him to thank everyone and see to general security, and said we would complete the close-ups the next day.
He nodded merely and took over, and I edged gingerly into the rear seat of the car.
O’Hara climbed in on the other side. ‘You don’t need to,’ I said.
‘Yes, I do.’
I was glad enough of his company, and I gave him a number to call on his telephone, taking the mobile from him after he’d pressed buttons.
‘Robbie?’ I said, grateful not to get his message service. ‘Thomas Lyon. Where are you?’
‘Newmarket.’
‘Um… could you come to the hotel in an hour? Fairly urgent.’
‘What sort of urgent?’
‘Can’t say, right now.’
O’Hara looked surprised, but I nodded towards our driver, who might be economical with words, but was far from deaf.
O’Hara looked understanding, but also worried. ‘One of the moguls from LA has arrived at the hotel and will be waiting for us.’
‘Oh.’ I hesitated, then said, ‘Robbie, can you make it Dorothea’s house instead? It’s for a Dorothea sort of job, though not so radical.’
‘You’ve got someone with you, listening, that you don’t want to know what you’re talking about? And it’s a knife wound?’
‘Right,’ I said, grateful for his quickness.
‘Who’s the patient?’
‘I am.’
‘Dear God… have you got a key to Dorothea’s house?’
‘I’m sure her friend Betty must have one. She lives nearly opposite.’
‘I know her,’ he said briefly. ‘One hour. Dorothea’s house. How bad is it?’
‘I don’t know the internal geography well enough, but not too bad, I don’t think.’
‘Abdomen?’ he asked worriedly.
‘No. Higher, and to one side.’
‘See you,’ he said. ‘Don’t cough.’
I gave the phone back to O’Hara, who stifled all his questions with worry and difficulty. I sat sideways, propping myself as firmly as possible against the motion of the car, but all the same it was a long thirty-eight miles that time from Huntingdon to Newmarket.
I gave the driver directions to Dorothea’s house. Robbie Gill’s car was there already, Robbie himself opening the front door from inside when we pulled up, and coming down the path to meet us. O’Hara arranged with the driver to return for us in half an hour while I uncurled out of the car and steadied myself unobtrusively by holding Robbie’s arm.
I said, ‘We’re not keen for publicity over this.’
‘So I gathered. I haven’t told anyone.’
He watched O’Hara get out of the car and give the driver a signal to depart, and I said briefly, ‘O’Hara… Robbie Gill,’ which seemed enough for them both.
We walked up the path slowly and into the empty but still ravaged house. Dorothea, Robbie said, had told him of my offer to start tidying up. We went into the kitchen where I sat on one of the chairs.
‘Did you see the knife?’ Robbie asked. ‘How long was the blade?’
‘It’s still in me.’
He looked shocked. O’Hara said, ‘This is some crazy boy.’
‘O’Hara’s producing the film,’ I said. ‘He would like me stitched up and back on set tomorrow morning.’
Robbie took O’Hara’s jacket off my shoulder and knelt on the floor to take a closer look at the problem.
‘This is like no knife I ever saw,’ he pronounced.
‘Like the one of the Heath?’ I asked.
‘Different.’
‘Pull it out,’ I said, it hurts.’
Instead he stood up and said something to O’Hara about anaesthetics.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ I said impatiently, ‘Just… pull… it… out.’
Robbie said, ‘Let’s take an inside look at the damage, then.’
He unzipped my dark blue windcheater and cut open my sweater with Dorothea’s kitchen scissors, and came to the body protectors underneath.
‘What on earth –?’
‘We had death threats,’ I explained, ‘so I thought…’ I closed my eyes briefly and opened them again. ‘I borrowed two of the jockeys’ body protectors. In case of kicks.’
‘Death threats?’
O’Hara explained, and asked me, ‘What made you think of these padded jackets?’
‘Fear,’ I said truthfully.
They almost laughed.
‘Look,’ I said reasonably, ‘This knife had to go through my windproof jacket, a thick sweater, two body protectors designed to minimise impact and also one shirt in order to reach my skin. It has cut into me a bit but I’m not coughing blood and I don’t feel any worse than I did an hour ago, so… Robbie… a bit of your well-known toughness… please…’
‘Yes, all right,’ he said.
He spread open the front of the body protectors and found my white shirt wet and scarlet. He pulled the shirt apart until he could see the blade itself, and he raised his eyes to me in what could only be called horror.
‘What is it?’ I said.
‘This blade… it’s inches wide. It’s pinning all