Decider - By Dick Francis Page 0,93

hid the outer envelope, with letter and unopened envelope inside it, in my clothes: in, to be exact, my close-fitting underpants, against the skin of my abdomen.

Looking round to make sure that all the boxes were closed and appeared undisturbed, I went out to Conrad’s desk to put the grandstand plans back in their folder, to prop them where they had been, to relock the cupboard door and beat an undiscovered retreat.

The photograph of Rebecca and the tape lay on top of the plans. Frowning, I unzipped my trousers again and put the photograph face down against my stomach, where the glossy surface stuck to me, the brown envelope outside it, both of them held snugly, too large and flat to slide out down my legs.

It was at that point that I heard voices out in the hall, near, coming nearer.

‘But, Father,’ Dart’s voice reached me loudly, desperately, ‘I want you to come and look at the fence along the five-acre covert –’

‘Not now, Dart,’ Conrad’s voice said. ‘And why were you not at the meeting?’

Bloody hell, I thought. I snatched up the tape and stuck it into my trousers pocket, and leaned over the set of grandstand plans as if they were the only interest in my life.

Conrad pushed open the door of the room, his until-then friendly expression becoming rapidly surprised and then thunderous, as anyone’s would on seeing their most private heartland invaded.

Worse; behind him came Keith.

Conrad looked at his open cupboard with the light shining within, and at me by his desk. His bullish features darkened, his heavy eyebrows lowered, his mouth hardened implacably.

‘Explain yourself!’ he demanded, his voice harsh and scathing.

‘I’m very sorry,’ I said awkwardly. I put the plans into the folder and closed it. ‘I can’t excuse myself. I can only apologise. I do, very sincerely, apologise.’

‘It’s not good enough!’ His anger was deep and all the worse for being alien to his everyday nature, which was not quick to violence, like Keith’s. ‘That cupboard was locked. I always lock it. How did you open it?’

I didn’t answer him. The shaved key I’d used was still in the keyhole. I felt appallingly embarrassed, which no doubt he could see.

In an access of real rage he snatched up my walking stick, which lay on his desk, and raised it as if he would strike me.

‘Oh no, Conrad,’ I said. ‘Don’t.’

He hesitated, his arm high. ‘Why not? Why bloody not? You deserve it.’

‘It’s not your sort of thing.’

‘It’s mine,’ Keith said loudly. He tugged the walking stick unceremoniously from his unprotesting twin and took a quick slash at my head.

I put an arm up in a reflex parrying action, caught the stick in my hand and, with more force than he’d envisaged, pulled it vigorously towards me. He held on long enough to overbalance, his weight coming forward, and he let go only in order to put both hands on the desk to steady himself.

All three of them, Conrad, Keith and Dart, looked stunned, but in truth that morning I’d felt some of my old strength returning like an incoming, welcome and familiar tide. They’d grown used to my weakness: had been unprepared for anything else.

I leaned on the stick, nevertheless; and Keith straightened himself, and in his eyes promised me death.

I said to Conrad, ‘I wanted to look at the plans.’

‘But why?’

‘He’s an architect,’ Dart said, defending me, though I wished he hadn’t.

‘A builder,’ contradicted his father.

‘Both,’ I said briefly, ‘I’m very sorry. Very. I should have asked you to give me a sight of them, and not broken in here. I’m humbled… mortified…’ And so I was, but not repentant nor truly ashamed.

Conrad interrupted my grovelling, saying, ‘How did you know where the plans were?’ He turned to Dart. ‘How did he know? He couldn’t have found that cupboard by himself. It’s practically invisible.’

Dart, looking as uncomfortable as I felt, came round the desk and stopped a pace behind my left shoulder, almost as if sheltering from the parental ire brewing in Conrad.

‘You told him where to look,’ Conrad accused his son indignantly. ‘You showed him.’

Dart said weakly, ‘I didn’t think it would matter. What’s the big deal?’

Conrad gaped at him. ‘How can I explain if you can’t see? But you,’ he turned to me, ‘I’d just begun to think we might trust you.’ He shrugged defeatedly. ‘Get out, both of you. You disgust me.’

‘No,’ Keith protested, ‘how do you know he’s not stolen anything?’ He looked round the room. ‘You have all