Under Orders Read Free Page B

been more accurate. He was responsible for the Diary page in
The Pump
, a daily and Sunday newspaper that I’d been at odds with some years ago. Half of what he wrote was pure fiction but there was enough truth inthe rest that many believed it all. To my sure knowledge he had been the direct cause of two divorces and one attempted suicide during the previous twelve months.
    My fancy hook, as he called it, was a highly expensive myo-electric false left hand. What the jagged horseshoe had started had been well and truly finished by a sadistic villain and I was now the proud owner of a state-of-the-art 21st-century hook. In truth, I had learned to do most things one-handed but I tended to wear the false limb as a cosmetic defence against people’s stares.
    ‘Fully charged and ready for action,’ I said, turning and offering my left hand for a shake.
    ‘Not bloody likely! You’ll crush my fingers with that thing.’
    ‘I’m good at picking up eggs,’ I lied. In truth I had broken dozens of the bloody things.
    ‘I don’t care,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard stories on the grapevine of you hitting people with that and, by all accounts, they stay hit.’
    It was true. I’d broken a couple of jaws. No point in fighting clean when I had a ready-made club firmly attached below my left elbow.
    ‘What do you make of that little exchange between trainer and jockey?’ he asked, with apparent innocence.
    ‘Don’t know what you mean.’
    ‘Ah, come off it,’ he said. ‘Everyone must have seen that tiff.’
    ‘What’s the story, then?’ I asked, equally innocently.
    ‘Obvious. Walker won when he wasn’t meant to. No stable money on the nose. Bloody fool.’
    ‘Who?’ I asked. ‘Walker or Burton?’
    ‘Good question. Both of them, I suppose. I’ll be surprised if the Stewards don’t have them in, or the Jockey Club. Fancy a beer?’
    ‘Some other time. I promised my father-in-law I’d go and have a drink with him.’
    ‘Ex-father-in-law,’ he corrected.
    ‘No secrets on the racecourse, not from you, anyway.’
    ‘Now you’re really joking. I couldn’t beat a secret out of you if you didn’t want to tell. I’ve heard that on the grapevine, too.’
    He had heard too much, I thought.
    ‘How’s your love life?’ he asked abruptly.
    ‘None of your business.’
    ‘See what I mean?’ He tapped me on the chest. ‘Who’s Sid Halley screwing now? The best-kept secret in racing.’
    He went off in search of easier prey. He was a big man who was used to throwing his considerable weight around. A bully who took pleasure from making people cry. I watched him go and wondered how he got to sleep at night.
    But he had been accurate in one respect. Who Sid Halley was presently ‘screwing’ was indeed one of the facts I tried to keep from the racecourse. The racecourse was my place of work, my office. Apart from keeping my work and my pleasure separate, I knew from experience that I was vulnerable to threats being made against those I loved. Much safer for me, and for them, if their existence was unknown to my quarry.

C HAPTER 2
    I made my way up to the private boxes in the grandstand. It was not as easy as it used to be as so-called security seems to get stiffer each year. The friendly gatemen, like Tom down by the car park entrance who knew every trainer and jockey by sight and many of the owners too, were a dying breed. The new generation of youngsters, bussed in from the big cities, have no knowledge of racing. My face, once the ticket to every part of any racecourse, was now just another in the crowd.
    ‘Do you have a badge for a box?’ asked a tall young man with spiky hair. He wore a dark blazer with ‘Event Security’ embroidered on the breast pocket.
    ‘No, but I’m Sid Halley and I’m going for a drink with Lord Enstone.’
    ‘Sorry, sir.’ He didn’t sound sorry. ‘Only those with passes can go up in this lift.’
    I felt foolish as I flashed my out-of-date jockey’s badge his way.
    ‘Sorry,