‘Squeezer because he squeezes people like your boss out of business?’
‘You don’t hang about, do you? Yeah, that’s right. There’s two sorts of squeezer. The one they did on my boss, telling him horses were fixed to lose when they wasn’t. And the other way round, when the smart alecs know a horse that’s done no good before is fixed to win. Then they go round all the little men putting thousands on, a bit here and a bit there, and all the little men think it’s easy pickings because they think the bad horse can’t win in a month of bleeding Sundays. And then of course it does, and they’re all down the bleeding drain.’
‘They owe Ganser Mays something like the National Debt.’
‘That’s right. And they can’t raise enough bread. So then Mr pious bleeding Mays comes along and says he’ll be kind and take the shop to make up the difference. Which he does.’
‘I thought small bookies were more clued up nowadays,’ I said.
‘You’d bleeding well think so, wouldn’t you? They’ll tell you they are, but they bleeding well aren’t. Oh sure, if they find afterwards there’s been a right fiddle, like, they squeal blue murder and refuse to pay up, but take the money in the first place, of course they do. Like bleeding innocent little lambs.’
‘I don’t think there would be any question of anyone thinking it a fiddle, this time, I said.
‘There you are, then. Quite a few would all of a bleeding sudden be finding they were swallowed up by that smarmy bastard. Just like my poor old boss.’
I reflected for a minute or two. ‘I think it would be better if you stayed in the betting shop until we’re certain which day the horse is going to run. I don’t imagine they would risk letting him loose without backing him, so we must suppose that his first race is it. But if possible I’d like to be sure. And you might hear something, if you’re still in the shop.’
‘Keep my ears flapping, you mean?’
‘Absolutely. And eyes open.’
‘Philby won’t have nothing on me,’ Bert said.
Charlie stretched out to the makings of the sandwich and assembled a smaller edition for himself.
‘Now, transport,’ I said. ‘I’ve hired all the vehicles we need from a firm in Chiswick. I was there this morning, looking them over. Owen took a Land-Rover and trailer from there to Gatwick to meet Black Fire and ferry him to his stable, and he’s coming back by train. Then there’s the caravan for you, Charlie, and the car to pull it. Tomorrow Owen is driving those to Reading and leaving them in the station car park, again coming back by train. I got two sets of keys for the car and caravan, so I’ll give you yours now.’ I went through to the sittingroom and came back with the small jingling bunch. ‘Whichever day we’re off, you can go down to Reading by train and drive from there.’
‘Fine,’ Charlie said, smiling broadly.
‘The caravan is one they hire out for horse shows and exhibitions and things like that. It’s fitted out as a sort of office. No beds or cookers, just a counter, a couple of desks, and three or four folding chairs. Owen and I will load it with all the things you’ll need before he takes it to Reading.’
‘Great.’
‘Finally there’s the big van for Owen. I’ll bring that here tomorrow and put the shopping in it. Then we should be ready.’
‘Here,’ said Bert. ‘How’s the cash, like?’
‘Do you want some, Bert?’
‘It’s only, well, seeing as how you’re hiring things left right and centre, well, I wondered if it wouldn’t be better to hire a car for me too, like. Because my old banger isn’t all that bleeding reliable, see? I wouldn’t like to miss the fun because of a boiling bleeding radiator or some such.’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Much safer.’ I went back to the sitting-room, fetched some cash, and gave it to Bert.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘I don’t need that much. What do you think I’m going to hire, a bleeding golden coach?’
‘Keep it anyway.’
He looked at me dubiously. ‘I’m not doing this for bread, mate.’
I felt humbled. ‘Bert... Give me back what you don’t use. Or send it to the Injured Jockeys’ Fund.’
His face lightened. ‘I’ll take my old boss down the boozer a few times. Best bleeding charity there is!’
Charlie finished his sandwich and wiped his fingers on his handkerchief. ‘You won’t forget the sign-writing, will you?’ he said.
‘I did it today,’ I assured him. ‘Want to see?’
We trooped down to the workshop, where various painted pieces of the enterprise were standing around drying.
‘Blimey,’ Bert said. ‘They look bleeding real.’
‘They’d have to be,’ Charlie nodded.
‘Here,’ Bert said, ‘seeing these makes it seem, well, if it’s all going to happen.’
Charlie went home to a bridge-playing wife in an opulent detached in Surrey and Bert to the two-up two-down terraced he shared with his fat old mum in Staines. Some time after their departure I got the car out and drove slowly down the M4 to Heathrow.
I was early. About an hour early. I had often noticed that I tended to arrive prematurely for things I was looking forward to, as if by being there early one could make them happen sooner. It worked in reverse that time. Allie’s aeroplane was half an hour late.
‘Hi,’ she said, looking as uncrushed as if she’d travelled four miles, not four thousand. ‘How’s cold little old England?’
‘Warmer since you’re here.’
The wide smile had lost none of its brilliance, but now there was also a glow in the eyes, where the Miami sun shone from within.
‘Thanks for coming,’ I said.
‘I wouldn’t miss this caper for the world.’ She gave me a kiss full of excitement and warmth. ‘And I haven’t told my sister I’m coming.’
‘Great,’ I said with satisfaction; and took her home to the flat.
The change of climate was external. We spent the night, our first together, warmly entwined under a goosefeather quilt: more comfortable, more relaxed and altogether more cosy than the beach or the fishing boat or my hotel bedroom on an air-conditioned afternoon in Miami.
We set off early next morning while it was still dark, shivering in the chill January air and impatient for the car heater to make an effort. Allie drove, concentrating fiercely on the left-hand business, telling me to watch out that she didn’t instinctively turn the wrong way at crossings. We reached the fruit stall on the A34 safely in two hours and drew up there in the wide sweep of car-parking space. Huge lorries ground past on the main route from the docks at Southampton to the heavy industry area at Birmingham; a road still in places too narrow for its traffic.
Each time a heavy truck breasted the adjoining hill and drew level with us, it changed its gears, mostly with a good deal of noise. Allie raised her voice. ‘Not the quietest of country spots.’
I smiled. ‘Every decibel counts.’
We drank hot coffee from a thermos flask and watched the slow grey morning struggle from gloomy to plain dull.
‘Nine o’clock,’ said Allie, looking at her watch. ‘The day sure starts late in these parts.’
‘We’ll need you here by nine,’ I said.
‘You just tell me when to start.’
‘Okay.’
She finished her coffee. ‘Are you certain sure he’ll come this way?’
‘It’s the best road and the most direct, and he always does.’
‘One thing about having an ex-friend for an enemy,’ she said. ‘You know his habits.’
I packed away the coffee and we started again, turning south.
‘This is the way you’ll be coming,’ I said. ‘Straight up the A34.’
‘Right.’