Dick Francis - Under Orders

‘Do you really think it’s necessary for me to stay in London?’ he asked, clearly hoping to be given the green light to go home to Oxfordshire.

‘Are you still at Jenny and Anthony’s?’ I asked back.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m desperate for a decent single malt. I’m fed up with carrot juice and bean sprouts, I can tell you.’

I laughed. ‘It’ll do you good.’

I thought about what I was planning to do.

‘I think it might be safer for you to stay away from Aynsford for a while longer,’ I said. ‘A few more days.’

‘I’ll go to my club then,’ he said. ‘I’ve been with Jenny now for two nights and everyone knows that guests begin to smell after three. I’ll move into the Army amp; Navy tomorrow.’ The lure of the bar had become too great.

I arrived at St Thomas’s to find Marina dressed and sitting in a chair.

‘They’ve cleared me for release,’ she said. She made it sound like the parole board.

‘Great,’ I said.

A hospital porter arrived with a wheelchair and he pushed Marina along the corridors and down in the lift to the patient discharges’ desk near the main entrance. I retrieved the car from where I had parked it, legally this time, in the underground car park, and we were soon a distant memory at the hospital. Today’s dramas had taken over.

‘Stop fussing,’ Marina said as I shepherded her into the Ebury Street building and up in the lift to our flat. ‘I’m fine.’

I knew she was fine. I was fussing because I was worried about her security.

At one o’clock, with Marina settled on the sofa with the Sunday papers, I telephoned Fred Manley, and spoke to him for nearly an hour.

‘Don’t let your dinner get cold,’ I said.

‘No problem, it’s keeping warm in the oven.’

He told me all about the systems that Bill had used, and about who went away with horses that needed to stay overnight at the northern tracks. In the end he told me more than I could have hoped for.

‘Thanks, Fred,’ I said. ‘That’s very helpful.’

‘What’s it for?’ he asked.

‘Oh, just some research I’m doing about training methods. I was about to ask Bill about it when he died.’

‘Damn shame that was. Mr Burton was a good man and a fine employer. I knew where I stood with him.’

‘Have you found another job?’ I asked him.

‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘To be honest, I’m thinking of leaving racing. It’s not like it used to be. The fun’s gone out of it. Nowadays, it’s all about blame. If a horse doesn’t win, the owners blame the trainers and the trainers blame their staff. There are bound to be more losers than winners, stands to reason. Mr Burton, mind, he never blamed his lads but nearly all the other trainers do. Mr Burton had one owner that used to rant and rave at him for the horses not winning. We all could hear it from the house. But Mr Burton never used us as his excuse. Proper gentleman, he was, unlike that owner.’

‘Do you know which of the owners it was?’ I asked.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘It was that lord. You know, the builder.’

‘Lord Enstone?’ I said.

‘Yeah, that’s the one. Lord Enstone.’

Finally, I let him go and have his dinner. I hoped it wasn’t completely ruined.

Marina and I spent a quiet afternoon cuddled up on the sofa watching a rugby international on the television. Marina kept her leg up on a footstool as instructed by the surgeon and we eased the hours with a bottle of Chablis.

I arrived at the Ebury Street Wine Bar at a quarter to seven to be sure to be there before Chris Beecher. I had left Marina still on the sofa and had doubled-locked the flat on my way out. I didn’t expect to be away for long.

The wine bar was very quiet when I arrived so I chose a table where I could sit with my back to the wall with a good view of the door. I knew a politician who always insisted on sitting the same way in restaurants and for the same reason. It was difficult for anyone to creep up without being spotted.

I wondered why I was giving Chris Beecher a scoop after what he had done to me. After all, it was he who had sent Evan Walker after me with a shotgun, and it was he who had shown Marina’s face to the world. But now I needed him. I needed his large readership. I needed his bloody-mindedness. And, above everything else, I needed his rottweiler tendencies. Once he had a good bite, I knew he wouldn’t let go.

He arrived at ten to seven and was surprised to see that I was there ahead of him.

‘Hiya, Sid,’ he said. ‘What are you drinking?’

I hadn’t yet ordered.

‘Are you buying?’ I asked.

‘Depends,’ he said. ‘Is it a good story?’

‘The best,’ I assured him.

‘All right, I’m buying.’

I had a large glass of the wine of the month while he had a pint of bitter.

‘So what’s the angle?’ he said, after having a good sip.

‘All in good time. You have to earn this story. I need you to set something up for me.’

‘Shoot,’ he said. I rather wished he wouldn’t use that turn of phrase.

I explained in detail what I wanted him to do and when.

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘You’ll find out,’ I said. ‘That will be the story. Are you on?’

‘Yes, I’m on.’

‘Good. You can make the call now.’ I gave him the number.

He spoke into his mobile phone for quite a time before hanging up.

He smiled at me. He was enjoying the conspiracy. ‘All set,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow afternoon at one o’clock. Where you said. We’ll meet in the kitchen.’

‘Great,’ I said. ‘I’ll be there by twelve to set things up. You should arrive by twelve thirty at the latest.’

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Now don’t be talking to any other papers in the meantime.’

‘I won’t,’ I said. ‘And you keep mum, too.’

‘You bet.’

On Monday morning, Marina’s leg was sore so she stayed in bed while I spent some productive time calling Bond Street boutiques.

Charles rang at nine thirty to tell me he was leaving Jenny’s to set course for the bar at his club and that I should call him there if I needed him.

‘Thanks for telling me,’ I said, ‘but could you come round to Ebury Street first, to sit with Marina for a few hours?’

I could sense the hesitation in him.

‘I’ve got an excellent bottle of Glenfiddich that could stand some damage,’ I said. ‘And a side of smoked salmon in the fridge for lunch.’

‘I’ll be there in thirty-five minutes,’ he said.

‘Perfect.’

I spent the thirty-five minutes telling Marina what I was going to be doing this afternoon.

‘Darling, please be careful,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to find myself a widow before we even get married.’

‘I thought you were still thinking about it.’

‘I am, I am. All the time. That’s why I don’t want to lose you before I decide. Then all this thinking would be a waste.’

‘Oh, thanks.’

‘No, I mean it, my darling, please be careful.’

I promised I would. I hoped I could keep the promise.

Charles arrived and took up his post as guardian of Marina.

‘I don’t need anyone,’ Marina had complained when I told her Charles was coming.

‘I’d prefer it,’ I’d said. And, I thought, it would give Charles a purpose in life. To say he was bored with his time in London was an understatement.

‘Now rest that leg and I’ll be back later,’ I said, and left them.

I arrived in Lambourn at ten to twelve and drove round the back of Bill Burton’s now-empty stables and parked my car where, until recently, he had kept his horsebox. Kate had told me that it had been repossessed by the finance company at her request.

I’d called Kate earlier that morning to tell her that it was definitely this afternoon that I needed the favour. Fine, she’d said, see you later.