Deadfall (10 page)

The steward's radio crackled and he spoke into it briefly.

‘Nasty incident,' he said, coming towards Linc. ‘Young girl, only seventeen. Looks like back trouble. Be a while yet. Sorry.'

‘No problem.' Linc knew he wouldn't be the only one held up on the course. With competitors sent out every two or three minutes there would probably be at least two more stopped at various points behind him.

It was in fact nearly fifteen minutes more before he was given the all clear, by which time Hobo had switched off completely. Linc rode him in three big circles, gradually increasing speed, and then sent him forward down the eighty metres or so to the next fence, wishing he didn't have to restart over the most daunting obstacle on the course.

Hobo apparently had no such worries. He just seemed delighted to be moving again. Linc steadied him three strides out and he sprang lightly up on to the mound, put in the requisite short stride on top and leaped out over the rail to land with barely a check on the lower ground beyond the ditch. The watching crowd clapped appreciatively.

‘Good boy!' Linc patted Hobo's neck as he galloped on. Halfway up the following stretch they passed the riderless brown horse being led back and Linc mentally crossed himself. Within moments he'd put the incident out of his mind, lost to the
rhythm of Hobo's bobbing head and pounding hooves. It looked like being another faultless round until they suffered a communication breakdown over Linc's intended route through the last combination and almost hit a tree. The mix up left Hobo unbalanced and unable to attempt the final rail, and circling to take it again meant they finished with twenty penalties.

Nina, waiting at the end of the course, brushed his apologies aside.

‘No, don't worry, Linc. I'm just glad you're both all right! We heard over the Tannoy that someone had fallen but it was ages before we could find out who. When you didn't come back, we weren't sure whether
you'd
fallen or whether there was someone else ahead of you.'

‘It was the girl in front of me,' Linc told her, dismounting and running his stirrups up. ‘Quite nasty, according to the steward. But Hobo wasn't fazed by the wait. He was brilliant!'

Noddy and Hobo's class was a big one, so after relinquishing Nina's horse to the groom Linc had plenty of time to return to his own lorry for some lunch. He went by way of the trade stands, looking to buy a new pair of riding gloves as his were fast becoming more hole than glove. He was pleased to find Sandy Wilkes's stand, and went in under the canopy to see him. Sandy himself was taking advantage of a quiet moment to drink a cup of soup but stood up with every appearance of pleasure when he saw Linc, apparently not bearing a grudge for Monday night's events.

‘Hi, mate,' he said. ‘How are you doing today?'

‘Thanks. Not bad at all. But I could do with a
new pair of gloves.' He held his hands up to illustrate his point.

‘You certainly could,' Sandy agreed. ‘Though I'm not sure I should serve you after the other night. Those nosy policemen kept me up till two o'clock in the morning and left one hell of a mess for me to clear up!'

‘Ouch! Sorry about that.'

‘Nah, it wasn't your fault.' Sandy reached down a tray full of a variety of gloves. ‘Have a look through that lot. By the way, I put your advert up.' He had been out when Linc had called and put the postcard through the door with an explanatory note. ‘So, have you had any luck with it so far?'

Linc shook his head. ‘Not a lot. I've spoken to a few other people, though, and got a couple of things to check up on.'

‘You have?'

‘Mmm. Nothing to tell yet, though.' Linc didn't mention the warning message. He had passed it on to Rockley, in spite of the inevitable ‘I told you so', in the hope that something might be gleaned forensically but the DI had held out little hope.

When Linc returned to the horsebox, Noddy was tied up outside, warmly rugged up and munching on a net of hay, whilst Nikki was happily chatting to the owners of a neighbouring lorry. She broke off as Linc walked up, and came to meet him.

‘That was bad luck,' she commiserated. ‘Getting held up like that must have affected him.'

‘Actually, he was very good about it. The run-out was my fault.'

‘At first, we weren't sure who'd fallen. Then I remembered that Cris was somewhere out there
and I called him on his mobile. He said you were okay. The girl didn't look too good though. Apparently the horse rolled on her.'

Linc took over guard duty at the lorry while Nikki went to buy a hot dog and see if she could locate Crispin. In this she failed, and by the time she returned and Linc set off in search of Dee Ellis and Steamer, word had begun to filter round the venue that the girl who'd been taken to hospital had in fact died on the way. The atmosphere became sombre as the shock set in and people huddled in groups, talking in hushed voices. One or two who had known her well scratched from the competition and went home early, and for Linc it took the edge off the news, presently, that Noddy had come second in his class.

Steamer was tacked up ready, wearing protective boots and a breast girth to stop his saddle slipping back.

‘Are you still okay to ride?' Dee Ellis asked anxiously. ‘After . . . you know . . .?'

‘Sure.'

Linc fastened his crash cap and mounted, making the big grey stand while he adjusted the length of his stirrups before riding away to warm up. Steamer felt broad and powerful beneath him.

The clear-round course consisted of twelve colourful show jumps standing at around three feet in height. Riders could attempt the course as many times as they liked, paying a small entry fee each time and collecting a rosette for a faultless round.

Dee paid and Linc rode Steamer in. He was the perfect gentleman, taking a strong but manageable hold and jumping high and wide. Linc was
impressed and told Dee he'd be glad to ride him in the main class.

With a few minutes to go, he was riding the grey round near to the start with a couple of other riders who were waiting their turn, when one of them drew alongside.

‘That Dotty Dee's grey?' he asked.

‘That's right,' Linc said cautiously, and the other rider raised an eyebrow.

‘Hmm. Well, good luck, mate.'

There was something odd in his tone but Linc was called to the start line before he could follow it up.

‘Ready?' the starter asked. ‘Five, four, three, two, one. Good luck!'

As the words left the steward's lips Dee Ellis's ‘pussycat' ripped the rubber-coated reins through Linc's fingers and set off as if all hell was after him. Caught napping like a novice, Linc swore, desperately trying to regain his balance and some semblance of control. The first fence was looming, a low, inviting hedge and rail – but even so not designed to be taken at full tilt. All the fences on a cross-country course need to be treated with respect.

By the time Linc had gathered his looping reins, the hedge and rail were upon them and it was far too late to try and steady the grey. Steamer took off a full stride early and landed a similar distance out the other side.

‘Steady, you mad bastard!' Linc shouted at him, alternately pulling and releasing as they approached the oil barrels that formed fence two.

Steamer wasn't about to relinquish his advantage
without a fight. He skipped over the barrels with scornful ease and thrust his nose earthwards, almost pulling Linc from the saddle. As the reins slipped again, he set off with renewed vigour, and the best that Linc could do was steer him towards the third and pray.

As in Noddy and Hobo's class, the fourth was a combination fence, and as they landed over the third Linc knew he had to get a hold of the grey before they reached it. There was no way any horse could jump three solid fences in quick succession going at that speed.

As a general rule of thumb, to achieve the right trajectory a horse needs to take off the same distance away as the height of the fence. Too close and he risks hitting it with his front legs and tipping over. Too far away and he is liable to catch it with his hind legs. Combination fences compound any error. If the first element is met wrong, the problem tends to be magnified by each successive part. Steamer was showing every likelihood of meeting the first element very wrong indeed.

Clamping his legs as tightly as he could to the horse's sides, Linc sat down hard and physically forced Steamer to change his rhythm, driving him on to his bridle with all the strength he could muster. The grey's gait became ragged for a few strides, then his neck and back rounded and his pace dropped. By the time they reached the first rail he was still going far faster than Linc would have liked but at least he felt they had a chance of clearing it.

Steamer was as clever as a cat. He skimmed through without touching a rail, and in a crazy,
irresponsible kind of way, Linc began to enjoy himself. The course flashed by in a blur, speed nearly proving to be their undoing at the watersplash where the dragging effect of the stream unbalanced the grey and caused him to miss the log jump out. He then jumped so fast and wide at the lane crossing that he took both hedges in one leap, landing with his quarters in the second and kicking himself free. Linc did take an extra pull on the approach to Lovers Leap but Steamer had other ideas and he could do little more than console himself with the thought that to have qualified for the bigger class, the grey must surely have safely negotiated obstacles such as these before.

One leap up, a brief touch on the top of the mound and a sky launch over the rail and drop. Linc sat back and Steamer landed running.

Somewhere nearby, a loudspeaker was updating people in other parts of the venue. ‘Lincoln Tremayne and Night Train have just landed safely over fence number eighteen, Lovers Leap,' it announced in unemotional tones, ‘and are gaining on the pair in front.'

Sure enough, rounding the next bend Linc could see a chestnut rump ahead, and almost immediately the course stewards began to signal to the slower pair to give way to Linc and Steamer. Linc shouted thanks as he swept by and sent the grey on up the last hill. Three more fences were taken without incident and suddenly the whirlwind ride was over.

Once across the finish line Steamer allowed Linc to pull him up with very little fuss and, as he slowed to a trot, Dee flew across the trampled turf, threw
her arms round the horse's sweaty neck and hugged him, half-sobbing with joy.

‘Bloody hell!' Linc exclaimed as Steamer finally halted, grey flanks heaving. ‘Does he always go like that?'

Dee looked up at him, her eyes shining. ‘Oh, yes, always.'

‘You know, you really should have warned me!' Linc was almost as short of breath as his mount.

‘But Nina said you could ride anything,' she replied, surprised.

‘Oh, she did, did she?' he said, making a mental note to have a word with Miss Barclay. ‘Well, I'm sorry about the run-out at the watersplash. I just couldn't get him to listen.'

‘Oh, that's nothing! At least you got round! That's the first time he's finished a course since we've had him! And it just proves that I was right. He
is
a good horse, it's the
riders
that weren't up to it!'

Linc could have said a thing or two about that but he kept his tongue between his teeth. He dismounted on to legs that were suspiciously shaky and stretched his aching arms. On the whole, he thought, it was probably a good thing that the Eighth Viscount wasn't in the habit of watching his son and heir compete.

‘I've a bone to pick with you, my girl!' Linc announced, as Nina joined him on the way back to his lorry. Dee had disappeared with Steamer in tow, promising Linc many rides in future should he want them, to which he returned a carefully non-committal answer.

‘I didn't know he was a maniac!' she protested, laughing.

‘And
she's
not much better. It seems she's known as Dotty Dee. That ought to have told you something.'

‘Well, it probably would've, if I'd known,' she countered. ‘Anyway, you coped, so what's all the fuss about?'

‘Mr Tremayne? Lincoln?'

A new voice hailed him from behind and he turned to see a wiry woman with greying blonde hair hurrying to catch him up. She looked vaguely familiar but he couldn't think why.

‘Yes. I'm Linc,' he confirmed.

‘Can I have a word?'

‘Well, I'm on my way home, but . . .'

Nina touched his arm. ‘I'll phone you, Linc,' she said, peeling off in the direction of her own lorry.

‘My name is Hilary Lang,' the newcomer said. ‘And I've been watching you over the last few weeks. I have to say, I'm impressed.'

Hilary Lang. No wonder he'd felt he should know her. She had been a very successful international three-day event rider at around the time his mother had been riding and was still closely involved with the sport.

‘Pleased to meet you,' he said warmly, putting out his hand.

‘I just wanted to sound you out about possibly coming on one of our training courses,' she continued as they shook hands. ‘It wouldn't be until July or August but I need to start sorting out a list. I'd very much like to see you there.'

Linc battled a feeling of unreality. Hilary Lang
did a lot of the coaching for the British international team.

‘Where would it be?' he asked. As if it mattered! He would travel to Timbuktu for the chance to be included on one of her courses.

‘Possibly Stoneleigh. It'll probably be a long weekend. Do I take it you're interested?'

‘Extremely,' Linc confirmed.

‘Good. I'll be in touch,' she said briskly. ‘And by the way, well done for riding that grey. Sean O'Connor used to ride him in Ireland and had some success but I don't think even
he
was too sad to see him go. Night Train needs a hell of a lot of work but you did brilliantly. Your mum would have been proud of you.'