Time to Pay (11 page)

‘Elsa?'

He glanced round hopefully but there was no sign of her.

‘Now where the hell have you got to?' he muttered, going back into the hall and opening the door of his studio. Another blank.

Where had he last seen her?

In the hall, when he left at half past five. He was almost sure she'd been sitting in the kitchen doorway looking reproachful, as was her custom when he went out several times in one day. The doors and windows had all been shut, so she had to be in the house.

Deep in thought, he heard a whine, and became aware that Zebedee wasn't with him. Normally the dog shadowed him, wherever he was in the house. Another whine, and Gideon went through to the sitting room once more. Zebedee was standing on the rug in front of the wood-burning stove, ears cocked and head on one side, gazing intently at the chimney breast.

‘What're you up to, Zeb?' Gideon asked, suddenly interested. ‘What've you found?'

He went over to the fireplace and, putting one hand on the huge oak bressummer beam above it, he bent down and peered up into the gloom.

There, on a dusty, cobwebby shelf, crouched Elsa.

‘Hello, little one,' he said softly, and was rewarded with a pathetic, long-drawn-out meow.

When he reached up to lift her out of her refuge, she drew back, but the ledge was too small for her to hide, and within moments, after a brief frightened struggle, he had her in his arms.

Murmuring comfortingly, Gideon carried the cat into the kitchen and put her in her favourite place on top of the Aga. Brushing the dust and cobwebs from her sleek, tawny-flecked coat, he opened a small tin of sardines and poured her a saucer of milk, wondering, all the while, what
could possibly have sent her scurrying for such a hiding place. Surely Zebedee hadn't been chasing her? He'd never shown any inclination to do so, and Gideon suspected that if that had been the case, the dog's guilty conscience would have given the game away as soon as he got home. He often confessed to his misdemeanours before Gideon was even aware they'd been committed.

After eating two mashed-up fishes, and drinking most of the milk, Elsa settled down on the folded blanket where she normally slept, and began to wash, purring with apparent contentment. Gideon switched off the light and took himself back to his bedroom and a cooling cup of coffee.

Gideon rose late the next morning, and had a leisurely breakfast before turning his attention reluctantly to the mounting pile of correspondence in his studio. He'd got as far as sorting it, several days previously, into order of urgency, with the items nearest the top those that should have been answered over a month ago, and those at the bottom, less than a week. The whole added up to a stack that teetered precariously on the brink of sliding onto the floor from its position on the corner of his desk.

With a sigh, Gideon sat down with what remained of his second cup of coffee, picked up the top envelope and removed the contents. For a moment, he stared at the papers in his hand. It was a telephone bill. Nothing strange in that, except that he could have sworn he'd sorted it to more than halfway down the pile. Surprised, he looked for the date and found that he still had
three days before it became overdue – nowhere near urgent, then.

Frowning slightly, Gideon reached for the next item and found another more recent invoice, but then a much older one that he'd actually written ‘Urgent' on. Beneath this there were two or three envelopes, address-side down. That certainly wasn't right. He knew damn well he hadn't left them like that.

He sat back and took a sip of his coffee, then looked around thoughtfully. Everything appeared much as he'd left it, except . . . Across the room, on an easel, was a portrait of Pippa's horse, Skylark, that he was painting for her birthday and, seen in the light of day, he noticed a faint smudge mark across the nose, as if someone had walked carelessly close and brushed it with their sleeve. It was too high to have been one of the animals, even had they been in there, which, as far as he knew, they hadn't.

Eve perhaps, although she wasn't in the habit of coming into the studio on her own.

His frown deepening, Gideon opened each of the drawers in his desk.

If he hadn't specifically been looking for signs of disturbance, he probably wouldn't have noticed any because, on the face of it, there didn't appear to be anything missing. His desk was, essentially, his office, but he had no PC or laptop, and his mobile phone lived in his jacket pocket, for the most part. The desk drawers contained such unfashionable things as writing paper, pencils and pens, bulldog clips, an account book with carbon paper, and Sellotape. Never particularly tidy,
Gideon couldn't have sworn to it that anything had been moved; but the muddle just didn't look quite the same muddle he was accustomed to seeing.

The telephone rang, making him jump, and he reached out a hand for the receiver.

‘Is that Gideon Blake or a paramedic?' Eve's voice enquired dryly.

Too late, Gideon remembered his promise to call her.

‘I'm sorry. But I did survive,' he said, injecting a note of self-congratulation.

‘So I gather.'

‘Actually, I've not long been up, and the reason I forgot to call is because my headache has completely gone.'

‘And here I was, making myself ill with worry, and wondering whether I should ring there or the hospital . . .'

‘Yeah, yeah,' he said. ‘Make the most of it . . . Listen, Eve . . . did you by any chance go into my studio when you were here last?'

‘Er . . . no, I don't think so, but I might have done. Why?'

‘Well, remember that huge pile of mail I was sorting through when you arrived the other day?'

‘The one you kept swearing at?'

‘That's the one. Well, now it's unsorted.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, it's all higgledy-piggledy again. I left it ready to deal with, in order of importance, and now it looks as though someone's knocked the whole lot onto the floor and picked it up again in a hurry.'

‘Well, it wasn't me,' Eve said positively. ‘I'd have remembered that. One of the animals?'

‘And picked it up?' Gideon queried, sceptically.

‘Ah, yes. See what you mean.'

‘And there's another thing.' He told her about finding Elsa hidden in the inglenook. ‘Something frightened her,' he finished.

‘You think someone broke in?'

‘Well, got in somehow. There's no obvious sign, but I might go and check again.'

‘But have they taken anything? What do you think they were looking for?'

‘I've absolutely no idea,' he admitted. ‘I've only just discovered this, so I haven't really looked to see if anything is missing. They didn't take my electricity bill, more's the pity!'

After he rang off, he sat staring into space for a few moments. He couldn't really imagine what might be missing. He had a fairly good music system but no TV, video or DVD player.

His camera!

In a flash, he was on his feet and heading for the sitting room, where his state-of-the-art digital camera was kept out of sight in a cupboard, along with several hundred pounds' worth of lenses.

It was still there, and so were the lenses, nestling in their case.

What then?

Why break in, if not to steal?

He recalled his conversation with Eve, and set off, with Zebedee at his heels, to recheck all the windows and doors for signs of entry.

There were none.

The only possibility he could see was the bathroom window, which didn't fit as closely as it should and could conceivably be opened from the outside by someone with a ladder and the appropriate tool. But that would presuppose that the person in question knew about it, and it certainly wasn't obvious from the ground.

Shaking his head in bewilderment, Gideon made a mental note to remind Giles about the window, and went back downstairs.

‘Will you call the police?' Eve had asked before he rang off. But what was he supposed to tell them? Somehow he didn't think they'd get overexcited about an untidy pile of correspondence and a frightened cat. He was a fair way to thinking it was a product of his blow to the head, himself.

Glancing unenthusiastically at the paperwork, he consulted his watch and decided it was probably time he thought about going up to the Priory. Tilly Daniels was due to come and see how Nero was progressing, and he wanted to be there.

The horse did them proud. His general demeanour was much calmer now, and although he was by no means problem-free, his progress over the nine days he'd been in the Priory yard augured well for the future.

With Pippa and Tilly following on foot, Gideon rode Nero out of the yard and round the back of the stables to the conifer-screened outdoor school behind. One of Nero's foibles was a tendency to nap, or baulk, at leaving the yard, but today, although Gideon felt his slight hesitation as he passed under the stone arch, he doubted whether
either of the girls would have noticed it. Once in the railed-off area, the horse didn't put a foot wrong. Gideon put him through his paces, doing a warm-up, a little elementary dressage, and finishing over two low jumps that Pippa had erected across the diagonal of the rectangle.

It was only the second time he'd jumped the horse, but Nero gave him a wonderful feeling and it occurred to him that if he didn't ever make good on the track, he might prove to be a terrific showjumper or eventer, given time. As he began to slow the horse up, Pippa called out, ‘Keep him going, Gideon. I'll pop it up a peg or two.'

Obediently Gideon sent Nero on round the outside of the school, concentrating on keeping him calm and collected, and it wasn't until she called for him to come again, and he swung into the turn, that he saw just how high she'd raised the poles.

Gideon had never been more than a hobby rider. Although his behavioural work sometimes called for him to climb aboard, this only normally involved ensuring that the horse would perform the basics, such as hacking across country, behaving in traffic, and any other everyday situation it might be having difficulties with. He'd never, in his life, faced a jump the size of these two, and wondered why Pippa had put them so high.

He was given little time to consider it, for, whatever other problems Nero might have, jumping wasn't one of them. He saw the first obstacle and was away, finding his own stride, bunching his quarters and sailing over. In the nick of time, Gideon shifted his weight forward, sliding his hands up the brown neck to give
the horse the freedom to stretch, and they touched down on the other side in perfect harmony. Two strides later, the performance was repeated, and Gideon turned the horse in a circle before riding it back to the gate, where he saw that Giles had now joined the two girls. They were all smiling.

‘Wow!' Gideon exclaimed, as he drew to a halt. ‘Suddenly the Grand National doesn't seem such a wild ambition! That was all down to him, that last time; he's a natural.'

‘He's not the only one,' Tilly observed. ‘You didn't look too shabby yourself!'

‘Just what I keep telling him!' Pippa put in. ‘But he doesn't believe me. He's never had a lesson in his life.'

‘Do you want to ride him?' Gideon asked Tilly, feeling it was high time to change the subject. Every now and then, Pippa tried to persuade him that he was good enough to compete, and he had no interest in the concept whatsoever.

‘I'd love to, if you don't think it'll upset him.'

‘No, I don't think so. Just keep your hands as light as you can; too much contact panics him at the moment. I rode him in a headcollar when he first came in to the Trust.'

‘That would cause a stir at Aintree!' Tilly laughed, pulling her crash hat on.

With his new rider on board and the stirrup length adjusted, Nero moved off willingly enough and, on the whole, behaved well, but after a few minutes it became clear that some of his self-doubt was creeping back in.

Even Giles noticed it.

‘He looks kind of worried,' he said, watching their progress.

‘He is,' Gideon agreed. ‘He's a very insecure person.'

Tilly and Nero approached, trotting down the side of the school, the horse's ears flicking back and forth nervously and his stride noticeably shortening.

‘He feels a little bit tense,' she called as they passed. ‘Do you want me to stop now?'

‘Just pop him over the jumps, he'll enjoy that,' Gideon suggested.

She nodded and sent Nero on into a canter, her long blonde hair flopping up and down on her back with the rhythm of his stride. Gideon hadn't seen her ride before – other than in and out of the yard at Puddlestone – and was impressed by her. If anything, he thought her a better rider than her brother had been; she had more sympathetic hands.

As Nero approached the fences again, his uncertainty left him. His ears pricked forward, his eyes became eager and his whole attention was focused on the job in hand. Tilly sat quietly, leaning forward as the horse took off, her legs close and still, and her hands giving as he stretched.

‘That was amazing!' she said, pulling up beside them. ‘He's a different horse when he sees a jump. What a talent! I can see why Damien was so excited about him but, having said that, he didn't go as well for me as he did for Gideon, did he?'

‘I call him the witchdoctor,' Pippa said. ‘All my horses go better for him than they do me; it's infuriating!'

‘He's basically insecure,' Gideon told Tilly. ‘We
just have to get him to see you as his herd leader. Perhaps, when you've got time, we could try join-up. It's the basis of all animal psychology, really.'

To his relief, Tilly showed no cynicism. ‘Oh, right. I saw a demonstration, once. It was fascinating. How long will we need?'

‘Not long for the actual join-up session,' Gideon said as she dismounted, ran the stirrups up and loosened the girth. ‘But you'll need to follow it up; build on it, and really give him a chance to bond with you.'