Dead Man Riding Read Free

Lear.’
    â€˜And half horse?’
    â€˜At least half, from what Alan says. He’s got this stud of Arabians. Only thing he cares about. The story Alan heard from his father was that the old boy kicked around the world a lot when he was younger, native wars, piracy on the high seas and goodness knows what. Anyway, at some point he fetches up in the desert, saves the life of some sheik or other high-up and gets presented with a stallion and two mares as a reward. So he ships them back to Southampton and sets up a stud in Hampshire.’
    â€˜I thought you were going to the Lake District?’
    â€˜Hampshire was about twenty years ago. The Centaur’s a migratory beast. Apparently he keeps quarrelling with his neighbours and having to pack up his saddlebags and move on because he’s made the place too hot for himself. He’s used up most of England now and is within sight of the Scottish border. It’s the very last bit of the Lake District he’s in, overlooking the Solway Firth.’
    â€˜I know where you mean. It’s the view when you’re looking north from the top of Skiddaw.’
    They all looked at me, wondering why I thought that added to the story, and of course it didn’t. The fact was I loved the Lake District but hadn’t dared set foot in it since I’d come back to England. It was where we’d spent family holidays when my father could tear himself away from whatever city he’d been practising and politicking in at the time. My brother Stuart and I had walked for miles with him over the fells, rowed on Ullswater, learned to climb on the crags at Dungeon Ghyll. Suddenly and sharply, I wanted to be back there on Skiddaw’s slatey summit looking out over the Solway to the Scottish hills.
    â€˜Did his wife and family migrate with him?’ Imogen asked.
    â€˜Neither chick nor child. He travels light, does Uncle Centaur. Apart from his mares and stallions, of course.’
    Midge said, ‘I think you’re making this up.’
    â€˜Come with us then and see.’
    â€˜Perhaps we will.’ From Midge of all people. She was teasing him of course.
    â€˜You’ll come, won’t you Nell? You’re an adventuress.’
    â€˜Nathan.’ Midge spluttered with laughter and slapped him lightly on the back of his hand. ‘Apologise to Nell. Adventuress means something entirely different.’
    â€˜Does it? I’m sorry. All I meant was Nell’s been all over the shop and probably done all kinds of things—’
    â€˜That’s even worse.’
    Again, Imogen ignored their nonsense. She seemed to be following some line of her own.
    â€˜I suppose he has a housekeeper or somebody?’
    â€˜Suppose so.’
    â€˜And he’s invited you all?’
    â€˜To be honest, he’s only actually invited Alan, but all we need is a barn or something for a roof over our heads, hay to sleep on and ale and bread and cheese from the local inn. So Alan’s written to ask if he can bring a friend or two.’
    â€˜That’s you and Kit?’
    â€˜Yes, plus Michael Meredith probably.’
    â€˜What?’ Imogen sat bolt upright. ‘Mr Meredith coming with you. But he’s a don .’
    â€˜He’s Alan’s and Kit’s tutor.’
    â€˜But I thought he—’
    â€˜All right, not officially any more but they still see him. Kit says he’s the only man in the university who makes sense of philosophy.’
    Imogen said nothing. I sensed that for a moment or two, under the influence of the stars and the swans and the men dressed as Spanish grandees, she’d been playing with the idea of accepting the invitation, the way you do play with things when they’re safely impossible. Then the involvement of Michael Meredith had made the thing so far out of the question that she wasn’t going to think about it any more. In any case, at that point the play started