I can't imagine how much pain I have caused you and your family. Not a day goes by when I don't think of the harm I have done you. Believe me when I say that if I could swap my life for your brother's then I would.
I had no idea I would run into you at Ros Bradey's yard. I would never have gone there if I'd known. Can I say, though, that I thought you a very gutsy rider.
This must be the ninth or tenth time I've tried to write this letter and I still don't think I've got it right. I hope it doesn't sound like I'm asking for forgiveness because I'm not. I'd just like you to know that I accept responsibility for the terrible thing I did and I'm trying to live my life better because of it.
Sincerely,
Jamie Hutchison
Marie read the letter over several times then she remounted the bike and pedalled back to the yard. She was going to be late for the surgery but she didn't care.
Ros looked startled as Marie reappeared and walked towards her across the paddock. She broke off from attending to one of the girls. Àre you all right?' she said. Ì thought you went ages ago.'
Marie spoke urgently. If she didn't ask now she might never have the courage again. `Ros, will you do me a favour? Will you ask Jamie if he'll meet me?'
Ros pursed her lips, then put her arm around Marie's shoulder. `Do you really think that's wise?'
`No, I don't,' Marie blurted out. `But I don't care. Will you help me fix it?
Please?'
Malcolm had spent an exhilarating morning on the golf course with the owners of a pizza-delivery operation who were thinking of spending some money on a horse. They were cheerful, if unsophisticated, company. Early in their discussion Charlie, the senior partner, had said, `Don't you worry 243
whether we've got the cash - there's plenty of dough in the pizza business.'
It wasn't the only time he said it.
Not that Malcolm gave two hoots. He was feeling good today. He'd slept like a baby - in the spare room, but so what? - and he felt he'd dealt decisively with yesterday's challenges.
When he'd arrived home at around nine the previous evening, Pippa had already gone to bed and locked the door. Jamie had been watching the television with one eye open but he'd opened the other when Malcolm and the flower arrangement came through the door. Malcolm had explained that the flowers were a peace-offering for Pippa - was Jamie aware they'd had an argument? Jamie evidently was. Malcolm had not gone into details, just implied it was a domestic misunderstanding and Jamie had asked no questions. Most tactful of him.
Then Malcolm had raided the fridge - funny how keen his appetite had been - scribbled a card to go with the flowers and turned in. He'd slept in late to give Pippa time to get out of the house and headed for the golf course making sure not to bump into her. There was a good chance she'd be more reasonable tonight.
The fast-food guys were good enough to stand him a decent lunch in the clubhouse, where pizza was definitely not on the menu, and he set off for Ridgemoor at around half past two. As he drew into the yard his mobile rang. He recognised the caller's number - Beaufort Holidays. How interesting.
`Karen, sweetheart,' he said cheerily. `How delightful to hear from you.'
Ì'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Priest, but has Miss Harris been in touch with you today?' There was a gratifying note of anxiety in her reedy little voice.
`Has the great Beverley been in touch with me? I can't believe you're seriously asking this question.'
`She's not been into work and she's left no messages and we can't get her on any of her numbers.'
Ì see.' He pretended to give the matter thought. `Well, Karen, my angel, as you know from the way the pair of you have been avoiding my calls, I am possibly the last man in Yorkshire she's likely to have talked to over the past twenty-four hours.'
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Òh dear.' She moaned in disappointment. `We're really worried. She's never done this before.'
`Don't you believe it. Knowing Miss Harris as I do, I expect she's locked in meaningful negotiations with a hunky new client in a hotel bedroom somewhere. You know how time flies when you're having fun. Or maybe you don't know much about that kind of fun, Karen sweetheart.'
`You're despicable!' she cried. He could imagine her pale spinsterish face tightening with distaste.
Ànd you've still got a poker up your arse,' he murmured as she slammed the phone down.
Marie was nervous, more nervous than she could remember. She hadn't expected Ros to move so quickly.
She'd been asked back to the yard to collect a present from Spring Fever's owner - at least, that's what Ros had said. However, when she arrived and walked into Ros's office, Jamie was sitting there.
Jamie looked as tense as she felt. He offered his hand and she took it. It was odd to be formally shaking hands in these circumstances but it seemed right. He had clear hazel eyes and long lashes, like a girl. But his shoulders and arms were muscle-packed. She liked the way he looked -
she couldn't help it.
`You were lucky that horse didn't kill you the other day,' he said, rushing his words as if he were embarrassed.
Marie sensed his awkwardness at being close to her. In a strange way it gave her a confidence she wouldn't normally have possessed.
,I could say the same to you after your fall at Wetherby,' she replied boldly.
They both laughed.
Ì read your letter,' she said, looking him straight in the eye. Ì hope it didn't upset you.'
`No. I thought it was brave of you to be so honest. I wish you'd written earlier, like you said.'
`Sorry.' He looked away. Ì mean, sorry for everything. For what it's worth.'
It was worth a lot but she needed more.
245
Malcolm couldn't concentrate on his paperwork. He was in the middle of a game of Freecell on his laptop when he got a call from his father.
`Come up to the house for a drink.' It wasn't exactly a request. Toby already had a glass in his hand when Malcolm arrived. He poured Malcolm a generous splash of Scotch and stared moodily out of the big window at the steel-grey sky above the moor.
Malcolm filled the glass to the brim with soda; now was not the time to dull his wits. `What's up?'
Toby turned to him. Ìt's about Beverley Harris.'
`You don't have to worry, Dad, it's all over with her. After we spoke I packed her in. You were quite right.'
His father's face didn't change. `Sit down.'
Malcolm did as he was told and waited for his father to spill the beans. He needed to get his reaction just right.
Ì've just had a call from Barney Beaufort's office. Beverley's had an accident. She's dead, son.'
`No!' cried Malcolm, jumping to his feet. Ì don't believe it!' Liquid slopped over the side of his glass and dripped down his fingers to the floor. He pretended he hadn't noticed, staring at his father in wide-eyed alarm. Not too bad, he thought.
`When she didn't show at work, Beaufort went round there. Seems he had a key. He found her dead in the bath.'
`Jesus.'
`They think she'd been there since last night.'
Òh my God.' Malcolm allowed himself to subside back into the chair.
Ì'm very sorry, Malcolm. This'll be a bit of a shock to you.'
`Do they know how she died?'
Toby shrugged. `There'll be some sort of inquest, I suppose. People pass out in the bath sometimes, don't they? Do you know if she was on any sort of medication?'
Malcolm laughed bitterly. Àll sorts, Dad, including the kind you get in an off-licence. I'm afraid Bev was a bit of a lush.'
`Well, there you are then. This might sound callous, lad, but you're better off without a woman like that.'
Exactly.
246
Marie and Jamie walked to the wood up the hill from Ros's yard. They talked about horses - an undemanding topic. She mentioned her show jumping experience and he told her of his hopes for Gates of Eden at Carlisle.
They sat on a bench overlooking the valley and the conversation dried up.
She knew he was taking his cue from her. She was the one who had instigated this meeting, so it was up to her.
Into the awkward silence she said, `Will you tell me about the accident?'
He looked surprised. `Do you really want to go through all that again? I mean, you must know all about it.'
`Not from your side, I don't.'
He took his time telling her, describing his day at the races and the drive back north with another jockey and his brother. Ì was dead chuffed with my new car. It was a red Mercedes 220 and I'd only had it four weeks.
Actually, it was about ten years old but it was new to me and it was quick.
I drove it like I rode horses - like a maniac. I was absolutely fearless. I never thought anything bad could happen to me. I'm sorry, Marie.'
She was irritated. `Don't keep saying that. Just get on with what happened.'
He told her about stopping at a pub and meeting the stable staff from Ridgemoor. He'd had several drinks and also snorted cocaine in the toilet.
Then he'd left with his passengers, Richard and Malcolm Priest, to drive home. He fell silent.
`Go on,' she said. Ì can't.'
`Jamie, this is the part that matters. Please tell me.'
`But I can't remember. I took a blow on the head in the crash and have no memory of it or what happened just before. A doctor told me it's called retrograde amnesia.'
`How convenient.' She supposed she shouldn't have said it but she didn't care.
`Don't think I don't know that. I've tried hard to remember and I really wish I could. It's like my mind playing tricks on me, trying to protect me but it only makes it worse.'
They sat in silence for a moment. She'd wanted to hear from his own lips how he had killed her brother, so she could honestly test her own feelings.
Listening to a sincere confession she'd know whether, deep down, she 247
could forgive him. But she'd been robbed of that. The disappointment was overwhelming.
Jamie spoke again. `Believe me, Marie, I don't want to avoid my responsibility. If I could remember anything else I'd tell you. For my own sake I wish I had a clear memory of the crash so I could face up to it and put it behind me. But the whole business just goes on. Since I had that fall the other day I've been having nightmares. I get flashes of the night of the crash mixed in with weird images dredged up from somewhere in my head. I'm scared I'll never be able to get over it.'
She didn't know what to say. She was sorry for him and she found him powerfully attractive but that wasn't enough to allow her to forgive him.
She had to go away and think.
Ì'm cold,' she said. `Let's go back.' They walked down the hill in silence.
Malcolm found Pippa in the office on her own. Good.
She glanced up briefly as he entered and then looked down again at the papers on her desk. `Go away, Malcolm,' she said in a small cold voice.
`We have to talk.'
Ì have nothing to say to you.'
ÒK. Listen then.' He sat down. `You obviously haven't heard about Beverley Harris.'
That got her attention all right. Her eyes blazed at the mention of the name.
He pressed on. `She's dead. She drowned in her bath, apparently. Beaufort Holidays rang Dad about an hour ago.'
She stared at him as she took in the news. Àn accident?'
Ì imagine it's a bit early to tell. Look, it's not a nice thing for me to say in the circumstances but, considering what's been going on between you and me - you should know she had problems with pills and drink.'
`What are you saying? That she was drunk and drowned in the bath?'
`What I'm saying, Pippa, is that she was a depressed alcoholic with a mean temper. She got on to you out of pure malice because I wouldn't sleep with her.'
`Why didn't you say this before?'
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`Would you have listened if I had? I told you she was a fantasist but you didn't want to hear my side of it. But now this has happened, it makes it painfully clear.'
`Do you think she killed herself?'
Ì don't know what to think. It's a possibility, I suppose.' Òh God.
Malcolm, I'm sorry.'
He took her hand in his. `Me, too.'
Marie had changed her mind about Jamie half a dozen times before she reached home. He seemed so sincere when he spoke about his remorse and he'd said all the right things about being responsible for what he'd done.
Yet, when it came down to it, he couldn't face up to telling her what had happened. He said he'd lost his memory but surely that was a cop-out - a convenient psychological block that prevented him from really owning up to his past.
The strange thing was, he obviously felt that way about it, too. It was as if he was stuck in limbo, unable to go forward till he'd truly confronted what he'd done. And she felt sorry for him because of it. That had to be the wrong way round.
With these thoughts churning round in her head, she went into the front room to say hello to her father. He was asleep in his chair in front of the television, where a police drama plodded across the screen. She considered waking him but thought the better of it.
There were no welcoming supper smells coming from the kitchen, which was unusual. To her surprise she found her Aunt Joyce sitting at the table in the dark, a half-full ashtray at her elbow.
Àre you all right, Auntie?' It was a silly question. She could see from the jut of her big square jaw that she was far from all right. Ì've been waiting for you to show your face,' Joyce said in an ominous tone. `Sit down.'
Marie took a bottle of milk from the fridge and poured herself a glass. She was hungry, tired and not in the mood for a row, though she could see that she was in for one. She did not often clash with her aunt but they'd had their share of screaming matches in the past. She took a seat as instructed.
What was this all about?
Joyce took an envelope from her apron pocket and laid it on the table between them. Marie recognised it at once - Jamie's letter.
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`You've got some explaining to do,' her aunt said.
A few seconds earlier Marie would have said she was too weary to be angry but fury gripped her in a flash.