Cut Throat (43 page)

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Authors: Lyndon Stacey

BOOK: Cut Throat
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Danny was delighted with the whole idea and Ross smiled, remembering the boy's determination to become a steeplechase jockey. At this rate he would be after the job of second rider in the Oakley Manor yard.
And why not? he thought, watching how easily the fifteen-year-old managed the bouncy, excitable mare. The lad had a way with horses and they responded well to him. All he needed was experience.
After the session, as Danny was hosing down the mare to cool her, Ross was sitting on the edge of the water trough, daydreaming and feeling a hundred and one, when Franklin's new Range Rover swept into the yard, bearing not only him but Darcy and Peter as well.
Ross limped across to meet them and was greeted with warmth and concern by Franklin.
‘It's good to see you up and about, but are you sure you should be walking on that leg? It looks pretty painful.'
‘Sure. It's okay, just a bit stiff,' he lied.
‘I should never have let you ride Woody after that fall,' Franklin said, shaking his head regretfully. ‘Why on earth didn't you say something?'
‘I honestly didn't feel that bad,' Ross assured him, then, feeling that a change of subject was probably called for, ‘Look, Danny and I were just going in for a cup of coffee. Why don't you join us? Maggie's been baking.'
‘Those are the magic words,' Franklin said. ‘There is nothing we Richmonds like better than Maggie's home-made scones and gingerbread. Isn't that right, Peter?'
The boy smiled a little wanly from the back seat of the Range Rover where Darcy was preparing to lift him out.
‘He's feeling a bit under the weather. Just been for a physio session,' Franklin explained.
‘Oh, bad luck, kid,' Ross said with real sympathy. ‘It's pretty much like hell, isn't it?'
Peter nodded. ‘Did you cry?' he asked. ‘When you had it?'
‘Oh, buckets!' Ross assured him.
Peter surveyed him doubtfully, then grinned. ‘I bet you didn't.'
‘Well, only when no one was looking.'
‘Come on, young 'un,' Darcy said, scooping Peter up. ‘Let's go see what Maggie can find for you, shall we?'
They all made to follow but hearing the clatter of hooves in the lane, Ross and Franklin turned back, and presently Lindsay, Bill and Sarah rode in. With Danny's help the horses were soon settled and the whole crowd made their way to the cottage for coffee.
Maggie was in her element with eight people in her kitchen. She produced quantities of fruitcake and scones, and poured coffee in varying colours and degrees of sweetness. Shortly after everybody had found a place to perch, the door opened and Roland looked in.
‘Is this a private party or can anyone join in?' he asked, and without waiting for an answer, came in. Everybody shifted up good-naturedly to make room.
‘Don't squash the invalids!' Franklin warned. ‘Now tell me, Ross, how is it, really?'
Before he could form a reply, Lindsay broke in. ‘He won't tell you, Frank. You're wasting your time. It's this macho American hang-up he has. He could be at death's door and all he'd say would be, “Oh, I'm doin' fine.”'
She mimicked Ross' accent perfectly and he joined in the general laughter, glad of the diversion. He wasn't used to being molly-coddled and had ridden for several weeks in the States with a broken collarbone without anybody even knowing.
But Franklin wouldn't have it. ‘No,
really
, Ross?'
His mouth twitched. ‘Oh, I'm doin' fine,' he drawled and laughter broke out anew.
Only Darcy seemed unamused. Strangely, he was scowling at Peter, who had cheered up no end and was laughing louder than anyone. After a moment, Darcy seemed to sense Ross' scrutiny, smiled at him and relaxed.
The telephone rang and Maggie went to answer it. Lindsay started to make more coffee, and halfway through the making of it, James arrived and was called in. Lindsay kissed him affectionately as she passed by handing round mugs, and Ross felt a prickle of jealousy.
‘I didn't know you were here,' James said, settling next to her on the arm of her chair. ‘I called at your parents' house. I thought we were going to Winchester for that exhibition.'
Lindsay put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, James, I'm sorry! I totally forgot. Forgive me? The thing is, with Ross out of action they need some help here.'
‘Yeah, well, you could have let me know.'
It was the first time Ross had seen James even slightly impatient with her but he couldn't really blame him. For someone who didn't ride, Lindsay's preoccupation with the yard and its business must have been sorely trying at times.
She looked downcast. ‘How can you ever forgive me?' she asked him with a lost-puppy look.
James was human. He relented.
Moments later, Maggie reappeared. ‘That was Doreen at the pub,' she announced to the room in general. ‘A terrible thing happened in the village last night. You know little Alice Ripley from the Post Office?'
Most of them nodded.
‘Well, she was stood at the bus stop opposite and some maniac drove straight into her. They say he was doing sixty miles an hour! Poor kid didn't stand a chance. Sixteen she was. Just had her birthday last week, poor little mite.'
There were general expressions of shock and sympathy. Franklin glanced uneasily at Peter to see how he was taking the news. He didn't appear unduly distressed.
‘What's more,' Maggie went on with a certain morbid relish, ‘they caught the blighter. He'd been drinking. Three times over the limit, he was!'
There was a sharp crack as Roland slammed his mug down on the wooden table and stood up. As he released it, the mug handle clinked on to the scrubbed pine to lie beside the bowl. He looked down at the broken pottery with slight surprise, as if unaware of having been the cause.
‘They don't make things like they used to, do they?' he joked, the mask slipping back into place. ‘Sorry, Maggie. Look, I must go. Thanks for the coffee.'
As the door closed behind him, those remaining exchanged glances.
Maggie was stricken with remorse.
‘Oh, I'm sorry, love!' she exclaimed, turning to Lindsay. ‘I didn't think . . .'
‘It's not your fault,' Lindsay reassured her kindly. ‘I know it was eight years ago but Roland still finds it hard to accept what happened to Aunt Caroline and Harriet. They were a really close family and it's just such a waste when it happens like that.'
‘The worst of it is that people don't ever seem to learn,' James agreed. ‘You hear about it happening again and again . . .'
Franklin evidently decided that this conversation was not ideal for his convalescing son and stood up, announcing that he had things to do before lunch. His move signalled the break-up of the gathering.
Lindsay and James left, presumably to get ready to go to their exhibition, with Lindsay voicing her intention of returning in the morning.
Franklin departed for the main house and some business with the Colonel, and Peter asked if he could watch the horses being fed. Bill offered to wheel him round the yard, so Darcy fetched his wheelchair from the Range Rover.
When feeding was complete and Clown plied with extra carrots from his young owner, Peter was wheeled back into the yard, where Darcy was found to be engaged in what appeared to be a very heated discussion with Danny. They broke off immediately they saw the others and Danny marched off towards the cottage, scowling.
Coming back from the house, Franklin passed Danny and looked curiously at Darcy. ‘What was that all about?' he asked, as he bent to lift Peter out of the chair.
Darcy shrugged, looking quite upset.
‘Danny says he gave me a videotape to show to you and Peter. The one he's been filming of the horses. But I haven't seen it. He says he left it on the passenger seat of my car the other day, but he didn't. Or at least I never found it if he did.'
Peter, peering over his father's shoulder, looked disappointed.
‘Was that the one where Ross rode Telamon and he was like a bucking bronco?'
‘I don't know. It could have been,' Darcy said dismissively, then smiled at his young nephew. ‘Never mind. I'll buy him another tape if he doesn't find that one and we'll make you up another film.'
‘But it won't have Telamon's bucking bronco act on it, will it?' Peter was unusually persistent.
‘No, but we'll find something just as good,' Darcy said, adding, ‘I could murder Danny.'
‘I expect it'll turn up,' his uncle said soothingly. ‘Come on, it's high time we were on our way.'
As Bill and Ross waved goodbye to the Richmonds and made their way back to the cottage, the stable manager wasn't happy.
‘Danny's such a cloth-head, he's probably still got the tape somewhere himself,' he said. ‘But whatever the case, he should know better than to argue with owners like that. I'll have to speak to him about it.'
Ross wasn't sure. It was true Danny could be absent-minded at times but he wasn't stupid and was invariably truthful. If he was adamant that he'd left the videotape in Darcy's car, then he had. It was probably Darcy who had misplaced it and didn't want to be the one to disappoint Peter.
After lunch, Maggie dragged Bill off under sufferance to visit friends in Dorset and Ross spent the first hour or so of the afternoon sitting on the school fence watching Sarah and Danny exercise Woody and Fly.
When he judged that they had done enough, he announced his intention of driving to the saddler's to pick up a saddle that was in for repair. He asked them to have Telamon ready for him to lunge when he returned.
It was a yard rule that no one except Bill or Ross should go in with the stallion on their own because, however well behaved, a stallion is always a stallion and by nature unpredictable. If Danny or Sarah needed to attend to him, they had to do so together or with another person present.
Driving the jeep was not the height of luxury at the best of times, but with ribs that protested at every bump in the road and a knee that was daily less co-operative about bending, it was getting to be a decided grind. Ross began to think seriously about an automatic.
Sitting in the car park at the saddler's, he called McKinnon on his mobile.
McKinnon's answerphone said he was out and could it take a message?
Ross explained briefly about Roland's theory with regard to his fall at the show and his own vague suspicions with regard to Roland. As he switched off he saw a familiar figure filling the tank of a racy black hatchback at a petrol station on the far side of the road.
At the same moment, Roland looked up and saw Ross. He waved and the American waved back.
Ross started the jeep, thinking that wherever he was these days, Roland never seemed to be far away, and wondered idly about coincidence and intent. He wondered also why Roland had forsaken his Aston Martin. Too conspicuous, perhaps?
Such was his state of mind that he checked his rear-view mirror several times as he drove on, but the black hatchback didn't appear.
You're getting paranoid, he told himself severely. Snap out of it.
Because of roadworks and the inappropriately named rush hour, Ross was twenty minutes later than he had estimated. When he turned back into the yard Telamon's door stood open and neither the horse nor its minders were anywhere to be seen.
He cut the jeep's engine and left it where it was, almost immediately hearing a flurry of powerful hoofbeats in the school. Ross hurried towards the sound, an uneasy premonition settling on him.
At the gate he was met by a highly excited stallion with reins and stirrups flying. He deftly caught a rein as the horse made to swing away again and peering past the animal, could see Danny climbing to his feet, a rueful expression on his face.
‘What in hell's name do you think you are playing at?' Ross demanded thunderously.
Danny flushed red and came over. ‘I was just – that is, I thought I could ride him. I was going to surprise you . . .' His voice tailed off unhappily as he saw the look on Ross' face.
‘And whose horse is this?'
‘I never meant any harm. I wouldn't have let anything happen to him.'
‘Whose?' Ross repeated sharply.
‘Roland's,' Danny said miserably.
‘Did
he
say you could ride him?'
Danny shook his head.
‘Then what on earth possessed you?'
‘I'm sorry.' The boy was looking at his feet, fiddling with the strap on his crash hat. ‘I wanted to see if I could ride him. Looks like I can't,' he said then with the ghost of a self-conscious grin. His jeans and shirt were plastered with wet sand.
Ross opened the gate and let himself into the school. In spite of his fury, he had to admire the lad's courage. And after all, it was something he had done a time or two when he was younger, stealing a ride on a forbidden horse. He'd got caught once, too, and thrashed for his disobedience.
‘Are you hurt?'
Danny shook his head.
‘Well, the worst thing you can do is let him win,' Ross said after a moment. ‘You'd better get back up. Then sit quietly and do exactly what I say. Don't touch his mouth. Think positive and picture him walking slowly. Horses are highly telepathic, as you know.'
Danny came round to the near side and bent his left leg at the knee, looking hopefully at Ross. With one hand on the reins Ross tossed him aboard the huge chestnut, where he sat looking puny and wholly impotent.
Ross laughed. ‘You've got guts, I'll give you that! Now just walk him quietly. Don't ask for anything more. He's being very good at the moment and that's what we want him to remember when we finish.'

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