Proof - By Dick Francis Page 0,89

cases by my reckoning and I won’t have people steal from me. You’ve had a fair cut. Very fair. But enough’s enough. We’re through. I’ll remove the rest of my stock tomorrow afternoon in one of the vans, and you’ll be here with the keys of this place to see to it.’

With defensive anger and no caution at all Vernon said explosively, ‘If you break with me I’ll see you regret it.’

There was a small intense silence, then in a deadly voice Paul Young said, ‘The last person who threatened me in that way was Zarac.’

Vernon made no reply. I felt my own hairs rising, my breath stifling, my skin chilling to cold.

I had heard too much.

If I’d been at risk before, it was now redoubled. And it wasn’t just the threat of death that terrified, but the manner of it… the nightmare of a soft white bandage over one’s nose and mouth, turning to rock, choking off breath… coming my way if Paul Young knew what I’d heard… or so it seemed to me, lying in fear, trying to prevent tremor or twitch from creaking through the unstable columns of boxes.

Vernon must have known what had become of Zarac. He made no reply at all, nor did Paul Young find it necessary to spell out his meaning at more length. I heard his strong gritty footsteps move away towards the doorway to the office, and after them, hesitant, shuffling, the footfalls of Vernon.

I heard Vernon’s voice saying loudly, angrily, ‘What are you doing? I told you not to bring that lot in until I was ready,’ and with the sublime disrespect for orders shown by a certain type of British workman the two men in brown overalls pushed their fork-lift truck resolutely past him into the warehouse.

I couldn’t see them, but I heard them plainly. One of them said truculently, ‘Time and a half or no time and a half, we knock off at twelve-thirty, and if this isn’t unloaded by then we’ll take it back with us. We can’t ponce about waiting for your private ‘phone calls.’

Vernon was flustered. I heard him outside calling, ‘Mervyn, Mervyn, get back here’; and when Mervyn returned it was with news that made my precarious position much worse.

‘Did you know Bakerton’s van’s here? They’ve brought fifty more cases of Pol Roger White Foil.’

Pol Roger White Foil was what I was lying on.

If they were busy with Pol Roger someone would be bound to see me. They could hardly avoid it. Delivery men wouldn’t exactly ignore a man lying on top of their boxes… they would for instance remark on it… who wouldn’t?

Vernon said disorganisedly, ‘Well if they’ve brought it… Go out and count what they unload, they left us short two cases last time… And you there with the gin, stack that lot separately, it’s not checked…’

Paul Young’s decisive voice cut through the hurrying orders. ‘Tomorrow afternoon, Vernon. Two o’clock sharp.’

Vernon’s reply was drowned as far as I was concerned by the gin handlers heating up an argument about football six paces from my toes. I could no longer hear Paul Young either. I heard too much about a questionable foul and the eyesight of the ref.

Staying on top of the champagne was hopeless, though the temptation to remain invisible was almost overwhelming. Discovery on my stomach, discovery on my feet… one or the other was inevitable.

There must be a safety of sorts, I thought, in the presence of all those delivery men.

On my feet, then.

I slithered backwards and dropped down into the narrow gap between the bulk of the Pol Roger and the smaller block of Krug beyond.

I was trembling. It wouldn’t do. I stepped from the champagne shelter numb with fright and went down to the men with the gin.

One of them broke off his denunciation of a deliberate kick at a knee cap and said/Blimey, where did you come from?’

‘Just checking,’ I said vaguely. ‘Have you finished?’

‘Near enough.’ They expertly off-loaded the last few cases. ‘That’s the lot. You want to sign our chit?’

One of them picked a yellow folded paper from his top overall pocket and held it out.

‘Er…’ I said, fishing for a pen. ‘Yes.’

I opened the yellow paper, leaned it against a case of gin, signed it illegibly in the space provided and gave it back to them.

‘Right. We’ll be off.’

They left the fork-lift truck where it was in the middle of the wide central aisle, and set off for the door. Almost without thought I