Дик Фрэнсис - Break In

His mouth opened speechlessly. He took a step forward and peered at my face, which I dare say was in shadow.

‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Kit Fielding. Holly’s brother.’

The open mouth snapped shut. ‘And what the shit has all this to do with you? Get out of my way.’

‘A cheque,’ I said. ‘You do have your chequebook with you?’

His gaze grew calculating. I gave him little time to slide out.

I said, ‘The Daily Flag is always hungry for tit-bits for its Intimate Details. Owners tying to sneak their horses away at dead of night without paying their bills would be worth a splash, don’t you think?’

‘That’s a threat!’ he said furiously.

‘Quite right.’

‘You wouldn’t do that.’

‘Oh yes, I certainly would. I might even suggest that if you can’t pay this one bill, maybe you can’t pay others. Then all your creditors would be down like vultures in a flash.’

‘But that’s... that’s...’

‘That’s what’s happening to Bobby, yes. And if Bobby has a cash-flow problem, and I’m only saying if, then it’s partly due to you yourself and others like you who don’t pay when you should.’

‘You can’t talk to me like that,’ he said furiously.

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘I’ll report you to the Jockey Club.’

‘Yes, you do that.’

He was blustering, his threat a sham. I looked over his shoulder towards Bobby and Holly, who had been near enough to hear the whole exchange.

‘Bobby,’ I said, ‘go and fetch Mr Graves’s account. Make sure every single item he owes is on it, as you may not have a second chance.’

Bobby went at a half-run, followed more tentatively by Holly. The lad who had come with the horsebox retreated with the driver into the shadows. Mr Graves and I stood as if in a private tableau, waiting.

While a horse remained in a trainer’s yard the trainer had a good chance of collecting his due, because the law firmly allowed him to sell the horse and deduct from the proceeds what he was owed. With the horse whisked away his prospects were a court action and a lengthy wait, and if the owner went bankrupt, nothing at all.

Graves’s horses were Bobby’s security, plain and simple.

Bobby eventually returned alone bringing a lengthy bill which ran to three sheets.

‘Check it,’ I said to Graves, as he snatched the pages from Bobby’s hand.

Angrily he read the bill through from start to finish and found nothing to annoy him further until he came to the last item. He jabbed at the paper and again raised his voice.

‘Interest? What the shit do you mean, interest?’

‘Um,’ Bobby said, ‘on what I’ve had to borrow because you hadn’t paid me.’

There was a sudden silence. Respectful, on my part. I wouldn’t have thought my brother-in-law had it in him.

Graves suddenly controlled his anger, pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes, and delved into an inner pocket for his chequebook. Without any sign of fury or haste he carefully wrote a cheque, tore it out, and handed it to Bobby.

‘Now,’ he said to me. ‘Move.’

‘Is it all right?’ I asked Bobby.

‘Yes,’ he said as if surprised. ‘All of it.’

‘Good,’ I said, ‘then go and unload Mr Graves’s other horse from the horsebox.’

‘Do what?’ Bobby said, astonished.

I remarked mildly, ‘A cheque is only a piece of paper until it’s been through the bank.’

‘That’s slander!’ Graves said furiously, all his earlier truculence reappearing.

‘It’s an observation,’ I said.

Bobby shoved the cheque quickly into his trouser pocket as if fearing that Graves would try to snatch it back, not an unreasonable suspicion in view of the malevolence facing him.

‘Once the cheque’s been cleared,’ I said to Graves, ‘you can come and pick up the horses. Thursday or Friday should do. Bobby will keep them for nothing until then, but if you haven’t removed them by Saturday he will begin charging training fees again.’

Bobby’s mouth opened slightly and shut purposefully, and he walked without more ado towards the horsebox. Graves scuttled a few steps after him, protesting loudly, and then reversed and returned to me, shouting and practically dancing up and down.

‘I’ll see the Stewards hear about this!’

‘Most unwise,’ I said.

‘I’ll stop that cheque.’

‘If you do,’ I said calmly, ‘Bobby will have you put on the forfeit list.’

This most dire of threats cut off Graves’s ranting miraculously. A person placed on the Jockey Club’s forfeit list for non-payment of training fees was barred in disgrace from all racecourses, along with his horses. Mr Graves, it seemed, was not quite ready for such a social blight.

‘I won’t forget this,’ he assured me viciously. ‘You’ll regret you meddled with me, I’ll see to that.’

Bobby had succeeded in unloading Graves’s first horse and was leading it across to its stable, while the lad and the driver closed the ramp and bolted it shut.

‘Off you go, then, Mr Graves,’ I said. ‘Come back in the daytime and telephone first.’

He gave me a bullish stare and then suddenly went into the same routine as earlier: pursed his mouth, narrowed his eyes and abruptly quietened his rage. I had guessed, the first time, watching him write his cheque without further histrionics, that he had decided he might as well write it because he would tell his bank not to cash it.

It looked very much now as if he were planning something else. The question was, what?

I watched him walk calmly over to the horsebox and wave an impatient hand at the lad and the driver, telling them to get on board. Then he himself climbed clumsily up into the cab after them and slammed the door.

The engine started. The heavy vehicle throbbed, shuddered, and rolled away slowly out of the yard, Graves looking steadfastly ahead as if blinkered.

I detached myself from the stable door and walked across towards Bobby.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘Be my guest.’

He looked round. ‘All quiet. Let’s go in. It’s cold.’

‘Mm.’

We walked two steps and I stopped.

‘What is it?’ Bobby asked, turning.

‘Graves,’ I said. ‘He went too meekly.’

‘He couldn’t have done much else.’

‘He could have gone shouting and kicking and uttering last-minute threats.’

‘I don’t know what you’re worrying about. We’ve got his cheque and we’ve got his horses... er, thanks to you.’

His horses.

The breath in my lungs went out in a whoosh, steaming in a vanishing plume against the night sky.

‘Bobby,’ I said, ‘have you any empty boxes?’

‘Yes, there are some in the fillies’ yard.’ He was puzzled. ‘Why?’

‘We might just put Graves’s horses in them, don’t you think?’

‘You mean... he might come back?’ Bobby shook his head. ‘I’d hear him. I heard him before, though I admit that was lucky because we should have been out at a party, but we were too worried about things to go.’

‘Could Graves have known you would be out?’ I asked.

He looked startled. ‘Yes, I suppose he could. The invitation is on the mantelpiece in the sitting room. He came in there last Sunday for a drink. Anyway, I’d hear a horsebox coming back. Couldn’t miss it.’

‘And if it parked at three in the morning on that strip of grass along from your gate, and the horses were led out in rubber boots to deaden the noise of their hooves?’

Bobby looked nonplussed. ‘But he wouldn’t. Not all that. Would he?’

‘He was planning something. It showed.’

‘All right,’ Bobby said. ‘We’ll move them.’

On my way back to fetch the horse I’d been guarding I reflected that Bobby was uncommonly amenable to advice. He usually considered any suggestion from me to be criticism of himself and defensively found sixteen reasons for not doing what I’d mentioned: or at least not until I was well out of sight and wouldn’t know. This evening things were different. Bobby had to be very worried indeed.