Knock Down - By Dick Francis Page 0,34

had resolved itself into a straight contest between Vic Vincent and the carrot-headed Yorkshireman, Fynedale, who bought for Wilton Young. Constantine Bre-vett, I suddenly saw, had brought his smooth silver hair and dark-framed spectacles into the arena and was standing at Vic’s shoulder talking urgently into his ear.

Wilton Young’s man was nodding away as if he had the whole mint to call on. Constantine was looking both piqued and determined. Yearlings who cost more than sixty thousand were not a great financial proposition, even with the stud potential from Transporter, and I guessed that against anyone but Wilton Young he would have dropped out long ago.

At seventy thousand he began to scowl. At seventy-five he shook his head angrily and stalked out of the sale ring. The carrot-headed Fynedale winked at Vic Vincent.

Pauli Teksa said, ‘Say, that was some figure.’

‘Too much,’ I agreed.

‘I guess pride comes expensive.’

It did, I thought. All sorts of pride came expensive, in one way or another.

He suggested a drink and with the sale’s main excitement over we joined the general exodus barwards.

‘Seriously, Jonah,’ Pauli said, glass in hand and strong features full of friendly conviction. ‘There’s no place any more for the individualist in the game. You either have to join a big firm or else come to an agreement with the small men like yourself and act together as a body. You can’t buck the system… not if you’re out for profits.’

‘Pauli, stop trying,’ I said.

‘I don’t want to see you in big trouble, fellah.’

‘Nothing will happen,’ I said, but he shook his head, and said he was afraid for me, he surely was. I was too honest for my own good.

8

Constantine, Kerry and Nicol were all at the track that afternoon, to see Constantine’s colt start favourite for the big race. Constantine was in such a bad mood that they would have had more fun in a dentist’s waiting-room, and soon after they arrived Nicol detached himself from the general gloom and joined me with a grimace.

‘That bloody Wilton Young…’

We strolled over to see the runners for the apprentice race walk round the parade ring.

‘Tell your father to console himself with the thought that Wilton Young has probably poured his money down the drain.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘How many horses earn anything like seventy-five thousand?’

‘He’s convinced it’ll win the Arc de Triomphe.’

‘More likely a consolation race at Redcar.’

Nicol laughed. ‘That’ll cheer him up.’

I asked him how River God was doing and he said he was eating well and already looking better. He asked if I had found out why Frizzy Hair had wanted his horses and I said I hadn’t. We spent two or three chunks of the afternoon together, cementing an unexpected friendship.

Vic Vincent took a note of it and disliked what he seemed to see as a threat to his Brevett monopoly. Even Nicol noticed the blast of ill will coming my way.

‘What have you done to upset Vic?’ he asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘You must have done something.’

I shook my head. ‘It’s what I won’t do,’ I said, ‘And don’t ask what it is, because I can’t tell you.’

He sniffed. ‘Professional secret?’

‘Sort of.’

He gave me the flashing sideways grin. ‘Like when you knew I was lying my head off to keep a race on an objection, and you didn’t split?’

‘Well…’

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I remember, even if you don’t. You finished fourth. You listened to me giving my owner a right lot of codswollop and you never said a word.’

‘You’d won the race.’

‘Yeah… and they’d have taken it off me if you’d given me away.’

‘It was a long time ago.’

‘All of three years.’ He grinned. ‘The leopard still has the same claws.’

‘Spots.’

‘Claws.’ The grin came and went. ‘You were a ferocious bastard to ride against.’

‘No.’

‘Oh sure. Milk and honey on the ground and a bloody nuisance as an opponent.’ He paused. ‘I’ll tell you… I learned something from you. I learned not to go around squealing when things weren’t fair.… I learned to shrug off small injustices and get on with the next thing and put my energies in the future instead of rabbiting about the past. I learned not to mind too much when things went against me. And I reckon I owe you a lot for that.’

‘You just paid it,’ I said.

I leaned later alone against the rails of the balcony on the Members’ roof and looked down to where Vic Vincent was moving desultorily from group to group. Talking, smiling, taking notes, nodding, patting people on the back. He looked pleasant, knowledgeable and