Bolt - By Dick Francis Page 0,63

she took off the engagement ring she still wore, I would cling to some sort of hope.

We walked back side by side to the square, and said goodnight again briefly on the landing. I went on upstairs and lay on the bed and suffered a good deal, for which there was no aspirin.

When I went in to breakfast, both Litsi and Danielle were already in the morning room, he sitting at the table reading the Sporting Life, she leaning over his shoulder to do the same.

‘Is it in?’ I said.

‘Is what in?’ Litsi asked, intently reading.

‘The advertisement,’ I said, ‘for the message-passer.’

‘Yes, it’s in,’ Litsi said. There’s a picture of you in the paper.’

I fetched some grapefruit juice, unexcited. There were photographs of me in newspapers quite often: result of the job.

‘It says here,’ Litsi said, ‘that Champion jockey Kit Fielding saved the life of a man at Bradbury by persuading the crowd to take off their coats …’ He lowered the paper and stared at me. ‘You didn’t say a word about it being your idea.’

Danielle too was staring. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘An uprush of modesty,’ I said, drinking the juice.

Litsi laughed. ‘I won’t thank you, then.’

‘No, don’t.’

Danielle said to me, ‘Do you want some toast?’

‘Yes … please,’ I said.

She walked over to the sideboard, cut a slice of wholemeal bread and put it in the toaster. I watched her do it, and Litsi, I found, watched me. I met his eyes and couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and wondered how much had been visible in my own face.

‘How are the muscles?’ I asked.

‘Stiff.’

I nodded. The toast popped up in the toaster and Danielle put the slice on a plate, brought it over and put it down in front of me.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘You’re welcome.’ It was lightly said, but not a return to November. I ate the toast while it was still hot, and was grateful for small mercies.

‘Are you busy again this afternoon?’ Litsi asked.

‘Five rides,’ I said. ‘Are you coming?’

‘Aunt Casilia said we’re all going.’

‘So she did.’ I reflected a little, remembering the morning conversation in the hall. ‘It might be a good idea,’ I said to Danielle, ‘if you could casually mention in front of Beatrice, but so as to make sure she hears, that you’ll only be working on Monday next week.’

She looked astonished. ‘But I’m not. I’m working a normal schedule.’

‘I want Beatrice to think Monday’s your last night for coming home so late.’

‘Why?’ Danielle asked. ‘I don’t mean I won’t do it, but why?’

Litsi was watching me steadily. ‘What else?’ he said.

I said conversationally, ‘There’s no harm in laying out a line with a few baited hooks. If the fish doesn’t take the opportunity, nothing will have been lost.’

‘And if he does?’

‘Net him.’

‘What sort of line and hooks?’ Danielle asked.

‘A time and place,’ I said, ‘for removing an immovable object.’

She said to Litsi, ‘Do you know what he means?’

‘I’m afraid I do,’ he said. ‘He told Beatrice last night that while he was here to prevent it, Roland would never sign a contract for arms. Kit is also the only one of us that Nanterre hasn’t directly attacked in any way, although he has twice promised to do it. Kit’s directing him to a time and place which we may be able to turn to our advantage. The time, I gather, is early Tuesday morning, when he leaves this house to fetch you from work.’

‘And the place?’ Danielle said, her eyes wide.

Litsi glanced at me. ‘We all know the perfect place,’ he said.

After the briefest of pauses, she said flatly, The alley.’

I nodded. ‘When Thomas drives the princess and Beatrice to the races today, he’ll say he’s forgotten something essential which he has to fetch from the garage on the way. He’s going to drive the Rolls right down the mews to the turning circle, to give Beatrice a full view of it, and on the way back he’ll stop by the garage but behind my Mercedes. He’s going to say how deserted and dark the alley is at night… he’s going to point out that the Mercedes is my car, and he’s going to mention that I fetch you in it every night. If Beatrice does her stuff, there’s just a chance Nanterre will come. And if he doesn’t, as I said, nothing’s lost.’

‘Will you be there,’ Danielle said, ‘in the alley?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Silly question,’ she said.

‘I’ll hire a chauffeur-driven car to go to