expensive.
‘Can I help you?’ said a voice in German, cutting sharply across the stable-yard, not too friendly.
Ben turned to see a guy walking up to him who looked like a managerial type. Late forties, balding, gut and glasses and the angry red face of someone in a state of permanent belligerence.
‘Maybe you can.’ He showed the guy the picture on the phone. ‘Do you know her?’
The manager stared at it for a second, frowned and then glanced up at Ben. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m her brother,’ Ben said. It sounded weird to hear himself say it.
‘You’re her brother?’ the guy echoed doubtfully. ‘You know her?’
‘This is a members-only establishment,’ the guy said. ‘You are trespassing.’ He snapped his fingers.
Ten yards away in an open stable, a very large groom in a blue overall was standing up to his knees in soiled straw and piling it into a barrow with a pitchfork. He was well over six and a half feet tall, and it seemed that whatever time he didn’t spend mucking out horses, he spent pumping weights the size of truck tyres. At the sound of his manager’s snapping fingers he instantly jumped to attention and strode over, trailing bits of straw and clutching the pitchfork like a gladiator’s trident in his meaty fist. He stopped at his boss’ shoulder and grinned down at Ben. His hair was cropped in a buzz-cut and his face looked like it had been beaten out of Kevlar, with eyes so far apart it was impossible to focus on both at once.
‘You have thirty seconds to get the fuck out of here,’ the manager said. ‘Unless you want Johann to put his fork up your arse.’
Ben looked up at Johann and thought about how he’d go about breaking the guy in half. Violence was one option. Reasonable was another. He decided to go with reasonable.
‘Johann, maybe you know her?’ he said, and held up the phone for him to see.
Johann said nothing. The wide-set eyes darted at the picture, then back at Ben.
‘Now get out,’ the manager said with a smirk. ‘Johann, make sure he leaves.’
Ben slipped the phone back in his pocket, turned and headed back towards the car park with Johann’s muscular escort a pace behind him.
‘You don’t have to see me out,’ he told the big guy. ‘I’m not here to cause trouble. I was just looking for my sister, that’s all.’
Johann’s wide, flat face seemed to twitch, as though the effort of thinking was like turning over a big truck engine inside his head. Ben looked at him, and saw that behind the scowl were the eyes of a child.
When the giant spoke, the voice was deep and slow. ‘Your sister?’ he rumbled.
Ben had his hand on the Mini’s door handle. He nodded. ‘That’s right, Johann. My little sister.’
‘You look like her,’ Johann said.
Ben stood and stared at the big man. ‘What did you just say?’
Johann blinked. The wide-set eyes darted sideways at the stable-block, as if he were scared of getting into trouble with his boss.
‘It’s OK, Johann. You can talk to me. You know her, don’t you?’
Johann dipped his chin to his muscular chest and gave a slow, solemn nod. Ben believed him. The poor guy didn’t have enough upstairs to tell a lie.
‘I take care of Solo,’ Johann said. ‘She keeps him here.’
Ben had to hold the Mini door handle tight to stop himself from rocking on his feet. ‘She comes here to ride?’
Johann gave another slow nod. ‘Most afternoons. She is not here yet. Maybe she will come.’
‘Does she drive here?’
Nod.
‘What kind of car does she drive?’
‘Big silver car. Like that one.’ Johann raised one of his massive arms and pointed at a top-of-the-line Range Rover parked four cars down from the Mini.
‘Listen to me carefully, Johann. It’s my sister’s birthday today, and I have a present for her. I want it to be a nice big surprise. So when she arrives here, do not tell her that her brother was here. Do you understand?’
Nod.
‘What is it you’re not to say?’
‘That you were here,’ Johann repeated carefully. ‘Her brother.’
Ben took out his wallet and shelled out a couple of twenty-euro notes. ‘This is for you, Johann. You’ve helped me more than you know. You’re a good guy.’ He left the big man standing there looking at the money in his palm as he drove off.
Back on the main road, he found a layby within sight of the equestrian centre but shaded by enough overhanging foliage to mask his car. A perfect spot to sit and wait and watch the gates. He settled back in the driver’s seat and lit the first cigarette.
Time passed. People came and went. The Jaguar X-type turned out of the gates and disappeared down the road. A while later, a black Subaru 4?4 towing a double trailer arrived. Some riders passed Ben’s layby, returning from a hack, the horses sweated up. Ben sat and smoked, two cigarettes, then three, keeping low in the driver’s seat.
He’d been sitting there for just under two hours and his watch was edging its way towards four thirty when he saw the silver Range Rover come up the road. Just one occupant. The car slowed for the gate and the indicator flashed, and as it turned in he got a brief but clear view of the driver. A woman, white polo shirt, short blond hair, wraparound shades.
Ben stubbed out his cigarette. His mouth was suddenly dry and his heart felt like he’d just done a three- hundred-metre sprint.
The Range Rover rolled up the drive towards the stable buildings, tyres rasping on the gravel, and pulled into the car park.
His first instinct was to drive in after her, go right up to her and talk to her. Tell her who he was. Just come right out with it.
But that was just his heart talking. The part of him that was still able to think rationally through the swell of emotions that was surging through him knew that the situation was a little more complicated than that.
He scanned the layout of the land. The equestrian centre consisted of the central buildings complex with the office, the stables and tack rooms and the main house, the paddocks and sand school, and a big prefabricated metal building that looked like it might be an indoor riding menage. Maybe a dozen acres in all, but long and narrow. While the paddocks and riding areas were fenced with white wood, the outer boundary of the property was ringed with hedges. Most of the way round, what lay beyond the hedge was pine woodland. The trees extended all the way along the side of the road where he was parked, and there was just a single strand of barbed-wire fence between him and several hundred yards of thick, uninterrupted cover that would allow him to move unnoticed around the perimeter.
He got out of the car, shut the door quietly and crossed the road. There was nobody about. He peeled off his leather jacket and laid it over the barbed wire. Swung one leg over and then the other, slipped the jacket back on and made his way into the trees.
It didn’t take him long to track around the edge of the equestrian centre. Staying well back in the sun-dappled shadow of the trees, he had a good view of the place. Good enough to see the angry manager strutting across the stable-yard, yelling at one of the staff. Good enough to notice the gentle giant Johann over at the dung-heap, discreetly tucked away behind the stable-blocks, emptying his wheelbarrow of soiled straw.
And good enough to spot the woman who was his little sister leading a shiny, well-groomed, expensive- looking chestnut gelding over towards the big metal building. She’d put on a riding hat and boots, and the horse was saddled and bridled. He watched her go in through the tall doorway. Waited a few seconds. Stepped out of the trees towards the hedge. Hesitated. Was this a mistake? Maybe, but he was way beyond recall now.
