Cut Throat (54 page)

He ate a light meal, for which he had little appetite, with Bill, Maggie and the two boys. During lunch, the wind seemed to drop a little and shortly afterwards Masters collected the eager youngsters to take them on their promised visit to the motor museum. If the loving care lavished on the Preston Jaguar was anything to go by, the excursion would be no great hardship for Masters either.

As the big car swept sleekly out of sight, Ross made his way over to the tackroom. For an hour or more he cleaned tack dirtied at the show, his mind busy with the conclusions it had reached that morning, going over and over the evidence, wanting to be quite sure he was right. Finally, reluctantly, he turned his steps towards the house. He needed to use a telephone and he dared not use the one in the stable office. To be overheard at this stage would foul everything up.

The oak trees behind the house tossed and strained in the fitful wind, their towering bulk looking slightly menacing, and the broad sweep of gravel opposite the imposing front door was strewn with twigs and greenery. The wind was rising again, from a different direction now, the brief lull apparently over.

Ross wished he could postpone his plans for the afternoon but the circumstances would never again be so ripe for exploitation. It
had
to be today. If, that was, McKinnon and Franklin agreed.

In the absence of Masters, the Colonel opened the door himself. His enquiring expression faded to one of resignation as he saw Ross. He stood back and waved the American past and into the study where a pack of assorted dogs greeted him with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

‘What a day,' the Colonel observed moodily, following him in. ‘Bloody wind! I hate it! Can't relax with that noise going on.'

Ross turned to face him and the Colonel's eyes narrowed.

‘Has something happened?'

‘I . . . um . . . have something to tell you,' Ross said, feeling that as statements went, it was a fair candidate for understatement of the year. ‘But first, I need to use your phone.'

The Colonel waved a hand towards his desk. ‘Help yourself,' he offered, interest sharp in his face.

‘Thanks,' Ross said, and went to work.

Two hours, a glass of sherry and a cup of coffee later, Ross sat back in one of the Colonel's armchairs and watched his employer's face as he mentally digested what he'd heard.

He had been a good listener, interrupting only occasionally and then with intelligent questions. Once past the initial astonishment, he had assimilated the information remarkably quickly, considering that it was presumably all new to him. Ross supposed that was all part of his military training and probably what had helped to raise him to the rank he had attained.

It had begun to rain about half an hour ago and now it was lashing down, or more accurately along, periodically thrown against the window like sea spray. Ross watched it absentmindedly and pitied anyone caught at sea on a day like this. He hoped the motor museum was a mainly indoor affair and that the boys' visit would not be spoiled. They had planned to go to the cinema after Beaulieu, so they wouldn't be back for several hours yet.

Finally the Colonel lifted his thoughtful gaze from the desktop and looked directly at Ross.

‘I suppose I should say that I've been guilty of misjudging you,' he said then. ‘But, quite frankly, I haven't. All along I've struggled to reconcile what I was hearing of you with the impression I was forming of your character. The two just wouldn't mesh. It's a relief, in many ways, to know the truth. I'm not usually guilty of poor judgement.' He sighed. ‘If only the whole thing wasn't such an infernal tangle. I mean,
Darcy
! I can hardly believe it. Poor Franklin! The thing is, I can't see an easy way out of it. Whatever we do, people are going to be badly hurt. It's a bloody mess!'

Ross nodded his agreement.

‘I wish you'd told me before,' the Colonel said, not for the first time.

‘I wish I could have, believe me,' Ross said. ‘But it wasn't my decision to make. I'm sorry.'

In spite of the unhappy situation, it was good to be back on the level with this man for whom he felt a good deal of liking and respect.

‘I understand,' the Colonel said. ‘But is there no other way to resolve it all? This plan of yours seems sound enough but I don't like your involvement. If Darcy falls for it, he'll be like a cornered bear, lashing out at whoever's closest, and that will be you. Heaven knows, you're hardly his favourite person as it is!'

Ross shook his head. ‘I wish there was but it's important to catch him red-handed. It's the only way to be certain. I'm not out to play the hero, I can assure you. McKinnon's men will be there to take over as soon as we've hooked our fish. I don't think there'll be any danger.'

It was one of those statements, blithely made, that he was to remember later.

The telephone on the desk rang, forestalling any further comment.

The Colonel answered it, listened and handed it wordlessly to Ross. It was McKinnon calling back, rather faint and crackly due to the effects of the high wind on the line, but what he had to say was clear enough.

‘Okay, it's on. You'll have all the back-up you need. One of my men will be with you about seven o'clock to fit the wire. And, Ross – be careful, will you?'

As he replaced the receiver his heart was thudding heavily.

‘It's set,' he told the Colonel, calmly. ‘All we have to do now is bait the trap.'

‘Are you going to ring from here?'

Ross shook his head. ‘Better not. I'd normally use the one in the stable office. I don't know how closely Darcy's monitoring the yard now but he's pretty smart and I don't want to run any risk of giving the game away at this late stage. Just remember, when your phone rings don't answer it.'

The Colonel stood up with Ross and accompanied him to the door.

‘You'd better borrow a coat,' he said, following Ross out into the hall. ‘Otherwise you'll be soaked to the skin by the time you get back to the yard.'

In the comparative gloom of the hall Roland was standing, apparently absorbed in study of the telephone directory.

‘I thought you'd gone out,' his father grunted, without ceremony.

‘I came back,' he stated somewhat unnecessarily. He put the directory down on the highly polished table beside the phone. ‘Awfully breezy out there. Not the day for golf.'

The idea of anyone setting out at any time that day with a view to playing golf was so preposterous that Ross had to smile. Roland touched an imaginary cap and disappeared through the open door into the kitchen.

The Colonel wasn't amused. ‘I sometimes wonder if my son isn't one or two beagles short of a pack,' he said, shaking his head.

Ross laughed, then looked thoughtfully from the kitchen doorway to the telephone on the hall table, and thought that Roland might just be the cleverest one of them all.

An hour and a half later, just before eight o'clock, Ross was in Woodsmoke's stable, directly beneath his own room, awaiting Darcy Richmond's arrival. The rain had stopped but the wind, if anything, had increased. He had been there perhaps ten minutes but didn't think he'd have to wait much longer. Ross didn't doubt that Darcy would come, for a quarter of an hour earlier Franklin's nephew had been on the receiving end of a very disturbing phone call.

Knowing that Franklin would not be at home, because he was at that moment with McKinnon, Ross had telephoned and asked to speak to him.

‘Ross!' There was a pause while he imagined Darcy frantically speculating as to what might have gone wrong with his plan. ‘Er, Uncle Frank's not here at the moment,' he went on, recovering his poise. ‘Can I take a message?'

‘Sure, thanks. Just tell him he needn't pick Peter up this evening because I've got to go out and can drop him off on the way, if you like. I've just got a couple more phone calls to make, then I'll run him home in the Land-Rover.'

He had put the receiver down smartly, pretending not to notice Darcy's urgent protests, and then lifted it again and left it lying on the table.

The Scotts had been evacuated, at Franklin's request, to the main house, and the Colonel would let his telephone ring unanswered. Unless he had miscalculated badly, Ross felt sure that Darcy would by now be well on his way to the yard in a state of near panic. He could almost find it in himself to feel sorry for the guy.

Almost.

Woody munched steadily on his hay, showing the unconcern of a veteran towards both the gale and Ross' unusual behaviour. Suddenly, though, he pricked his ears and swung his head towards the door. In the same instant, Ross heard the roar of a rapidly decelerating engine above the howl of the wind.

Instinctively, he pressed himself flat to the stable wall as Darcy leapt from his car and immediately began shouting alternately for Peter and Ross. He sounded panicky and, receiving no answer, ran to the door that led up to Ross' room. He took the stairs two at a time, judging by the speed of his ascent, and banged briefly around before charging down again and out into the yard.

Peering through the stable window, Ross saw him check the tackroom and the stable office and, on the way out, pause to read to the numberplate of the yard's Land-Rover. What he saw obviously didn't reassure him and he began yelling again with renewed vigour.

‘Ross! Peter! Where the hell is everybody? Ross! Damn you!'

He ran over to the cottage but found to his frustration that the door was locked. It said something for his state of mind that he didn't apparently find it strange that both of the Scotts should be out, when the Land-Rover was parked in clear view in the yard and their family car was beside the cottage. Instead, he made a sound that was something between a howl and a groan, and kicked the door hard in desperation.

‘Where are you?' he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘Peter! Ross! For God's sake, somebody! Maggie! Oh, God, they can't have gone. Please don't say they've gone! Ross, damn you . . .' He rattled the door frantically, then stood back from the cottage looking up at the windows.

Ross judged it was time to make his presence known. He stepped quietly out of the stable, pushing aside Woody who had finally succumbed to curiosity and was standing with his head over the door, steadily winding a length of hay into his chomping jaws. Darcy had now given up at the cottage and was running towards his car.

‘Looking for someone?' Ross called.

Darcy stopped mid-stride and whipped round. His eyes narrowed as he saw Ross and he looked quickly past him for a sight of Peter.

‘Where is he? Where's Peter?' he hissed. ‘And where did you come from?'

‘I was hiding,' Ross said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. ‘I wanted to see what you'd do when you couldn't find us. Your reaction was pretty interesting. Why, for instance, should we not go? What could possibly be wrong?'

For a moment Darcy appeared to consider caution, but his hatred was stronger. With a very ugly expression he stepped a pace or two closer. ‘You sneaky bastard! You set this up, didn't you? How did you find out?'

‘About what?' Ross would have liked to take a step or two back but in this wind he wasn't sure what the effective range of the wire strapped to his chest would be.

‘Don't act stupid! About the Land-Rover. Why didn't you go out this morning? You said you were going out.'

‘I did,' Ross said, coldly furious now that Darcy had confirmed his guilt beyond doubt. Something in him had clung to the hope that he was wrong, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. ‘You damn' near killed me, you evil son-of-a-bitch!'

‘I meant to!' Darcy had thrown caution to the winds now, his easy-going, Mr Nice Guy image gone as if it had never existed. ‘I wish I had, you bastard! You've ruined everything with your interfering nosiness. I should have hit you harder that night in your room. You sucked up to Franklin. You tried to turn Peter against me. I warned you twice and I thought, after the other night, you'd be finished! I thought the Colonel would throw you out. And Uncle Frank . . . he thinks the sun shines out of your arse. I thought it would show him you're no better than the rest of them . . . But he stuck by you. Why?'

The last word sounded agonised and Ross got the impression that Darcy's hatred of him had now become even more prominent in his mind than the extortion plot. He felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. Being the target of such undisguised venom was not a comfortable experience. He wondered how much McKinnon would need to hear before he considered moving in.

‘He stuck by you too, fella,' he said steadily. ‘Even when you didn't deserve it.'

‘He had a guilty conscience!' Darcy declared scornfully. ‘He cheated my father and felt he had to make it up to me. So he played the Good Samaritan – helping his penniless nephew; sending him to expensive schools; giving him a job and shares in the company; forgiving all his sins. I screwed his wife, did you know?'

Ross nodded. He felt a pang of sympathy for Franklin, who was no doubt listening with McKinnon.

‘And he forgave me!' Darcy gave a great shout of laughter. ‘What a bloody saint! I told him it was just once but it was right from the start and he never guessed! God knows how he ever made any money, he's a pushover. It should have been half mine, you know, the company,' he added bitterly. ‘My father owned half of it.'

‘But he sold it to Franklin for gambling money,' Ross observed mildly.

‘That's a lie!' Darcy cried, his face suffused with hatred. ‘Franklin tricked him and I'm going to make damned sure he doesn't do the same to Peter and me.'