Dick Francis - Silks

‘No,’ she said with conviction. ‘Nor will I.’

Good girl, I thought, again.

Next, I called my father.

‘Hello,’ he said.

‘Hi, Dad,’ I said to him. ‘How are things in sunny Devon?’

‘Boring,’ he said. ‘When can I go home?’

‘Soon,’ I said. ‘I’ll let you know when. But please stay there for a bit longer.’

‘Why?’ he said. ‘Why do I have to stay here?’

I hadn’t explained everything to him about Julian Trent. Perhaps I should have, but I hadn’t wanted to worry him. These days he tended to live in a more gentle world of pottering about in his garden and playing bridge with his neighbours. Baseball-bat wielding maniacs were not his typical concerns.

‘I’ll tell you everything next week,’ I said. ‘In the meantime, can’t you go off on a drive somewhere? Go and visit Dartmoor or something.’

‘I’ve been there before,’ he said unhelpfully. ‘Why would I want to go again?’

I gave up. ‘Just stay in Sidmouth for a few more days,’ I said sharply.

‘Don’t you tell me what to do,’ he said with irritation.

‘Please, Dad,’ I said more gently.

‘You’re a strange boy,’ he said. It was his usual answer for everything.

‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But please, Dad, stay there. It’s important. Please just do as I ask.’

‘All right,’ he said reluctantly. ‘At least you’re paying.’

Indeed I was, and the Victoria Hotel in Sidmouth wasn’t cheap. I’d had to give them my credit-card details over the phone, and send them a signed fax guaranteeing the full amount.

With the knowledge that Julian Trent had been in Lambourn only fifteen minutes previously, Eleanor and I felt quite relaxed as we made our way into the hotel with the stuff from her car, which was then taken away to the hotel car park.

I closed and locked the room/cell door with us securely on the inside, and felt safe for the first time in hours. Then I called down to the front desk and ordered a bottle of red wine and some glasses. Eleanor and I may need to be locked up in a prison cell for the weekend, but it didn’t mean we couldn’t have a few of life’s little pleasures to while away the time.

When the room-service waiter delivered the wine, we ordered some food as well. I then asked the receptionist to ensure that I wasn’t disturbed and that no calls were put through. ‘Certainly sir,’ she said.

‘So tell me,’ said Eleanor finally. ‘Why do you suddenly think that I am now in danger from Julian Trent when I wasn’t before?’

‘Because since the witness summonses were delivered, he now knows for sure that I won’t do what he wants. I think he would try to use you as a lever rather than as just an implied threat.’

‘And it seems you are right,’ she said. ‘So now what?’

I glanced around our prison-secure room. It had been created out of three old cells knocked together, complete with the high-up barred windows that had been intended to give the prisoners only light rather than a view. Thankfully, a modern bathroom had been added during the conversion so ‘slopping out’ was no longer required.

‘Eleanor,’ I said, turning to look at her face. ‘No one, not even you, has really understood what sort of people we are dealing with here, although I think you might now be beginning to. We are not living here in some television drama where the blood is fake and the characters mostly behave in a fairly decent manner. This is a story of blackmail and murder, where seriously nasty people would as easily kill you as they would a fly.’ She stared at me with wide eyes. ‘But I don’t intend to let them do either.’

‘But how?’ she said.

I told her. Some of it she knew, and some she didn’t. I spoke for more than an hour with her listening intently to what I said.

Only after I stopped did she ask me the big question. ‘Why don’t you just take all this to the police?’ she said.

‘Because I want my day in court,’ I said. And I didn’t want to have to admit that I had been intimidated for so long without saying anything. I valued my career.

I told her what I proposed to do on Monday morning when the trial resumed.

‘Just as long as we are both still alive on Monday morning,’ she said.

Now, for a change, she was frightening me.

‘All rise,’ called the court clerk.

The judge entered from his chambers, bowed slightly towards us and took his seat behind the bench. Everyone else then sat down. The court was now in session.

‘Mr Mason,’ said the judge.

‘Yes, My Lord,’ I said, rising.

‘Still no sign of Sir James Horley?’ he asked with raised eyebrows.

‘No, My Lord,’ I said.

‘And you, and your client, are happy to continue with the case for the defence with you acting alone?’ he said.

‘Yes, My Lord,’ I said. Steve nodded at the judge from the dock.

‘I don’t need to remind you of what I said about that not being grounds for an appeal,’ said the judge.

‘I understand, My Lord,’ I said.

He nodded, as if to himself, and consulted a sheet of paper on the bench in front of him.

‘Are your witnesses present?’ he asked.

‘As far as I am aware, My Lord,’ I replied. I hadn’t actually been outside into the waiting area to check, but Bruce Lygon seemed happy they were ready.

In fact, I hadn’t been outside at all since last Friday.

At ten thirty on Friday evening the telephone in the hotel room had rung. ‘I thought I said no calls,’ I had complained to the hotel operator when I’d answered it.

‘Yes, Mr Mason, we are very sorry to disturb you,’ she had said. ‘But we have your nephew on the telephone, and he’s frantic to get in touch with you. I’m very sorry, but he tells me your elderly father has had a fall and that he’s been taken to hospital.’

‘Did you confirm to my nephew that I was here?’ I’d asked her.

‘Of course,’ she’d said. ‘Shall I put him through?’

‘Thank you,’ I’d said. There had been a click or two, but no one had been on the line. Trent had already gained the information he had wanted. Thereafter Eleanor and I had not left the room for the whole weekend, not even for an exercise period in the old prison yard, although we had made up for it with plenty of exercise in bed. We had ordered room service for every meal and had instructed the staff to ensure that they were completely alone when it was delivered. They had probably thought we were totally mad, but they had been too polite to say so, to us at least.

I had called Bruce to discuss the question of how to get safely to court on Monday morning. Without telling him exactly why I was concerned, I explained to him that I really didn’t want to run into either of my two witnesses before they were called and I needed some secure transport from the hotel to the court buildings. He had come up with the ingenious idea of getting one of the private security companies to collect me in a prison transfer van. It transpired that Bruce was a friend of the managing director, and he had thought the idea was a great hoot and had been happy to oblige, for a fee of course.

So, at nine o’clock on Monday morning, Eleanor and I had moved as quickly as my crutches would allow along the hanging gallery of ‘A’ wing, down in the lift and out through the hotel lobby. We had gone from the front door of the hotel, across six feet of paving, straight into the waiting white box-like vehicle with its high dark-tinted square windows, while Bruce had stood by on guard. Some of the hotel staff had watched this piece of theatre with wide eyes. I was sure that they must believe we were either escaped lunatics or convicts, or both.

Needless to say, Julian Trent had been nowhere to be seen, but it was better to be safe than dead.