and led Duncan by the hand. ‘Bring two glasses. Let’s get a coat.’

The two men on the door had given up their posts. The night was chilly and cloudless, and the stars were strong in the sky. The lawn in front of the house was floodlit. Lorna tottered on the gravel in her high heels and led Duncan around the corner, where they sat on a low wall. In the middle of the grass in front of them was a replica of the statue of Eros in Piccadilly Circus. They popped the Krug and filled the glasses.

Duncan looked at his watch. ‘We’ve got ten minutes.’

Lorna hugged her coat around her shoulders and snuggled closer. She kissed him lightly. ‘I wish you could love me a bit,’ she said.

‘I do love you a bit.’

‘I wish you could love me a lot.’

‘I don’t have a lot.’

It was true. He had a chip of ice in his heart. He looked at Lorna gazing at him with doe eyes and he was worried she’d got it bad. He didn’t hate her at all. In fact he was growing to like her more all the time. But he felt bad for using her.

‘What do you think about? You always seem a bit elsewhere.’

‘I was thinking about my dad. I went round to see him tonight before coming here. He’s not doing too well.’

It was true. He’d called round before coming to the Cadogan party, ostensibly so they could both have a laugh about how Duncan looked in a tuxedo, but really to check that his dad had company. New Year’s Eve triggered some unhappy memories for the old man. Duncan had offered to spend the evening with him, but Charlie wouldn’t hear of it. Grey Gables was having its own knees-up and there was a rumour that one of the old boys had been brewing illicit hooch. Charlie reckoned he had a chance of pulling one of the old birds. It wasn’t a party for young folk, he had said, and added with crinkly eyes that Mrs Solanki was going to be there.

They’d had a drink together and toasted each other. Things had looked fine until Charlie got out of his chair and started looking for something in a file of papers he kept in a drawer. ‘Before you go, Duncan, I want you to see this. It’s a letter I’ve had. From the Jockey Club.’

Duncan’s heart had sunk. That letter was almost five years old. He knew its contents. He also knew Charlie wouldn’t find it because it had been torn to shreds years ago. He’d tried to settle his dad, but Charlie had become more and more agitated looking for the letter, until finally he’d exploded with frustration. ‘Who the fuck are they anyway, the Jockey Club? Did I elect them into office? Did you? Did anyone? Self-appointed rich toffs living off the fat of the sport, chortling into their glasses of port and looking after each other. This fucking lord and that fucking duke. Clean up the game? It’s like the Royal Navy trying to get rid of the queers on board; they’d have to start with the officers, wouldn’t they? Well his lordship can come and lick the grey hairs off my arse before I’ll go down there and sit in front of their committee.’

Charlie was reliving his old outrage, as he often did. It was like a thread from a woollen cardigan snagged on the barbed wire of a memory, and it pulled him out of shape. And the barbed-wire hook was the letter from the Jockey Club.

Duncan had managed to calm his father. He always did this by pouring a drink and getting Charlie to sit down. Then he would get on his knees, unlace his father’s shoes and slip them off so that he could rub those old feet. It almost always worked. Foot-rubbing was something he’d done for Charlie since he was a small boy. He’d said to hell with the party, he’d stay here with his dad, see the new year in together. But Charlie wasn’t having that. Get along with you, he’d said. Find a girl and steal a kiss.

‘I’d like to meet your dad,’ Lorna said, snuggling up to him.

They heard the guests inside starting to count down from ten. Then there was a big cheer from indoors. Someone half a mile away fired a rocket into the air. Lorna leaned in for a kiss and Duncan felt suddenly protective towards her.

A voice in his head said,
Stop being a sap
.

She put her hand inside his trousers and they kissed some more. Then someone stumbled out of the front door, so she took her hand away. A figure in silhouette stepped round the corner and without seeing them lit up a cigar. He stood there puffing on his cigar, looking up into the cold night sky, then, as if an animal instinct told him he was being watched, turned and noticed them.

‘Young lovers!’ he said jovially.

It was George Pleasance, the importer and purveyor of high-quality cocaine. He came across and sat down next to them, tugging at the knees of his trousers as he positioned himself on the low wall. He leaned across and gave Lorna a peck on the cheek. ‘Lorna, aren’t you going to introduce me to this handsome young bloke?’

‘This is Duncan. Duncan, meet George.’

They shook hands. ‘And what does Duncan play in the band?’

‘Duncan’s a jockey.’

‘A jockey! Well, we like jockeys.’ He reached into his pocket. ‘Have a cigar.’

‘No thanks.’

Pleasance flicked his head, encouraging Duncan to take one anyway. He smiled and flicked his head again. Duncan relented and Pleasance struck a match for him, then puffed away on his own cigar, smiling at the younger man.

Duncan felt uncomfortable, so he said, ‘Having a breather from the party?’

Pleasance said, ‘A man can only take so much yak yak yak.’

For a man who didn’t like the yak yak yak he asked Duncan quite a few questions about who he had ridden for in the past and who he was currently riding for. Then he complained about the cold and said he was going back inside, but not before telling Duncan that he should feel free to come to him for
anything.

‘Anything,’ he said again. ‘Anything at all.’ He produced a business card and stuck it in Duncan’s top pocket.

After he’d gone, Lorna said, ‘Charming man, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. He is. Hard to resist.’

‘That’s how he gets them.’

‘Gets who?’

‘All of them. Jockeys. Trainers. Owners. Dancers. Pop stars. You should tear up that card.’

Duncan looked deep into her eyes. ‘It’s chilly. Shall we go back inside?’

Some of the guests were already preparing to leave, especially those who had a racing day ahead of them. Lorna and Duncan stood near the door as people said their tipsy goodbyes. William Osborne left without having said a word to Duncan all evening, and Duncan wondered whether he too had failed to make the connection. Sandy Sanderson also pushed his way past without a farewell, but Duncan knew that was a calculated snub.

Trailing a little behind her husband Christie Sanderson said, ‘Nice to meet you again, Duncan.’ She offered a kiss on the cheek and a handshake. Duncan felt a tiny pellet pressed into his hand, and under cover of the kiss she whispered, ‘He’s away for a week in Saudi.’ Then she disappeared along with a group of other party guests.

‘You know what?’ Lorna said after they’d gone. ‘I think Christie Sanderson has the hots for you.’

‘You’re joking. What makes you say that?’

‘I saw her looking at you.’

‘Really? But she’s a married woman.’

‘Ha!’ said Lorna. ‘Ha!’

10

C
hristie answered the door in a flimsy, floaty off-the-shoulder sleeveless dress that revealed her long naked arms and fell halfway to her delicate knees. Her short blond hair showed off her tanned shoulders and advertised her cornflower-blue eyes. She wore slingback heels that put her four inches taller than Duncan.

Duncan stepped inside and waited for her to close the door. She blinked at him, so for that provocation he pushed her against the wall and kissed her. She responded by slipping her tongue in his mouth. Still kissing her, he pinned her arms up over her head with one hand, pressing her hard against the wall and pulling the top of her dress down with his free hand. She wasn’t wearing a bra, so her small, beautiful breasts were exposed. Her nipples were already erect. They were like brown berries. He stopped kissing her and shaped his mouth around her nipple instead, sucking hard.

‘You don’t hang around, do you?’ she managed to say.

He answered by licking her other breast, then sucking the nipple until she gave a little squeal. Then he reached under her dress and swiftly yanked down her knickers. He fell to his knees, parting her legs slightly, and she helped him by stepping out of her knickers. Then she lifted the dress over her head and tossed it down the hallway. It had taken him twenty-five seconds to get her naked but for her shoes. He plunged his tongue deep inside her.

Christie wound her fingers into his hair as he licked at her. He drew back for breath, nibbling at the tawny inside of her thighs, sucking at her tanned skin.

‘Don’t mark me,’ she said. ‘Don’t leave any marks.’

He stood, kissed her again and then swept her up in his arms. With her clinging to his neck, he carried her through to the lounge. A huge tan leather corner sofa dominated a room carpeted in white pile so deep it could have prompted air sickness. He laid her on the sofa. She looked slightly dazed. He kissed her again. The scent of her mixed with her perfume was almost enough to make him pass out.

She seemed to wake up and instantly yanked his pullover and T-shirt over his head in one movement. Duncan stood up so that she could unzip his jeans and work his trousers and underpants down. There was a moment of comedy when he couldn’t get his shoes unlaced, until finally he tore them off and stood naked before her. She grabbed the bell-end of his hard cock and hungrily slipped it into her mouth.

He knew he should wait, be patient, savour her, take his time, but he couldn’t stand it any longer. He stepped back from her and pressed her on to the sofa, parting her long legs. She was supple, like a dancer, and she spread her toned legs wide for him. Something about the fold in the back of her knee maddened him and he licked and bit at it. If this were a race, he would wait, but she was hot inside, and ready to come; it seemed too easy. The moment he reached down and stroked her with his fingers, she did come, noisily, gasping, shouting, pressing hard against the rolled curve of the sofa seat to push herself further on to him.

They were both soaked in sweat. Her tanned skin gleamed with tiny beads of perspiration and it made him want to lick her more. Then he looked up and realised that the walls of the room were decorated with blown-up photographs of Sandy Sanderson: Sandy jumping; Sandy with a trophy; Sandy mud-splattered; Sandy mounting and Sandy dismounting. The entire room was like a religious shrine to the shit, and he hadn’t even noticed. The images made him go soft for a moment; then he recovered and fucked Christie hard. She bucked and squealed under him.