Mount! (72 page)

Bao, who also loved Taggie, wanted to broach the subject of her and Jan, but quailed seeing Rupert’s narrowed eyes and drumming fingers. Stifling a yawn, Bao asked: ‘You are good man so why Cosmo and Isa hate you?’

‘That’s very ancient history, but I’m not sure why Wang detests me so much.’

‘Because women like you too much and you and my father and Edwards Valent have plans for racing in China. So does Wang. He has done too many bad things to stay in Zimbabwe, so he want power back in Beijing to join government and become first Minister of Racing.’

Rupert shook his head. ‘OK, but why does Jan hate me so much – unless he’s simply being paid by Wang and Cosmo to take me out?’

As Bao took another slug of vodka and a deep, deep breath, a flush stole across his face.

‘I should not say but I think Jan is very, very madly loving of Mrs Campbell-Black.’

‘Go on,’ said Rupert and then, five minutes later: ‘I’m going to call the police.’

Rupert then rang Chief Inspector Gablecross, with whom he’d had an on/off relationship when Gablecross had been tracking down the murderer of Cosmo Rannaldini’s father during the filming of
Don Carlos
. The Chief Inspector was actually in
the thick of another big murder hunt but promised he and his men would be over as soon as possible.

Having thanked Bao yet again, Rupert insisted that he must stay on and that his mother must use Penscombe as a safe house. He then checked on Taggie and found her asleep, a smile on her lips, Quickly’s World Cup blanket spread over her as a counterpane and Forester lying beside her.

She looked so lovely yet so frail. His heart blackened against Jan. He didn’t trust anything while the bastard was still free. He had better check on Safety Car.

He found Marketa sitting in the straw beside him.

‘Safety is Wee-I-Pee now,’ she whispered. ‘Look at him on Facebook.’

The sun had gone behind dark-grey clouds; fog rose from the valley after a night of rain. Where was Banquo, normally his shadow? He hadn’t seen him for hours. On the way down to the yard, he was accosted by Dora.

‘We’ve got to organize a press release to announce Safety’s return, and Quickly hasn’t had his victory parade yet. He’s won the World Cup, for goodness’ sake. Penscombe expects.’

‘Don’t be so fucking stupid.’

‘Well anyway. Gossip, gossip, gossip.’

‘I haven’t got time.’

‘You will for this. You know Rufus Rutshire asked Eddie to ride in a charity race to commemorate the anniversary of James Northfield’s death?’

‘Eddie mentioned it. Frankly I’ve had more important things to—’

‘Well, Rufus has discovered some long-lost relation who’s a direct descendant of James Northfield and wants him and Eddie to re-enact the race through the woods and the water meadows in aid of the Injured Jockeys Fund.’

‘Fatally injured, in James’ case. Eddie mustn’t touch it.’

‘But Eddie’s very keen – says it would make him feel he really belongs if he represents the Campbell-Blacks.’

‘Not for much longer if he rides in that race.’

‘Well, it looks as though we’re going to have to put out another press release, about him and Lark and Gav and Gala, wedding
bells ahoy. And, and, and – Sauvignon lost the baby in December, so you’re not going to be a great-grandfather any more.’

‘I know that – just bugger off.’ Jolted and threatened, Rupert couldn’t wait to hand things over to Gablecross.

Just then, there was a clatter of hooves and into the yard rode an ashen Roving Mike, who on his day off had gone hunting. A fine dog fox had run into Rutminster woods and once again hounds had halted in full cry and turned back whimpering. But, even stranger, from deep in the woods, Mike was sure he could hear the desperate howling of a dog.

‘Sure it was the ghost of James Northfield’s Seeker – it froze my blood.’ Mike crossed himself before sliding down off his big horse.

A second later they were joined by a distraught Clover who’d been walking the dogs.

‘Oh Rupert, I’m so sorry. I’ve lost Banquo. He’s always so good, but Forester pushed off after a deer and by the time I’d got him back, Banquo’d gone missing. I brought the other dogs home and went back and looked for him for ages. He must have gone hunting. I’m so sorry.’

Banquo never went hunting. He was the sweetest, kindest, most undemanding dog, Rupert’s shadow, who never complained if Forester or the Jack Russells hogged the limelight, but was the one who suffered most if Rupert were away.

‘Perhaps the howling I heard in the woods was Banquo,’ said Mike.

Leaping into his car, Rupert drove like a maniac, ringing Gav on the way.

‘Can’t find Banquo, going to check out Rutminster woods. Give me the opportunity to check the course. Eddie’s riding in some crazy match race on Sunday week. Won’t be long. Police are on their way. Can you and Bao wise them up about Jan, stall them until I get back?’

It was getting darker. Splashing across the water meadows, Rupert parked on the edge of the woods, already shrouded in mist. Trampling on primroses and wood anemones, effing and blinding, he clambered as fast as possible up to the original track along which Rupert Black and James Northfield had raced. Then he heard the spine-chilling howling of a dog.

‘Banquo,’ he yelled. Back came another howl. He raced up the track, slipping on wild garlic leaves, their green flames flickering treacherously, over twigs, stones, mossy roots, bramble cables and badger setts covered in leaves. There was no way Eddie was going to ride any horse over this course.

Rounding the bend into Seeker’s Corner, on the right like black pillars reared up closely-packed trees, smothered in ivy. On the left, six feet down, was a narrow ledge and beyond that, treacherously filling up with fog, was the fifty-foot ravine into which James Northfield had plunged to his death.

On the ledge, tied to an ash sapling, crouched a terrified, trembling Banquo.

‘Poor old boy.’ Scattering stones, an outraged Rupert slithered down the cliff face on to the ledge and unknotted the rope. ‘Who the hell’s done this to you?’

Banquo’s leg was at a nasty angle, probably broken. How could he possibly hoist him back on to the track? But typically, Banquo, while groaning, apologetically wagged his tail.

Next moment, the normally gentle dog went into a frenzy of growling and barking as a pair of green gumboots appeared above them. The mist swirled away to reveal a figure in a black Barbour, with a gun in his hands and madness in his eyes. It was Jan.

‘How dare you steal my dog!’ shouted Rupert, fury driving out any fear. ‘How dare you! I think he’s broken his leg and I’ve been talking to Bao. I know exactly what you’ve been up to. You came into my life to fuck up me and my marriage. What the hell have I ever done to you?’

Next moment, Jan had jumped down beside them, dislodging more stones and clods of earth, brandishing the gun in Rupert’s face.

‘Rupert Black,’ he spat. ‘Your great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather,’ the words came out like a funeral drum, ‘murdered my great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather James Northfield during a match race. Rupert Black was so desperate to win because there was so much money at stake, he pushed James and Spartan down this ravine.’

‘Bollocks, you have absolutely no proof,’ yelled Rupert. ‘Black was just a bloody good rider.’

‘Then the Northfield family chucked out James’ young wife Gisela, my great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother,’ intoned Jan.

‘The kitchenmaid,’ drawled Rupert. ‘The Northfields have always been frightful snobs.’

‘You bastard,’ hissed Jan, so close his acid breath was asphyxiating. ‘She gave birth to a boy, who should have inherited the title. She loved James so deeply that after the birth – no one
recognized post-natal depression in those days – she killed herself in despair.

‘None of the Northfields gave a toss what happened to her or the baby, who was brought up in grinding poverty. But being Dutch, the Van Deventers worked hard and later migrated to South Africa where they prospered until the bastard colonial Brits came over and killed my great-grandfather in the Boer War.’

‘I can hardly be held responsible for that,’ said Rupert irritably, trying to calm a shuddering Banquo and pondering the best method of escape.

‘You and all bloody Brits were guilty. So I decided to come over and avenge James and Gisela – and quite by chance I caught sight of you on TV at the preview of the Stubbs exhibition: such an arrogant bastard sauntering in followed by a black Labrador, where no dogs were allowed, and no one complained.

‘I did my homework,’ went on Jan. ‘I’m actually a journo and discovered your father needed carers, which seemed the easiest way in, so I took a carer’s course in Port Elizabeth and met Gala’s sister.’

Rupert glanced up. ‘Gala knew what you were up to?’

‘I don’t think so.’

Unnerved by Jan’s crazy ranting, Banquo tried to crawl nearer the edge of the ledge and gave a groan.

‘Look, I’ve got to get this dog to a vet.’

‘Shut up, you’re not going anywhere,’ snarled Jan. ‘Then I met you, pre-potent sire, and a total shit, just like Rupert Black. I was determined to bring you down by destroying you and your marriage. Having heard how insanely jealous you were, I pretended to be gay to lull your suspicions. Then I fell in love with your wife.’ Jan’s voice softened. ‘You treated her so badly, it made me even more determined to ruin you.’

‘So my lucky shirt went missing,’ rapped out Rupert, ‘and buckets of feed and water were left in stables before races and cats shut in drawers and new batteries taken out of torches and details about serious horses leaked again and again and stones chucked on gallops and bugs put in teddy bears,
and down you came to the yard with my father, which gave you the chance to leave gates and doors open and he got blamed. Love Rat would have been alive today if you hadn’t let out Titus, who also very nearly killed Gala – and you accuse Rupert Black of being a murderer! You tried to frame Bao by putting my lucky shirt in his room, and if you loved Taggie you couldn’t have sent Safety Car across Europe on a journey to hell.’

‘I hacked into your phone calls,’ interrupted Jan, his voice growing so raucous and loud that two nearby pigeons flew off with a clatter, ‘but surprisingly I couldn’t find any women.’

‘There weren’t any.’

‘Except Gala, my trump card. She’d been hurt enough, for Christ’s sake, but you had the raging hots for her and had to pull her in Santa Anita and Dubai. Taggie’ll be so upset and I’ve got excellent footage of you both in Lime Tree Cottage.’

It was getting dark, the last red glow of the setting sun could no longer pierce the smothering mist. A barn owl like a rising ghost moon flapped past, making them both jump.

‘I’d love to shoot you through the testicles and leave you to bleed to death but then I’d be done for murder, so you and that slug of a dog,’ Jan gave Banquo a kick, ‘are going over the edge, and everyone will think you lost your way on a walk. It’s solid Cotswold rock at the bottom – no way you’ll survive.’ Jan’s hideous, mirthless laughter echoed round the wood. ‘Even if you shouted for help, anyone passing will think you’re James’ ghost and run like hell.’

Rupert was about to make a dive for the gun when Jan’s voice became obscenely lascivious. ‘And Taggie’s so pretty she won’t be a widow for a minute because I’m going to marry her and love and cherish her as you never did. She didn’t even tell you she’d got cancer; instead she turned to me. She loves me, and as Rufus has made me his heir, she’s going to be the loveliest Lady Rutshire of all.’

‘She fucking won’t!’ howled Rupert.

Then suddenly Banquo barked, as a twig could be heard breaking and then another – and behind Jan’s head, Rupert could see a bobbing torch approach.

‘I repeat I’m going to marry Taggie and love and cherish her
and she’ll be the loveliest Lady Rutshire ever,’ shouted Jan, then nearly fell off the ledge as a bulky figure loomed into sight and a panting voice yelled, ‘No, she won’t!’

Not daring to take his gun off Rupert, Jan glanced round.

‘You bastard!’ Unmistakably breathy, the voice was choked with tears. ‘You swore it was me you loved, that I was the only one you longed to cherish. You promised to marry me and I’d be the next Lady Rutshire. And the loveliest.’

‘Shut up,’ screamed Jan, ‘just shut up.’

As the mist swirled, Rupert suddenly caught sight of a big distraught face. God in heaven! It was Harmony.

‘You promised me the Northfield family engagement ring,’ she sobbed, ‘if I sabotaged Quickly’s bridle – which could have killed both Quickly and Eddie. Not to mention all the lies you persuaded me to tell about Bao, swearing you loved me so much. You even made me ring up Gala today to find out where Rupert was so you could trap him. I’ve never had a boyfriend before – how dare you deceive me?’

She had picked up a huge branch, brandishing it over them. Seeing Jan distracted, Rupert leapt forward, snatching the gun, which went off, echoing around the ravine. Next moment, slippery from Jan’s sweating fingers, it had slid from Rupert’s hand and he and Jan were wrestling on the ground, furiously landing punches, their only ambition to murder each other. Jan was bigger, younger and stronger, as
crash!
went one of his fists into Rupert’s jaw, then
crash!
– another into his ribs. But Rupert was angrier and rage gave him strength to grab Jan’s dark head and bang it on the stony ground as they scuffled, rolling over and over until they were both caked in mud.

Banquo growled helplessly, unable to crawl to his master’s aid, even when Jan, landing on top, tightened his hands round Rupert’s neck until Rupert jerked his knee upwards into Jan’s groin, making him groan and loosen his grip.

They were both perilously near the edge, rocks giving way, when Rupert realized Harmony was on the ledge beside them. Slithering down the side in another shower of rocks, she had retrieved the gun from where it had disappeared into a clump of ivy, and shoved it into Jan’s back.

‘Let go of Rupert, you bastard.’

‘Give me back the gun, Harmsie.’ Jan had switched tack, his voice suddenly amorous. ‘It’s you that I love. I only said that I was going to marry Taggie to wind up Rupert.’