Royal Heist (2 page)

De Jersey gave him a bear hug, dwarfing David, who was no more than five feet seven. The financial adviser’s hired morning suit was a trifle large, and his prominent ears held up his top hat.

“And Helen, what a wonderful creation,” de Jersey said, referring to her hat, a bright pink ensemble of huge roses that made her pinched, nervous face seem even paler.

“Thank you. David said it was awful.” Helen, who had spent weeks shopping for her outfit, had been upset by her husband’s criticism.

“It’s stunning.” Christina kissed her and passed Helen a glass of champagne.

“I’d say your husband has some nerve,” de Jersey said, laughing as he tapped David’s topper, which sank low on his red, sweaty face. “What happened, David? No suits in your size left at Moss Bros?”

David smiled self-consciously. Like his wife, he had never attended Royal Ascot. Normally he was fastidious in his dress, but unfortunately he had left it until the last moment to hire his suit.

“I think you look splendid,” Christina said. “Champagne? Now, if you need any help placing bets, Natasha will guide you through the procedure. Edward’s suggested a possible winner for the first race, but I never pay any attention to him. I bet on the horse whose name I like best.”

Quickly, David removed his hat and went to sit on the far side of the box, where he lit a cigar. De Jersey joined him. “Glad you could make it. It’s been months since I’ve seen you, and I have a lot to thank you for. You made me a wealthy man.”

“I’ve been caught up with work, but I have tried calling you.” David drained his glass, which de Jersey refilled. They had known each other for twenty-five years but rarely socialized. David’s latest business venture on de Jersey’s behalf, financing an Internet company, had proved a gold mine.

“What do you say is going to be a surefire bet? Come on now, you’ve got to have insider information, Edward.”

“There never is one.” De Jersey hesitated. David’s words were an eerie reminder of his father, who always used to say the same thing. He suddenly felt like talking about his father but resisted. David would have heart failure if he knew some of the things de Jersey had done. He was straight and honest, the very reason de Jersey placed so much trust in him.

“David, I am really pleased you and Helen could join us today.”

David smiled. He had whiter than white teeth and always appeared suntanned. His balding head and big ears were often a source of amusement, but he was, in actual fact, a very confident man. Now that he was flushed with champagne, David’s discomfort at wearing an oversize morning suit was beginning to lessen.

“Edward, lemme tell you. What with Helen’s ruddy flower garden hat and me in this suit, I was of two minds about whether to come today. I said to this bloke at Moss Bros, can’t you take the trousers up? No, he said, then puts the jacket on me and the sleeves covered my hand. I said, I can’t go to Royal Ascot looking like a chump. Can’t you recommend someone that’s got one more my size? And you know what he said? No one will notice! I said, They will when I do a pratfall in front of the Queen.

“And then I get the manager, and he starts kneeling down with these pins in his mouth. He says to me, Can you stand on the stool? And I says, That’s not gonna help. I can’t carry that around the racetrack!” David chortled with laughter and showed the wide hem on his trousers as Helen blushed with embarrassment.

By the time Christina suggested they sit down for lunch, everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves. The vicar had accompanied David to the Tote and appeared to have backed every horse in the first race. It was one thirty. More champagne was offered, then chilled white Chablis as the oysters were served. They were to be followed by wild salmon in aspic with new potatoes and salad. There would be a break between courses to watch the races from the balcony.

Just as they finished the oysters, the crowds below cheered wildly and everyone left the table to watch the Royal procession pass beneath the balcony. Moments later the first runners were under starter’s orders, and they were off. Their guests, led by David, cheered on the winner—Charcoal at twelve to one—then David and the vicar rushed out to collect their winnings.

De Jersey felt the knot in his stomach tighten. Two more races, then he would go down to the stables.

David was making his way to the Tote on the floor directly below. Natasha had already placed her bet, but when she saw him join the line she waited, and they returned together. David hurried to the balcony, but Natasha joined her father.

“Daddy, David put on an enormous amount of money!”

“Shush,” Christina admonished.

“He can afford it, sweetheart,” de Jersey said, grinning. “What’s he backed?”

“Classy Lady.” Natasha giggled. “Maybe because of his wife’s awful rose-garden hat.”

Christina said sternly, “That will do, Natty. Edward, don’t encourage her. They’re your guests.”

De Jersey pulled a po-face. “Me?”

Natasha stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “I’m on Blue Babushka, the outsider, a fiver on the nose.”

“Then join the others or you’ll miss the race.” Christina glanced at the table, now freshly laid for the next course. Natasha left, and de Jersey watched the television screen as the horses cantered past, heading for the starting gate. “Royal Flush will go in last,” he said. “He gets so frisky. I might go and have another look at him.”

“Not before we finish lunch. You’ve got almost two hours yet. . . . Darling?”

He was staring into space. “Next year, the Derby. That’s my dream, to have a Derby winner.” He lapsed into silence again. Sometimes he wanted to tell her about his childhood, but so much of the past was buried beneath the person he had become that the less she knew the safer he felt.

They had just finished the main course when Donald Fleming came into the box. “Mickey’s in the weighing room,” he said.

“I won the last race!” his wife called to him.

Fleming blew her a kiss, then turned to Christina. “Thank you for inviting my wife.”

Christina patted his arm. “She looks wonderful.”

“Thanks to you, all those dresses you sent over—she was like a little girl at Christmas. And don’t tell me they were ones you didn’t wear anymore because a couple had the price tags still on them.”

“You didn’t mind, did you? I knew she hadn’t been well enough to go shopping.”

“Mind? Course not. Having her here today makes it even more special. Cream’ll be if Royal Flush wins.”

Fleming crossed to his wife. She was talking about her recent mastectomy with Helen Lyons, who found operations fascinating.

De Jersey turned to Christina. “What was that about his wife?”

“I sent over some dresses for her to choose something to wear. She’s been very poorly.”

“I thought the operation was a success,” he said, looking at his watch. He was impatient to go to the stables.

“Yes, but she lost self-confidence.” Christina touched the emerald-and-diamond brooch on her lapel. “Can you see if the safety catch is on?” Her husband bent to look. “I don’t know why you wanted me to wear it. I’m always afraid of losing it, and with these crowds . . .”

“Looks okay. It suits that jacket.”

Christina nuzzled his neck. “It would suit any jacket. It’s magnificent.”

De Jersey grinned boyishly. He adored buying her expensive gifts. This brooch, for her last birthday, had been especially costly. The matching earrings were in his pocket. He had intended to give them to her before he left that morning but then decided that if Royal Flush won they would make it a memorable day for her too.

The next race was ready for the off. Fleming beckoned to de Jersey; it was time to get Royal Flush saddled up. De Jersey asked Christina to take the girls to the parade ring; he would join them there. He leaned close. “Just you and the girls, darling. You know I don’t like too many people around when we saddle up.” She nodded. As de Jersey and Fleming left, she joined the guests on the balcony to explain they would return after the race. David was put out that he couldn’t come, so Christina explained Edward’s nervousness and suggested that David could make his way to the stands around the parade ring and watch the saddling from there.

“Will the Queen be with her horse?” he asked like a kid.

“Yes, I believe so. She has a runner in the same race.”

“Bloody hell, I wouldn’t miss that. We’ll go over to the stands then after the next race. Which way do we go?” After giving him directions, Christina signaled to the girls, and the five of them left the box.

They passed under the archway and headed along the grass path toward the arena, where the horses would be brought to their owners and trainers. There, the jockeys received their last-minute instructions before mounting to ride down the track to the starting gate. Dense crowds lined the fenced walkway to watch the Queen as she, too, made her way toward the parade ring.

De Jersey arrived at the stables as the horses were being walked outside. They were unsaddled but draped in their owners’ colors, and their numbers were attached to their bridles. The sun blazed, and some were already sweating. Royal Flush was number seven. He was playing up, tossing his head. A couple of other horses walked sideways; some were kicking out. Her Majesty’s trainer walked with her to the ring, surrounded by bodyguards and security officers, six feet in front and behind. Although they had walkie-talkies and were monitoring the crowds, they were discreet, and there was a wonderful atmosphere of well-being. Here at Royal Ascot the Queen could relax and enjoy her favorite pastime. She acknowledged the cheers but was deeply engrossed in talking to her trainer.

Quite a way behind, Christina was strolling with the girls, who were agog at such glamour. They excitedly spotted stars of movies and television and kept taking secret glances ahead to the Queen’s party.

Royal Flush was still acting up as he was led into a stable. Fleming and de Jersey saddled him. De Jersey dipped a sponge into a bucket and squeezed water into the horse’s mouth past the bit, talking to him all the time, but the horse was increasingly hard to control. Finally, the saddle was on and he was led out, rearing and bucking, ears flattened. De Jersey looked on, concerned.

“He’s in a right mood,” muttered Fleming.

“It’s bloody hot for him.”

As the stable lad took the reins, de Jersey tapped his shoulder. “See you in the ring.”

“Yes, sir. He’ll calm down. He’s just desperate to get onto that track.”

De Jersey straightened his gray silk cravat and replaced his topper. “Let’s go.” Then he and Fleming walked side by side toward the parade ring.

At the center the crowds pressed against the railings, and the green was full of owners and trainers. The Sheikh was waiting for his runner to appear, and de Jersey could see Christina and the girls chatting to friends. Making his way toward them, he passed the Queen and tipped his top hat. He was astonished when she acknowledged him. He had seen her on several occasions, but never before had she spoken to him.

“Do you play cards, Mr. de Jersey?” the Queen asked, smiling.

“Infrequently, ma’am.” He bowed.

“I wondered how your horse came about his name.”

De Jersey flushed to the roots of his hair; the royal flush was an unbeatable poker hand. “Whether it will prove to be his rightful name remains to be seen, ma’am.”

The Queen inclined her head; the conversation was over.

His heart pounding, de Jersey replaced his top hat and continued to cross the green. He could hardly believe that Her Majesty had known his name and stopped a moment to get his breath.

“You all right?” Fleming asked.

“I’m fine, just . . . She knew who I was, Donald!”

Fleming laughed. “She doesn’t miss a trick. She’s got a stable of horses on a par with yours, and I bet she knows just what the competition is from our boy. That’s her horse being led into the ring now.” He gestured to a magnificent bay draped in the Royal colors, bigger than Royal Flush, and calmer. Royal Flush, a deep, almost burnt chestnut, still tossed his head, and there was a white film of sweat on his neck.

“Bloody hot for his second time out,” de Jersey said. Then he greeted Christina by slipping an arm around her waist, and they watched as his lad walked Royal Flush round the ring.

Mickey Rowland adjusted his chin strap, whip under his arm, and looked around. Spotting de Jersey, he came over. “Hot out here,” he murmured, nodding to Christina.

“You’ve met my daughters, and these two young ladies are—” De Jersey suddenly saw that Leonie was about to take a photograph. “Not now,” he snapped.

“But, Daddy—”

“No! Christina, take the camera off her
no
w
!”

Leonie looked frightened and lowered it. Christina took the camera, explaining, “It’s supposed to be unlucky, sweetheart. Take as many as you like after the race.”

De Jersey, Fleming, and Mickey were deep in conversation, the incident forgotten. “I think it’s best to give him his head. With this ground it’s going to be fast. Let’s see what he can do, maybe give him a tap halfway, keep him off the rails, center of the course. It’s already been churned up, so if it’s too rough move him across.”

Mickey’s face was expressionless. He and de Jersey walked toward Royal Flush. De Jersey bent low, speaking privately: “You know him best, Mickey. Do what you have to do. Let’s see how good he is.”

Mickey smiled. “See you in the winner’s enclosure, then, shall I?”

De Jersey laughed and gave his jockey a leg up. Mickey tightened his gloves, tapped his helmet with his whip, and urged Royal Flush to walk out of the ring. The crowd headed back for the stands to watch the race. The horses would take a good, easy canter to the starting gate.

De Jersey walked ahead toward the owners’ and trainers’ stand, leaving Fleming to guide Christina and the girls. He didn’t see David and Helen Lyons waving from behind the barrier, but they had seen him pause by the Queen; David had the photograph to prove it.

Christina fanned herself with her race card as they headed up the steps to the front row of the stand. They were all very hot. She knew not to speak to her husband as he trained his binoculars on Royal Flush cantering up to the starting gate. De Jersey lifted them, lowered them, looked to the wide screen, then went back to the binoculars. Fleming was more relaxed.