‘Who did?’ The Prince mopped a bleeding cut and clearly thought the remark was the rambling of concussion.
‘Those men... I...’ He broke off and focused his dazed eyes with great deliberation on the Prince’s face, as if the act of keeping his glance steady was also helping to reorganise his thoughts.
‘I drove here... after. I felt... I was sweating. I remember turning in through the gates... and seeing the house...’
‘Which men?’ said the Prince.
‘The ones you sent... about the horse.’
‘I didn’t send any men.’
Farringford blinked slowly and re-established the concentrating stare.
‘They came... to the stable. Just when I was thinking... time to come here... see this fellow... someone... you want me to...’
The Prince nodded. ‘That’s right. Randall Drew, here.’
‘Yeah... well... Higgins had got my car out... the Rover... said I wanted the Porsche but something about new tyres... so I just went into the yard... to see if Groucho’s legs OK... which Lakeland said they were, but wanted to look myself, you know... So there they were, saying could they have a word... you’d sent them. I said I was in a hurry... got into the Rover ... they just crowded in after me... punched me... one of them drove down the road, past the village... then they stopped... and the sods knocked me about... gave them as good as I got... but two to one... no good, you know.’
‘They robbed you?’ the Prince said. ‘We’ll have to consider the police.’ He looked worried. Police meant publicity, and unfavourable publicity was anathema to the Prince.
‘No...’ Farringford closed his eyes. ‘They said... to keep away... from Alyosha.’
‘They what?’ The Prince jerked as if he too had been hit.
‘That’s right... knew you wouldn’t like it...’
‘What else did they say?’
‘Nothing. Bloody ironic...’ said Farringford rather faintly. It’s you... who wants Alyosha... found... Far as I’m concerned... whole thing can stay... buried.’
‘Just rest,’ said the Princess anxiously, wiping red oozing drops from his grazed forehead. ‘Don’t talk any more, Johnny, there’s a lamb.’ She looked up at the two of us, standing at the sofa’s foot. ‘What will you do about the cars?’
The Prince stared morosely at the two burnt-out wrecks and at five empty extinguishers which lay around like scarlet torpedoes. An acrid smell in the November air was all that was left of the thick column of smoke and flame which had risen higher than the rooftops. The firemen, still in the shape of houseman and gardener, stood in the background, looking smugly at their handiwork and waiting for the next gripping instalment.
‘Do you suppose he fainted?’ said the Prince.
‘It sounds like it, sir,’ I said. ‘He said he was sweating. Not much fun being beaten up like that.’
‘And he never could stand the sight of blood.’
The Prince traced with his eye the path the Rover would have taken with an unconscious driver had not my car been parked slap in the way.
‘He’d’ve crashed into one of those beeches,’ said the Prince. ‘And his foot was on the accelerator...’
Across the lawn a double row of stately, mature trees stretched away from the house, thick with criss-crossing branches, and bare except for a last dusting of dried brown leaves. They had been planted, one would guess, as a break against the north-east winds, in an age when sculpture of the land was designed to delight the eye of future generations, and their sturdy trunks would have stopped a tank, let alone a Rover. They were lucky, I thought, to have survived where so many had fallen to drought, fungus and gales.
‘I’m glad he didn’t hit the beeches,’ said the Prince, and left me unsure whether it was for Johnny’s sake or theirs. ‘Sorry about your car, of course. I hope it was insured, and all that? Better just tell the insurers it was a parking accident. Keep it simple. Cars get written off so easily, these days. You don’t want to claim against Johnny, or anything like that, do you?’
I shook my head reassuringly. The Prince smiled faintly with relief and relaxed several notches.
‘We don’t want the place crawling with Press, do you see? Telephoto lenses... Any sniff of this and they’d be down here in droves.’
‘But too late for the action,’ I said.
He looked at me in alarm. ‘You won’t say anything about us hauling Johnny out, will you? Not to anyone. I don’t want the Press getting hold of a story like that. It really doesn’t do.’
‘Would you mind people knowing you would take a slight risk to rescue your wife’s brother, sir?’
‘Yes, I should,’ he said positively. ‘Don’t you say a word, there’s a good chap.’ He cast a glance at my singed hair. ‘And not so much of the “slight”, come to that.’ He put his head on one side. ‘We could say you did it yourself, if you like.’
‘No, sir, I don’t like.’
‘Didn’t think you would. You wouldn’t want them crawling all over you with their notebooks any more than I should.’
He turned away and with a movement of his hand that was more a suggestion than a command, he called over the hovering gardener.
‘What do we do about all this, Bob?’ he said.
The gardener was knowledgeable about breakdown trucks and suitable garages, and said he would fix it. His manner with the Prince was comfortable and spoke of long term mutual respect, which would have irritated the anti-royalists no end.
‘Don’t know what I’d do without Bob,’ confirmed the Prince as we walked back towards the house. ‘If I ring up shops or garages and say who I am they either don’t believe it and say yes, they’re the Queen of Sheba, or else they’re so fussed they don’t listen properly and get everything wrong. Bob will get those cars shifted without any trouble, but if I tried to arrange it myself the first people to arrive would be the reporters.’
He stopped on the doorstep and looked back at the skeleton of what had been my favourite vehicle.
‘We’ll have to fix you a car to get home in,’ he said. ‘Lend you one.’
‘Sir,’ I said. ‘Who or what is Alyosha?’
‘Ha!’ he said explosively, his head turning to me sharply, his eyes suddenly shining. ‘That’s the first bit of interest you’ve shown without me actually forcing you into it.’
‘I did say I would see what I could do.’
‘Meaning to do as precious little as possible.’
‘Well, I...’
‘And looking as if you’d been offered rotting fish.’
‘Er...’ I said. ‘Well... what about Alyosha?’
‘That’s just the point,’ the Prince said. ‘We don’t know about Alyosha. That’s just what I want you to find out.’
Johnny Farringford got himself out of hospital and back home pretty fast, and I drove over to see him three days after the accident.
‘Sorry about your car,’ he said, looking at the Range-Rover in which I had arrived. ‘Bit of a buggers’ muddle, what?’
He was slightly nervous, and still pale. The numerous facial cuts were healing with the quick crusts of youth and looked unlikely to leave permanent scars; and he moved as if the soreness still in his body was after all more a matter of muscle than bone. Nothing, I thought a shade ruefully, that would stop him training hard for the Olympics.
‘Come in,’ he said. ‘Coffee, and all that.’
He led the way into a thatched cottage and we stepped straight into a room that deserved a magazine article on traditional country living. Stone flagged floors, good rugs, heavy supporting beams, inglenook fire-place, exposed old bricks, and masses of sagging sofas and chairs in faded chintzy covers.
‘This place isn’t mine,’ he said, sensing my inspection. ‘It’s rented. I’ll get the coffee.’