Дик Фрэнсис - Break In

‘I’m, er, staying with Holly.’

His mouth compressed sharply. ‘Your place is here.’

‘I wish you’d make it up with her.’

‘I talk to her now,’ he said, ‘which is more than can be said for that arrogant Maynard with his rat of a son. She comes up here some afternoons. Brings me stews and things sometimes. But I won’t have him here and I won’t go there, so don’t ask.’ He patted my arm, the ultimate indication of approval. ‘You and I, we get along all right, eh? That’s enough.’

He led the way to the dining room where two trays lay on the table, each covered with a cloth. He removed one cloth to reveal a carefully laid single lunch: cheeses, biscuits under clingfilm, pats of butter, dish of chutney, a banana and an apple with a silver fruit knife. The other tray was for dinner.

‘New housekeeper,’ he said succinctly. ‘Very good.’

Long may she last, I thought. I removed the clingfilm and brought another knife and plate, and the two of us sat there politely eating very little, he from age, I from necessity.

I told him about the paragraph in the Flag and knew at once with relief that he’d had no hand in it.

‘Nasty,’ he said. ‘Mind you, my old father could have done something like that, if he’d thought of it. Might have done it myself,’ he chuckled, ‘long ago. To Allardeck.’ Allardeck, to Grandfather, was Bobby’s grandfather, Maynard’s father, the undear departed. Grandfather had never in my hearing called him anything but plain Allardeck.

‘Not to Holly,’ my grandfather said. ‘Couldn’t do it to Holly. Wouldn’t be fair.’

‘No.’

He looked at me searchingly. ‘Did she think it might be me?’

‘She said it couldn’t be, and also that she very much didn’t want it to be you.’

He nodded, satisfied and unhurt. ‘Quite right. Little Holly. Can’t think what possessed her, marrying that little rat.’

‘He’s not so bad,’ I said.

‘He’s like Allardeck. Just the same. Smirking all over his face when his horse beat mine at Kempton two weeks ago.’

‘But you didn’t lodge an objection, I noticed.’

‘Couldn’t. No grounds. No bumping, boring or crossing. His horse won by three lengths.’ He was disgusted. ‘Were you there? I didn’t see you.’

‘Read it in the paper.’

‘Huh.’ He chose the banana. I ate the apple. ‘I saw you win the Towncrier yesterday on television. Rotten horse, full of hate. You could see it.’

‘Mm.’

‘You get people like that, too,’ he observed. ‘Chockful of ability and too twisted up to do anything worthwhile.’

‘He did win,’ I pointed out.

‘Just. Thanks to you. And don’t argue about that, it’s something I enjoy, watching you ride. There never was an Allardeck anywhere near your class.’

‘And I suppose that’s what you said to Allardeck himself?’

‘Yes, of course. He hated it.’ Grandfather sighed. ‘It’s not the same since he’s gone. I thought I’d be glad, but it’s taken some of the point out of life. I used to enjoy his sour looks when I got the better of him. I got him barred from running his horse in the St Leger once, because my spies told me it had ringworm. Did I tell you that? He would have killed me that day if he could. But he’d stolen one of my gullible lady owners with a load of lies about me never entering her horses where they could win. They didn’t win for him either, as I never let him forget.’ He cut the peeled banana into neat pieces and sat looking at them. ‘Maynard, now,’ he said, ‘Maynard hates my guts too, but he’s not worth the ground Allardeck stood on. Maynard is a power-hungry egomaniac, just the same, but he’s also a creeper, which his father never was, for all his faults.’

‘How do you mean, a creeper?’

‘A bully to the weak but a boot-licker to the strong. Maynard boot-licked his way up every ladder, stamping down on all the people he passed. He was a hateful child. Smarmy. He had the cheek to come up to me once on the Heath and tell me that when he grew up he was going to be a lord, because then I would have to bow to him, and so would everyone else.’

‘Did he really?’

‘He was quite small. Eight or nine. I told him he was repulsive and clipped his ear. He snitched to his father, of course, and Allardeck sent me a stiff letter of complaint. Long ago, long ago.’ He ate a slice of banana without enthusiasm. ‘But that longing for people to bow to him, he’s still got it, I should think. Why else does he take over all those businesses?’

‘To win,’ I said. ‘Like we win, you and I, if we can.’

‘We don’t trample on people doing it. We don’t want to be bowed to.’ He grinned. ‘Except by Allardecks, of course.’

We made some coffee and while we drank I telephoned some of Grandfather’s traditional suppliers, and his vet and blacksmith and plumber. All were surprised at my question, and no, none of them had received a marked copy of the Flag .

‘The little rat’s got a traitor right inside his camp,’ Grandfather said without noticeable regret. ‘Who’s his secretary?’

‘No one. He does everything himself.’

‘Huh. Allardeck had a secretary.’

‘You told me about fifty times Allardeck had a secretary only because you did. You boasted in his hearing that you needed a secretary as you had so many horses to train, so he got one too.’

‘He never could bear me having more than he did.’

‘And if I remember right,’ I said, ‘you were hopping up and down when he got some practice starting stalls, until you got some too.’

‘No one’s perfect.’ He shrugged dismissively. ‘If the little rat hasn’t got a secretary, who else knows his life inside out?’

‘That,’ I said, ‘is indeed the question.’

‘Maynard,’ Grandfather said positively. ‘That’s who. Maynard lived in that house, remember, until long after he was married. He married at eighteen... stupid, I thought it, but Bobby was on the way. And then he was in and out for at least another fifteen years, when he was supposed to be Allardeck’s assistant, but was always creeping off to London to do all those deals. Cocoa! Did you ever hear of anyone making a fortune out of cocoa? That was Maynard. Allardeck smirked about it for weeks, going on and on about how smart his son was. Well, my son was dead, as I reminded him pretty sharply one day, and he shut up after that.’

‘Maynard wouldn’t destroy Bobby’s career,’ I said.

‘Why not? He hasn’t spoken to him since he took up with Holly. Holly told me if Maynard wants to say anything to Bobby he gets his tame lawyer to write, and all the letters so far have been about Bobby repaying some money Maynard lent him to buy a car when he left school. Holly says Bobby was so grateful he wrote his father a letter thanking him and promising to repay him one day, and now Maynard’s holding him to it.’

‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Absolutely true.’

‘What a bastard.’

‘The one thing Maynard is actually not,’ Grandfather said dryly, ‘is a bastard. He’s got Allardeck’s looks stamped all over him. The same sneer. The same supercilious smirk. Lanky hair. No chin. The little rat’s just like them, too.’

Bobby, the little rat, was to any but a Fielding eye a man with a perfectly normal chin and a rather pleasant smile, but I let it pass. The sins and shortcomings of the Allardecks, past and present, could never be assessed impartially in a Fielding house.

I stayed with Grandfather all afternoon and walked round the yard with him at evening stables at four-thirty, the short winter day already darkening and the lights in the boxes shining yellow.

The lads were busy, as always, removing droppings, carrying hay and water, setting the boxes straight. The long-time head-lad (at whom Grandfather never shouted) walked round with us, both of them briefly discussing details of each of the fifty or so horses. Their voices were quiet, absorbed and serious, and also in a way regretful, as the year’s expectations and triumphs were all over, excitement put away.