Дик Фрэнсис - Rat Race

‘There you are,’ I said aloud. ‘You bloody can.’ Didn’t convince myself. It took Carthy-Todd to convince.

I laughed weakly. I was a fully paid up insurer with the Fund. Like to see Carthy-Todd pay my claim... a thousand smackers for a knife in the back. Lovely.

Rolled out into the hot sunlit street as light headed as a blond.

Blond Acey Jones...

Acey Jones was being pushed. Hurried. Knowing I’d found him out but still believing he could retrieve the situation. Still make his two hundred thousand. If he kept his nerve. If he killed the Duke immediately, this afternoon, and somehow made it look like an accident. If he dumped me somewhere later, as he had the Major...

He would think he could still do it. He didn’t know I’d told Colin, didn’t know that Colin knew he was Carthy-Todd...

The empty street had got much longer during the afternoon. Also it wouldn’t stay absolutely still. It shimmered. It undulated. The pavement was uneven. Every time I put my foot down the paving stones reached up and stabbed me in the back.

I passed only an elderly woman on the way. She was muttering to herself. I realised that I was, too.

Half way. I squinted along at the gate of the car park. Had to make it. Had to. And that wasn’t all. Had to find someone to go and fetch the Duke, so that I could explain... explain...

Felt myself falling and put a hand out towards the wall. Mustn’t shut my eyes... I’d be done for... spun heavily against the bricks and shuddered at the result. Rested my head against the wall, trying not to weep. Couldn’t spare the time. Had to get on.

I pushed myself back into a moderately upright walking position. My feet couldn’t tell properly how far it was down to the pavement: half the time I was climbing imaginary steps.

Weird.

Something warm on my left hand. I looked down. My head swam. Blood was running down my fingers, dripping on to the pavement. Looked up again, along to the course. Head swam again. Didn’t know if it was concussion or heat or loss of blood. Only knew it reduced the time factor. Had to get there. Quickly.

One foot in front of the other, I told myself... just go on doing that: one foot in front of the other. And you’ll get there.

Concentrate.

I got there. Gate to the car park. And no official guarding it. At that time in the afternoon, they’d given up expecting further customers.

I said ‘Ohh...’ in weak frustration. Have to go still further. Have to find someone... I turned in to the car park. Through the car park there was a gate into the paddock. Lots of people there. Lots...

I went between the cars, staggering, holding on to them, feeling my knees bending, knowing the dizzy weakness was winning and caring less and less about the jagged pain of every step. Had to find someone. Had to.

Someone suddenly called to me from quite close.

‘Matt!’

I stopped. Looked slowly round. Midge was climbing out of Colin’s parked Aston Martin down the row and running to catch me up.

‘Matt,’ she said, ‘We’ve been looking for you. I came back to the car because I was tired. Where have you been?’

She put her hand with friendship on my left arm.

I said thickly, ‘Don’t... touch me.’

She took her hand away with a jerk. ‘Matt!’

She looked at me more closely, at first in puzzlement and then in anxiety. Then she looked at her fingers, and where she’d grasped my coat there were bright red smears.

‘It’s blood,’ she said blankly.

I nodded a fraction. My mouth was dry. I was getting very tired.

‘Listen... Do you know the Duke of Wessex?’

‘Yes. But...’ she protested.

‘Midge,’ I interrupted. ‘Go and find him. Bring him here... I know it sounds stupid... but someone is trying to kill him... with a bomb.’

‘Like Colin? But that wasn’t...’

‘Fetch him, Midge,’ I said. ‘Please.’

‘I can’t leave you. Not like this.’

‘You must.’

She looked at me doubtfully.

‘Hurry.’

‘I’ll get you some help, too,’ she said. She turned lightly on her heel and half walked, half ran towards the paddock. I leant the bottom of my spine against a shiny grey Jaguar and wondered how difficult it would be to prevent Carthy-Todd from planting his bomb. That tin... it was small enough to fit into a binocular case... probably identical with the one which had destroyed the Cherokee. I would have sweated at the thought of so much confined explosive power if I hadn’t been sweating clammily already.

Why didn’t they come? My mouth was drier... The day was airless... I moved restlessly against the car. After I’d told the Duke, he’d have to go off somewhere and stay safely out of sight until the Board of Trade had dealt with Carthy-Todd...

I dispassionately watched the blood drip from my fingers on to the grass. I could feel that all the back of my coat was soaked. Couldn’t afford a new one, either. Have to get it cleaned, and have the slit invisibly mended. Get myself mended, too, as best I could. Harley wouldn’t keep the job for me. He’d have to get someone else in my place. The Board of Trade doctors wouldn’t let me fly again for weeks and weeks. If you. gave a pint of blood as a donor, they grounded you for over a month... I’d lost more than a pint involuntarily, by the looks of things... though a pint would make a pretty good mess, if you spilled it.

I lifted my lolling head up with a jerk. Got to stay awake until they came. Got to explain to the Duke...

Things were beginning to fuzz round the edges. I licked my dry lips. Didn’t do much good. Didn’t have any moisture in my tongue either.

I finally saw them, and it seemed a long way off, coming through the gate from the paddock. Not just Midge and the Duke, but two others as well. Young Matthew, jigging along in front.

And Nancy.

Chanter had receded into the unimportant past. I didn’t give him a thought. Everything was as it had been before, the day she flew to Haydock. Familiar, friendly, trusting. The girl I hadn’t wanted to get involved with, who had melted a load of ice like an acetylene torch.

Across the sea of cars Midge pointed in my direction and they began to come towards me, crossing through the rows. When they were only twenty or so yards away, on the far side of the row in front of me, they unaccountably stopped.

Come on, I thought. For God’s sake come on.

They didn’t move.

With an effort I pushed myself upright from the Jaguar and took the few steps past its bonnet, going towards them. On my left, six cars along, was parked what was evidently the Duke’s Rolls. On the bonnet stood a bright red and gold tin. Matthew was pointing, wanting to cross over and fetch it, and Midge was saying urgently, ‘No, come on, Matt said to come quickly, and he’s bleeding...’

Matthew gave her a concerned look and then nodded, but at the last second temptation was too much and he ran over and picked up the tin and started back to join them.

Bright red and gold tin. Containing sticks of orange peel dipped in chocolate. It had been on the desk. And afterwards... not on the desk. Something missing. Red and gold tin.

Missing from Carthy-Todd’s desk .

My heart bumped. I shouted, and my voice came out hopelessly weak.

‘Matthew, throw it to me.’

He looked up doubtfully. The others began to walk through the rows of cars towards him. They would reach him before I could. They would be standing all together, Nancy and Midge and the Duke and young Matthew, who knew too that I’d been in Carthy-Todd’s office that day.

I scanned the car park desperately, but he was there. He’d put the tin on the car and simply waited for them to come out of the races. The last race was about to start... the horses had gone down to the post and at that moment the loudspeakers were announcing ‘They’re under starter’s orders’... He knew it wouldn’t be long before they came... He was standing over nearer the rails of the course with his black head showing and the sun glinting on his glasses. He had meant just to kill young Matthew and the Duke, but now there were Nancy and Midge as well... and he didn’t know he couldn’t get away with it... didn’t know Colin knew... and he was too far away for me to tell him... I couldn’t shout... could barely talk.