impression he was best pleased.'
'Did he say anything else?'
'Nothing significant. I'm sure he'll call again.'
'Don't you bloody sneer! You've got me into this mess and now you're going to help me get out of it. If you hadn't tried so hard yesterday, my problems would be over now.'
'I suppose you backed Pride of Limerick, then?'
'There's no need to be so smug. Because you weren't meant to be trying, my bookie laid the world and his wife against Cartwheel winning and was nearly trampled to death in the rush. You could at least have thrown the race in the stewards' room but, oh no, you had to go and claim that Pride of Limerick had taken your ground.'
'How do you know that?'
'None of your god-damned business. I also know it was a majority decision and it was only because you smiled so sweetly at that fool Allsopp you got away with it. You've really done it this time. This particular bookie means business. No one likes dropping a quarter of a million pounds and on top of that he'll expect me to come up with the hundred grand I owe him.'
'A hundred thousand! How the hell have you managed that?'
'Mind your own bloody business.'
'Don't pay. Gambling debts aren't enforceable, you know. The worst they can do is report you to Tattersalls. Although I suppose being warned off wouldn't be good publicity for the son of the Lord Chief Justice.'
'What do you mean?'
'Haven't you heard? Daddy's got the big job.'
'Has he now?' A wicked gleam came into Edward's eyes. I could see he was already plotting something.
'That's the first bit of good news I've had today. Anyway Tatts is out. Those bets are all illegal; I don't pay tax even though they're made off course.'
'So they can't even embarrass you into paying?'
'Don't be so naive. People like this aren't interested in social graces when it comes to collecting. They'll use any method that produces a result. I can see a little holiday is called for.'
He ran up the stairs, only to return two minutes later.
'Have you been nosing around in my wardrobe?'
'No, of course not.'
'Are you sure?' His voice had become markedly more aggressive.
'You know I never…' At that moment Freddie came out of the kitchen where he had been playing.
'Daddy! Has mummy told you about the book we found in your cupboard?'
Edward looked at me and smiled.
'Really darling? How clever of you. I'm sure mummy was just about to hand it over, weren't you, mummy?'
His outstretched hand waited menacingly for me to surrender the diary. Reluctantly I took it from my pocket and handed it over.
'I suppose you couldn't resist reading it,' he snarled as he snatched it from my hand.
I nodded and countered: 'And I suppose you're not going to tell me what the entries at the back stand for?'
He stared at me for a few seconds before replying. I suspected that too much drink was going to loosen his tongue and prompt an indiscretion or a display of vanity. He never could resist an opportunity to show how clever he was.
'Why not? Since you've become my partner in crime there's precious little you can do about it and after all, married couples aren't meant to have any secrets from each other, are they? Freddie darling, go and play in your bedroom for ten minutes will you, whilst I have a little chat with mummy.'
He beckoned me to sit opposite him by the fire while he fingered through the diary. Without showing the slightest trace of embarrassment or regret he started explaining: 'As you've no doubt already gathered, the last few pages are the most interesting. Each of these initials stands for what I call one of my investors, and the figure against his or her name, the amount of their monthly investment.'
'What do you mean, investors? What, for God's sake, are they investing in?'
He grinned mischievously. 'My silence. A very precious commodity indeed.'
I leant over and grabbed the diary from his hand. It was still open at the relevant pages.
'You mean, you're a blackmailer, and these are your victims? You bastard!'
'Cut out the moralising. I can do without lectures on that front from a crooked jockey. I'm only telling you all this to let you know that we're not the only people who do things they shouldn't.'
I looked down the list, and tried to decipher the initials. 'Who is A.D., who presumably pays you one hundred pounds a month?'
'That, darling, is your favourite steward, Sir Arthur Drewe.'
'Drewe?'
'One and the same. Who'd have believed it of him? For our purposes he has the added advantage of standing at Worcester and Fontwell.'
'I follow. So that's why you were so confident there would be no problems with the stewards in those races. Does that also explain why Drewe was so intent on taking the race from me yesterday?'
'And he very nearly did so. If only those other oafs hadn't been so susceptible to your confounded smile.'
'And what was Sir Arthur's crime?'
'A little bit of indiscreet adultery, spiced with a desire for the odd burst of flagellation. It was just bad luck for Arthur that I know the young lady in question. And of course old Lady Drewe is not an understanding shrew. That's rather a clever rhyme, isn't it?'
I ignored him and looked down the list again. 'And who's M.C., who pays you thirty pounds a month? What's his sin?'
'Ah, M.C. Michael Corcoran.'
'The one who works in Tom Radcliffe's yard?'
'Yes. I don't charge him much because now and again he provides useful information about what's happening there, and I don't just mean about the horses.'
I was speechless. Michael Corcoran had come over to work for Tom Radcliffe when he first started training. A good-looking Irish boy, now in his late twenties, he had failed to make the grade as a jockey and had stayed on as a stable lad. I recovered my composure and resumed my questioning. 'What have you got on Corcoran then? He's a single man, so it can't be adultery. Which of the other ten commandments has he broken?'
'The eighth, as it happens. Do you remember all those years ago when the wages were stolen from Radcliffe's office?'
I remembered it well. About two thousand pounds had gone missing which, at that time, Tom could ill afford. They never caught the culprit, but the police were certain it was an inside job.
'Well…' Edward continued, 'that was Michael's handiwork. He had got himself in bother with the bookies and took the easy way out. He made the mistake of confessing to me as one of Radcliffe's most respectable owners at that time, and asking my advice.'
'And this is how you repaid his trust?'
'Precisely. I told him not to say a word about it to anyone, and he's been indebted to me, literally, ever since.'
'What if he just upped and left one day?'
'I've considered that, and told him if he ever entertained such an idea I'd send an anonymous letter to his mother in Ireland. One thing these Irish boys hate is the idea of family disgrace, you know.'
'And who are these others – E.F., D.T., T.C., A.P.B. What have they done?'
'They're nobody you know. Pillars of society who have committed minor peccadilloes which they would prefer not to be made public. I don't charge them anymore.'
'E.B.?'
'Eamon Brennan. He's my most reliable payer, although after his performance in front of the stewards yesterday, he may have to increase the size of his investment.'
'And his error of judgement?'
