In the Frame - By Dick Francis Page 0,13

with the chimney-breast sticking up in the middle. Well, I had a real job finding out what happened, but anyway they finally said it was a flash fire, whatever that is, but they didn’t know what started it, because there’d been no one in the house of course for two days.’

She accepted the gin, gave me a brief unseeing smile, and returned to her story.

‘Well, I was spitting mad, I’ll tell you, over losing everything like that, and I said why hadn’t they used sea water, what with the sea being only the other side of the tamarisk and down the shingle, because of course they said they hadn’t been able to save a thing because they hadn’t enough water, and this fireman, the one I was complaining to, he said they couldn’t use sea water because for one thing it corroded everything and for another the pumps sucked up sea-weed and shells and things, and in any case the tide was out.’

I smothered an unseemly desire to laugh. She sensed it, however.

‘Well, dear, it may seem funny to you, of course, but then you haven’t lost all your treasures that you’d been collecting since heaven knows when.’

‘I’m really sorry, Mrs. Matthews. I don’t think it’s funny. It was just…’

‘Yes, well, dear. I suppose you can see the funny side of it, all that water and not a drop to put a fire out with, but I was that mad, I can tell you.’

1 think I’ll have a bit on Treetops,’ Auntie Sal said thoughtfully.

Maisie Matthews looked at her uncertainly and Billy Pyle, who had heard enough of disaster, broke gratefully into geniality, clapped me again on the shoulder, and said yes, it was time to see the next contest.

Duty done, I thought with a sigh, and took myself off to watch the race from the top of the stands, out of sight and earshot.

Treetops broke down and finished last, limping. Too bad for its owner, trainer, and Auntie Sal. I wandered down to the parade ring to see the Grand National winner walk round before his race, but without any thought of drawing him. I reckoned he was just about played out as a subject, and there would shortly be a glut.

The afternoon went quickly, as usual. I won a little, lost a little, and filled my eyes with something better than money. On the stands for the last race, I found myself approached by Maisie Matthews. No mistaking the bright red coat, the air of gloss, and the big, kind-looking, worldly face. She drew to a halt on the step below me, looking up. Entirely self-confident, though registering doubt.

‘Aren’t you,’ she said, ‘the young man I had a drink with, with Sal and Billy?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘I wasn’t sure,’ she said, the doubt disappearing. ‘You look older out here.’

‘Different light,’ I said, agreeing. She too looked older, by about ten years. Fifty-something, I thought. Bar-light always flattered.

‘They said you were an artist.’ Their mild disapproval coloured the way she spoke.

‘Mm,’ I said, watching the runners canter past on the way to the post.

‘Not very well paid, is it, dear?’

I grinned at her, liking her directness. ‘It depends who you are. Picasso didn’t grumble.’

‘How much would you charge to paint a picture for me?’

‘What sort of picture?’

‘Well, dear, you may say it sounds morbid and I dare say it is, but I was just thinking this morning when I went over there, and really it makes me that mad every time I see it, well, I was thinking actually that it makes a crazy picture, that burnt ruin with the chimney sticking up, and the burnt hedge behind and all that sea, and I was thinking of getting the local photographer who does all the weddings and things to come along and take a colour picture, because when it’s all cleared away and rebuilt, no one will believe how awful it was, and I want to hang it in the new house, just to show them.’

‘But…’

‘So how much would you charge? Because I dare say you can see I am not short of the next quid but if it would be hundreds I might as well get the photographer of course.’

‘Of course,’ I agreed gravely. ‘How about if I came to see the house, or what’s left of it, and gave you an estimate?’

She saw nothing odd in that. ‘All right, dear. That sounds very businesslike. Of course, it will have to be soon, though, because once the insurance people