Taking the Fall by A.P. McCoy

that you got the rides for me.’
    Ruddy was happy with that.
    Duncan said, ‘Where are you with Palmer?’
    ‘Oh, he’s with me. Or he says he will be officially as soon as I can offer him a ride.’
    ‘I’ve got one for him.’
    Ruddy checked Palmer’s schedule and there was no conflict. ‘It’s working! I’m in business!’ he shouted down the phone.
    ‘Whoa, Bess! It’s only one commission,’ Duncan said.
    ‘It’s my first of many. Wait till you see. I’m going to talk to Palmer.’
    ‘Another thing. I’ll be riding at Kempton on Boxing Day.’
    ‘You’re joking! Can I tell ’em I got that one for you too?’
    ‘You can tell them what the hell you like.’
    ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ Duncan said, kissing Lorna before he sat down. They were having lunch at the Ritz. Not because either of them liked it, but because Lorna’s father had an account. The name of Cadogan carried weight with the staff and got them a good table. But it didn’t allow Duncan to eat without being ‘correctly attired’. With seconds of his arrival, the maître d’ asked him if he could have a word. Duncan had arrived wearing a neat grey suit but with an open-necked shirt. The maître d’ offered him the loan of a tie and escorted him out to the reception area, where he was given a choice from several.
    ‘I should wear it as a headband,’ Duncan said when he sat down again.
    ‘Is it awful?’ Lorna said, glancing round the restaurant as if she hadn’t seen it before. ‘This was the only place I could think of, and anyway, the old bastard will pick up the bill, won’t he?’
    ‘Is that how you think of him? The old bastard?’
    Lorna had called him. She wanted to meet him again. It was she who had suggested central London.
    ‘I suppose I shouldn’t talk about him like that. But you don’t know what he’s like.’
    ‘No, I don’t.’ Duncan scowled at the card in front of him. ‘Can you translate this menu?’
    ‘The food here is ghastly. Anyway, you said you never eat much.’
    ‘I don’t. They can’t muck up the soup, can they?’
    She wrinkled her nose. ‘I saw the Prime Minister eating here one day with some of her cabinet. She hardly touched the food.’
    ‘She should be a jockey.’
    Lorna reached across the table and stroked his arm. ‘Why have you been hiding from me, Duncan? Didn’t we have a great day out at Doncaster?’
    Duncan ordered something called potage aux carottes and Lorna had foie gras. She also ordered a bottle of Chablis. She’d obviously been there many times with her parents. Duncan wasn’t made uncomfortable by the stiff formality of the place, but neither was he particularly impressed by crisp linen and heavy crystal glassware. He could take it or leave it. It was just that he felt he had more in common with the waiters than the diners.
    Lorna read his thoughts. She looked a little sad. ‘It’s dull here, isn’t it? Next time I’ll think of somewhere more exciting.’
    Duncan smiled to himself. She was already projecting the pair of them into the future. ‘It’s fine. Let’s have a glass of wine.’
    During the meal Lorna dropped her napkin. Duncan, watching like a hawk, saw how the waiter’s nostrils flared as he dipped down beside her to retrieve it. The waiter put the napkin back on the table but saw Duncan looking at him. He’d been caught and he knew it.
    ‘That man was sniffing you,’ Duncan said after the waiter had gone.
    Lorna preened the hair at the back of her neck. ‘That’s disgusting.’
    Duncan looked at her. She was wearing a short, skimpy black dress with black tights and shiny black heels. She also wore poppy-red lipstick. ‘Go to the ladies’ room and take off your knickers,’ he commanded.
    ‘I can’t. I’m not wearing any.’
    He leaned across and stroked the side of her dress, feeling the coarse line of suspenders under her dress.
    ‘Stockings, not tights,’ she said.
    ‘You gorgeous slut.’
    She licked her poppy-red lips. ‘Do