Deadfall (37 page)

Bending over to pick up the hat, Josie's hair had fallen forward like a curtain, obscuring her vision, and with a stab of panic Linc realised she was completely unaware of the danger.

‘Josie, look out!'

Linc lunged forward as, all around, people appeared rooted to the spot. Time seemed to slow as Josie, hearing his shout, looked up at him instead of at the vehicle.

He hit the back of the Land-Rover with both fists and one hip, in the same instant yelling at the driver to stop. The response was immediate. Even as he rebounded from the moving vehicle, staggering to remain upright, its driver stamped on the brakes, finally averting the tragedy.

Suddenly it seemed as though the rest of the world came back to life. There was a collective gasp, somebody screamed and several people swore out loud. There was even, as Linc turned to find Josie, a smattering of applause.

She was standing upright now, still clutching her hat and the soft toy, ashen-faced with shock as she stared at the vehicle that had almost knocked her down. Putting his hands on her shoulders, Linc gave her a gentle shake.

‘Josie! Look at me, sweetheart! It's all right now,' he said with quiet urgency.

With an effort she transferred her gaze to his face. She blinked, as if to restore focus, and said, ‘What happened?'

Linc heaved a sigh, pulling her into a hug, teddy bear and all. ‘Nothing, thank God!' he said. ‘Nothing.'

The Land-Rover's engine died away, the driver's door opened and a young man sprang out.

‘What the fuck's going on?' he demanded as he came forward, fright breeding aggression. Then, seeing Linc comforting Josie, ‘She all right?'

‘No, she's not all right, you imbecile!' Linc responded furiously. ‘What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?'

‘I never saw her!' the youngster protested defensively. Twenty-ish and wearing denim jeans, a tee-shirt and a padded bodywarmer, he had a shaved head and a loveheart tattooed on his bicep.

‘You didn't see her because you were on the phone,' someone from the gathering crowd called out.

Linc looked at the driver. ‘Is that true?'

Something in his low-voiced inquiry seemed to put the wind up the lad, because he backed off a step or two.

‘Is that true?' Linc asked again, more forcefully.

The young man took three quick steps, jumped
back behind the wheel and slammed the door.

Linc would have followed him, but Josie dragged on his arm and suddenly Crispin was there, in front of him.

‘Leave it, Linc! He's not worth it.'

Uncharacteristically angry, it took a moment or two for Linc to simmer down. He watched the Land-Rover pull away then said, ‘Yeah, you're right. Sorry, Bro.'

The drama over, most of the crowd began to drift away, one or two congratulating him as they passed.

Linc turned back to Josie.

Nikki was with her now. ‘Are you okay?' she asked him. ‘I think you dented his Land-Rover.'

‘I didn't feel a thing,' he said truthfully. ‘But I'd like to have dented him! Are you all right, Jo Jo?'

She nodded, her colour back to normal. ‘Thanks to you. I feel so stupid, but I was looking the other way and honestly didn't hear it.'

‘It was the loudspeaker,' Nikki agreed. ‘I didn't either.'

‘Nor me,' Crispin put in. ‘Good job Linc was on hand to do his heroic bit.'

‘Yeah, that's me,' he agreed. ‘I'll do anything to impress a crowd.'

Above their heads the public address system crackled into life again.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, once again we apologise for the delay. The cross-country phase of the competition will get underway in ten minutes. Will the first competitors please report to the stewards at the start? Thank you.'

‘Looks like I'd better go and find my mount,' Linc observed.

Leaving the three of them to walk out on to the cross-country course to find a good vantage point, he hurried back in the direction of Nina Barclay's horsebox, only to be accosted on the way by Sandy.

‘Hi. I didn't know you were here,' Linc said, not slowing but nevertheless looking round nervously for Tiger's brindle form.

‘He's shut in the lorry,' Sandy informed him, rightly interpreting his actions. ‘Yeah, I've got a pitch up the other end. All above board and legal, this time.'

‘Glad to hear it. Look, I can't stop now. I've got to warm Hobo up for the cross-country . . .'

‘Oh, okay. Well, can you come and see me at the unit sometime? Soon. You see, I think I might have found a sponsor for you.'

That stopped him.

‘You what?' Linc asked, slightly breathlessly.

‘I think I've found you a sponsor,' Sandy repeated, patently pleased with himself.

‘Wow! Who?'

‘Not now. You're in a hurry, remember? And I've left a mate looking after the stand. Can you come to the unit – say, tomorrow? About eleven?'

Linc was desperate to know more, but at that moment he was hailed from across the showground and looked round to see Nina leading Hobo towards him.

‘Yes, okay. Tomorrow, eleven o'clock. And you'd better not be winding me up!' he warned.

Sandy shook his head, all injured innocence, and Linc turned away to meet Nina. Seconds later, he was on board and, when the girth had been tightened, rode away to limber the horse up.

It was difficult to keep his mind on the task in hand whilst he did so.

A sponsor!

Money to bolster his own, barely adequate input. The prospect opened up all sorts of new possibilities. More horses, a horsebox, relief from some of the most pressing horse-related bills. If it hadn't been Sandy's doing he would be happier, though. The saddler's approach to most things was just a tad too relaxed to be reliable. Would he have briefed this potential Godsend on the full nature of the commitment?

As he was called into the start box, Linc had to make a conscious effort to put the whole thing out of his mind. The responsibility he had to Nina, Hobo and himself, was too great to permit anything but his complete concentration. In what is one of the most dangerous of sports, a momentary lapse can spell serious injury or even death. After his fall the previous week, Linc had never been more aware of that fact.

As the countdown began, he shortened his reins, settled his feet firmly in the stirrups and, last of all, set his stopwatch running. On the word go, Nina called out to wish him luck, and he was away.

Hobo was sublime. In the few weeks Linc had been riding him, he had improved more than could ever have been hoped and today never felt like putting a foot wrong. Recalling that the ride was his for the foreseeable future, Linc's heart was singing as they took the last line of three fences and galloped in a good ten seconds inside the time allowed. Unless someone topped their dressage score, which so far no one had even looked like doing, there was
now no way they could lose. It began to look as though Hobo had won his first one-day event.

When Linc set off for Shaftesbury the following morning he couldn't entirely suppress the glow of excitement he felt, in spite of his very real reservations about Sandy's reliability. Waking in the early hours, he had done a good job of convincing himself that the offer would turn out to be one made on spec, with no real understanding of what it entailed, but even so a glimmer of hope refused to be extinguished.

Outside Sandy's unit a familiar white BMW stood on the tarmac, and Linc glanced at it thoughtfully as he passed, remembering that the last time he'd seen its owner he'd been tearing a strip off Sandy.

‘Linc, hi. Come on in.'

Sandy had come to the door and now stood back to let him enter. He looked eager, Linc thought as he returned the greeting, but there was also a touch of something that could have been apprehension.

‘You okay?' he asked.

Sandy nodded. ‘Yeah, sure. Listen, this could be your big chance, mate. Don't blow it.'

That was a strange choice of words, Linc reflected, as he followed the saddler into his office. If the offer were a good one, he would certainly do his best not to blow it.

Getting up from a chair by Sandy's desk as Linc came in was the BMW's owner. He stepped forward with a smile and an outstretched hand on which several chunky gold rings were displayed.

‘Morning, Linc. I assume I can call you Linc, if
we're going to have a business relationship?'

‘Everyone calls me Linc,' he said, effectively robbing the privilege of any importance. ‘And you are?'

‘Alan Judge. Judge Haulage. Everyone calls me Al,' Judge informed him. ‘It's pointless waiting for Larry to introduce us.'

‘Sorry, Al. I
was
about to,' Sandy said. ‘Can I get anyone a coffee?'

He didn't react to Judge calling him Larry, and Linc wondered if it was his real name.

‘Not now, later perhaps,' Judge replied, answering for both of them before Linc had a chance to speak. ‘What we
would
like is a little space so we can get down to business.'

‘Not for me either, thanks, Sandy,' Linc added quietly.

‘Right. Well, I'll leave you to it, then,' the saddler said, apparently unoffended by this cavalier dismissal from his own office.

As the door closed behind him, Linc found himself a seat and sat opposite the businessman, looking at his short, thick wavy hair and well-formed, if slightly heavy features, and wondering why he was struggling to like the man. His rather autocratic manner was nothing unusual among those at the helm of large businesses, and Judge Haulage
was
a large business; Linc had seen their lorries in all parts of the country. The man plainly had a talent for making money, and was just as plainly accustomed to getting his own way. It was possible that he wasn't actually aware that he was brusque to the point of rudeness, but even more likely, in Linc's view, that he knew and didn't care.
Maybe that was what Sandy had been trying to prepare him for.

He sat back and tried to keep an open mind. After all, he hadn't got to like the man to do business with him, and offers of sponsorship hadn't exactly been flooding in so far.

Half an hour later, having discussed the proposed deal at length, as an outline and then in more detail, Linc's opinion of Judge's business acumen had been confirmed. When he'd asked what the sponsor expected to get out of the deal, bearing in mind that eventing is anything but a high-profile sport with even wins at world level rarely making it on to the national sports news, Judge had had his answer ready. His business was primarily haulage, he'd explained, but to keep his sizeable fleet of lorries on the road it had become necessary to have facilities for their maintenance and repair. The huge garage he'd set up in the Midlands had begun to branch out into lorry conversion and customising, and he was now turning an eye to the horsebox industry.

‘We're just in the process of building an even bigger workshop just outside Blandford, to service the South, and what better place to advertise than at horse shows and events?' he asked. ‘Where by the very fact of their being there, people obviously utilise horse transport. And what better way to advertise than sponsorship?'

Linc had nodded. The man certainly had a point.

With the offer mapped out their business was essentially over. Without asking Linc for a decision, Judge took it upon himself to go to the door of the office and summon Sandy.

‘All right, Larry lad? We'll have that coffee now,' he said as the saddler came back in. ‘Unless you'd like something stronger?'

‘Coffee'll be fine for me,' Linc said, strongly of the opinion that it was not up to Judge to offer him Sandy's precious whisky. ‘What's with the
Larry
?'

‘Oh. Just a stupid nickname,' Sandy said, with a scowl in Judge's direction. ‘He knows I don't like it. So, is the deal all done and dusted?' He switched the kettle on and sorted out mugs.

‘Just got to draw up the contracts, haven't we, Linc?' Al Judge said confidently. ‘I'll get my legal boys on to it at once.'

‘It's a very generous offer,' he agreed. ‘And one well worth considering.'

Some of the bonhomie slipped from the businessman's face for a fraction of a second, then he smiled again. ‘Absolutely. Always look before you leap, eh? But don't consider for too long . . . you never know, I might come up with a better way to advertise!'

Leaving the unit some ten minutes later Linc got back behind the wheel of the Discovery, unable to shake off a slight feeling of disappointment. It was, he felt, akin to the way one might feel if, after being offered a Ferrari as a gift, one found out that it was only available in yellow.

In spite of Judge's warning about not taking too long, he intended taking just as long as he needed to feel happier about the offer. With this in mind, he started the engine and set off for home.

Linc was hoping to be able to talk Judge's offer over with Josie, not because he was in any doubt about its validity – the calculations seemed sound enough
– but because talking aloud might help him sort out his feelings about being tied, however loosely, to a man that he really couldn't like. He rang her on her mobile as he had taken to doing ever since Abby's accusations had made conversing with her parents uncomfortable. This time, however, it was Rebecca Hathaway who answered.

‘Oh, I'm sorry. Is Josie there?'

‘Linc. No, she's popped out to the shops for me and left her phone behind, as usual. Shall I get her to ring you when she comes in?'

‘Please,' Linc hesitated. Rebecca's words had been civil but her voice gave away little as to how she felt about him at present. He wanted to ask her but couldn't find the words, and ended just by repeating himself. ‘Yes, please.'

When Josie returned his call, he took her to task for not carrying her phone.

‘Jo Jo, the whole idea was so I wouldn't have to bother your family at all . . .'