BLINDFOLD (13 page)

`Big Ellie?' he enquired with amusement.

`The very same,' she confirmed, with a twinkle. `And you are?' 'Gideon Blake.'

She glanced at the motorbike helmet still looped on his arm. `I didn't hear a bike. Did you really fall off?'

`No.' Gideon saw no point in elaborating. From Joey's reaction it was obvious that Ellie knew little or nothing of their affairs.

`I see. You're on a vow of silence, too,' she observed with a touch of exasperation. `Well, as I said before, I won't have any trouble here. There's a Citroen out there waiting to be masked for spraying, so I suggest you two get back to work.' She waved a hand in their direction. `Go on. Get out!'

Still scowling, Curly started for the door, followed with obvious reluctance by Joey who gave a warning shake of the head before he disappeared from view.

Gideon responded with a mocking half-smile.

`I'm not going to pry,' Ellie said as the door shut behind them, `but I'll just say this. Be careful around Curly, he's got a nasty temper. He got that from his father. He was the biggest mistake I ever made and I've made a few, I can tell you!'

`So they are brothers?' Gideon probed, casually. 'Half-brothers,' Ellie confirmed. `Joey's the eldest, he's a good boy. His father was killed racing motorbikes. Mike Dylan; you may have heard of him. But Curly ... well, he's my son and I probably shouldn't say it, but he's a bad one. Always in trouble. Jealous of his brother, I think. Joey's the one with the looks and the brains, and Curly's never known whether to love or hate him for it.' `And Jez?'

`What do you know about Jez?' she demanded suspiciously. `Not a lot. I ... er ... helped her find her puppy the other day,' he said, ruthlessly editing the facts.

'Ah, that was you, was it? Thanks, and thank your friend the vet. Jez was made up over visiting that place. She's a good kid really, you know. Just a bit wild at times. Her father works the oil rigs, so we don't see much of him.'

She looked harassed and Gideon felt sorry for her. For a woman with principles, as she seemed to be, hers must be the family from hell.

`Christ, I don't know why I'm telling you all this!' she said suddenly. `What must you be thinking?'

Gideon was saved from the necessity of answering by the reappearance of Joey, doubtless uneasy about the direction the conversation might be taking.

`You're wanted in the workshop, Ma.'

`Can't you manage for five minutes without me?' she asked testily.

`Sure we can, but you said you wanted to see the paint mix before we loaded it.'

`Yeah, I know I did. I'll be through in a minute, love. I'll just see Gideon out.'

Joey shot him a look of intense dislike before going back to the workshop.

At the door, as Gideon took his leave, Ellie put her hand on his arm. `I don't pretend to know what's going on, Gideon. But you seem like a nice bloke. Take my advice and stay away from Curly and his crowd. I've seen his work before, and believe me, you got off lightly this time!'

SIX

WHEN MARY COLLINS TELEPHONED Gideon three days later for a progress update, as arranged, he was able to report that he'd nearly finished the portrait of Sovereign. One day of bitterly cold winds and two of sleet had been a strong inducement to stay in and work. He did, however, suggest that to complete the picture it might be nice to have Tom himself depicted at the horse's head. Mary fell in happily with this idea, and invited Gideon over the next day to choose a suitable photograph from which to work.

The day was a slightly better one than of late, less windy but still dull and cold. A phone call to the Priory had failed to unearth any available transport and he had to resign himself to piling on the layers and taking the Norton. As he made his way to the shed that served as a garage for the bike, he cast a thoughtful look at Rachel's Mini but it really wasn't a viable option. The thought of driving the twenty or so miles to the stud with his knees up round his ears and his head bowed didn't attract him at all.

Rachel had spent the best part of the last three days in the spare

room, emerging from time to time to change the compact disc, dispense coffee and admire Gideon's work.

Although she hadn't mentioned it recently, he supposed she would be moving on in a day or two when her new commission started in Bournemouth. He'd have to make his own coffee again then. For now, he was banned from the spare room, forbidden to look until she'd completed its transformation; a plan with which he fell in good-humouredly, only hoping that the result was something that Giles, as his landlord, would find acceptable.

Happy living alone, Gideon had nevertheless adjusted almost seamlessly to Rachel's undemanding presence. She wafted around the Gatehouse in a haze of mohair and silk, leaving a trace of light perfume on the air, and causing as little disturbance as did Elsa the cat. Elsa herself, usually disdainful of strangers, had also quickly accepted Rachel, apparently regarding her now as part of the fixtures and fittings and even going so far as to curl up on her lap in front of the fire once or twice.

Although she seemed a little on edge for a day or two, Rachel had never spoken of the incident in Blandford and beyond enquiring, upon his return, if she was all right, Gideon had not done so either. After all, it was her business and none of his.

For his own part, once he'd cleaned up, the results of his second brush with Curly were more uncomfortable than visible, and if Rachel noticed anything amiss she didn't comment on it. Stripping off helmet, gloves and scarf in the yard outside the Collinses' rambling, stone farmhouse, Gideon noted with relief the absence of Tom's Range Rover. Mary didn't drive but there were one or two vehicles parked there, including a large, muddy car he didn't recognise, and he wondered if perhaps either Mary or the stud had visitors.

He found the back door unlocked and let himself in, softly calling out as he did so. Mary was seated at her kitchen table, surrounded by masses of photographs and newspaper cuttings, some neatly arranged in albums and scrapbooks, some loose. As Gideon shut the door behind him, she jumped visibly, apparently not having heard his call and coming back with a start from a world of memories.

'Gideon! You made me jump!'

He apologised, grinning, and went round the table to give her a hug.

`I'd almost forgotten you were coming,' she said pulling a handkerchief from a pocket in her cardigan and blowing her nose. `Which is silly, because that's the reason I got all this lot out in the first place. Anyway, I'll make a pot of tea. The kettle's already boiled once and I expect you're frozen if you came on that bike of yours.' She twisted out of his embrace and went over to the old-fashioned range.

`I am a bit,' Gideon agreed, moving to stand beside her and warm his hands. Out of the window to his right he could see someone moving about by the stables. `Visitors at the stud?' he asked, ducking his head to get a better look.

`No, that's Gerald.' Mary said, reaching up to a shelf for an old Coronation tin. `Roly's replacement, remember? He and Anthony are down in the yard helping the vet.' She began to put an assortment of biscuits on to a willow-patterned plate.

`Trouble?'

`Oh, no. Just jabs and teeth. It's that time of year again. You should go down and see Anthony afterwards. He's changed a lot since you last saw him. He should really be in college today but as Tom's not here he stayed behind to help the vet.' She poured boiling water into the teapot and turned to clear a space on the table for the cups and saucers.

`Still determined to take over from his dad when the time comes?' Gideon asked with a smile. Anthony Collins, fourteen when he'd first met him, had even then been ready to dedicate his whole life to the stud and the horses.

`Oh, yes,' Mary said with pride. `I don't think that will ever change.'

She put the plate of biscuits on the table and paused, putting her hand up to cover her mouth.

`What's the matter, Mary?' Gideon asked gently, stepping towards her. `You've been crying haven't you? Do you want to tell me about it or would you rather be alone?'

She sniffed, shook her head and pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket again. `No, don't go. I shall be all right in a moment.' `Is it Tom?' Gideon remembered the tension between them on his last visit.

Tears rushed to her eyes and she gulped. Gideon put his arms round her and the simple act of sympathy released the floodgates. Mary buried her face in his shoulder and wept convulsively.

A minute or two later, when the sobs had subsided into sniffs, she pulled away from him and dried her eyes.

`I'm sorry,' she said after a moment. `It's just, I've been so miserable and I've no one to talk to. Anthony's too young, and anyway he's a boy.'

`Well, I can't change my sex,' Gideon observed. `But I'm told I'm quite a good listener.'

Mary lowered her gaze, silent for a moment, then said, `Oh, Gideon, he's changed so! I suppose it first started about three years ago, just after Annabel went off to university. I thought he was worried about the expense, or perhaps that she was leaving home - you know how close they were. And it's true, after a few weeks he seemed better. But about a year or so ago it started again and these last few weeks he's been like a bear with a sore head. I can't seem to do anything right. Whatever it is that's worrying him, he's taking it out on me.'

`How does he seem with the horses, and Anthony?'

`Oh, fine,' she said quickly. `He's always got time for them, but I hardly ever see him now except for mealtimes. We ... well, he's even taken to sleeping up at the yard sometimes.' Her voice shook and she dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. `He says it's to keep an eye on the mares when they're foaling. It's what Roly used to do.'

`But surely that's Gerald's job now?'

`You would have thought so, wouldn't you, but Tom wants to do it all himself. Seems obsessed with it, almost.'

`Sit down,' Gideon said, pushing her gently but firmly into a chair. `I'll bring the teapot over and we'll have that cuppa. It must be brewed by now.'

Mary cleared a space amongst the memories for the tray, and Gideon put it down carefully.

There were dozens of photographs. Some in colour, some black and white, many faded and spotted with brown oxide; they all recorded the past triumphs of the Collinses' horses, some still living, others long gone. Here and there lay newspaper cuttings that had fallen out of scrapbooks. `Local Breeder Takes On The Heavies and Wins!' shouted one; `Winterbourne's Shires Do The Business!' declared another. There were many, too, that recalled the meteoric career of their showiumping legend, Popsox.

`That's a good one of Tom,' Gideon said, pointing to a ten-byeight colour print of the stud owner holding one of his horses. `Can I take that one?'

`Yes, of course,' Mary nodded. `That's the one I'd picked out too.'

`Tom isn't worried about money, is he?' Gideon asked, taking a seat. `I mean, any more than usual?'

`No. Not that he's told me, and he's always been open about it in the past. I really don't understand. It's as though I've done something awful but he won't say what.'

`Well, I'm sure you haven't,' Gideon said soothingly. `I guess one of these days you'll find out what it's all been about. I just hope, for your sake, it's sooner rather than later.'

`Thank you, Gideon. I'm sorry for having dumped it all on you like this, but I do feel better for having told you.'

'Gideon Blake, Agony Uncle at your service,' he announced grandly. `No problem too big, no donation too small. Or have I got that the wrong way round?'

Mary smiled. `Thanks,' she said again.

After tea and biscuits, Gideon left Mary tidying away the photographs and made his way out to the stables, where he eventually tracked Anthony and the vet down to one of the shires' boxes.

`Okay, let's give it a rest for a minute or two, shall we?' someone said as he reached the doorway, and he almost bumped into two men who were on their way out.

The younger of the two, who was fractionally ahead, looked up at him with instant recognition.

'Gideon!' he exclaimed. `What are you doing here?'

`I needed a photo of your dad for the portrait. You know about that, Mary says.' Gideon shook Anthony's hand, thinking that if he hadn't come looking for the boy, he might not have recognised him. He'd grown a great deal more mature in the two years or so since Gideon had last seen him, not just physically but in his manner, too.

Now he turned and said over his shoulder, `Sean, this is Gideon Blake, the chap who worked with Sox after the accident. Gideon, meet Sean Rosetti: vet, stallion man, and useless rugby player.'

Gideon offered his hand to the vet in turn but Rosetti grinned apologetically and held up hands covered in a mixture of horse saliva and chewed hay. `Anthony's just sore at me because I dumped him on his arse at practice last night,' he said with a sideways look at the boy. He had a deep voice that held a hint of a foreign accent, possibly Italian, which was borne out by his dark, curly hair and a pair of eyes that were as near black as made no difference. He was unknown to Gideon. The vet he'd originally worked with at the stud had retired shortly afterwards.

`Why did he call you a stallion man? Or is that a private joke?' Gideon asked curiously.

`Yeah, kind of,' Rosetti said dismissively, but Anthony wasn't going to let it go at that.

`He did the AI for the shires once or twice. Artificial insemination, that is,' he explained. `Anyway, Dad used to joke that the mares all started to get randy when they saw him coming, so we called him the stallion man.'

`This old girl doesn't look as though her mind's on sex at the moment,' Gideon said, looking beyond them to where the huge carthorse stood, eyeing them distrustfully from the back of the stable. The middle-aged man at her head he didn't recognise; presumably it was Gerald, Roly French's replacement.

`Yes. We're having a spot of bother with her,' Anthony said, frowning. `She hates having her teeth done and she's so strong she can tow the lot of us round the box without any trouble at all. Sean reckons she's had a bad experience at some time but she's got this hooked tooth right at the back that's making her mouth sore. We can't leave it. Hey, I don't suppose you could give us a hand? You know, work some of your magic . . .'