John Francome - Declared Dead

'Where is what?' I replied, trying to play the innocent.

'Don't be so stupid, you silly girl. Gerald has told me everything. He has been very foolish, very foolish indeed, but I have no intention of seeing everything he has achieved thrown away now.'

'There's no need for that to happen.'

'It's money you want, is it? Or are you trying to blackmail us into letting go of our little Freddie?'

I liked that! Suddenly my own son had become their property.

'I'm not looking for your money and you can leave Freddie out of this. He's staying with me. What I want is that old-fashioned thing called justice.'

'What a noble sentiment! What you really mean is that you want your lover to escape spending the rest of his life behind bars, where he belongs. How could you behave like this, after what has happened to my poor son? Edward never hurt a soul in his life.' She gave out a strangled, and in my view theatrical, sob and started searching her handbag for a handkerchief.

'Your poor son?' I exclaimed in disbelief. I was beginning to wonder just what Gerald Pryde had told his wife. I went on the attack.

'Lady Pryde, your poor son, as you call him, was a blackmailer who regularly beat me up into the bargain.'

'How can you talk like that, after everything we and Edward did for you? I told him never to marry you, I warned him that you were a scheming little social climber who would drag him down, and how right I was. Give me the original of that letter, please.'

'I can't.'

'What do you mean, you can't? Where is it?'

I lied. 'In a safe place with instructions that if anything happens to me the letter is to be sent to the national press.'

'So you are the blackmailer?'

'No, Lady Pryde, just think of me as an instrument of justice. If your husband admits to the police that he was being blackmailed by his own son I undertake to destroy that letter.'

She stared at me with an expression of complete and utter contempt.

'My dear, you are quite mad. My Edward would never have done such a thing. I warn you, you are playing a very dangerous game and if you persist with it someone is going to get hurt.' With that less than noble parting sentiment she turned and strode majestically out of the room and from the house into her waiting car.

We were like a couple of giggly teenage girls playing truant from school. We checked in one after the other at Heathrow, without giving away we were travelling together and then sat in different sections of the departure lounge. Once on board the plane, having been allocated seats right next door to each other, we dropped the subterfuge and talked away nineteen to the dozen. I suspected that Amy was as nervous as I was, but we were both making a real effort to appear calm and even jolly. She had remembered my ammonia and I slipped it in my bag.

We had agreed that when we arrived at Shannon we would act as complete strangers just in case Corcoran had taken the precaution of coming to the airport to ensure I was keeping to my side of the bargain. We had rented separate cars and Amy was going to make her own way to the racecourse and then leave before I did to go to Mrs Moloney's tea rooms. That way, if Corcoran was waiting there himself or watching my every movement, no one would connect us. He had never met Amy and until the publication of the notice in the Sportsman, there was no likelihood of his having heard of her either. Finally, when I left the tea shop she was going to follow me at a respectable distance. It all sounded so simple!

I arrived at Limerick just after twelve-thirty and as far as I was aware, Amy was about ten minutes behind me on the road. From now on, as far as the world was concerned, I was on my own. Willie O'Keefe, his curly grey hair protruding beneath his tweed cap, was already in the weighing room, engrossed in conversation with an extremely rough-looking individual, who had the furtive air of a man who expected to be summoned before the stewards at any moment. Both his front teeth were missing and his right eye was the colour of a bloody mary. He did not look at all happy at whatever Willie was saying to him. To either side of them were groups of owners, trainers and jockeys swapping jokes and lyricising about their chances that afternoon. I waited for Willie to finish his conversation and then went up and patted him on the shoulder.

'Your jockey reporting for duty,' I said brightly.

He grinned with pleasure and doffed his cap. 'Now there's a real treat, and me a married man with eight children! You're looking mighty well under the circumstances and to think that in less than an hour you'll be booting home a winner.'

'Are you really that confident, Willie?' I asked, hoping that he was just hooking me up. On the way over I had studied Jimmy the One's form and it struck me that even carrying ten stone two on his back, he had at least six pounds to make up on the favourite.

'Confident? The money's already in the bank. Did you see that chap I was talking to just now?'

I nodded, wondering what the particularly villainous individual and Willie had in common.

'That's my nephew, Shaun. Ugly looking fellow isn't he? My sister's eldest boy. He's a bit disappointed that he's not got the ride today after his efforts last time out on the horse.'

'Why, what happened then?'

Willie dropped his voice to a confidential whisper and turned me away from the nearby group of trainers. 'Shaun rode a waiting race.'

'There's nothing wrong in that, is there?'

'Only that he was waiting for today's race. That's why Jimmy the One's half a stone better than his handicap rating, and is going to start at 6-1. With you on his back, my little darling, and no offence meant, the odds might well be longer.'

'And Shaun is very upset?'

'Don't worry about him. I just told him he can count himself in for a monkey at the starting price.'

I gulped. Five hundred pounds at 6-1 or better for not even riding in the race was not to be sniffed at. I shuddered to think what Willie himself was going to wager. Here I was coming over to Ireland for a fun ride, followed by some very serious and possibly dangerous business, and I now found myself in the middle of a betting coup. Keep calm, I told myself; remember you've ridden the winner of the Gold Cup. I just hoped Willie didn't notice my hands shaking.

'And the opposition, Willie? Do they have any triers amongst them?' I asked anxiously.

'Just a couple. There's going to be a lot of money for the favourite and the word is the connections are going for a right touch on the bottom weight, Hill of Tralee. They've even flown a jockey over from England for the job.'

I could feel the butterflies in my stomach. 'Who's that?'

'That devil, Eamon Brennan. But don't you worry, my darling, my fellow is fit as a fiddle and you sure showed Brennan how to ride a finish at Cheltenham. Oh yes,' he said, rubbing his hands gleefully, 'the money's in the bank.'

I couldn't believe my bad luck. I was desperate to avoid Brennan and here he was being presented with yet another opportunity to attack me. I made up my mind to leave the course as soon as the race was over.

There was still half an hour to go before the first race and therefore nearly fifty minutes before I needed to change for my ride in the second. Since I had never ridden at Limerick before, or even in Ireland for that matter, I decided it would be sensible to walk the course and take a look at the Limerick fences.

For the first two furlongs past the stands the course was perfectly straight and then two sharp right-handed bends led round to the far side where the ground began to undulate. You then went up a slight hill to the turn, from where the course runs down steeply before reaching the final fence, followed by a stiff climb up to the winning post. Considering the time of year, the going was on the soft side and I had even noticed one or two boggy patches on the far side, almost certainly explained by the close proximity of the Shannon Estuary. It wouldn't be an easy course to ride and if I was stuck on the rails behind a tired horse turning for home, the race would be over before I had time to take part. I was going to have to keep my wits about me and hope that Jimmy the One was as good as his trainer cracked him up to be.