Дик Фрэнсис - Break In

I surveyed the three of them sitting there stonily holding the blank sheets, and into my head floated various disjointed words and phrases.

‘Wait,’ I said. ‘Don’t write yet.’

The words were ‘invalid’, and ‘obtained by menaces’, and ‘invalid by reason of having been extorted at gun point’.

I wondered if the thought had come on its own or been generated somewhere else in that room, and I looked at their faces carefully, one by one, searching their eyes.

Not Maynard. Not Erskine. Not Lord Vaughnley

Nestor Pollgate’s eyelids flickered.

‘Bobby,’ I said, ‘tack that black box up off the floor and drop it out of the window, into the garden.’

He looked bewildered, but did as I asked, the November air blowing in a great gust through the curtains into the room.

‘Now the gun,’ I said, and gave it to him.

He took it gingerly and threw it out, and shut the window again.

‘Right,’ I said, putting my hands with deliberation into my pockets, ‘you’ve all heard the propositions. If you accept them, please write the notes.’

For a long moment no one moved. Then Lord Vaughnley stretched out an arm to the coffee table in front of him and picked up a magazine. He put the sheet of writing paper on the magazine for support. With a slightly pursed mouth but in continued quiet he lifted a pen from a pocket inside his jacket, pressed the top of it with a click, and wrote a short sentence, signing his name and adding the date.

He held it out towards Bobby, who stepped forward hesitantly and took it.

‘Read it aloud,’ I said.

Bobby’s voice said shakily, ‘I promise to pay Robertson Allardeck fifty thousand pounds within three days of this date.’ He looked up at me. ‘It is signed William Vaughnley, and the date is today’s.’

I looked at Lord Vaughnley.

‘Thank you,’ I said neutrally.

He gave the supporting magazine to Nestor Pollgate, and offered his own pen. Nestor Pollgate took both with a completely unmoved face and wrote in his turn.

Bobby took the paper from him, glanced at me, and read aloud, ‘I promise to pay Robertson Allardeck fifty thousand pounds within three days of this date. It’s signed Nestor Pollgate. It’s dated today.’

‘Thank you,’ I said to Pollgate.

Bobby looked slightly dazedly at the two documents he held. They would clear the debt for the unsold yearlings, I thought. When he sold them, anything he got would be profit.

Lord Vaughnley and Jay Erskine, as if in some ritual, passed the magazine and the pen along to Maynard.

With fury he wrote, the pen jabbing hard on the paper. I took the completed page from him myself and read it aloud, I promise to pay my son Robertson two hundred and fifty thousand pounds within three days. Maynard Allardeck. Today’s date.’

I looked up at him. ‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘Don’t thank me. Your thanks are an insult.’

I was careful, in fact, to show no triumph, though in his case I did feel it: and I had to admit to myself ruefully that in that triumph there was a definite element of the old feud. A Fielding had got the better of an Allardeck, and I dared say my ancestors were gloating.

I gave Maynard’s note to Bobby. It would clear all his debts and put him on a sure footing to earn a fair living as a trainer, and he held the paper unbelievingly, as if it would evaporate before his eyes.

‘Well, gentlemen,’ I said cheerfully, ‘bankers’ drafts by Friday, and you shall have the notes back, properly receipted.’

Maynard stood up, his greying fair hair still smooth, his face grimly composed, his expensive suit falling into uncreased shape; the outer shell intact, the man inside in shreds.

He looked at nobody, avoiding eyes. He walked to the door, opened it, went out, didn’t look back. A silence lengthened behind his exit like the silence at the end of the tape; the enormity of Maynard struck one dumb.

Nestor Pollgate rose to his feet, tall, frowning, still with his power intact. He looked at me judiciously, gave me a brief single nod of the head, and said to Holly, ‘Which way do I go out?’

‘I’ll show you,’ she said, sounding subdued, and led the way into the hall.

Erskine followed, his face pinched, the drooping reddish moustache in some way announcing his continuing inflexible hatred of those he had damaged.

Bobby went after him, carrying his three notes carefully as if they were brittle, and Lord Vaughnley, last of all, stood up to go. He shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, spread his hands in a sort of embarrassment.

‘What can I say?’ he said. ‘What am I to say when I see you on racecourses?’

‘Good morning, Kit,’ I said.

The grey eyes almost smiled before awkwardness returned. ‘Yes, but,’ he said, ‘after what we did to you in the Guineas...’

I shrugged. ‘Fortunes of war,’ I said. ‘I don’t resent it, if that’s what you mean. I took the war to the Flag. Seek the battle, don’t complain of the wounds.’

He said curiously, ‘Is that how you view race-riding? How you view life?’

‘I hadn’t thought of it, but yes, perhaps.’

‘I’m sorry all the same,’ he said. ‘I had no idea what it would be like. Jay Erskine got the stun gun... he said two short shocks and you’d be putty. I don’t think Nestor realised himself how bad it would be...’

‘Yeah,’ I said dryly, ‘but he agreed to it.’

‘That was because,’ Lord Vaughnley explained with a touch of earnestness, wanting me to understand, perhaps to absolve, ‘because you ignored all his threats.’

‘About prison?’ I said.

He nodded. ‘Sam Leggatt warned him you were intelligent... he said an attempt to frame you could blow up in their faces, that you would get the Flag and Nestor himself into deep serious gritty trouble... David Morse, their lawyer, was of the same opinion, so he agreed not to try. Sam Leggatt told me. But you have to understand Nestor. He doesn’t like to be crossed. He said he wasn’t going to be beaten by some... er... jockey.’

Expletives deleted, I thought, amused.

‘You were elusive,’ he said. ‘Nestor was getting impatient...’

‘And he had a tap on my telephone?’

‘Er, yes.’

‘Mm,’ I said. ‘Is it Maynard Allardeck who is trying to take over the Towncrier?’

He blinked, and said ‘Er —’ and recovered. ‘You guessed?’

‘It seemed likely. Maynard got half of Hugh’s shares by a trick. I thought it just might be him who was after the whole thing.’

Lord Vaughnley nodded. ‘A company... Allardeck is behind it. When Hugh confessed, I got people digging up Allardeck’s contacts. Just digging for dirt. I’d no idea until then that he owned the company... his name hadn’t surfaced. All I knew was that it was the same company that nearly acquired the Flag a year ago. Very aggressive. It cost Nestor a fortune to cap their bid, far more than he would have had to pay otherwise.’

Holy wow, I thought.

‘So when you found out that Maynard was the ultimate enemy,’ I said, ‘and knew also that he’d recently been proposed for a knighthood, you thought at least you could put paid to that, and casually asked Pollgate to do it in the Flag?’

‘Not all that casually. Nestor said he’d be pleased to, if it was Allardeck who had cost him so much.’

‘Didn’t you even consider what hell you were manufacturing for Bobby?’

‘Erskine found he couldn’t get at Allardeck’s phone system... they decided on his son.’

‘Callous,’ I said.

‘Er... yes.’

‘And appallingly spiteful to deliver all those copies to Bobby’s suppliers.’

He said without much apology, ‘Nestor thought the story would make more of a splash that way. Which it did.’