dumped a casserole dish on the table. `Sit down,' she ordered. `Stop hovering around like a guest, for God's sake.'
`Sorry,' he muttered and jumped to pour her a glass of wine. He knew he would soon take all this for granted, but right now the sudden transition from jail to cosy domesticity was weird.
`Where's Malcolm?' he asked, only now realising the table was just laid for two.
`Working.' She began ladling food onto his plate. `Having dinner with some travel agent who wants to buy a horse. He's always off with someone or other who's thinking of going into racing. Most of the time it's just an excuse for a night out, if you ask me.'
`How's his business doing?' Jamie had always been intrigued by what Malcolm got up to. Bloodstock agent sounded pretty fancy but, as far as he knew, it was a term that covered a multitude of sins. Basically, Malcolm bought horses with other people's money.
`He's doing well,' Pippa said. Àt least I think he is. But, to be honest, I don't think he'd tell me if he wasn't.'
38
Jamie could understand that. Everything came the same to Malcolm. He treated good news and bad with the same cheery optimism. He'd been a rock to Jamie in those grim months between the accident and the trial -
which was more than could be said for Malc's brother Richard. The latter seemed embarrassed by Jamie's misfortunes and had steered well clear.
`Has Malcolm still got an office at Ridgemoor?' When Jamie had gone to prison, Malcolm had been running his business out of his father's yard.
Pippa nodded. Ì said he could work from here but Toby's got more space.
Anyway, Toby trains some of Malcolm's horses so it suits him.' One of an agent's functions was to liaise between a horse's owner and trainer, especially if the trainer happened to be part of the original deal. Jamie guessed that would be the case with the Ridgemoor animals. `Don't you have some of Mal's horses too?'
She looked taken aback. `Certainly not. If things go wrong - like they usually do with horses - it's best I'm not involved.'
Why not? thought Jamie. If it was OK for Malcolm to rope in his dad, why not his wife? But he kept his thoughts to himself and changed the subject.
`Did you hear anything from Geoff Lane today?'
Pippa looked sombre. `No, but I'm sure it's just a question of time.' Jamie knew she meant it wouldn't be long before Lonsdale Heights' owner decided to remove the horse from Pippa's care. Doubtless Lane's nephew, not to mention his wife, would have put the boot in after the spectacular reverse at Wolverhampton.
His sister was looking glummer as the evening wore on. He knew her well: she was what shrinks called a catastrophist - someone who anticipated a disaster round every corner.
`Look, Pippa, I've been thinking about what you asked me - about your training.'
`Yes?' She perked up.
`Have you ever thought about talking to an athletics coach?' She gave him a long look. `No. Why?'
Ìt just strikes me that there may be some things that work with athletes that might work on horses too.'
She poured herself another glass of wine. `Such as?' she asked drily.
`Well, I don't know.'
39
She sipped and said nothing, just stared at him. `But I know a man who does.'
Barney Beaufort was a fellow who liked the sound of his own voice and, as a consequence, made sure he heard plenty of it. That was Malcolm's conclusion, at any rate, as his client's voice echoed round the hotel restaurant. Fortunately their table was in a rear alcove some distance from the white-haired pianist tinkling his way through 1950s standards. There were few other diners, it being past the bedtime of the hotel's clientele.
This was not a venue that Malcolm would have chosen.
On the other hand there were many compensations, namely the wine - the restaurant's cellar was as old as its patrons and all the better for it - the sympathetic presence of Beaufort's colleague, Beverley Harris, and the reason for the celebration: Malcolm's acquisition of a four-year-old
`Sorry,' he muttered and jumped to pour her a glass of wine. He knew he would soon take all this for granted, but right now the sudden transition from jail to cosy domesticity was weird.
`Where's Malcolm?' he asked, only now realising the table was just laid for two.
`Working.' She began ladling food onto his plate. `Having dinner with some travel agent who wants to buy a horse. He's always off with someone or other who's thinking of going into racing. Most of the time it's just an excuse for a night out, if you ask me.'
`How's his business doing?' Jamie had always been intrigued by what Malcolm got up to. Bloodstock agent sounded pretty fancy but, as far as he knew, it was a term that covered a multitude of sins. Basically, Malcolm bought horses with other people's money.
`He's doing well,' Pippa said. Àt least I think he is. But, to be honest, I don't think he'd tell me if he wasn't.'
38
Jamie could understand that. Everything came the same to Malcolm. He treated good news and bad with the same cheery optimism. He'd been a rock to Jamie in those grim months between the accident and the trial -
which was more than could be said for Malc's brother Richard. The latter seemed embarrassed by Jamie's misfortunes and had steered well clear.
`Has Malcolm still got an office at Ridgemoor?' When Jamie had gone to prison, Malcolm had been running his business out of his father's yard.
Pippa nodded. Ì said he could work from here but Toby's got more space.
Anyway, Toby trains some of Malcolm's horses so it suits him.' One of an agent's functions was to liaise between a horse's owner and trainer, especially if the trainer happened to be part of the original deal. Jamie guessed that would be the case with the Ridgemoor animals. `Don't you have some of Mal's horses too?'
She looked taken aback. `Certainly not. If things go wrong - like they usually do with horses - it's best I'm not involved.'
Why not? thought Jamie. If it was OK for Malcolm to rope in his dad, why not his wife? But he kept his thoughts to himself and changed the subject.
`Did you hear anything from Geoff Lane today?'
Pippa looked sombre. `No, but I'm sure it's just a question of time.' Jamie knew she meant it wouldn't be long before Lonsdale Heights' owner decided to remove the horse from Pippa's care. Doubtless Lane's nephew, not to mention his wife, would have put the boot in after the spectacular reverse at Wolverhampton.
His sister was looking glummer as the evening wore on. He knew her well: she was what shrinks called a catastrophist - someone who anticipated a disaster round every corner.
`Look, Pippa, I've been thinking about what you asked me - about your training.'
`Yes?' She perked up.
`Have you ever thought about talking to an athletics coach?' She gave him a long look. `No. Why?'
Ìt just strikes me that there may be some things that work with athletes that might work on horses too.'
She poured herself another glass of wine. `Such as?' she asked drily.
`Well, I don't know.'
39
She sipped and said nothing, just stared at him. `But I know a man who does.'
Barney Beaufort was a fellow who liked the sound of his own voice and, as a consequence, made sure he heard plenty of it. That was Malcolm's conclusion, at any rate, as his client's voice echoed round the hotel restaurant. Fortunately their table was in a rear alcove some distance from the white-haired pianist tinkling his way through 1950s standards. There were few other diners, it being past the bedtime of the hotel's clientele.
This was not a venue that Malcolm would have chosen.
On the other hand there were many compensations, namely the wine - the restaurant's cellar was as old as its patrons and all the better for it - the sympathetic presence of Beaufort's colleague, Beverley Harris, and the reason for the celebration: Malcolm's acquisition of a four-year-old
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