'Mr Elgar, will you please tell the stewards what your riding instructions were?'
Ralph was standing bolt upright, as if on regimental parade, holding his worn trilby behind his back with both hands. He repeated what he had told me in the car and paddock and added that he had never had any cause to complain about my riding before.
'I think she just lost her head and overdid the waiting tactics. Everyone makes a cock-up once in a while.'
I wanted to hug him. You couldn't put a price on loyalty and he had every reason not to stand by me. I had heard plenty of stories of trainers who were not so steadfast in their support of their jockeys in front of the stewards.
Drewe wasn't impressed by such loyalty or plain speaking. He launched into the attack. 'Are you seriously saying that you are pleased with Pryde's riding performance?'
Ralph did not suffer fools gladly and was livid at being asked such a ridiculous question.
'Of course I am not pleased!' he retorted. 'A blind man could see that the horse should have won, but that's racing.'
Drewe wasn't finished yet. 'There's no need to be offensive, Mr Elgar. Can you explain why Fainthearted opened as 6-4 favourite but by the time the race began had drifted out to 7-2?'
Ralph went through the roof. 'If you're suggesting that I'd stop a horse you're mad!'
The stipe intervened.
'Mr Elgar, we're not accusing you of anything. We're just holding an enquiry to establish the facts.' He then turned to me.
'You looked to leave far too much ground for your horse to make up. Could you please tell the stewards why?'
I fixed Sir Arthur straight between the eyes and told him that once I had managed to settle Fainthearted I was perfectly happy with my position until we had approached the final bend. It was then that I had got boxed in. Sir Arthur had no intention of letting me finish.
'So you're telling us you got penned in. That's almost unheard of in a hurdles race.'
'I know, sir, but Brennan was doing it deliberately.' I felt no guilt about blaming the Irishman. He owed me and I had absolutely no intention of earning a suspension on his account.
'You should be very careful before you make allegations like that, my girl,' snapped Sir Arthur. He turned to the stipe.
'Mr Pugh, could we please see the video.'
Mr Pugh signalled to the video operator to begin and told him to start at the last hurdle on the far side. The stewards' secretary, who had been seated all the while in the corner taking notes, rose to switch off the lights and draw the curtains. As the film began Mr Pugh pinpointed with a cane both Fainthearted and Brennan's mount. Unfortunately for me, the incident was at the furthest end of the course and not particularly clear. What could be made out, however, was Brennan using his stick and me sitting as still as a nun at prayer.
As the film played on and showed the runners turning for home, the head-on camera came into use. All it showed was the gap appearing and Fainthearted bursting through. They waited for the film to end, both head and side on, before turning the lights back on and pulling the curtains.
'Have either of you anything to say?' asked Sir Arthur.
'No sir,' we replied in unison.
'All right then. Kindly wait outside.'
The stipe opened the door and we left the room accompanied by the secretary, who was not allowed to be privy to the stewards' deliberations.
'That didn't look too good,' said Ralph gloomily.
'No it didn't, did it?' I replied dejectedly. 'Brennan really did fix me, you know. What do you think's going to happen?'
'You'll be fined for riding an injudicious race and I'll have to eat a large slice of humble pie in front of the owners. What really concerns me is why he drifted in the betting. It's as if someone knew what was going to happen. You don't think Brennan is in with the bookies do you?'
Before I could reply the door opened and we were called back in. Drewe could hardly conceal his pleasure.
'We've discussed what we've seen and what you've told us and quite frankly we're not satisfied. We're reporting this matter to the disciplinary committee of the Jockey Club at Portman Square and you'll be informed when you have to appear. That's all. Thank you.'
I couldn't believe my ears and nor could Ralph, judging from his stunned expression. We were barely outside the room before he let fly a string of expletives, casting doubt on the parentage of each of the stewards. 'I've got to go and have a very large drink,' he raged. 'This is absolutely disgraceful. This is nothing personal, Victoria, but do you mind if I put Stevenson up in the last instead of you?'
Of course I minded. No one likes being jocked off, even if it was in favour of the champion jockey, and it would inevitably lead to talk of a rift between us. I swallowed my pride. 'No, if you think that's right, Ralph, it's fine by me.' I tried not to let him see how close I was to tears.
'Good. You know how it is with these particular owners. Don't you worry, I'm sure everything will turn out all right at the Jockey Club. I'll meet you in the car park after the last.'
I wished I could share his confidence and I trudged back to the changing room before giving way to my sobs.
I was waiting for Ralph in the car park when I saw Brennan walk towards his brand new BMW. The opportunity to have a word with him was too good to miss and I wanted more than anything to wipe that complacent grin off his face.
'Eamon,' I called out from the passenger seat of Ralph's car as he passed by. 'Can you spare me a moment?'
He was far from pleased to see me and made on towards his own vehicle.
'Hold on!' I shouted, leaping out of the car and running after him. 'You owe me an explanation.'
'Piss off!' he retorted. 'I've nothing to say to you.'
'Thanks very much. It's no good playing the innocent with me, Brennan. My husband told me all about you.'
'He did, did he? Well what a tragedy it is that your husband's now dead and, as you no doubt know, dead men don't tell tales.'
'But living women do. And I've told the police about why and how Edward was blackmailing you.' He stopped trying to open the door of his car and squared up to me menacingly.
'You have, have you? And what have you got by way of proof to support these allegations?'
I ignored the question in the absence of a satisfactory retort. 'I just want to find out who killed my husband and reckon you might be able to help me. Who was the bookmaker who laid Cartwheel to lose at Cheltenham? The same who paid you to fix me today?'
'You're imagining things. I was trying today, just like I always try.' His tongue was so far in his cheek I was surprised he could get the words out. 'Your problem is you'd be better off riding rocking horses and even then I wouldn't back against you falling off.' He turned away and climbed into the driver's seat. I wedged my foot between him and the door.
'Let me make one thing clear,' I said, doing my best to sound calm and rational. 'I didn't know or approve of what my husband was doing to you. What I do know is that Tom Radcliffe is not a murderer and I intend to prove it, and if that means exposing or even implicating you in the process, then so be it. I just wanted you to know.'
Brennan was unimpressed. 'You're not dealing with the stewards, darling. If you go on talking like that you'll be joining your husband, and that kid of yours will be an orphan. And one final thing. How can you be so sure your lover boy didn't do it? How do you know that he wasn't also being blackmailed?' With that he pushed me away from the car so violently that I stumbled and fell. He turned on the engine and, having made one last offensive gesture out of the window, roared out of the car park.
I picked myself up off the ground and walked back to Ralph's car. 'Nothing personal', I said to myself, had now become 'everything personal'. And just to add to my misery, Ralph's other runner won.