Дик Фрэнсис - Break In

‘No... er, I...’ I drew back from the impossibility of rational explanation. ‘I have a feeling,’ I said lamely, ‘that I should telephone my sister.’

‘A feeling?’ she asked curiously. ‘You looked as if you’d forgotten a date with the President, at least.’

I shook my head. ‘This is Chiswick. Where do we go from here?’

She gave me directions and we stopped in a parking space labelled ‘Staff Only’ outside a warehouse-like building in a side street. Six-twenty on the clock; ten minutes to spare.

‘Come on in,’ Danielle said. ‘The least I can do is lend you a phone.’

I stood up stiffly out of the car, and she said with contrition, ‘I guess I shouldn’t have let you drive all this way.’

‘It’s not much further than going home.’

‘You lie in your teeth. We passed the exit to Lambourn fifty miles back.’

‘A bagatelle.’

She watched me lock the car door. ‘Seriously, are you OK?’

‘It’s nothing that a hot bath won’t put right.’

She nodded and turned to lead the way into the building, which proved to have glass entrance doors into a hallway furnished with armchairs, potted plants and a uniformed guard behind a reception desk. She and he signed me into a book, gave me a pass to clip to my clothes, and ushered me through a heavy door that opened to an electronic buzz.

‘Sorry about the fortress syndrome,’ Danielle said. ‘The company is currently paranoid about bombs.’

We went down a short corridor into a wide open office inhabited by six or seven desks, mostly with people behind them showing signs of packing up to go home. There was also a sea of green carpet, a dozen or so computers, and on one long wall a row of television screens above head height, all showing different programmes and none of them emitting a sound.

Danielle and the other inhabitants exchanged a few ‘Hi’s, and ‘How’re you doing’s, and no one questioned my presence. She took me across the room to her own domain, an area of two large desks set at right angles with a comfortable-looking swivelling chair serving both. The desk tops bore several box files, a computer, a typewriter, a stack of newspapers and a telephone. On the wall behind the chair there was a large chart on which things could be written in chinagraph and rubbed off: a chart with columns labelled along the top as SLUG, TEAM, LOCATION, TIME, FORMAT.

‘Sit down,’ Danielle said, pointing to the chair. She picked up the receiver and pressed a lighted button on the telephone. ‘OK. Make your call.’ She turned to look at the chart. ‘Let’s see what’s been happening in the world since I left it.’ She scanned the segments. Under SLUG someone had written ‘Embassy’ in large black letters. Danielle called across the room, ‘Hank, what’s this embassy story?’ and a voice answered, ‘Someone painted “Yanks Go Home” in red on the US embassy steps and there’s a stink about security.’

‘Good grief.’

‘You’ll need to do a follow-up for Nightline .’

‘Right... has anyone interviewed the Ambassador?’

‘We couldn’t reach him earlier.’

‘Guess I’ll try again.’

‘Sure. It’s your baby, baby. All yours.’

Danielle smiled vividly down at me, and I recognised with some surprise that her job was of far higher status than I’d guessed, and that she herself came alive also when she was working.

‘Make your call,’ she said again.

‘Yes.’

I pressed the buttons and at the first ring Holly picked up the receiver.

‘Kit,’ she said immediately, full of stress.

‘Yes,’ I said.

Holly’s voice had come explosively out of the telephone, loudly enough to reach Danielle’s ears.

‘How did she know?’ she asked. Then her eyes widened. ‘She was waiting... you knew.’

I half nodded. ‘Kit,’ Holly was saying. ‘Where are you? Are you all right? Your horse fell...’

‘I’m fine. I’m in London. What’s the matter?’

‘Everything’s worse. Everything’s terrible. We’re going to lose... lose the yard... everything... Bobby’s out walking somewhere...’

‘Holly, remember the telephone,’ I said.

‘What? Oh, the bugs? I simply don’t care any more. The telephone people are coming to look for bugs in the morning, they’ve promised. But what does it matter? We’re finished... It’s over.’ She sounded exhausted. ‘Can you come? Bobby wants you. We need you. You hold us together.’

‘What’s happened?’ I asked.

‘It’s the bank. The new manager. We went to see him today and he says we can’t even have the money for the wages on Friday and they’re going to make us sell up... he says we haven’t enough security to cover all we owe them... and we’re just slipping further into debt because we aren’t making enough profit to pay the interest on the loan for those yearlings, and do you know how much he’s charging us for that now? Seven per cent over base rate. Seven. That’s about seventeen per cent right now. And he’s adding the interest on, so now we’re paying interest on the interest... it’s like a snowball... it’s monstrous... it’s bloody unfair.’

A shambles, I thought. Banks were never in the benefaction business.

‘He admitted it was because of the newspaper articles,’ Holly said wretchedly. ‘He said it was unfortunate... unfortunate!.. that Bobby’s father wouldn’t help us, not even a penny... I’ve caused Bobby all this trouble... it’s because of me...’

‘Holly, stop it,’ I said. ‘That’s nonsense. Sit tight and I’ll come. I’m at Chiswick. It will take me an hour and a half.’

‘The bank manager says we will have to tell the owners to take their horses away. He says we’re not the only trainers who’ve ever had to sell up... he says it happens, it’s quite common... he’s so hard-hearted I could kill him.’

‘Mm,’ I said. ‘Well, don’t do anything yet. Have a drink. Cook me some spinach or something, I’m starving. I’ll be on my way... See you soon.’

I put down the receiver with a sigh. I didn’t really want to drive on to Newmarket with stiffening bruises and an echoingly empty stomach, and I didn’t really want to shoulder all the Allardeck troubles again, but a pact was a pact and that was the end of it. My twin, my bond, and all that.

‘Trouble?’ Danielle said, watching.

I nodded. I told her briefly about the attacks in the Flag and their dire financial consequences and she came swiftly to the same conclusion as myself.

‘Bobby’s father is crass.’

‘Crass,’ I said appreciatively, ‘puts it in a nutshell.’

I stood up slowly from her chair and thanked her for the telephone.

‘You’re in no shape for all this,’ she said objectively.

‘Never believe it.’ I leaned forward and kissed her fragrant cheek. ‘Will you come racing again, with your aunt?’

She looked at me straightly. ‘Probably,’ she said.

‘Good.’

Bobby and Holly were sitting in silence in the kitchen, staring into space, and turned their heads towards me apathetically when I went in.

I touched Bobby on the shoulder and kissed Holly and said, ‘Come on, now, where’s the wine? I’m dying of various ills and the first thing I need is a drink.’

My voice sounded loud in their gloom. Holly got heavily to her feet and went over to the cupboard where they kept glasses. She put her hand out towards it and then let it fall again. She turned towards me.

‘I had my test results since you phoned,’ she said blankly. ‘I definitely am pregnant. This should have been the happiest night of our lives.’ She put her arms around my neck and began quietly to cry. I wrapped my arms round her and held her, and Bobby stayed sitting down, too defeated, it seemed, to be jealous.