Dead Heat - By Dick Francis & Felix Francis Page 0,100

the auditorium. When I arrived at the box office at seven o’clock, there wasn’t a ticket for me, but there was a note.

‘Come to the stage door and ask for Reggie,’ it had said in Caroline’s handwriting. So I had done just that.

‘Right,’ Reggie had said. ‘So you’re the English guy she’s been yappin’ about all week.’ He was a big, burly black man and he spoke with a rhythmic lilt that made me want to boogie.

‘You got it, man,’ I replied, mimicking him.

He guffawed expansively, giving me a glimpse of a mouth full of gold-capped teeth. ‘You’re a dude,’ he said. I wasn’t sure whether it was a compliment or not, but he smiled broadly. ‘I’ve got just the place for you. Come along with me.’

His place turned out to be a couple of metal chairs set out of sight of the audience behind black curtains in the wings of the stage. One of the chairs had a particularly fine view of the first desk of the viola section, a view of my Caroline. As I sat there, I could see her through the gap between the second violins and the French horns. In truth, I could only see the back of her shoulders and part of her right side, but it was enough.

On this occasion I quietly hummed my way through Nimrod with hardly a tear. It still reminded me vividly of my father’s funeral but I was now at peace with the mental image of that day, not that it didn’t remain a poignant and emotional memory.

Caroline came over and sat with me during the interval while the rest of the orchestra disappeared down some concrete steps at the back of the stage.

‘What do they all do during the interval?’ I asked, as we watched them go.

‘Same as the audience, I expect,’ she said. ‘Some have a cup of tea. There’s usually some waiting for us in the dressing room. Others have something a little stronger, although they’re not supposed to. One or two go outside for a smoke. Relieve it or not, some sit and go to sleep for fifteen minutes.’

‘What do you normally do?’ I asked, taking her hand.

‘All of the above.’ She laughed.

‘Do you want to go and have your tea then?’

‘No. I want to stay here. I share a dressing room with twelve other women and I’d much rather be here with you.’

Good. I would much rather it too.

‘I’m going back to Delafield tomorrow,’ I said. ‘I’m going to have a snoop around the Lake Country Polo Club. Rolf Schumann was a vice-president of the club and one of those killed by the bomb at Newmarket was the president.’

‘But I can’t come with you,’ she said miserably. ‘There are some changes to the programme for tomorrow night and I have rehearsals at eleven and at three.’

‘How about on Saturday?’ I asked.

‘We have a matinée on Saturday at two thirty as well as the evening performance,’ she said. ‘You go tomorrow without me, but be careful. Remember, someone tried to kill Rolf Schumann and that same person may have tried to kill you twice already.’

‘You don’t need to remind me,’ I said.

The Lake Country Polo Club was a very grand affair with rows and rows of white-painted stables with brown roofs alongside four or five polo fields and a mass of club facilities. There were also dozens of horses in white-railed paddocks, their heads down as they chewed the spring grass. This was clearly a busy place, but also one where everything oozed money, and lots of it.

I pulled the Buick nose-first into the visitors’ car park beside the club offices and walked in where it said RECEPTION on the door. There was a woman in a white roll-neck sweatshirt and jeans sitting at a desk typing on a computer. She looked up.

‘Can I help you?’ she said.

‘I wondered if Mr Komarov is anywhere about?’ I asked.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid he won’t be back here now until next month at the earliest. For the Delafield Cup, I expect. He’s usually here for that.’

So they knew Mr Komarov. In fact, they seemed to know him quite well.

‘So he doesn’t own this club, then?’ I asked her, feigning surprise.

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘But he does own most of the ponies. His pony man is here if you’d like to see him?’ I wasn’t sure whether I did, but, before I could stop her, she lifted a phone and pushed some buttons. ‘What did you say