Enquiry - By Dick Francis Page 0,40

this. He had the haunted expression of the forever apologising husband.

‘Cheer up then, Mrs Roxford,’ I said loudly. ‘You’ve got what you want. You’re laughing. So why the fury?’

‘Eh?’ She twisted her head round at me, staggering a fraction. ‘As for you, Kelly Hughes, you just asked for what you got, and don’t give me any of that crap we’ve been hearing this evening that you were framed, because you know bloody well you weren’t. People like you and Cranfield, you think you can get away with murder, people like you. But there’s justice somewhere in this world sometimes and you won’t forget that in a hurry, will you now, Mr Clever Dick.’

One of the women of the party stood up and tried to persuade her to quieten down, as every ear for six tables around was stretched in her direction. She was oblivious to them. I wasn’t.

Roberta said under her breath, ‘Oh God.’

‘So you go home and tell your bloody snob of a father,’ Grace said to her, ‘That it’s a great big laugh him being found out. That’s what it is, a great big laugh.’

The acutely embarrassed woman friend pulled her arm, and Grace swung angrily round from us to her. We took the brief opportunity and edged away round her back, and as we retreated we could hear her shouting after us, her words indistinct above the music except for ‘laugh’ and ‘bloody snob’.

‘She’s awful,’ Roberta said.

‘Not much help to poor old Jack,’ I agreed.

‘I do hate scenes. They’re so messy.’

‘Do you think all strong emotions are messy?’

‘That’s not the same thing,’ she said. ‘You can have strong emotions without making scenes. Scenes are disgusting.’

I sighed. ‘That one was.’

‘Yes.’

She was walking, I noticed, with her neck stretched very tall, the classic signal to anyone watching that she was not responsible or bowed down or amused at being involved in noise and nastiness. Rosalind, I reflected nostalgically, would probably have sympathetically agreed with dear disturbed Grace, led her off to some quiet mollifying corner, and reappeared with her eating out of her hand. Rosalind had been tempestuous herself and understood uncontrollable feelings.

Unfortunately at the end of the aisle we almost literally bumped into Kessel, who came in for the murderous glance from Roberta which had been earned by dear Grace. Kessel naturally misinterpreted her expression and spat first.

‘You can tell your father that I had been thinking for some time of sending my horses to Pat Nikita, and that this business has made me regret that I didn’t do it a long time ago. Pat has always wanted to train for me. I stayed with your father out of a mistaken sense of loyalty, and just look how he repaid me.’

‘Father has won a great many races for you,’ Roberta said coldly. ‘And if Squelch had been good enough to win the Lemonfizz Cup, he would have done.’

Kessel’s mouth sneered. It didn’t suit him.

‘As for you, Hughes, it’s a disgrace you being here tonight and I cannot think why you were allowed in. And don’t think you can fool me by spreading rumours that you are innocent and on the point of proving it. That’s all piffle, and you know it, and if you have any ideas you can reinstate yourself with me that way, you are very much mistaken.’

He turned his back on us and bristled off, pausing triumphantly to pat Pat Nikita on the shoulder, and looking back to make sure we had noticed. Very small of him.

‘There goes Squelch,’ I said resignedly.

‘He’ll soon be apologising and sending him back,’ she said, with certainty.

‘Not a hope. Kessel’s not the humble pie kind. And Pat Nikita will never let go of that horse. Not to see him go back to your father. He’d break him down first.’

‘Why are people so jealous of each other,’ she exclaimed.

‘Born in them,’ I said. ‘And almost universal.’

‘You have a very poor opinion of human nature.’ She disapproved.

‘An objective opinion. There’s as much good as bad.’

‘You can’t be objective about being warned off,’ she protested.

‘Er… no,’ I conceded. ‘How about a drink?’

She looked instinctively towards Bobbie’s table, and I shook my head. ‘In the bar.’

‘Oh… still looking for someone?’

‘That’s right. We haven’t tried the bar yet.’

‘Is there going to be another scene?’

‘I shouldn’t think so.’

‘All right, then.’

We made our way slowly through the crowd. By then the fact that we were there must have been known to almost everyone in the place. Certainly the heads no longer turned in open surprise, but