Дик Фрэнсис - Knock Down

He smiled sourly. ‘And don’t look a gift horse in the teeth?’

‘She wanted to please you,’ I said.

‘Huh. Buy me, more like.’

‘Happy birthday,’ I said.

He turned to watch Kerry Sanders talking to his father, the neat small feminine figure overshadowed by the large protecting paternal male. As before the Sanders wrappings were as uncluttered as gold bricks and the slanting autumn sunlight drew fire from the diamond knuckledusters.

‘At least she’s not after his money,’ Nicol said. ‘I had her checked out. She’s way ahead.’

For an also-ran, Constantine was not doing so badly. Clem’s horsebox stood on a clear quarter acre of front drive with Clem himself fidgeting around for a signal that he could set off home. There were buildings along two sides of the mini parade ground, a modern garage and stable block at one end set at right angles to a much older, slightly austere stone house. Not quite a mansion, but more than enough for two.

The outside surface was being cleaned, with nearly one third showing warm cream instead of forbidding grey. One could see that it would look a good deal more welcoming when it was finished, but the effect meanwhile was undignified piebald. One should not, I reflected, ever make the mistake of thinking one would catch its master at such public disadvantage.

Nicol strode over to the man leading River God and the man nodded and took the horse away to the stables.

Kerry Sanders looked a fraction disappointed until Nicol rejoined her and said, ‘Thought I’d just try it. Can’t wait, you see.’

River God came back with saddle and bridle, and Nicol swung easily onto his back. He trotted him a little round the gravel and then took him through a gate into a railed field alongside and quickened the pace to a working canter. Constantine Brevett watched with heavy good humour, Kerry Sanders with hope, Clem with impatience and I with relief. Whatever I thought of his financial methods, Ronnie North had delivered the goods.

Nicol came back, handed the reins to the stableman, and strode over and kissed Kerry Sanders with enthusiasm on the cheek.

‘He’s great,’ he said. His eyes shone. ‘Absolutely great.’

Her face filled with joy enough to melt the hardest case. Nicol took note of it, and as she and his father turned away to return to the house he gave me a twisted smile and said, ‘See? I’m not always a bastard.’

‘And besides,’ I said, ‘the horse is better than he looks.’

‘Cynical sod. It’s got a mouth like the back end of a rhino.’

‘A ride for a pro, I was told.’

‘The first nice thing you’ve ever said to me.’ He laughed. ‘Come on in and have a drink.’

‘Just a sec...’ I turned away to go over to Clem to give him a fiver and send him off home and found Nicol following me to double the ante. Clem took both notes with cheerfulness, hopped up into the cab and rolled away to the gate.

Champagne stood ready in tulip shaped glasses in the sitting-room to which Nicol led the way, the last rays of sun making the bubbles glisten like silver in liquid gold. Constantine handed us a glass each and we drank rather pompously to Nicol’s health. He gave me a private irreverent grin and greatly to my surprise I began to like him.

We sat in cloud nine armchairs and Constantine fussed over Kerry Sanders. She glowed with happiness, the peach bloom cheeks as fresh as a child’s. It was extraordinary, I thought, how clearly and quickly the mental state of a woman showed in her skin.

‘You almost didn’t get a horse at all,’ she told Nicol. ‘The most infuriating thing happened to the first one Jonah bought.’

They listened to the saga in bewilderment, and I added to it by saying that the same two thugs had tried a repeat with River God.

Constantine took up a heavily authoritarian stance which went well with his smooth silver hair and thick black spectacle frames, and assured Kerry that he would see they got their just deserts. As it was fairly likely I had broken Frizzy Hair’s arm I thought he had probably got his already, but I had no quarrel with any plans Constantine might have for finding out what was going on. He had the weight to lean heavily in places where I had none.

‘What do you think, Jonah?’ Nicol asked.

‘Well... I can’t believe either Hearse Puller or River God would themselves be the cause of so much action. They came from widely different places, so it can’t be anyone close to them resenting them being sold. It seems even crazier when you think that we’ll find out who bought Hearse Puller as soon as he’s entered in a race. Even if he’s changed hands more than once we should be able to trace him back.’

Constantine shook his head heavily and spoke from personal knowledge. ‘Easy enough to cover up a sale if you know how.’

‘Maybe someone simply wanted to stop Kerry giving me a horse,’ Nicol said.

‘But why?’ Kerry asked. ‘Why should they?’

No one knew. ‘Who did you tell about River God?’ I asked her.

‘After last time? You must be crazy. At least when you got another horse I had the sense not to shout it around.’

‘You didn’t tell Lady Roscommon or your hairdresser or Pauli Teksa? None of the same people as last time?’

‘I sure did not. I didn’t see Madge or the hairdresser guy, and Pauli was out of town.’

‘Someone knows,’ Nicol said. ‘So who did you tell, Jonah?’

‘No one. I didn’t tell the man I bought it from who it was for, and I didn’t tell the transport firm where they were taking it.’

‘Someone knew,’ Nicol said again, flatly.

‘Do you have any particularly bad friends?’ I asked him.

‘The professional jockeys all hate my guts.’

‘And the amateurs?’

He grinned. ‘Them too, I dare say.’

Constantine said ‘However jealous the other riders might be of Nicol’s success I cannot see any single one of them going around buying up or stealing horses simply to prevent Nicol riding winners.’

‘They’d have a job,’ Nicol said.

Constantine’s voice was resonant and deep and filled the room to overflowing. Nicol had the same basic equipment but not the obvious appreciation of his own power, so that in him the voice was quieter, more natural, not an announcement of status.

‘What about Wilton Young?’ he said.

Constantine was ready to believe anything of Wilton Young. Constantine saw only one threat to his bid to dominate British racing, and that was a bullet-headed Yorkshireman with no social graces, a huge mail-order business and the luck of the devil with horses. Wilton Young trampled all over people’s finer feelings without noticing them and judged a man solely on his ability to make brass. He and Constantine were notably alike in ruthlessness and it was no doubt immaterial to their flattened victims that one steamroller was smoothly oiled while the other was roughly clanking.

‘Of course,’ Constantine said, his face filling with anger. ‘Wilton Young.’

‘The two men didn’t have Yorkshire accents,’ I said.

‘What’s that got to do with it?’ Constantine demanded.

‘Wilton Young makes a point of having Yorkshiremen working for him. He looks down on everyone else.’

‘Arrogant little pipsqueak,’ Constantine said.

‘I can’t honestly see him taking such trouble to stop Mrs Sanders giving Nicol a horse for his birthday.’

‘Can’t you?’ Constantine looked down his nose as if he could believe half a dozen more improbable things before breakfast. ‘He’d do anything he could think of to irritate me, however petty.’

‘But how could he have known I was buying the horse for Nicol?’

He took barely three seconds to come up with an answer. ‘He saw you at the sales with Kerry, and he has seen her at the races with me.’