There was a short pause. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You have a point.’
‘If you will lend me your horsebox, I’ll take Tiddely Pom off somewhere else.’
‘Where?’
‘Somewhere safe,’ I said non-committally. ‘How about it?’
‘Oh, all right,’ he sighed. ‘Anything for a quiet life.’
‘I’ll come as soon as I can.’
‘I’ll repel boarders until you do.’ The flippancy in his voice told me how little he believed in any threat to the horse. I felt a great urge to leave them to it, to let Roncey stew in his own indiscretion, to let Vjoersterod interfere with the horse and stop it running, just to prove I was right. Very childish urge indeed. It didn’t last long, because in my way I was as stubborn as Vjoersterod. I wasn’t going to turn and run from him either, if I could help it.
When I put the telephone receiver back in its special cradle, Elizabeth was looking worried with a more normal form of anxiety.
‘That Tiddely Pom,’ I said lightly, ‘is more trouble than a bus load of eleven-year-old boys. As I expect you gathered, I’ll have to go and shift him off somewhere else.’
‘Couldn’t someone else do it?’
I shook my head. ‘Better be me.’
Mrs Woodward was still out. I filled in the time until her return by ringing up Luke-John and giving him the news that the best laid plan had gone astray.
‘Where are you taking the horse, then?’
‘I’ll let you know when I get there.’
‘Are you sure it’s necessary...?’ he began.
‘Are you,’ I interrupted, ‘sure the Blaze can afford to take any risk, after boasting about keeping the horse safe?’
‘Hm.’ He sighed. ‘Get on with it, then.’
When Mrs Woodward came back I took the van and drove to Berkshire. With me went Elizabeth’s best effort at a fond wifely farewell. She had even offered her mouth for a kiss, which she did very rarely, as mouth to mouth kissing interfered with her frail breathing arrangements and gave her a feeling of suffocation. She liked to be kissed on the cheek or forehead, and never too often.
I spent most of the journey worrying whether I should not after all have allowed myself to be blackmailed: whether any stand against pressure was a luxury when compared with the damage I’d done to Elizabeth’s weak hold on happiness. After all the shielding, which had improved her physical condition, I’d laid into her with a bulldozer. Selfishly. Just to save myself from a particularly odious form of tyranny. If she lost weight or fretted to breakdown point it would be directly my fault; and either or both seemed possible.
A hundred and fifty guineas, plus expenses, less tax. A study in depth. Tally had offered me the deeps. And in I’d jumped.
On the outskirts of London I stopped to make a long and involved telephone call, arranging a destination and care for Tiddely Pom. Norton Fox and Victor Roncey were eating lunch when I arrived at the stables, and I found it impossible to instil into either of them enough of a feeling for urgency to get them to leave their casseroled beef.
‘Sit down and have some,’ Norton said airily.
‘I want to be on my way.’
They didn’t approve of my impatience and proceeded to gooseberry crumble and biscuits and cheese. It was two o’clock before they agreed to amble out into the yard and see to the shifting of Tiddely Pom.
Norton had at least had his horsebox made ready. It stood in the centre of the yard with the ramp down. As public an exit as possible. I sighed resignedly. The horsebox driver didn’t like handing over to a stranger and gave me some anxious instructions about the idiosyncratic gear change.
Sandy Willis led Tiddely Pom across the yard, up the ramp, and into the centre stall of the three-stall box. The horse looked worse than ever, no doubt because of the colic. I couldn’t see him ever winning any Lamplighter Gold Cup. Making sure he ran in it seemed a gloomy waste of time. Just as well, I reflected, that it wasn’t to Tiddely Pom himself that I was committed, but to the principle that if Roncey wanted to run Tiddely Pom, he should. Along the lines of ‘I disagree that your horse has the slightest chance, but I’ll defend to the death your right to prove it.’
Sandy Willis finished tying the horse into his stall and took over where the box driver left off. Her instructions on how Tiddely Pom was to be managed were detailed and anxious. In her few days with the horse she had already identified herself with its well-being. As Norton had said, she was one of the best of his lads. I wished I could take her too, but it was useless expecting Norton to let her go, when she also looked after Zig Zag.
She said, ‘He will be having proper care, won’t he?’
‘The best,’ I assured her.
‘Tell them not to forget his eggs and beer.’
‘Right.’
‘And he hates having his ears messed about with.’
‘Right.’
She gave me a long searching look, a half smile, and a reluctant farewell. Victor Roncey strode briskly across to me and unburdened himself along similar lines.
‘I want to insist that you tell me where you are taking him.’
‘He will be safe.’
‘Where?’
‘Mr Roncey, if you know where, he is only half as safe. We’ve been through all this before...’
He pondered, his glance darting about restlessly, his eyes not meeting mine. ‘Oh very well,’ he said finally, with impatience. ‘But it will be up to you to make sure he gets to Heathbury Park in good time on Saturday.’
‘The Blaze will arrange that,’ I agreed. ‘The Lamplighter is at three. Tiddely Pom will reach the racecourse stables by noon, without fail.’
‘I’ll be there,’ he said. ‘Waiting.’
I nodded. Norton joined us, and the two of them discussed this arrangement while I shut up the ramp with the help of the hovering box driver.
‘What time do you get Zig Zag to Heathbury?’ I asked Norton, pausing before I climbed into the cab.
‘Mid-day,’ he said. ‘It’s only thirty-two miles... He’ll be setting off at about eleven.’
I climbed into the driving seat and looked out of the window. The two men looked back, Roncey worried, Norton not. To Norton I said, ‘I’ll see you this evening, when I bring the horsebox back.’ To Roncey, ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be quite safe. I’ll see you on Saturday. Ring the Blaze, as before, if you’d like to be reassured tonight and tomorrow.’
I shut the window, sorted out the eccentric gears, and drove Tiddely Pom gently out of the yard and up the lane to the village. An hour later than I intended, I thought in disgust. Another hour for Mrs Woodward. My mind shied away from the picture of Elizabeth waiting for me to come back. Nothing would be better. Nothing would be better for a long time to come. I felt the first stirrings of resentment against Elizabeth and at least had the sense to realise that my mind was playing me a common psychological trick. The guilty couldn’t stand the destruction of their self-esteem involved in having to admit they were wrong, and wriggled out of their shame by transferring it into resentment against the people who had made them feel it. I resented Elizabeth because I had wronged her. Of all ridiculous injustices. And of all ridiculous injustices, one of the most universal.
I manoeuvred the heavy horsebox carefully through the small village and set off north eastwards on the road over the Downs, retracing the way I had come from London. Wide rolling hills with no trees except a few low bushes leaning sideways away from the prevailing wind. No houses. A string of pylons. Black furrows in a mile of plough. A bleak early December sky, a high sheet of steel grey cloud. Cold, dull, mood-matching landscape.
There was very little traffic on the unfenced road, which served only Norton’s village and two others beyond. A blue-grey Cortina appeared on the brow of the next hill, coming towards me, travelling fast. I pulled over to give him room, and he rocked past at a stupid speed for the space available.