new arrests.
'Do you think they'll catch him… the man with the microphone?' she asked.
'He called himself Giuseppe,' I said, 'though that's almost certainly not his name. The six kidnappers knew him just as Giuseppe, and none of them knows anything else. I think he's cool and intelligent, and I'm afraid Pucinelli won't find him, or the bulk of your ransom.'
She was quiet for a while and then said, 'Poor Papa. Poor all of us. I love the house on Mikonos… so full of brilliant light, right by the sapphire sea… Papa says the money so far recovered won't be enough to save it. He says he keeps postponing putting it up for sale, just hoping… but it's not just its value, there's the upkeep, and the fares there two or three times a year. It was always a luxury, even before.' She paused. 'Part of my childhood. Part of my life.'
'Giuseppe took it,' I said.
She stirred slightly and finally nodded. 'Yes, you are right.'
We drank the iced coffee. Time passed tranquilly.
'I thought of going to the races next week,' she said. 'To Brighton. Mike Noland runs a lot of horses there, because he used to train in Sussex, and many of his owners still live there. I may as well go and talk to them… show them I'm still alive.'
'If I went,' I said, 'would I be in your way?'
She smiled at the still-watching horses. 'No, you wouldn't.'
'Which day?'
'Wednesday.'
I thought of switchboard schedules. I'll fix it,' I said.
Gerry Clayton having agreed with a thoroughly false martyred expression to sit in for me from four to midnight, I drove early to Lambourn to collect Alessia, pausing only for coffee and encouragement from Popsy before setting off on the three-hour trek to Brighton.
'I could have got a lift,' Alessia said. 'You didn't have to come all this huge way round.'
'Sure,' I said.
She sighed, but not apparently with regret. 'Half a dozen trainers or jockeys will be driving from here to Brighton.'
'Bully for them.'
'So I could always get a lift back.'
I looked at her sideways. 'I'll drive you unless you definitely prefer not.'
She didn't answer; just smiled. We drove to Brighton and talked of many things for which there had never been peace enough before; of likes and dislikes, places, books, people; cabbages and kings.
It was the first time, I thought, that I had seen her in a skirt: if one excepted, of course, the dress I had pulled over her unconscious head. A vision of her lean nakedness rose unbidden; an agreeable memory, to be honest. For Brighton she had covered the basics with a neat pale-coffee-coloured dress, and wore big gold earrings under the short curls.
Her reappearance on a racecourse was greeted with a warmth that almost overwhelmed her, with everyone who saw her seemingly intent on hugging her until her bones cracked. She introduced me vaguely many times but no one took any notice. The eyes were only for her, devouring her with curiosity, but also with love.
'Alessia! How super!'
'Alessia! Fantastic!'
'Alessia! Marvellous… smashing… delirious… terrific
She need not have doubted that Mike Noland's owners would notice her re-emergence. At least four widely-grinning couples assured her that as soon as she was fit they would be thrilled to have her back in their saddles. Mike Noland himself, big and fifty, told her it was time to leave Popsy's jumpers and come to ride work on the two-year-olds; and passing bright-silked jockeys, I was interested to see, greeted her with genuine pleasure under more casual greetings.
'Hello Alessia, how's it going?'
'How ya doing?'
'Well done; glad you're back.'
'Get your boots on, Cenci.'
Their direct camaraderie meant a lot to her. I could see the faint apprehension of the outward journey vanishing minute by minute, replaced by the confidence of being at home. She kept me beside her all the same, glancing at me frequently to check I was still there and never moving a step without being sure I followed. One might have thought of it as courtesy except for what had gone before.
I saw little enough of the races themselves, and nor did she, from the press of people wanting to talk; and the afternoon was cut short, as far as I was concerned, by a message broadcast over the loudspeakers after the fourth event.
'Would Mr Andrew Douglas please go to the Clerk of the Course's office. Mr Andrew Douglas, please, go to the Clerk of the Course's office.'
Alessia, looking worried, said she'd show me where the office was, and told me that messages of that sort nearly always meant bad news. 'I hope it's not… Papa,' she said. 'Popsy would ask for you… so as not to frighten me.'
We went quickly to the Clerk's office, brushing away the non-stop clutching greetings with quick smiles. Alessia's anxiety deepened with every step, but when we arrived at the office the Clerk of the Course himself put her fears to rest.
'I'm so sorry, Mr Douglas,' he said to me, 'but we have a distressing message for you. Please would you ring this number…?' he handed me a slip of paper. 'Your sister has had a bad accident. I'm so sorry.'
Alessia said 'Oh!' faintly, as if not sure whether to be glad or horrified, and I put a hand comfortingly on her arm.
'There's a more private telephone just over there,' the Clerk said, pointing to a small alcove at the rear. 'Do use it. How splendid, Miss Cenci, to see you back.'
She nodded vaguely and followed me across the room. 'I'm so sorry…' she said.
I shook my head. I had no sister. The number on the slip of paper was that of the office. I dialled the number and was answered by Gerry Clayton.
'It's Andrew,' I said.
'Thank God. I had to tell all sorts of lies before they'd put out a call for you.'
'What happened?' I said with an amount of agitation appropriate to the circumstances.
He paused, then said, 'Can you be overheard?'
'Yes.'
The Clerk himself was listening with half an ear and Alessia with both. Two or three other people were looking my way.
'Right. I won't expect comments. There's been a boy kidnapped from the beach at West Wittering. That's about an hour's drive along the coast from Brighton, I'd guess. Go over there pronto and talk to the mother, will you?'
'Where is she?' I said.
'In the Breakwater Hotel, Beach Road, climbing the walls. I promised her we'd have someone with her in two hours, and to hang on. She's incoherent, most unhelpful. We had a telephone call from Hoppy at Lloyds, the father got in touch with his insurers and got passed along a chain to us. The father's had instructions to stay by his home telephone. Tony Vine's on his way to him now. Can you take down the number?'
'Yes, hang on.' I fumbled for pen and paper. 'Fire away.'
He read out the father's number. 'His name is John Nerrity.' He spelled it. 'The child's name is Dominic. Mother's, Miranda. Mother and son were alone in the hotel on holiday, father busy at home. Got all that?'
'Yes.'
'Get her to agree to the police.
'Yes.'
'Hear from you later? Sorry about your day at the races.
'I'll go at once,' I said.
'Break a leg.'
I thanked the Clerk of the Course and left his office with Alessia still looking distressed on my behalf.
'I'll have to go,' I said apologetically. 'Can you possibly get a lift back to Lambourn? With Mike Noland, perhaps?'
Even though she had herself earlier suggested it, she looked appalled at the idea and vigorously shook her head. Panic stood quite clear in her eyes.
'No,' she said. 'Can't I come with you? Please… I won't be a nuisance. I promise. I could help… with your sister.'
'You're never a nuisance, but I can't take you.' I looked down at her beseeching face, at the insecurity still so close to the surface. 'Come out to the car with me, away from these crowds, and I'll explain.'
We walked through the gates and along to the car park, and I said, 'I haven't any sisters. There was no crash. I have to go on a job… a child's been kidnapped, and I have to go to his mother… so dearest Alessia, we must find Mike Noland. You'll be safe with him. You know him well.'
She was horrified and apologetic and also shaking. 'Couldn't I comfort the mother?' she said. 'I could tell her… her child will come back… as I did?'
I hesitated, knowing the suggestion stemmed from her not wanting to go home with Mike Noland but also thinking that perhaps it made sense. Perhaps Alessia would indeed be good for Miranda Nerrity.
I looked at my watch. 'Mrs Nerrity's expecting me,' I said indecisively, and she interrupted sharply, 'Who? Who did you say?'
'Nerrity. Miranda Nerrity. But…'
Her mouth had literally fallen open. 'But I know her,' she said. 'Or at least, I've met her… Her husband is John Nerrity, isn't he?'
I nodded, nonplussed.
'Their horse won the Derby,' Alessia said.
I lifted my head.
Horses.
So many horses.
'What is it,' Alessia said. 'Why do you look so… bleak?'
