Jumping to Conclusions (61 page)

Drew barged onwards, brushing aside the thrusting microphones.

'What d'you reckon'll happen, eh?'

'We'll keep the race.'

He said it a dozen times. A dozen times it was received with knowing smirks. God help him, he'd hit someone in a minute.

There was always a panel of stewards at racecourses, making sure that each race was run fairly, and Drew had considered them no more than a necessary evil. They kept racing on the straight and narrow. Or so he'd always thought. Maybe not now, though. Not if they robbed him of the race. Oh, God – they couldn't. Not when winning meant keeping Peapods.

There'd be three of them sitting at the enquiry. One of them would definitely be the steward who had been appointed to watch the television screen. Had he seen something that everyone else had missed? Something that would take the race away, take Peapods away?

Christ. He'd soon know.

There was a further clump of hacks outside the stewards' office. They asked the same questions. Drew barked the same answer.

'We'll keep the race.'

His confidence was ebbing away as he pushed open the door. It was like being randomly breath-tested. Even if you hadn't had a drink for weeks, you immediately felt guilty.

'Fucking débâcle!' Kath Seaward was puffing furiously on a cigarette in the corridor outside the stewards' enquiry room. 'Don't know why they can't just leave things alone! This is the fucking National, for God's sake – not some seller at Chepstow! What the hell do they think they're doing?'

Drew shrugged sympathetically. He was sure Kath had more to lose than he did. 'What's Matt said?'

'Sod all. There wasn't time. I don't know what I'm supposed to say, either. What about you?'

Drew shook his head. 'Much the same. I didn't even have time to speak to Charlie about it. It looked like a problem on the straight – but nothing that hampered either horse.'

Kath snorted smoke down her nostrils and ground out the cigarette butt with her toe. 'Well, I certainly wasn't going to raise any objections, much as it galls me to have to admit it. Damn good race. Fight to the finish.' She scuffed the remainder of the grey ash into the liver-and-orange Wilton. 'We were lucky to snatch second. You did well.'

Drew almost smiled. 'Thanks. Does that mean you'll be paying over the grand you owe me?'

'Grand? What fucking grand?'

'The wager we struck last year? Charlie and my hopeless animal, I think you said, against Matt and Dragon Slayer?'

Kath fumbled for another cigarette. 'Yeah, I suppose so. I'll write the cheque later. Listen, off the record, and because I'll never admit it in front of the Vyella shirt brigade in there, I reckon you beat us hands down. I can't see them wanting to reverse the placings. I mean, I only saw what everyone else saw. No interference from your side. Bit of a coming together. Nothing more.'

Reverse the placings? Jesus. Drew felt sick. Not now. Not after everything they'd been through.

He stared at the oak-panelled walls and the collection of Stubbs and Munnings. The racing world's more recent stars were there, too: Desert Orchid; Red Rum ... There was a huge No Smoking sign between the priceless equine paintings, but Kath obviously didn't care. He didn't blame her. This was a bloody awful experience.

The door swung open.

'Mr Fitzgerald? Miss Seaward? If you'd like to come in now?'

Kath ground out the half-finished cigarette beside its fellow on the carpet, and strode through the door ahead of Drew.

Charlie and Matt, still in their breeches and jerseys, were sitting in front of the stewards on rather uncomfortable-looking straight-backed chairs. Matt was staring directly ahead, his back rigid. Charlie, his long legs stretched in front of him, looked slightly more relaxed. Neither of them looked up as Drew and Kath walked in.

Three stewards sat behind the table, all wearing the extremely appropriate Tattersalls checks and yellow waistcoats. Drew felt very sick.

The stewards' secretary smiled. 'If you'd like to take a seat. Just a few formalities. Won't keep you longer than is necessary.'

Drew sat next to Charlie, saying nothing. Kath muttered under her breath.

The oldest steward tapped a television screen. 'We've replayed the incident, and we've looked at the camera film from several different angles. Mr Somerset and Mr Garside have given their accounts. I wonder if either of you have anything to add?'

'About what, exactly?' Drew exhaled. 'I can't see any point in this. Our horse won going away. There was no interference. No suggestion of impropriety.'

'Interference in the straight.' The steward switched on the video machine. 'Maybe you'd like to watch ...'

Drew watched. It didn't change his opinion. Charlie had the racing line. Matt seemed to have lost his way, and Dragon Slayer had strayed across.

'A bit of bumping and barging – but this is the National, for God's sake. It happens.'

Charlie turned his head then and looked at Drew. He didn't speak, merely raised his eyebrows.

'So Kath leaned forward. 'What exactly is going on? What are we doing in here? My horse bumped Fitzgerald's horse. Fitzgerald's horse still won the race. Where's the problem?'

Drew bit his lip. He knew how difficult it must be for Kath to utter a whole sentence without an expletive.

'There doesn't appear to be one.' The younger steward shrugged. 'A bit of argy-bargy maybe ...'

He was silenced by a frown from his more senior colleagues.

'Who else is giving evidence?' Drew shifted in his chair. He was sure the Aintree crowd would turn into a lynch mob if they delayed any longer. 'I don't see that Ms Seaward can add anything. We merely saw what you saw. And if you've taken all the relevant information from the jockeys involved –'

Again, Charlie raised his eyebrows. Drew shook his head.

'I don't think we need any further witnesses.' The senior steward pushed back his chair. 'We've reached our conclusion, haven't we, gentlemen? There certainly doesn't seem to be anything untoward. Both horses have been drugs-tested – with negative results. We shan't be sending any other samples away for analysis. Tack has been inspected for tampering. All clear on that score. I think we should just take the evidence of our eyes, the cameras, and Garside, here. Evidence which, I must say, was corroborated by Somerset's story.'

Jesus Christ. Drew wiped his sweating palms on his knees. For God's sake get on with it.

'So, unless either of you wish to add anything?'

Kath shook her head violently. Drew sighed. 'No. Nothing.'

The stewards all looked at each other, nodded, and started shuffling papers.

'Get a fucking move on,' Kath hissed under her breath.

The stewards' secretary cleared his throat. 'The finding of this enquiry is that the placings should remain unaltered.'

The media was waiting in force outside the door. The crowd already knew the result. The tannoy had announced it immediately, and the cheers were still ringing across Liverpool. Drew wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and hugged Charlie.

'You doing the press conference?'

Charlie shook his head. 'I haven't got enough strength to even lift the bloody trophy.'

'And you will tell me what happened in there?'

Charlie grinned. 'I haven't got a clue. I think Matt's the only one who knows the truth. Oh, shit – here come the hacks.'

Drew, who only wanted to find Maddy, put on his widest smile for the BBC.

'Congratulations Drew. Charlie. Bit of a scare there towards the end, eh?'

Charlie was beaming but remained silent. Bugger, Drew thought, he was going to have to go in blind. 'No, not really. We knew we'd keep the race.'

'Never happened before in the National, has it? A stewards' enquiry?'

'I haven't got a clue.' Drew stretched his smile. 'I'll have to check when I get home.'

The BBC weren't giving up on their viewers that easily. 'It looked as though Dragon Slayer lost his way a bit. Looked as though you were hampered.'

'Just a bit –'

'So, what did Charlie tell them in there?'

'You'll have to ask him,' Drew floundered. 'But not now. Sorry to cut you short, but we do have a presentation to get to. We'll both do a full interview later.'

The media were not going to be thwarted that easily. They started to jog alongside. Drew who by now was becoming seriously irritated. Calm down, he told himself, you've won the bloody National. Peapods will be okay. Everything will be okay.

Several statuesque blondes with corporate costumes and corkscrew curls had appeared from nowhere, and were leading them through the thousands of well-wishers. The noise was deafening. Charlie, Drew noticed with some concern, was completely ignoring the willowy blondes. Had he suffered some sort of catatonic shock? This was prime Somerset territory. Strange, he thought, that there wasn't the slightest flicker of interest.

'Clear a path! Keep clear!' The mounted policemen had now taken control. 'Stand well back!'

Drew, followed by Charlie, the curly girls, and the world's press, all crowded through the human tunnel. Maddy emerged from about six people deep and hurtled towards him.

Oh, brilliant. He caught her and hugged her. 'I love you. And we've done it. And everything is going to be all right –'

'Everything always was.' She snuggled against him. 'I'm dead proud of you, Drew. And Gillian is practically pawing the ground to get at the trophy. And Bonnie has been stuffed full of Polos.'

She glanced over Drew's shoulder and winked at Charlie. 'And he'll, no doubt, get his rewards later.'

'From Tina?' Drew found himself hoisted towards the podium. The clapping and cheering reached Richter-scale proportions.

Maddy, disappearing into the sea again, was smiling and shaking her head.

After the presentation, when the jubilation had died down a little, and all the hard-luck stories had been told a dozen times, and everyone had started to drift away to place their delayed bets for the remaining races, Drew and Charlie were buttonholed by the BBC.

They had already decided that Charlie should answer the questions about the enquiry. Drew had eulogised over Bonnie's training schedule, expectations, future plans, and general brilliance. It had been fine. He'd known what he was talking about. The clash with Dragon Slayer was definitely Charlie's territory.

Two dozen microphones were thrust towards them. Another two dozen spiral-bound notepads were unfurled.

'So, Dragon Slayer lost his way, did he? It looked as though you were badly hampered.'

Charlie shrugged. 'Matt lost his reins at the fifth from home. Just for a minute. But at that speed it could have been disastrous. No reins – no steering.'

'Like in a car?'

'Exactly.' Charlie beamed. 'An out-of-control car criss-crossing lanes on a crowded motorway. Potentially deadly.'

'And you and Bonnie helped him out?'

Drew, who had been happily nodding, felt Charlie stiffen; heard his intake of breath; felt the infinitesimal pause.

'Yes...' Charlie's grin was a rictus. 'I – um – used Bonne Nuit to keep Dragon Slayer straight. As soon as Matt had regained control, we were able to ease away ...'

The microphones pushed closer. 'We couldn't actually see the dropped reins on the screen. Is that what the stewards were querying?'

'They only saw the coming together.' Charlie nodded. 'They needed to know the reasons. And, of course, they accepted our explanation.'

'Matt has declined to be interviewed. Do you know why?'

'Probably still suffering from shock,' Charlie said lightly. 'I know I would be.'

'Anyway, congratulations to you both. A wonderful result – and a good race all round ...' There were the same knowing media smiles. 'And Matt Garside no doubt owes you a pint?'

As they headed towards the changing room, Drew had a feeling that Matt owed Charlie a great deal more than that.

The changing room was quiet. The last two races on the card were an amateur handicap and a National Hunt flat race, so most of the jockeys were still closeted with their connections or already on their way to the party at the Adelphi.

'A gold star for the Oscar performance out there.' Drew grinned as he closed the door. 'Now are you going to tell me the truth?'

Charlie tugged the Fishnets jersey over his head. 'He barged me. I've got no idea why. He told the stewards he'd lost his steering – and I went along with it. I probably wouldn't have done if we'd been second – but where's the harm?'

'He deliberately barged you?'

'God knows. I don't know if he was trying to kill me or merely put me out of contention.' He shrugged. 'Look, Drew – I really would rather not know. I think Matt's got major problems. Problems that have just been made far worse by not winning the National. I don't want to make anything more of it.'

Drew shook his head. He was used to Charlie being so laid back as to be horizontal, but surely there were limits? He sighed as the door opened. Now he'd have to wait to find out exactly what had happened – Or maybe not...

'I saw you both come in.' Matt, changed into his civvies and looking like an insurance salesman, closed the door. 'I wanted to say thanks and sorry. Can we talk, or are you going to hit me?'

'Looks like someone's already done that,' Charlie said, standing up and tugging off the remainder of his clothes. 'Go on then. I've already heard the bullshit. Try it out on Drew.'

'Look, thanks for backing up my story. I didn't deserve what you said in the enquiry. I thought you'd drop me in it. I probably would have ...'

'Thank your lucky stars that Charlie's a nicer bloke than you, then,' Drew said. 'I wouldn't have put my neck on the line to save yours. If that was deliberate, you could have killed my horse and my jockey, and jeopardised your whole career.'

'I do know. I must have been bloody insane.' Matt sank down on to the bench. 'And I haven't got a career left. Oh, shit...'

After he'd told them, Drew still wasn't sure whether he believed it. Even Charlie, who obviously knew more than he did, had been stunned into open-mouthed astonishment.

Drew looked at Matt. Matt? He'd have sworn he was straight in every way. He was – so – ordinary. Boring, almost. He felt a slight rush of revulsion for the sexually sinister, then wanted to laugh. God – he wondered what Maddy would make of it! He somehow couldn't see Matt in scanty studded leather and thigh boots ... Still, that probably wasn't how it worked. But Matt throwing races? Matt in on what would have been the biggest scam of recent years? It hardly seemed credible.