Knock Down - By Dick Francis Page 0,25

and his father turned away to return to the house he gave me a twisted smile and said, ‘See? I’m not always a bastard.’

‘And besides,’ I said, ‘The horse is better than he looks.’

‘Cynical sod. It’s got a mouth like the back end of a rhino.’

‘A ride for a pro, I was told.’

‘The first nice thing you’ve ever said to me.’ He laughed. ‘Come on in and have a drink.’

‘Just a sec….’ I turned away to go over to Clem to give him a fiver and send him off home and found Nicol following me to double the ante. Clem took both notes with cheerfulness, hopped up into the cab and rolled away to the gate.

Champagne stood ready in tulip shaped glasses in the sitting-room to which Nicol led the way, the last rays of sun making the bubbles glisten like silver in liquid gold. Con-stantine handed us a glass each and we drank rather pompously to Nicol’s health. He gave me a private irreverent grin and greatly to my surprise I began to like him.

We sat in cloud nine armchairs and Constantine fussed over Kerry Sanders. She glowed with happiness, the peach bloom cheeks as fresh as a child’s. It was extraordinary, I thought, how clearly and quickly the mental state of a woman showed in her skin.

‘You almost didn’t get a horse at all,’ she told Nicol. ‘The most infuriating thing happened to the first one Jonah bought.’

They listened to the saga in bewilderment, and I added to it by saying that the same two thugs had tried a repeat with River God.

Constantine took up a heavily authoritarian stance which went well with his smooth silver hair and thick black spectacle frames, and assured Kerry that he would see they got their just deserts. As it was fairly likely I had broken Frizzy Hair’s arm I thought he had probably got his already, but I had no quarrel with any plans Constantine might have for finding out what was going on. He had the weight to lean heavily in places where I had none.

‘What do you think, Jonah?’ Nicol asked.

‘Well… I can’t believe either Hearse Puller or River God would themselves be the cause of so much action. They came from widely different places, so it can’t be anyone close to them resenting them being sold. It seems even crazier when you think that we’ll find out who bought Hearse Puller as soon as he’s entered in a race. Even if he’s changed hands more than once we should be able to trace him back.’

Constantine shook his head heavily and spoke from personal knowledge. ‘Easy enough to cover up a sale if you know how.’

‘Maybe someone simply wanted to stop Kerry giving me a horse,’ Nicol said.

‘But why?’ Kerry asked. ‘Why should they?’

No one knew. ‘Who did you tell about River God?’ I asked her.

‘After last time? You must be crazy. At least when you got another horse I had the sense not to shout it around.’

‘You didn’t tell Lady Roscommon or your hairdresser or Pauli Teksa? None of the same people as last time?’

‘I sure did not. I didn’t see Madge or the hairdresser guy, and Pauli was out of town.’

‘Someone knows,’ Nicol said. ‘So who did you tell, Jonah?’

‘No one. I didn’t tell the man I bought it from who it was for, and I didn’t tell the transport firm where they were taking it.’

‘Someone knew,’ Nicol said again, flatly.

‘Do you have any particularly bad friends?’ I asked him.

‘The professional jockeys all hate my guts.’

‘And the amateurs?’

He grinned. ‘Them too, I dare say.’

Constantine said ‘However jealous the other riders might be of Nicol’s success I cannot see any single one of them going around buying up or stealing horses simply to prevent Nicol riding winners.’

‘They’d have a job,’ Nicol said.

Constantine’s voice was resonant and deep and filled the room to overflowing. Nicol had the same basic equipment but not the obvious appreciation of his own power, so that in him the voice was quieter, more natural, not an announcement of status.

‘What about Wilton Young?’ he said.

Constantine was ready to believe anything of Wilton Young. Constantine saw only one threat to his bid to dominate British racing, and that was a bullet-headed Yorkshire-man with no social graces, a huge mail-order business and the luck of the devil with horses. Wilton Young trampled all over people’s finer feelings without noticing them and judged a man solely on his ability to make brass. He and Constantine were notably alike