Time to Pay (24 page)

He ate his breakfast with this notepad propped against the marmalade jar, but couldn't really have claimed that it helped clear his mind much. The strange thing was that although it was Damien who'd made the list, at least three of the people on it had apparently never met him. So if the names weren't friends, or partners in some business venture . . .

The telephone rang, interrupting his fruitless mental wranglings, and he went out to the hall to answer it.

‘Gideon? It's Tilly.' There was an undercurrent of excitement in her voice.

‘Hello, Tilly.'

‘Have you heard about Adam Tetley?'

‘I heard he'd been taken in. Any news on that?'

‘Ah, you obviously haven't seen the papers.'

‘I don't get a paper, I read Giles'.'

‘Well, Rockley phoned yesterday. They let him go but now they've rearrested him and charged him. Gideon, they found the gun!'

‘What? Where?'

‘In a locker at a sports club. Rockley said they found the key when they were searching Adam's house, and eventually – don't ask me how – traced it to this sports club. The gun was in a kit locker, in a case.'

‘Good God! That was careless!'

‘Well, the locker wasn't held under his own name, of course. Rockley says he imagines Adam was going to get rid of the gun when the heat died down.'

‘Well, that's a result. And a relief for you, I imagine?'

‘Yes, I suppose so . . .'

‘You don't sound too sure.'

‘Oh, I don't know. I'm still finding it hard to believe that he'd actually do such a thing. I mean,
why
, after all this time?'

‘Who knows?' Gideon said. ‘Perhaps he's been harbouring a grudge ever since it happened, building on it all the time. Maybe it just took some other little thing to spark it off. What does Rockley say?'

‘Pretty much what you just said, actually. You're probably right. I suppose it's just difficult to take in when it's someone you know.'

‘Well, hopefully it'll all be over soon, and you'll be able to put it behind you and move on.'

There was a pause.

‘It sounds silly, but I almost feel guilty about wanting to move on. As if I'm sweeping him under the carpet and pretending all this didn't happen.'

‘I know how it feels, but getting on with your life doesn't mean you've put him out of your mind, Tilly. What you need to do now is concentrate on becoming one of the top trainers in the country. That would be the best memorial of all. I'm looking forward to seeing you on TV being interviewed by Clare Balding as the winning trainer of the National or the Cheltenham Gold Cup.'

‘Oh, I wish!' Tilly laughed. ‘Actually, that reminds me of my other reason for ringing; I wondered how Nero was doing, and whether we could have a go at that join-up thing, sometime soon?'

‘Yeah, sure. We could do it today, if you like. I shall be going up there in half an hour or so, if you're free?'

‘That'd be great. I'll be about an hour, I expect. Ivan'll take the last lot out for me. I've decided to offer him a permanent job. He's going to be my head lad-cum-assistant trainer. It'll only be part-time, but he seems quite chuffed about it and I think I can learn a lot from him.'

‘That's a brilliant idea. There'll be no stopping you now. OK; I'll see you later.'

Gideon put the phone down thoughtfully.

So it
had
been Tetley. He'd had the motive, the skill, presumably no verifiable alibi, and now the weapon had been found. Gideon tried to imagine the kind of festering resentment that would lead to a man hiding in the undergrowth and shooting another man dead with no warning whatsoever. He found he couldn't. He thought that, even if his
had
been the sort of temperament that could get that bitter and resentful, he would gain more satisfaction from facing the subject of his grievance and making sure he knew what he was dying for. But who was he to try and understand the mindset of a murderer?

The join-up session went really well. Tilly grasped the concept instinctively and Nero was very cooperative, with the result that Gideon suggested
that he might soon be able to return to Puddlestone Farm and go back into training.

‘You've done a brilliant job with him. He's like a different horse!' Tilly declared as they returned to the yard with Pippa.

‘Oh, no! You've discovered my secret!' Gideon joked. ‘I'd better go and fetch the real Nero.'

‘Don't bother. I'll take this one,' Tilly said, laughing. She loosened Nero's girth, then looked round as a muddy Range Rover swept into the yard. ‘Oh, here's Lloyd.'

Pippa's boyfriend had been in the yard when Gideon arrived, but left shortly after, saying he'd leave the ‘horse shrink' to his work. The words were said lightly, and Gideon couldn't be sure whether there was any real spite behind them. Now he smiled cheerfully and asked how they'd got on with the horse.

‘Fine.' It was Pippa who answered. ‘You should have stayed to watch.'

‘Well, I'm glad you're here now, anyway,' Tilly told him. ‘I've got something to ask you all. One of our horses is running at Towcester in a couple of weeks' time and his owner has hired a box for the day. Anyway, she said would I like to bring some guests along. So what d'you think? It's a really nice course.'

‘What? All of us?' Pippa asked, holding Nero as Tilly slid the saddle off.

‘Yes, as many as you like. She's a sweet little lady, quite elderly, and she hasn't got very much in the way of family. She said it would be much nicer to have a crowd. Her words, not mine!'

‘Well, it depends on the crowd,' Gideon
observed. ‘I mean, do you think she's ready for Giles?'

Ignoring him, Pippa said she'd love to go but she'd have to check her diary.

‘I used to keep a diary when I was a kid,' Gideon said, seizing the opportunity to bring the subject up. ‘My sister did, too. My mother encouraged it, she said it would be improving; I never did understand why.'

‘I didn't know you had a sister,' Tilly said.

‘I don't see a lot of her. She's a dancer, and she's married to a vet who runs a wildlife sanctuary – not far from you, actually. Hermitage Farm.'

‘Oh, yes, I've seen the sign.'

‘So, did anyone in your family keep a diary?' Gideon asked her, careful to keep his tone casual.

‘
I
didn't – it was never my thing – but Marcus used to. He was a solitary child, in some ways, and very sensitive. As far as I know, he stopped when he was about twelve. He had a sleepover and one of his friends pinched his diary and took it to school. You can imagine the humiliation!'

‘Some friend!' Gideon remarked.

‘I used to keep a diary, too,' Pippa said. ‘I wrote down all my teenage angst in it, as I remember. Horrendous; but I suppose that's what you do when you're that age and you think no-one understands how you're feeling.'

Which was exactly what Marcus had done, Gideon guessed. Away from home and feeling isolated and under stress, would it be so surprising if he had returned to the habit of childhood and kept a journal? He thought not.

Eve was waiting for Gideon when he returned wearily to the Gatehouse after an afternoon spent schooling the horses over the cross-country course at Home Farm with Pippa and Lloyd.

‘Had a good day, honey?' Eve asked in a fake American accent, reaching up to kiss Gideon as he met her in the sitting-room doorway. She wrinkled her nose. ‘Ooh, you have a distinct aroma of horse about you. Shall I run you a bath?'

‘Thank you, and one of those,' he added, indicating the glass of red wine she held.

She tutted and shook her head. ‘I'm giving you bad habits. It'll be AA before you know it.'

Their evening together was interrupted by two telephone calls.

The first was Gideon's sister, Naomi.

‘Hi, big bruv!'

‘Hello. I was just talking about you earlier.'

‘How nice.'

‘So, how are you?'

‘I'm . . . fine. We've been very busy, as usual.'

Something in her voice caught his attention.

‘OK. So what's the big news?'

‘Oh, you wretch!' she exclaimed. ‘I can never surprise you, can I?'

‘Well, you might. I don't know what it is yet.'

‘Well, how would you feel if I said you were going to be
Uncle
Gideon in seven and a half months' time?'

‘Naomi! How wonderful. Congratulations! I'd be
thrilled
to be Uncle Gideon.'

They talked for another ten minutes or so before Naomi rang off, saying she had other people to call.

‘I'll ring back in a day or two. I just wanted you to be the first to know,' she said.

‘Well, I really think you should tell Tim next,' Gideon joked. ‘OK. Speak soon, sis. Bye.'

He sat for a moment with a smile on his face before returning to Eve in the sitting room.

‘That was my sister, Naomi,' he said, gesturing over his shoulder, as if she had actually been in the hall.

‘Yes, I heard. I gather congratulations are in order, and looking at your face, there's no need to ask if you're pleased.'

‘It's great news!' Gideon said. ‘You ought to meet Naomi. You'd like her. And Tim.'

‘Ah. Meet the family,' Eve said, pursing her lips. ‘Must be getting serious. More wine?'

‘Think I might have a coffee,' Gideon decided. ‘Can I get you one?'

‘Nope. I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy, and I have no intention of spoiling it.'

Five minutes later, lying diagonally across the sofa with Eve close beside him and Bruch's Violin Concerto on the CD player, Gideon took a sip of his coffee and sighed contentedly.

‘You're really stoked about your sister's baby, aren't you?' Eve said suddenly.

‘Mm. It's great news,' Gideon murmured.

After a long pause, she asked, ‘Do you want kids, yourself?'

‘Yeah, one day.'

Eve lay very still and silent within the circle of his arm and, after a moment, he kissed the back of her head.

‘Something wrong?'

‘No, just thinking.'

‘So how was your dinner date last night?'

‘OK,' she replied.

‘An old friend, you said . . .'

‘Yeah, Trevor. Met him when I was married to Ralph. He's an artist, too.'

‘Oh? Competition.'

‘Not really. He paints huge canvases with lots of colours and gives them pretentious names like
Solitude
and
Serendipity
.'

Gideon tilted his head to look down at her.

‘Don't you like them?'

‘They're OK, but they're not genuine.'

‘What do you mean? They're copies?'

She waggled her head.

‘No. I mean his motives are purely mercenary. He slaps paint on with no real thought. Sometimes he lines up a dozen canvases and does them all at the same time – walking along the row and doing a different splodge on each, then changing the colour and going along again. He can do a dozen in half an hour. But the thing is, he's fashionable. He has maybe two exhibitions a year and always sells out. People pay tens of thousands!'

Gideon was impressed. ‘So he only needs to work a few days a year. He's got it made.'

‘He's laughing at them,' Eve complained. ‘There's no integrity.'

‘You can't blame him, though.'

‘I suppose not. The shame of it is that he's actually a very talented artist, when he puts his mind to it.'

Gideon had another sip of coffee.

‘I wondered if he was an old flame, come to reclaim you . . .'

A sharp elbow in his midriff was his answer, and then the phone rang again.

‘Oh, God. It's nearly eleven. Why don't you just leave it?' she suggested.

‘For that very reason. It might be trouble; Pippa or Tilly.' He slid her weight off him and went out to the hall.

‘Is that Gideon Blake?' A male voice, with a slight West Country burr.

‘Yes. Who's this?'

‘Arthur Willis. A friend tells me you sort out horses.'

‘That's right; sometimes,' Gideon said cautiously.

‘Oh, I hope you can help me. It's my daughter's pony, see. My wife says he has to go but Katy, she loves that pony. It'd break her heart if he had to go!'

‘What's the problem with the pony?' Gideon asked.

‘It's unpredickable, see?' Arthur Willis said. ‘Mostly he's as good as can be but sometimes he turns really nasty, and we don't know why. My wife's afraid Katy'll get hurt. Couldn't you just come and have a look? It'd break her heart if we had to get rid of him, poor little mite. My friend says you'll be able to tell what's wrong.'

‘Well, I might, but I can't promise,' Gideon said, wondering who the ‘friend' was and wishing they had been less fulsome. ‘All right, I'll come and take a look. When did you have in mind?'

‘Tomorrow? Katy's off school tomorrow.'

‘OK.' Gideon took details of the pony's
whereabouts, arranged to call the following afternoon at two and put down the receiver with the man's heartfelt thanks ringing in his ear.

‘You're a pushover,' Eve murmured sleepily, when he slid back onto the sofa beside her.

‘Tell me about it. But when it's some kid's pony . . .'

‘You're a pushover,' she reiterated firmly. ‘Now how about
I
get some attention for a change?'

GIDEON DROVE THE
Land Rover down the long bumpy track that led to Arthur Willis' rented field, his mind dwelling on his relationship with Eve.

They had fallen into bed just after midnight and, after a brief spell of passion, had lain languorous and content, watching the stars through the bedroom window and talking in the desultory fashion of lovers everywhere.