Bolt - By Dick Francis Page 0,78

should that anger anyone?’

‘Modesty forbids me to tell you,’ I said, smiling.

‘Well, have a try.’

‘She was paying me a compliment which Maynard didn’t want to hear.’

‘Do you mean it’s because of your skill that her horses jump well?’

‘Experience,’ I said. ‘Something like that.’

‘He’s obsessed,’ Litsi said.

He was dangerous, I thought: and there was such a thing as contract killing, by persons unknown, which I didn’t like the thought of very much. To remove the mind from scary concepts, I asked Danielle if she’d managed to tell Beatrice that Monday was her last evening stint.

Danielle, after a lengthy pause, said that no, she hadn’t.

‘I wish you would,’ I said, alarmed. ‘You said you would.’

‘I can’t tell her … What if Nanterre turns up and shoots you?’

‘He won’t,’ I said. ‘But if we don’t catch him …’ I paused. ‘The princess told me today that if Roland signs the arms contract to save us all, he will literally die of shame. He wouldn’t want to go on living. She’s extremely worried that he’ll give in … she loves him … she wants him alive. So we’ve got to stop Nanterre; and stop him soon.’

Danielle didn’t answer for two or three miles, and it was Litsi eventually who broke the silence.

‘I’ll tell Beatrice,’ he said firmly.

‘No,’ Danielle protested.

‘Last night,’ I said, ‘Nanterre killed another of the princess’s horses. The princess doesn’t want Roland to know … or Beatrice, who would tell him.’

They both exclaimed in distress.

‘No wonder she’s been so sad,’ Litsi said. ‘It wasn’t just Helikon falling.’

‘Which horse?’ Danielle asked.

‘Col,’ I said. ‘The one I rode at Ascot.’

‘That didn’t quite win?’ Litsi asked.

‘Yes,’ Danielle said. ‘Her Gold Cup horse.’ She swallowed. ‘If Litsi tells Beatrice Monday’s my last day, I won’t deny it.’

We spent another slightly claustrophobic evening in the house. Roland came down to dinner, and conversation was a trifle stilted owing to everyone having to remember what was not known and shouldn’t be said.

Litsi managed to tell Beatrice positively but naturally that the last time I would be fetching Danielle at night would be Monday, as Danielle would no longer be working in the evenings, a piece of news which surprised the princess greatly.

Beatrice took in the information satisfactorily, with her eyes sliding my way, and one could almost see the cogs clicking as she added the hour to the place.

I wondered if she understood the nature of what I hoped she was going to arrange. She seemed to have no doubts or compunction about laying an ambush which would remove me from her path; but, of course, she didn’t know about the attack on Litsi or about Col’s death, which we couldn’t tell her because either she would instantly apply breaking-point pressure to her brother by informing him, or she would suffer renewed pangs of remorse and not set up the ambush at all.

Beatrice was a real wild card, I thought, who could win us or lose us the game.

Nanterre again didn’t telephone; and there had been no one all day asking about a Bradbury reward.

The advertisements had been prominent in the racing papers for two days, and noticeable in the Towncrier, but either the message-bearer hadn’t seen them or hadn’t thought answering worth while.

Well, I thought in disappointment, going a little painfully to bed, it had seemed a good idea at the time, as Eve no doubt told Adam after the apple.

Dawson buzzed through on the intercom before seven on Sunday morning. Phone call, he said.

Not again, I thought: Christ, not again.

I picked up the receiver with the most fearful foreboding, trying hard not to shake.

‘Look here,’ a voice said, ‘this message from Danielle. I don’t want any trouble, but is this reward business straight up?’

SEVENTEEN

‘Yes,’ I said, dry-mouthed, ‘it is.’

‘How much then?’

I took a deep breath, hardly believing, my heart thumping.

‘Quite a lot,’ I said. ‘It depends how much you can tell me … I’d like to come and see you.’

‘Don’t know about that,’ he said grudgingly.

‘The reward would be bigger,’ I said. ‘And I’d bring it with me.’ Breathing was easier. My hands had stopped trembling.

‘I don’t want any trouble,’ he said.

‘There won’t be any. You tell me where you’ll meet me, and I’ll come.’

‘What’s your name?’ he demanded.

I hesitated fractionally. ‘Christmas,’ I said.

‘Well, Mr Christmas, I’m not meeting you for less than a hundred quid.’ He was belligerent, suspicious and cautious, all in one.

‘All right,’ I said slowly. ‘I agree.’

‘Up front, on the table,’ he said.

‘Yes, all right.’

‘And if I tell you what you want