Дик Фрэнсис - Break In

I drove to Newbury and solved the stiff muscle problem by borrowing the sauna of a local flat race jockey who spent every summer sweating away his body in there and had thankfully come out for the winter. I didn’t like water-shedding in saunas as a daily form of weight-control (still less diuretics), but after twenty minutes of its hot embrace on that cold morning I did feel a good deal fitter.

My first two mounts were for the Lambourn stable I normally rode for, and, given a jockey with smoothly working limbs, they both cleared the obstacles efficiently without covering themselves with either mud or glory. One could say to the hopeful owners afterwards that yes, their horses would win one day; and so they might, when the weights were favourable and the ground was right and a few of the better opponents fell. I’d ridden duds I wouldn’t have taken out of the stable and had them come in first.

My final mount of the day belonged to the princess, who was waiting, alone as usual, for me to join her in the parade ring. I was aware of being faintly disappointed that Danielle wasn’t with her, even though I hadn’t expected it: most illogical. The princess, sable coat swinging, wore a pale yellow silk scarf at her neck with gold and citrine earrings, and although I’d seen her in them often before I thought she was looking exceptionally well and glowing. I made the small bow; shook her hand. She smiled.

‘How do you think we’ll do today?’ she said.

‘I think we’ll win.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You’re not usually so positive.’

‘Your horses are all in form. And...’ I stopped.

‘And what?’

‘And... er... you were thinking, yourself, that we would win.’

She said without surprise, ‘Yes, I was.’ She turned to watch her horse walk by. ‘What else was I thinking?’

‘That... well... that you were happy.’

‘Yes.’ She paused. ‘Do you think the Irish mare will beat us? Several people have tipped it.’

‘She’s got a lot of weight.’

‘Lord Vaughnley thinks she’ll win.’

‘Lord Vaughnley?’ I repeated, my interest quickening. ‘Is he here?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He was lunching in a box near mine. I came down the stairs with him just now.’

I asked her if she remembered which box, but she didn’t. I said I would like to talk to him, if I could find him.

‘He’ll be glad to,’ she said, nodding. ‘He’s still delighted about the Towncrier Trophy. He says literally hundreds of people have congratulated him on this year’s race.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘If I ask him a favour, I might get it.’

‘You could ask the world.’

‘Not that much.’

The signal came for jockeys to mount, and I got up on her horse to see what we could do about the Irish mare: and what we did was to start out at a fast pace and maintain it steadily throughout, making the mare feel every extra pound she was carrying every stride of the way, and finally to beat off her determined challenge most satisfactorily by a length and a half.

‘Splendid,’ the princess exclaimed in the winners’ enclosure, sparkling. ‘Beautiful.’ She patted her excited ‘chaser. ‘Come up to the box, Kit, when you’ve changed.’ She saw my very faint and stifled hesitation and interpreted it. ‘I saw Lord Vaughnley up there again. I asked him to my box also.’

‘You’re amazingly kind.’

‘I’m amazingly pleased with winning races like this.’

I changed into street clothes and went up to her familiar box high above the winning post. For once she was there alone, not surrounded by guests, and she mentioned that she was on her way back from Devon, her chauffeur having driven her up that morning.

‘My niece telephoned yesterday evening from her bureau to say she had arrived promptly,’ the princess said. ‘She was most grateful.’

I said I’d been very pleased to help. The princess offered tea, pouring it herself, and we sat on adjacent chairs, as so often, as I described the past race to her almost fence by fence.

‘I could see,’ she said contentedly. ‘You were pushing along just ahead of the mare all the way. When she quickened, you quickened, when she took a breather down the bottom end, so did you. And then I could see you just shake up my horse when her jockey took up his whip... I knew we’d win. I was sure of it all the way round. It was lovely.’

Such sublime confidence could come crashing down on its nose at the last fence, but she knew that as well as I did. There had been times when it had. It made the good times better.

She said, ‘Wykeham says we’re giving Kinley his first try over hurdles at Towcester tomorrow. His first ever race.’

‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘And Dhaulagiri’s taking his first start at a novice ‘chase. I rode both of them schooling at Wykeham’s last week, did he tell you? They both jumped super. Er... will you be there?’

‘I wouldn’t miss it.’ She paused. ‘My niece says she will come with me.’

I lifted my head. ‘Will she?’

‘She said so.’

The princess regarded me calmly and I looked straight back, but although it would have been useful I couldn’t read what she was thinking.

‘I enjoyed driving her,’ I said.

‘She said the journey went quickly.’

‘Yes.’

The princess patted my arm non-committally, and Lord and Lady Vaughnley appeared in the doorway, looking in with enquiring faces and coming forward with greetings. The princess welcomed them, gave them glasses of port, which it seemed they liked particularly on cold days, and drew Lady Vaughnley away with her to admire something out on the viewing balcony, leaving Lord Vaughnley alone inside with me.

He said how truly delighted he’d been with everyone’s response to last Saturday’s race, and I asked if he could possibly do me a favour.

‘My dear man. Fire away. Anything I can.’

I explained again about Bobby and the attacks in the Flag , which by now he himself knew all about.

‘Good Lord, yes. Did you see the comment page in our own paper this morning? That woman of ours, Rose Quince, she has a tongue like a rattlesnake, but when she writes, she makes sense. What’s the favour?’

‘I wondered,’ I said, ‘if the Towncrier would have a file of clippings about Maynard Allardeck. And if you have one, would you let me see it.’

‘Good Lord,’ he said. ‘You’ll have a reason, no doubt?’

I said we had concluded that Bobby had been a casualty in a campaign mainly aimed at his father. ‘And it would be handy to know who might have enough of a grudge against Maynard to kill off his chance of a knighthood.’

Lord Vaughnley smiled benignly. ‘Such as anyone whose business was pulled from beneath them?’

‘Such as,’ I agreed. ‘Yes.’

‘You’re suggesting that the Flag could be pressured in to mounting a hate campaign?’ He pursed his mouth, considering.

‘I wouldn’t have thought it would take much pressure,’ I said. ‘The whole paper’s a hate campaign.’

‘Dear, dear,’ he said with mock reproof. ‘Very well. I can’t see how it will directly help your brother-in-law, but yes, I’ll see you get access to our files.’

That’s great,’ I said fervently. ‘Thank you very much.’

‘When would suit you?’

‘As soon as possible.’

He looked at his watch. ‘Six o’clock?’

I shut my mouth on a gasp. He said, ‘I have to be at a dinner in the City this evening. I’ll be dropping into the Towncrier first. Ask for me at the front desk.’

I duly asked at his front desk in Fleet Street and was directed upwards to the editorial section on the third floor, arriving, it seemed, at a point of maximum bustle as the earliest editions of the following day’s papers were about to go to press.