Dick Francis - Enquiry

‘Whose flat is this?’ he asked.

‘Mine.’

He glanced at my face, hearing the dryness in my voice. ‘You resent surprise?’

‘It amuses me.’

‘Hughes... it’s a pity you didn’t join the Civil Service. You’d have gone all the way.’

I laughed. ‘There’s still time... Do they take in warned off jockeys at the Administrative Grade?’

‘So you can joke about it?’

‘It’s taken nine days. But yes, just about.’

He gave me a long straight assessing look, and there was a subtle shift somewhere in both his manner to me and in basic approach, and when I shortly understood what it was I was shaken, because he was taking me on level terms, level in power and understanding and experience: and I wasn’t level.

Few men in his position would have thought that this course was viable, let alone chosen it. I understood the compliment. He saw, too, that I did, and I knew later that had there not been this fundamental change of ground, this cancellation of the Steward-jockey relationship, he would not have said to me all that he did. It wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been in my flat.

He sat down in the khaki velvet armchair, putting the briefcase carefully on the floor beside him. I took the weight off my crutches and let the bed springs have a go.

‘I went to see Lord Gowery,’ he said neutrally. ‘And I can see no reason not to tell you straight away that you and Dexter Cranfield will have your warning off rescinded within the next few days.’

‘Do you mean it?’ I exclaimed. I tried to sit up. The plaster intervened.

Lord Ferth smiled. ‘As I see it, there is no alternative. There will be a quiet notice to that effect in next week’s Calendar.’

‘That is, of course,’ I said, ‘All you need to tell me.’

He looked at me levelly. ‘True. But not all you want to know.’

‘No.’

‘No one has a better right... and yet you will have to use your discretion about whether you tell Dexter Cranfield.’

‘All right.’

He sighed, reached down to open the briefcase, and pulled out a neat little tape recorder.

‘I did try to ignore your suggestion. Succeeded, too, for a while. However...’ He paused, his fingers hovering over the controls. ‘This conversation took place late on Monday afternoon, in the sitting-room of Lord Gowery’s flat near Sloane Square. We were alone... you will see that we were alone. He knew, though, that I was making a recording.’ He still hesitated. ‘Compassion. That’s what you need. I believe you have it.’

‘Don’t con me,’ I said.

He grimaced. ‘Very well.’

The recording began with the selfconscious platitudes customary in front of microphones, especially when no one wants to take the first dive into the deep end. Lord Ferth had leapt, eventually.

‘Norman, I explained why we must take a good look at this Enquiry.’

‘Hughes is being ridiculous. Not only ridiculous, but downright slanderous. I don’t understand why you should take him seriously.’ Gowery sounded impatient.

‘We have to, even if only to shut him up.’ Lord Ferth looked across the room, his hot eyes gleaming ironically. The recording ploughed on, his voice like honey. ‘You know perfectly well, Norman, that it will be better all round if we can show there is nothing whatever in these allegations he is spreading around. Then we can emphatically confirm the suspension and squash all the rumours.’

Subtle stuff. Lord Gowery’s voice grew easier, assured now that Ferth was still an ally. As perhaps he was. ‘I do assure you Wykeham, that if I had not sincerely believed that Hughes and Dexter Cranfield were guilty, I would not have warned them off.’

There was something odd about that. Both Ferth and Gowery had thought so too, as there were several seconds of silence on the tape.

‘But you do still believe it?’ Ferth said eventually.

‘Of course.’ He was emphatic. ‘Of course I do.’ Much too emphatic.

‘Then... er... taking one of Hughes’ questions first... How did it come about that Newtonnards was called to the Enquiry?’

‘I was informed that Cranfield had backed Cherry Pie with him.’

‘Yes... but who informed you?’

Gowery didn’t reply.

Ferth’s voice came next, with absolutely no pressure in it.

‘Um... Have you any idea how we managed to show the wrong film of Hughes racing at Reading?’

Gowery was on much surer ground. ‘My fault, I’m afraid. I asked the Secretaries to write off for the film of the last race. Didn’t realise there were seven races. Careless of me, I’ll admit. But of course, as it was the wrong film, it was irrelevant to the case.’

‘Er...’ said Lord Ferth. But he hadn’t yet been ready to argue. He cleared his throat and said, ‘I suppose you thought it would be relevant to see how Hughes had ridden Squelch last time out.’

After another long pause, Gowery said, ‘Yes.’

‘But in the event we didn’t show it’

‘No.’

‘Would we have shown it if, after having sent for it, we found that the Reading race bore out entirely Hughes’ assertion that he rode Squelch in the Lemonfizz in exactly the same way as he always did?’

More silence. Then he said quietly, ‘Yes,’ and he sounded very troubled.

‘Hughes asked at the Enquiry that we should show the right film,’ Ferth said.

‘I’m sure he didn’t.’

‘I’ve been reading the transcript. Norman, I’ve been reading and re-reading that transcript all week-end and frankly, that is why I’m here. Hughes did in fact suggest that we should show the right film, presumably because he knew it would support his case...’

‘Hughes was guilty!’ Gowery broke in vehemently. ‘Hughes was guilty. I had no option but to warn him off.’

Lord Ferth pressed the stop button on the tape recorder.

‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘What you think of that last statement?’

‘I think,’ I said slowly, ‘That he did believe it. Both from that statement and from what I remember of the Enquiry. His certainty that day shook me. He believed me guilty so strongly that he was stone deaf to anything which looked even remotely likely to assault his opinion.’

‘That was your impression?’

‘Overpowering,’ I said.

Lord Ferth took his lower lip between his teeth and shook his head, but I gathered it was at the general situation, not at me. He pressed the start button again. His voice came through, precise, carefully without emotion, gentle as vaseline.

‘Norman, about the composition of the Enquiry... the members of the Disciplinary Committee who sat with you... What guided you to choose Andrew Tring and old Plimborne?’

‘What guided me?’ He sounded astonished at the question. ‘I haven’t any idea.’

‘I wish you’d cast back.’

‘I can’t see that it has any relevance... but let’s see... I suppose I had Tring in my mind anyway, as I’m in the middle of some business negotiations with him. And Plimborne... well, I just saw him snoozing away in the Club. I was talking to him later in the lobby, and I asked him just on the spur of the moment to sit with me. I don’t see the point of your asking.’

‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Now... about Charlie West. I can see that of course you would call the rider of the third horse to give evidence. And it is clear from the transcript that you knew what the evidence would be. However, at the preliminary enquiry at Oxford West said nothing at all about Hughes having pulled his horse back. I’ve consulted all three of the Oxford Stewards this morning. They confirm that West did not suggest it at the time. He asserted it, however, at the Enquiry, and you knew what he was going to say, so... er... how did you know?’