Taking the Fall (22 page)

‘There’s no certainty,’ he said again. ‘There’s no certainty a dead bird won’t drop out of that big fireplace in the next five minutes. But I know it won’t. And I know this horse will win.’

Lorna looked at the fireplace. Then she got up and went across the room to the big polished mahogany desk. There was a Rolodex on the desk and she flipped it open. She picked up the phone and dialled a number. When someone answered she said, ‘Hello, I want to place a bet on the Duke Cadogan account, please.’

She listened, then cupped the phone and said to Duncan, ‘What’s the name of the horse again?’

‘Standard Contract. What are you doing?’

‘He says, where is it running?’

‘Leicester, three fifteen.’

She repeated the details into the phone. ‘He said the odds are six to one.’

‘That’s as good as you’ll get.’

‘Five hundred pounds to win,’ Lorna said into the phone.

‘No!’ Duncan shouted, hauling himself off the sofa. ‘That’s way too much!’

She shushed him. ‘Five hundred to win,’ she repeated into the phone.

Duncan stood over her as she completed the transaction. She hung on to the phone for a while, and then, as if in answer to a question, she said, ‘Red Rum.’

There was some further instruction on the other end before she put down the phone.

‘That’s a fucking crazy bet, even if I’m certain, and I’m riding the thing,’ said Duncan.

‘I’ve got faith in you.’

‘But Lorna! The horse might have a cough in the morning, or go lame. Or have a bad journey up to Leicester. Or another stable might have a surprise. And this isn’t flat racing, this is jumps. Anyone can get unseated or brought down.’

‘Where’s all your confidence gone? You didn’t tell me all this before I put the bet on.’

‘No. But I didn’t know you were going to lay out five hundred quid on me. And what sort of bookie is open for business at this time of night?’

‘That’s daddy’s special bookie. They’ll take bets any time, anywhere, about anything.’

‘And what was all that about Red Rum?’

‘Oh that was just Daddy’s code to activate the bet.’

‘Does he have a code for everything? Five hundred quid! You’d better hope I’m in good form tomorrow.’

‘You mean I’d better not wear you out in bed.’

‘You’ve got some trunk, Lorna, I’ll give you that. Speaking of bed, why don’t you rustle up some cold things and some drinks from the kitchen and let’s take them upstairs. Don’t bother the staff.’

Lorna was happy to oblige. ‘Okay!’ She shimmied away.

Duncan waited a beat and then went across to the open Rolodex on the desk. He found a pen and made a note of the number Lorna had just dialled. Then he waited quietly for her to come back from the kitchen.

Duncan was riding three horses at the Leicester meeting. Two for Petie, one for Cadogan and Osborne. Or rather, one for Cadogan and Osborne at the orders of George Pleasance. It seemed that if George Pleasance said he wanted something, he got it. And what he wanted was for Duncan to ride the favourite, Supernatural, in the fifth race of the day.

Kerry was also there riding for Petie. He spotted George Pleasance early in the proceedings. ‘Hey,’ he said to Duncan in the Weighing Room, ‘you still haven’t told me much about what went on in Marbella.’

‘Very little. I swam in the pool. Slept on sunloungers. Stayed away from the whores.’

‘I’ll bet.’

Duncan flicked a towel at him. ‘It’s all in your feverish Paddy imagination.’

‘I’ll bet.’

Duncan looked up, and as luck would have it, there across the Weighing Room, gazing back at him with what was maybe half a smile, or half a frown, was the Monk. Aaron nodded briefly at him. He seemed to be able to look right into Duncan’s heart.

‘You look distracted this morning,’ Roisin said to him in the paddock, as he was preparing for a two-mile novices’ handicap chase. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I think I ate something that disagreed with me.’

‘When Petie came along she said, ‘He’s got the scutters, Da.’

‘No,’ said Duncan, ‘I’ll be all right once I get going.’

‘It’s that foreign food. I told you to be careful what ye was eating and the water ye drank.’

‘Let me get down to the start. I’ll be fine.’

He saddled up and cantered down to the start line, trying to concentrate on the race ahead. But he wasn’t properly focused. He didn’t ride a bad race, but came in fourth on Standard Contract when he felt he could have given a much better account. Petie seemed reasonably happy. He was more interested in the progress of Lemontree in the fourth, whereas the previous race had been just an outing.

Duncan stuck by the story of having a dicky tummy. He locked himself in the cubicle in the Weighing Room so he could have time to himself. His face was too readable. It was better if they thought he was nursing a bad gut rather than a bad conscience.

In the fourth race he was up against the Monk. Aaron never acknowledged him before the off; he never acknowledged anyone. He was in the zone. It was his own crystal-clear place. There were no other riders. Duncan admired that. He tried to clear his head of all thoughts before the race. He sat behind Aaron all the way round, as if he was in the older jockey’s slipstream. Then, when he felt Aaron go, he gave Lemontree a squeeze, too. It was enough. Aaron’s horse went out into the front with only one fence to jump. But Lemontree had an extra set of burners. She jumped well at the last and left Aaron at a standstill. The last thing Duncan remembered was Aaron turning slightly and squinting at him through muddied goggles. There was the nearest thing to a smile on the Monk’s face. Not really a smile. But nearly. Lemontree hacked up six lengths clear.

Petie was very happy; Roisin ecstatic, since the horse had been one of her purchases; Kerry was pleased for him.

All he had to do now to complete the day was
not
win the fifth race for Cadogan on Supernatural.

He weighed in from the previous race, then found the valet, who had his change of colours ready for him. He would be riding in the scarlet with white star and red chevrons of Osborne’s stables. When he came out, George Pleasance, showing off his great mane of silver-and-jet hair, was there to wish him luck.

Out in the paddock, Osborne was waiting with his usual face. No eye contact, and this time no instructions either on how to ride Supernatural. Cadogan was there too, smiling broadly, fedora pulled down low over his eyes. ‘We’re letting you go on one of our favourites today,’ he said. ‘Don’t let us down.’

Duncan wondered whether Cadogan and Osborne were in on it. Were they in on everything? Perhaps yes, perhaps not. George Pleasance made no appearance in the paddock. It wouldn’t do to have a known cocaine smuggler consorting openly with Cadogan and Osborne, even if the police and the Jockey Club and the betting authorities all knew about it. What would the punters do? Duncan thought. He fixed his goggles and cantered down to the starting line.

The fifth race was the biggest race of the day. Supernatural was odds-on favourite to win the Class 3 Novices’ Hurdle for four-year-olds over two miles and four furlongs. The starter was having a problem with one or two horses and he was having to circle them. Duncan stood unaffected, trying again to clear his thoughts.

But in his mind he was in a warm and quiet swimming pool, under a setting sun. There was a slight ripple as he felt someone else slide into the pool beside him. It was George Pleasance. No one else was around. George had his back to the sun, so that his face was almost in silhouette. Duncan had had to squint to see the whites of his eyes and his row of white teeth.

Then the horses were away like a flock of birds. Herd instinct. Duncan took a clear central position behind four leaders and rode steadily, keeping pace, keeping plenty in hand. Supernatural was a decent ride, rightfully favourite in this class of race. The track had turned muddy and there was a lot of earth being kicked up by the leaders. She cleared the first hurdle neatly and the flying mud slapped at his goggles and his helmet and the drumming of hooves shut out the sound of everything else.

Was he about to surrender that unbroken beam of light? He thought of the Monk’s face turning to him as he’d galloped past him in the last race. It only had to happen once. Take a fall and you fall for ever. But did it count if your reason for throwing a race was not cash, not corruption, but pure revenge? If it was just one move in a larger plan?

He held his position and Supernatural was jumping beautifully. The mare was enjoying the race. Her ears were pricked forward, waiting for the word, the squeeze, the nudge. Sometimes you could tell a horse knew it was going to streak out in front. You could feel the swell of nerve and muscle. This was a winning race.

But he had to gain trust. He had to worm his way in, to a place where they would begin to rely on him. There was no other way. He had to change his face when he was with them; make them think he was one of them; make them believe he was just like them. He had to deceive them all. This was the price he would have to pay.

George Pleasance had slipped into the pool, all smiles in the golden light of the setting sun. ‘You know what I’m proud of ?’ he’d said. ‘I’ve never once asked a jockey to take a fall for me. Never once said: pull up, don’t try, don’t win. I’ve never had to. I don’t believe in it. I much prefer to give a jockey a win–win. No repercussions. Never.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘There’s a horse I want you to ride. She’s called Supernatural. Good one for you to win on. You’re a future champion, you are, Duncan. Not this year, no, but in the future I see it and I want to be there with you. So there it is. My gift to you. Win on it and there will be more, I promise.

‘But I’m going to have a good bet against you, Duncan. I’m going to lay a bet for Supernatural to lose. I always tell the jockey. Then if he wants to please me, that’s his business. I give a man a choice. But if it’s not a fair choice, a difficult choice, then it’s not a choice, is it, Duncan? There you have it. I’ve taken a shine to you. Win or lose, it’s all right by me, son.’ And with that George Pleasance had hauled himself out of the pool, grabbed a towel and walked away across the warm tiles.

Duncan hadn’t seen Pleasance after that until today’s races.

The front-runners were beginning to tire as they reached the third last. He could hear the swelling cries of the crowd in the grandstand, mostly urging on the favourite.

No, he decided, it was too much to surrender. There was still that beam of light between him and winning the race, and he couldn’t break it. His revenge was going to have find another way. He gave Supernatural a squeeze and the mare responded, picking up the pace now. But in that moment he thought of his father, Charlie, broken by those bastards. Where was their conscience? They hadn’t cared about trampling a good man into the mud. Why should he care if he had to throw a race or two before getting the justice he wanted above everything else?

He was a torn man. He rode inside the bubble of noise kicked up by the hooves of the charging horses. He had two fences left and the last stretch in which to make his call. Supernatural was bursting to go. As the second-last fence came up, he saw a gap on his right and he made for it. But as he did so, he felt a bump as another rider went for exactly the same spot. Their stirrups clashed. The weight of the two animals impacted equally. Supernatural flew the hurdle, but she was on her forehand, and when she cleared it her nose dived and touched the turf.

At first Duncan thought he was going to stay on her back. He flew forward and felt his feet dig into the stirrups. But then the horse stumbled again as she tried to right herself and Duncan was spun off to the left. He was pelted with mud as he flew through the air and he landed heavily on his shoulder. He had his wits about him enough to crouch into a ball as the horses coming up behind him took the jump, landed and then leapt over him. A hoof caught him on the hip. Then the drumming retreated and he was left in the dirt. He looked up but couldn’t see Supernatural anywhere.

He got to his feet, still holding his whip. He pulled off his goggles and walked to the side of the track in a daze. First-aiders were running in his direction. ‘I’m fine,’ he told them. ‘Is the horse all right?’

‘Still running,’ said one of the first-aiders. ‘Here, let’s have you sat down a minute.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Don’t be an arsehole. Sit down!’

‘It was taken out of my hands,’ Duncan said.

‘What was?’

‘Decision.’

‘He’s concussed,’ one of the first-aiders said.

‘No I’m not.’

After the first-aiders were satisfied that he was neither concussed nor had broken any bones, he made his way back to the paddock. Supernatural had already been unsaddled and taken back to her stable.

Osborne was still there. ‘There’s an inquiry,’ he said gruffly.

That would mean Duncan would have to give evidence to the stewards about what had happened. No doubt some of the punters would feel that he’d been unfairly impeded. Not that it would make any difference now to the result as far as he was concerned.

Cadogan was there. He clapped Duncan on the back. He didn’t seem too upset. ‘Jolly bad luck. Glad to see you’re okay.’

Petie and Roisin had come into the paddock. They were just relieved to see that he was unhurt. ‘Not hiding anything, are you?’ Petie said. He always said that. He knew jockeys too well; knew that most of them were not above hiding a cracked rib or two, or worse, just so they could hang in for whatever fixture lay ahead of them.

Still in his silks, Duncan made his way up to the stewards’ room. As was the way, the room was hastily arranged into a makeshift courtroom, even though the ‘inquiry’ was a bit of a joke. The stewards were just finishing talking to the winner, a jockey called Mike Nation. Duncan knew him a little from the Weighing Room. He was a fine fellow. On his way out, he asked Duncan if he was okay.

They asked Duncan a few questions about what had happened at the second-last fence. Duncan said it exactly as he saw it. ‘I saw a gap and I went for it. Mike saw the same gap and went for it at the same time. We clipped each other. My horse stumbled on landing and her nose brushed the grass.’