Proof - By Dick Francis Page 0,10

arms round him. He turned and hugged her desperately in return, and I wondered fleetingly which of them felt the most released.

I chucked all the worst of the litter into the dustbin, but left the rest of it, as she’d said. Then I went out to the van to go home, and found a very young constable by my side as I opened the door.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said, holding pen and notebook ready.

‘Yes?’

‘Name, sir?’

I gave it, and my address, which he wrote down.

‘Where were you in the marquee, sir, when the incident occurred?’

The incident… ye gods.

‘I wasn’t in the marquee,’ I said. ‘I was here, by the van.’

‘Oh!’ His eyes widened slightly. ‘Then would you wait here, sir?’ He hurried away and returned presently with a man out of uniform who walked slowly, with hunched shoulders.

‘Mr… er… Beach?’ the newcomer said. A shortish man, not young. No aggression.

I nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘You were outside, here, is that right, when this happened?’

‘Yes.’

‘And did you… by any chance… see the horsebox on its way down the hill?’ He had a quiet voice and pronounced every syllable carefully, like talking to a lip-reader.

I nodded again. He said ‘Ah,’ with deep satisfaction, as if that were the answer he had long been seeking, and he smiled on me with favour and suggested we go into the house (where it would be warmer), accompanied by the constable, to take notes.

Among the litter in the drawing room we sat while I answered his questions.

His name was Wilson, he said. He was disappointed that I hadn’t seen the horsebox start down the hill, and he was disappointed that I hadn’t seen anyone in or near it before it rolled.

‘I’ll tell you one thing for certain, though,’ I said. ‘It was not parked in any prearranged place. I watched quite a few of the cars arrive. I could see them coming over the hill, the horsebox among them. They parked in a row just as they arrived, in the same order.’ I paused, then said, ‘The Sheik came to the stables a good hour before the other guests, which is why his Mercedes is first in the row. When he arrived he went to look round the yard, to see his horses. Then when several other guests came, he joined them in the marquee. No one manoeuvred him into any particular place. I was in there when he came. He was walking with Jack Hawthorn and Jimmy – Jack’s secretary. It was just chance he stood where he did. And he didn’t of course stand totally still all the time. He must have moved several yards during the hour he was there.’

I stopped. There was a small silence.

‘Did you get all that, constable?’ Wilson asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘According to your van, you are a wine merchant, Mr Beach? And you supplied the drinks for the party?’

‘Yes,’ I agreed.

‘And you are observant.’ His voice was dry, on the edge of dubious.

‘Well…’

‘Could you describe the position of any other of the guests so accurately? For a whole hour, Mr Beach?’

‘Yes, some. But one tends to notice a Sheik. And I do notice where people are when I’m anywhere on business. The hosts, and so on, in case they want me.’

He watched my face without comment, and presently asked, ‘What did the Sheik drink?’

‘Orange juice with ice and mineral water’

‘And his followers?’

‘One had fizzy lemonade, the other two, Coca-Cola.’

‘Did you get that, constable?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Wilson stared for a while at his toecaps, then took a deep breath as if reaching a decision.

‘If I described some clothes to you, Mr Beach,’ he said, ‘could you tell me who was wearing them?’

‘Uh… if I knew them.’

‘Navy pinstripe suit…’

I listened to the familiar description. ‘A man called Larry Trent,’ I said. ‘One of Jack Hawthorn’s owners. He has… had… a restaurant; the Silver Moondance, near Reading.’

‘Got that, constable?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And also, Mr Beach, a blue tweed skirt and jacket with a light blue woollen shirt, pearls round the neck, and pearl earrings?’

I concentrated, trying to remember, and he said, ‘Greenish, slightly hairy trousers, olive-coloured sweater over a mustard shirt. Brown tie with mustard stripes.’

‘Oh…’

‘You know him?’

‘Both of them. Colonel and Mrs Fulham. I was talking to them. I sell them wine.’

‘Sold, Mr Beach,’ Wilson said regretfully. ‘That’s all, then. I’m afraid all the others have been identified, poor people.’

I swallowed. ‘How many…?’

‘Altogether? Eight dead, I’m afraid. It could have been worse. Much worse.’ He rose to his feet and perfunctorily shook my hand. ‘There may be political repercussions. I