been exploding with at Newmarket had deepened into a bitter consuming resentment, and he had pounced like a starving cat on the opportunity of doing Vic a lot of no good.
Nicol himself had been astounded and angry on his father’s behalf and had sat next to me all the way to Yorkshire saying he couldn’t believe it at regular intervals. I was sure Nicol’s surprise was genuine but I privately doubted whether Constantine’s would be. Nicol’s father was quite subtle enough to make Wilton Young pay and pay and pay for the privilege of outbidding a Brevett. That was, of course, if his pride would allow so private a victory, and on that point I was in a fog.
Wilton Young and Fynedale stood on the grass in front of the weighing room shouting at each other as if oblivious of the fascinated audience of five thousand. Wilton Young attacked like a tough little terrier and Fynedale’s temper burned as flaming bright as his hair. One or two Stewards hovered on the perimeter looking nervous about the outcome and the jockeys on their way out to the first race went past with smiles like water melon slices.
‘… bare-faced bloody fraud,’ Wilton Young was shouting, the Yorkshire accent thick and blunt. ‘I tell thee straight, no one makes a bloody monkey out of me and gets away with it. You don’t buy no more horses for me, I tell thee straight. And I want back from you every penny you’ve swindled out of me these past two years.’
‘You’ve no bloody chance,’ scoffed Fynedale, driving nails into his own coffin with the recklessness of all hotheads. ‘You paid a fair price for those horses and if you don’t like it you can bloody lump it.’
‘A fair price to you and that damned Vic Vincent is every penny you can screw out of people who trust you. All right, I’ve been a right bloody fool, but that’s all finished, I tell you straight.’ He stabbed the air with his forefinger, emphasising every angry word. ‘I’ll sue you for that money, see if I don’t.’
‘Don’t bother. Tha’ll not win.’
‘Enough mud’ll stick on you to save any other mugs wasting their brass. I tell thee straight, mister, by the time I’ve finished every single person in this country is going to know they pay through the bloody nose for every horse you buy them.’
‘I’ll bloody sue you for libel,’ Fynedale yelled.
‘And it’ll be bloody worth it.’
‘I’ll take you for millions,’ Fynedale screamed, almost jumping up and down with fury.
‘You do already.’
The row hotted up in noise level and degenerated to straight abuse, and when the race began the unprintable insults rose in volume above the commentary. Along with many others I was chuckling so much I couldn’t hold my race glasses still enough to watch the distant runners. Nicol, standing beside me, had tears running down his cheeks.
‘Oh my God,’ he said, gasping for breath. ‘What is a fat-arsed hyena-faced blood-sucking son of a sodding bitch?’
‘A mongrel,’ I said.
‘Oh don’t. It hurts.’ He pressed a hand to his heaving ribs. ‘It’s too much.’
Even after the main row was over little eddies of it persisted all afternoon, both Wilton Young and Fynedale separately being anxious to air their grievances loudly to all who would listen. Wilton Young’s forefinger stabbed the air as if he were poking holes in it and Fynedale’s voice took on a defensive whine. I kept away from them for most of the time but before the end they both came looking for me.
Wilton Young said, ‘Like a bloody piece of quick-silver, you are. I keep seeing you in the distance and then when I go that way you’ve disappeared.’
‘Sorry,’ I said.
‘You were right and I was wrong. There you are then.’ He made a large gesture of magnanimity, letting me know how generous he thought himself to be making such an admission. “The little tyke was swindling me. Like you said. All legal like, mind. I’ve been told this afternoon I won’t have a chance of getting anything back.’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Cut your losses, that’s what I always say. Any line in my mail order business that’s not pulling its weight, I scrap it. Same with my horses. Same with employees, see?’
‘I see.’
‘You don’t approve. I can see it in your face. You’re soft, lad, you’ll never get anywhere.’
‘Depends where you want to go,’ I said.
He stared, then laughed. ‘Right, then. You go to the sales next week and buy me a horse. Any