Time to Pay (8 page)

‘No, well normally you wouldn't, but Nero was different. He's very well bred and should have had a decent career on the flat, but there's just no way he was ever going to go in the starting stalls. Until Gideon started working with him, it was a major operation just to get him into a horsebox, but he's improving all the time. Damien had an incredible eye for a horse and he had this grand scheme to buy difficult horses for a song, train them on until they started to win, then sell shares to a syndicate. That way he'd still get to train them but someone else would pay the bills. Nero was the first one. Damien was very keen to help the Radcliffe Trust – in fact he'd promised them a percentage of anything Nero won. They do a wonderful job, as Gideon knows. Do you still help out there, Gideon?'

‘Yeah. Actually, I'm due there again tomorrow. Thanks, Giles,' he added as a coffee appeared at his elbow. ‘But Damien was right about Nero. He might have been bred for the flat but he jumps like a stag. I've never seen anything like it. I know Damien hoped he might be a Grand National horse.'

‘Yes, he did, and it's probably silly, but I feel if I could make something of him, I'd be doing it for Damien. Does that sound daft?'

They assured her that it didn't, and Gideon wondered who she'd get to jockey him. Brilliant
or not, Nero was never going to be everybody's horse.

By the time Tilly got up to leave, the best part of another half-hour had passed and Gideon thought she looked a lot more relaxed than she had when she'd arrived. In the main, he felt this was probably due to having shared some of her worries with someone outside her immediate family, but also, he sometimes wondered, fancifully, if the old house didn't have some kind of healing quality about it. It was as though, within its walls, one was enveloped in a warm, comforting cocoon; as if the outside world could somehow be kept at bay for a few precious moments.

Pippa had been called away to the phone, so Gideon walked Tilly out to the horsebox, accompanied by four of the five dogs. Nero was looking over his half door, shifting restlessly and tossing his head.

‘Goodbye, lad. Be good,' Tilly called. Then to Gideon, ‘You'll find a folder in the bottom of the bag with the rugs and stuff in. Damien keeps – kept – notes on all the horses. You know the sort of thing. What they're eating, what work they're doing, which items of tack we've tried, which fitness regime, veterinary notes – the lot. A complete history. I thought it might be useful, though I expect you know most of it.'

Gideon
had
been through most of it with Damien, but he thanked her, nevertheless.

They stopped by the lorry, and Tilly turned, running her fingers through her long blonde hair and looking up at him with a measure of desperation.

‘Oh, Gideon, I keep thinking when this is over we'll get back to normal. And I find I'm including Damien in that; as if this is just a temporary thing and he'll somehow be back. But then I remember it's never going to be over, and I get such a sudden rush of panic and fear that I don't feel I can cope. I just don't know how I can bear it . . .' Her blue eyes scanned his face, as if hoping to find the answer there. ‘I mean, it's bad enough losing your brother, but when he's your business partner, too . . .There seems to be no part of the day when I'm not reminded of him. Whenever I have to make a decision about anything in the yard, I find myself thinking I must check that with Damien. The lads are depressed – though they've been very supportive – and even some of the horses seem a bit below par; I think they pick up on the general atmosphere. And of course, Damien had a way with them.'

‘Yes, he did,' Gideon agreed. ‘Look, Tilly – I don't know what I can say that you haven't heard before, but the reason you'll have heard it before is because it's true. It'll take time, but you
will
get through it, you know. I'm fairly sure that the panic is normal. Just take one day at a time and – whatever happens – don't forget you've got friends here who really want to help. We're not just saying that; we mean it, OK?'

‘Thanks.' Tilly managed a smile as she swung herself up into the cab. ‘And thanks for taking Nero off my hands. I'll be in touch, but if you want to know anything, just give me a ring.'

‘Will do. And Tilly . . . Damien would have wanted you to carry on with the horses. He was very proud of his little sister, you know.'

Tilly looked up and away, out of the windscreen.

‘Did he say that?'

‘Oh, yes,' Gideon stated, and, if it wasn't the literal truth, he didn't intend to let his conscience trouble him.

Gideon's visit to the Radcliffe Trust, near Bath, was part of an ongoing programme of rehabilitation for some of the centre's most difficult horses. It was never any hardship, as he enjoyed both the challenge and the company of the Trust's excellent staff. He was a great believer in the work the centre was doing, as he knew Damien had been. If it had been necessary, he would happily have given his services for free, but Angie Bowen, the centre's energetic manager, wouldn't hear of it. She insisted that the Trust could afford to pay him, so Gideon submitted an invoice each month for a token amount that covered his travelling expenses, and duty was felt to have been done on all sides.

The centre did indeed appear to be thriving. A new block of ten stables had been built in the eight months since Gideon had first visited and, even now, work was under way on a covered school to enable work with the horses to continue uninterrupted during the winter months.

Gideon was looking at the detailed plans of the new development in the staffroom when Angie came to find him that morning.

‘'Sgoing to be quite something!' he commented, after they'd exchanged greetings. ‘Your mysterious benefactor's still coming up with the goods, then?'

‘Yes, thank goodness. Regular as prunes.' Angie was fortyish, with uncompromisingly straight, collar-length, hennaed hair, a plain – if pleasant – face, and a figure that remained stubbornly plump in spite of a punishing workload. She lived and breathed horses, and had reportedly given up a well-paid position in a bloodstock agency to run the centre and take care of just a few of the countless racehorses that she had previously seen falling by the wayside due to age, injury or just plain lack of talent. ‘It must be nearly ten months now, though whether there'll be any more now, after – well, you know . . .'

‘I'm sorry?' Gideon
didn't
know.

Angie looked a little awkward.

‘Well, I did wonder – I mean, he was always so interested in everything we were doing here – but it's probably a stupid idea. He was a smashin' fella but just because he had a couple of horses off us, doesn't mean he'd do something like that . . .'

The penny dropped. ‘You mean Damien? Surely you didn't think
he
was your fairy godfather?'

‘Well, he was the only person I could think of . . .'

‘But where on earth would he get that kind of money? I mean, I obviously don't know exactly how much we're talking about here, but it must surely have been thousands – if not tens of thousands – by now; I can see that by the work you're having done. I'm not saying his family's poor, because they're not, but even though Puddlestone has been incredibly successful, it is only a small
yard, as yet. It wouldn't make sense for him to be shelling out huge amounts like that on a regular basis.'

Angie raised her eyebrows, pursed her lips and shook her head.

‘I admit it doesn't seem likely, but who else? People are wonderfully generous, but most of our supporters are in the ten or twenty pounds league, with just the odd hundred or two, here or there. All gratefully received, but nothing like this. We'd been through a really rough patch just before this started, and I mean really rough. We were struggling to keep going, and the directors were within a whisker of throwing in the towel. That first envelope was a complete bolt from the blue – a godsend. When I finally managed to convince myself that it wasn't a mistake – that someone wasn't going to turn up and ask for it back – I just sat down and howled with sheer relief!'

‘What about one of the big trainers, or somebody that used to own one of your horses?'

‘Well, I suppose it could be. Actually, I did wonder whether it could be a syndicate, because the cash always comes in five separate envelopes inside the one big one; varying amounts in each but always the same combination and the same total.'

Gideon frowned. ‘That doesn't sound like one person then, does it?'

‘Well, no. I suppose not. But at the end of the day, money is money, however it comes, and even if it does stop now, I shall be eternally grateful to whoever it was.' She turned and led the way out into the yard.

‘I think you probably have to accept that you may never know,' Gideon said, following. ‘Now, who're we going to do first? Pumpkin or Boomer?'

‘Well, I've told Katy to get Boomer ready. Did I tell you, I've got someone coming to see him on Wednesday? Quite experienced, from what I can gather. They want him for riding-club stuff. Anyway, I thought we'd best do him while it's cloudy; you know what he's like with the flies – can't keep his mind on anything.'

‘Good thinking,' Gideon approved. ‘Let's see what kind of mood he's in today . . .'

‘I wish you and Lloyd got on better, he's a really nice guy.'

Pippa and Gideon were hosing Nero down after a fairly successful session in the schooling arena. The horse had been with them a week now, and was improving daily.

‘I've never said I didn't like him,' Gideon hedged.

‘You don't
have
to say it. It's obvious. And Lloyd's noticed, too. He asked me if I knew what he'd done to upset you.'

Blast Lloyd!
Gideon thought, turning the hose off and slapping Nero on his wet rump.

‘That'll do you,' he said, thinking that he wouldn't have got away with it when the horse had first arrived.

‘So what did you tell him?' he enquired.

‘What
could
I tell him? I said I didn't know.' She busied herself with tidying up the hose. ‘Did you know he went over to the Daniels' place the other day to see if he could help out at all?'

‘No, I didn't. What brought that on?'

Pippa rounded on him. ‘See, there you go again! He just wanted to help, of course. He's a friend. Why do you always look for something else?'

And why are you so touchy about him? Gideon could have replied, but he held his tongue for the sake of peace. His impression of the man was that he rarely did anything that didn't have some positive benefit for number one, but he wasn't about to say that to Pippa.

‘I was just surprised because I know how busy he is with the election coming up.' He untied Nero, preparatory to taking him back to his box. ‘Look, it's not that I don't like him, but we don't have to be best buddies, Pips. He's
your
friend. As long as
you're
happy, that's what matters. Come on, Nero, old boy. Let's get you in and fed.'

When he'd settled the horse, he found Pippa in the tack room.

‘Everything sorted for tomorrow night, then?' he asked, determined to steer the conversation into safer channels. Both Pippa and Giles had been working hard all week, preparing for the Sparkler launch.

‘I think so,' she murmured, her attention apparently focused on a piece of paper she was holding. ‘This is odd.'

‘What is?' Gideon went closer to look.

‘This. I found it tucked in one of the plastic pockets of Nero's case file, between two sheets of paper. It just appears to be a series of letters and numbers.'

Gideon tilted his head sideways to look.

It was a piece of lined paper with a ragged top,
such as might have been torn out of a spiral-bound notepad, and bore three columns, written in blue ballpoint. In the first column were six pairs of letters, and next to each of these were a six-digit number in the second column and then a three-digit one in the third. The top row of letters and numbers had been crossed through, and at the end of each of the others was a tick, as if someone had been checking them off, one by one.

Underneath these columns had been written, heavily underscored several times, 6–1 Against, and around the margins were a number of elaborate doodles.

‘Something to do with betting, perhaps,' Pippa said, shrugging. ‘I've never really understood the mechanics of it.' She turned the paper over but the other side was blank.

‘Maybe. I can't think it's got anything to do with Nero. Which reminds me, I've been meaning to take his file home and have a good look through it again. I'll put it in the Land Rover, so I don't forget.'

‘Better put this back where I found it, I guess. Are you going to stop for lunch?'

‘Thanks. Don't mind if I do,' Gideon said, glad the quarrel seemed to have blown over.

The following day was sunny and surprisingly warm for April, and as evening fell, the setting sun bathed the golden stone of the Priory in a warm glow and glinted on the tiny, uneven windowpanes.

The effect that greeted the guests to the Graylings Sparkler launch was magical, and exactly what Giles had hoped for.

When Gideon and Eve joined the steady stream of elegantly dressed people making their way through the arched front doorway and into the cavernous entrance hall, they heard countless exclamations of delight and Gideon basked in vicarious pride.

The guests were guided into the main hall, where ladies dressed in Elizabethan costume moved among them bearing pewter trays with glasses of ice-cold water and intriguing canapés. Soft, lilting music filled the hall, and as Gideon glanced appreciatively around, he spotted a group of three musicians at the far end. High above the growing throng, torches burned in wall sconces, throwing dancing shadows way up into the vaulted ceiling and, around the lower walls, rich tapestries hung, interspersed with an impressive array of swords, pikes and shields. The setting was perfect; even Gideon, who was comfortably familiar with the hall, was wowed by the atmosphere.