Дик Фрэнсис - Bolt

‘Not unless some poor bugger breaks his collar bone.’

‘Kit!’

‘That’s how it goes.’

She looked as if she didn’t need to be reminded, and I was sorry I had. I went out to the fifth race wondering if that day was some sort of test: if she were finding out for herself with finality whether or not she could permanently face what life with me entailed. I shivered slightly in the wind and thought the danger of losing her the worst one of all.

I finished third in the race, and when I returned to the unsaddling enclosure, Danielle was standing there waiting, looking strained and pale and visibly trembling.

‘What is it?’ I said sharply, sliding down from the horse. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘He’s here,’ she said with shock. ‘Henri Nanterre. I’m sure... it’s him.’

‘Look,’ I said, ‘I’ve got to weigh in, just sit on the scales. I’ll come straight back out. You just stand right outside the weighing room door... don’t move from there.’

‘No.’

She went where I pointed, and I unsaddled the horse and made vaguely hopeful remarks to the mildly pleased owners. I passed the scales, gave my saddle, whip and helmet to my valet and went out to Danielle, who had stopped actually trembling but still looked upset.

‘Where did you see him?’ I asked.

‘On the stands, during the race. He seemed to be edging towards me, coming up from below, coming sideways, saying “excuse me” to people and looking at me now and then as if checking where I was.’

‘You’re sure it was him?’

‘He was just like the photograph. Like you’ve described him. I didn’t realise to begin with... then I recognised him. I was...’ she swallowed ‘... terrified. He sort of snaked round people, sliding like an eel.’

‘That’s him,’ I said grimly.

‘I slid away from him,’ Danielle said. ‘It was like... panic. I couldn’t move fast... so many people, all watching the race and annoyed with me... when I got off the stands the race was over... and I ran... What am I going to do? You’re riding in the next race.’

‘Well, what you’re going to do is dead boring, but you’ll be safe.’ I smiled apologetically. ‘Go into the Ladies and stay there. Find a chair there and wait. Tell the attendant you’re sick, faint, tired, anything. Stay there until after the race, and I’ll come and fetch you. Half an hour, not much more. I’ll send someone in with a message... and don’t come out for any message except mine. We’ll need a password...’

‘Christmas Day,’ she said.

‘OK. Don’t come out without the password, not even if you get a message saying I’m on my way to hospital, or something like that. I’ll give my valet the password and tell him to fetch you if I can’t... but I will,’ I said, seeing the extra fright in her expression. ‘I’ll ride bloody carefully. Try not to let Nanterre see you going in there, but if he does...’

‘Don’t come out,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’

‘Danielle...’

‘Yes?’

‘I do love you,’ I said.

She blinked, ducked her head, and went away fast, and I thought Nanterre would have known I would be at Windsor races, he had only to look in the newspaper, and that I and anyone in the princess’s family was vulnerable everywhere, not just in dark alleys.

I followed Danielle, keeping her in sight until her back-view vanished into the one place Nanterre couldn’t follow, and then hurried back to change colours and weigh out. I didn’t see the Frenchman anywhere, which didn’t mean he hadn’t seen me. The highly public nature of my work on racecourses, however, I thought, might be acting in our favour: Nanterre couldn’t easily attack me at the races because everywhere I went, people were watching. In parade rings, on horses, on the stands... wherever a jockey went in breeches and colours, heads turned to look. Anonymity took over at the racecourse exits.

I rode that last race at Windsor with extreme concentration, particularly as it was a steeplechase for novice jumpers, always an unpredictable event. My mount was trained not by Wykeham but by Betsy’s husband, the Lambourn trainer, and it would be fair to say he got a good schooling run rather than a flat-out scramble.

Betsy’s husband was satisfied with fourth place because the horse had jumped well, and I said, ‘Next time, he’ll win,’ as one does, to please him and the owners.

I weighed in for fourth place, changed fast, collected my valuables from the valet and wrote a short note for Danielle.

‘Christmas Day has dawned. Time to go.’

It was Betsy, in the end, who took the note into the Ladies, coming out smiling with Danielle a minute later.

I sighed with relief: Danielle also, it seemed. Betsy shook her head over our childish games, and Danielle and I went out to the rapidly emptying car park.

‘Did you see Nanterre?’ Danielle asked.

‘No. Nowhere.’

‘I’m sure it was him.’

‘Yes, so am I.’

My car stood almost alone at the end of a line, its neighbours having departed. I stopped well before we reached it and brought the car-starter out of my pocket.

‘But that,’ Danielle said in surprise, ‘is your toy for freezes.’

‘Mm,’ I said, and pressed its switch.

There was no explosion. The engine started sweetly, purring to life. We went on towards the car and I did the other checks anyway, but finding nothing wrong.

‘What if it had blown up?’ Danielle said.

‘Better the car than us.’

‘Do you think he would ?’

‘I really don’t know. I don’t mind taking precautions that turn out to be unnecessary. It’s “if only” that would be embarrassing.’

I drove out onto the motorway and at the first intersection went off it and round and started back in the opposite direction.

‘More avoidance of “if only”?’ Danielle said with irony.

‘Do you want acid squirted in your face?’

‘Not especially.’

‘Well... we don’t know what sort of transport Nanterre’s got. And one car can sit inconspicuously behind you for hours on a motorway. I’d not like him to jump us in those small streets at Chiswick.’

When we reached the next intersection I reversed the process and Danielle studied the traffic out of the rear window.

‘Nothing came all the way round after us,’ she said.

‘Good.’

‘So can we relax?’

‘The man who’s coming to fetch you tonight is called Swallow,’ I said. ‘When the car comes for you, get those big men on the studio reception desk to ask him his name. If he doesn’t say Swallow, check up with the car-hire firm.’ I slid my wallet out. ‘Their card’s in there, in the front.’

She took the card and passed the wallet back.

‘What haven’t you thought of?’

‘I wish I knew.’

Even with the wrong direction detour, it was a short journey from Windsor to Chiswick, and we arrived in the streets leading to the studio a good hour before six-thirty.

‘Do you want to go in early?’ I asked.

‘No... Park the car where we can sit and look at the river.’

I found a spot where we could see brown water sliding slowly upstream, covering the mud-flats as the tide came in. There were seagulls flying against the wind, raucously calling, and a coxed four feathering their oars with curved fanatical backs.

‘I have... er... something to tell you,’ Danielle said nervously.

‘No,’ I said with pain.

‘You don’t know what it is.’

‘Today was a test,’ I said.

Danielle said slowly, ‘I forget sometimes that you can read minds.’

‘I can’t. Not often. You know that.’

‘You just did.’

‘There are better days than today,’ I said hopelessly.