A Woman Unknown Page 0,9
jib, he had called at Savile Row to be tailored; a man with money.
‘Well?’ Marcus asked when I joined him. ‘Is it still to be Flint Jack?’
‘Definitely, having seen him.’
We explored, winding our way through the busy throng of small-time punters and York factory workers whose firms had closed for the day.
Band music played in the distance. From one of the food stalls floated the tempting whiff of sausages. A man by a small tent held up a sign that said ‘Gentlemen’s Convenience, one penny’.
When Marcus suggested we go to the grandstand, I said, ‘I’m going to place my own bet, Marcus, for luck. Let me catch you up.’
I had spotted a photographer friend, one of those people who know Absolutely Everything and Everyone.
Marcus sighed. ‘If you insist.’ He put his hand in his pocket. ‘Put two bob on the favourite for me. I’ll see you in the grandstand.’
I chose a bookmaker called Willie Price, a rotund, cheerful fellow with a face the colour of a strawberry. A tall, well-built young man, his clerk, stood on an upturned box beside him, signalling to someone further along the course. Boldly, I wagered a guinea to win, with a shilling each way on Little Marten for Marcus.
‘Kate!’ The voice came from behind me. Good. I had allowed my newspaper photographer friend to spot me first.
‘Len, hello!’
Len Diamond and I have been on good terms since he came to talk to my local photographic society about his work. He is the most talented photographer I know, and I suppose that is why I snootily put him in the category of friend rather than acquaintance. ‘Shouldn’t you be down by the course, waiting to snap the winner?’
He winked, which I was never sure was intentional or a nervous twitch. ‘Oh I will be. But you know my love for taking candid pictures. We have a minor royal here today as well as the usual creamy crop.’ Even as he talked to me, his eyes flitted about. When he gave his talk at the society, he said how he liked to capture his subject unawares. I supposed that a great coup for him would be to snap a pickpocket in action.
‘Who do you have your eye on today?’
‘You know me, Kate. Can’t keep away from the great, the good and the bad, especially the bad. We’ve a fellow from New York here today, fits the last category nicely, a so-called businessman.’
‘Not the man in the grey top hat?’
‘That’s what I like about you. We’re two of a kind. Never miss a trick.’
‘Who is he?’
‘His name is Hartigan. He’s a Leeds chap from Irish stock, taken to New York by an aunt and uncle as a child. He’s supposedly here to visit family whom he hasn’t seen since he wore short pants, doubtless with his bum hanging out. Meet me in the Lloyds one day and I’ll tell you all about him.’
‘Tell me now. He’s a good-looking fellow. Nice to hear he’s all heart.’
With a frown of concern, Len said, ‘Don’t even think about it, Kate. Word from my chum on Fleet Street is that Hartigan was arrested for a vicious murder, in broad daylight, on a New York streetcar. Shot a love rival through the heart. But the police and the courts couldn’t make it stick. Not a single witness stayed around to tell the tale.’
‘And who is the man with him, the Scot?’
Len smiled broadly. ‘Oh he’s all right. Produces the second best malt whisky in Scotland. What’s the betting he’ll be travelling home with a big order to ship to Canada, and it will mysteriously find its way across the border into America.’
So my Sherlockian deduction had been right. I smiled indulgently, and ventured a change of tack. ‘Hartigan and his chum are putting their money on the same horse as me.’
Len raised an eyebrow. ‘Go on then.’
‘Flint Jack.’
‘Thanks for the tip. Given that money finds its way home, I shall put my tanner on Flint Jack. Now can I give you a tip?’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘There’s a sculptor in the grandstand, Rupert Cromer.’
‘I’ve seen his work. He had an exhibition last year.’
As he moved away, Len called, ‘If you come up trumps on your horse, buy something from him. It’ll be the best investment you ever make.’
I caught up with Marcus in the grandstand. As he handed me a glass of champagne, he whispered, ‘I can relax now, Kate, and pay you the attention you deserve.’
From that I understood that he had handed