High stakes - By Dick Francis Page 0,49

raised his long bay head and whinnied theatrically.

I told Allie and the Barbos I would be back in a minute and left them leaning on the rails. A couple of enquiries and one misdirection found me standing in the cramped office of the auctioneers in the sale ring building.

‘A report from the veterinarian? Sure thing. Pay in advance, please. If you don’t want to wait, return for the report in half an hour.’

I paid and went back to the others. Warren was deciding it was time for a drink and we stood for a while in the fine warm night near one of the bars drinking Bacardi and Coke out of throwaway cartons.

Brilliant light poured out of the circular sales building in a dozen places through open doors and slatted windows. Inside, the banks of canvas chairs were beginning to fill up, and down on the rostrum in the centre the auctioneers were shaping up to starting the evening’s business. We finished the drinks, duly threw away the cartons and followed the crowd into the show.

Hip No 1 waltzed in along a ramp and circled the rostrum with all his pompoms nodding. The auctioneer began his sing-song selling, amplified and insistent, and to me, until my ears adjusted, totally unintelligible. Hip No 1 made five thousand dollars and Warren said the prices would all be low because of the economic situation.

Horses came and went. When Hip No 15 in orange pompoms had fetched a figure which had the crowd murmuring in excitement I slipped away to the office and found that the veterinary surgeon himself was there, dishing out his findings to other enquirers.

‘Hip number sixty-two?’ he echoed. ‘Sure, let me find my notes.’ He turned over a page or two in a notebook. ‘Here we are. Dark bay or brown gelding, right?’

‘Black,’ I said.

‘Uh, uh. Never say black.’ He smiled briefly, a busy middle-aged man with an air of a clerk. ‘Five years. Clean bill of health.’ He shut the notebook and turned to the next customer.

‘Is that all?’ I said blankly.

‘Sure,’ he said briskly. ‘No heart murmur, legs cool, teeth consistent with given age, eyes normal, range of movement normal, trots sound. No bowed tendons, no damaged knees.’

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘You’re welcome.’

‘Is he tranquillised?’

He looked at me sharply, then smiled. ‘I guess so. Acepromazine probably.’

‘Is that usual, or would he be a rogue?’

‘I wouldn’t think he’d had much. He should be okay.’

‘Thanks again.’

I went back to the sale ring in time to see Warren fidgeting badly over the sale of the chestnut colt. When the price rose to fifteen thousand Minty literally clung on to his hands and told him not to be a darned fool.

‘He must be sound,’ Warren protested, ‘to make that money.’

The colt made twenty-five thousand in thirty seconds’ brisk bidding and Warren’s regrets rumbled on all evening. Minty relaxed as if the ship of state had safely negotiated a killing reef and said she would like a breath of air. We went outside and leaned again on the collecting ring rails.

There were several people from England at the sales. Faces I knew, faces which knew me. No close friends, scarcely acquaintances, but people who would certainly notice and remark if I did anything unexpected.

I turned casually to Warren.

‘I’ve money in New York,’ I said. ‘I can get it tomorrow. Would you lend me some tonight?’

‘Sure,’ he said good-naturedly, fishing for his wallet. ‘How much do you need?’

‘Enough to buy that black gelding.’

‘What?’ His hand froze and his eyes widened.

‘Would you buy it for me?’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘No.’

He looked at Allie for help. ‘Does he mean it?’

‘He’s sure crazy enough for anything,’ she said.

‘That’s just what it is,’ Warren said. ‘Crazy. Crazy to buy some goddamned useless creature, just because he looks like a hurdler you’ve got back home.’

To Allie this statement suddenly made sense. She smiled vividly and said, ‘What are you going to do with him?’

I kissed her forehead. ‘I tend to think in circles,’ I said.

10

Warren, enjoying himself hugely, bought Black Fire for four thousand six hundred dollars. Bid for it, signed for it, and paid for it.

With undiminished good nature he also contracted for its immediate removal from Hialeah and subsequent shipment by air to England.

‘Having himself a ball,’ Minty said.

His good spirits lasted all the way back to Garden Island and through several celebratory nightcaps.

‘You sure bought a stinker,’ he said cheerfully, ‘But boy, I haven’t had so much fun in years. Did you see that guy’s face, the one I bid against?