Deadfall by Lyndon Stacey Page A

Linc sat back and Steamer landed running.
    Somewhere nearby, a loudspeaker was updating people in other parts of the venue. ‘Lincoln Tremayne and Night Train have just landed safely over fence number eighteen, Lovers Leap,’ it announced in unemotional tones, ‘and are gaining on the pair in front.’
    Sure enough, rounding the next bend Linc could see a chestnut rump ahead, and almost immediately the course stewards began to signal to the slower pair to give way to Linc and Steamer. Linc shouted thanks as he swept by and sent the grey on up the last hill. Three more fences were taken without incident and suddenly the whirlwind ride was over.
    Once across the finish line Steamer allowed Linc to pull him up with very little fuss and, as he slowed to a trot, Dee flew across the trampled turf, threwher arms round the horse’s sweaty neck and hugged him, half-sobbing with joy.
    â€˜Bloody hell!’ Linc exclaimed as Steamer finally halted, grey flanks heaving. ‘Does he always go like that?’
    Dee looked up at him, her eyes shining. ‘Oh, yes, always.’
    â€˜You know, you really should have warned me!’ Linc was almost as short of breath as his mount.
    â€˜But Nina said you could ride anything,’ she replied, surprised.
    â€˜Oh, she did, did she?’ he said, making a mental note to have a word with Miss Barclay. ‘Well, I’m sorry about the run-out at the watersplash. I just couldn’t get him to listen.’
    â€˜Oh, that’s nothing! At least you got round! That’s the first time he’s finished a course since we’ve had him! And it just proves that I was right. He
is
a good horse, it’s the
riders
that weren’t up to it!’
    Linc could have said a thing or two about that but he kept his tongue between his teeth. He dismounted on to legs that were suspiciously shaky and stretched his aching arms. On the whole, he thought, it was probably a good thing that the Eighth Viscount wasn’t in the habit of watching his son and heir compete.
    â€˜I’ve a bone to pick with you, my girl!’ Linc announced, as Nina joined him on the way back to his lorry. Dee had disappeared with Steamer in tow, promising Linc many rides in future should he want them, to which he returned a carefully non-committal answer.
    â€˜I didn’t know he was a maniac!’ she protested, laughing.
    â€˜And
she’s
not much better. It seems she’s known as Dotty Dee. That ought to have told you something.’
    â€˜Well, it probably would’ve, if I’d known,’ she countered. ‘Anyway, you coped, so what’s all the fuss about?’
    â€˜Mr Tremayne? Lincoln?’
    A new voice hailed him from behind and he turned to see a wiry woman with greying blonde hair hurrying to catch him up. She looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t think why.
    â€˜Yes. I’m Linc,’ he confirmed.
    â€˜Can I have a word?’
    â€˜Well, I’m on my way home, but . . .’
    Nina touched his arm. ‘I’ll phone you, Linc,’ she said, peeling off in the direction of her own lorry.
    â€˜My name is Hilary Lang,’ the newcomer said. ‘And I’ve been watching you over the last few weeks. I have to say, I’m impressed.’
    Hilary Lang. No wonder he’d felt he should know her. She had been a very successful international three-day event rider at around the time his mother had been riding and was still closely involved with the sport.
    â€˜Pleased to meet you,’ he said warmly, putting out his hand.
    â€˜I just wanted to sound you out about possibly coming on one of our training courses,’ she continued as they shook hands. ‘It wouldn’t be until July or August but I need to start sorting out a list. I’d very much like to see you there.’
    Linc battled a feeling of unreality. Hilary Langdid a lot of the coaching for the British international