I'd had originally and included John Brackett. Pleased with myself, I ticked them off. Only three to go, Mr Smith, Spaniel and Dawn. Spaniel! Hell's teeth! I was due to meet KD for her wretched dog show in under two hours and here I sat, bedraggled, covered in dust and grime, giving a damned good impression of a mongrel myself. I raced for the shower.
As well as the dog show there were several races on the card that afternoon and spectators were pouring into the course. A swirling sea of people ebbed and flowed around the new grandstand, like survivors of a maritime disaster desperately trying to reach the safety of the ship sent to rescue them. Rising concrete tiers with blue painted railings looked for all the world like decks on an ocean-going cruise liner that should be plying the warm waters of the Caribbean, not stuck in dry dock at Crofterton Racecourse. The distorted metallic voice of a Tannoy informed us that judging would shortly take place in the Gun Dog class before going on to announce the runners and riders in the next race. How the hell was I going to find KD in this seething mob? Hemmed in on all sides, I turned quickly narrowly avoiding stepping on a Yorkshire Terrier masquerading as a mobile toupee. Sod this for a game of soldiers, I thought, as I engaged 'elbow mode'. Using these extremities as deadly weapons I forced my way through the crush much as Boadicea's chariot scythed through the Romans, eventually reaching the main doors at the base of the stand. I smiled briefly at the man on the door and stepped into a haven of coolness and calm.
“ You took your time getting here,” snapped KD irritably, when I finally stood, glass in hand, at her side in the VIP lounge on the top floor. The circular room with its floor to ceiling, plate glass, folding doors gave panoramic views over the course and the surrounding countryside.
“ Where on earth have you been? I've had to listen to that dreadful woman droning on for hours.”
“ Which dreadful woman?” I asked looking around.
They all looked pretty awful to me, face-lifted matrons showing far too much flesh, their over applied make-up already beginning to run in the afternoon heat.
“ Lavinia Drew-Steignton. She's a Kennel Club judge who breeds Borzois.”
"Doesn't everybody?" I muttered as KD pointed out a woman in a pale pink dress and jacket leaning against the bar, talking to a dark haired man incongruously dressed amidst all the finery in a Barbour and brogues.
“ And her breath reeks of gin.”
"The same could be said of everybody in here, KD," I pointed out.
She laughed. "Too true."
There was certainly enough booze being swilled to fill an Olympic sized swimming pool. Suddenly I jumped at a loud bang directly behind me. I twirled round in time to see champagne frothing out of a bottle held in the pudgy hand of John Brackett. He was pouring the golden flow into the firmly gripped glass of Candida Clark. I turned back quickly, for some reason unwilling to let her see me.
"Stop being so jumpy, Verity. What's the matter, did you think it was a gunshot?"
I grinned weakly.
"Just nervous, I guess. One corpse a week is enough for anybody."
"Verity." KD drew out the last syllable of my name in admonishment. "Enough. You're here to have fun."
"OK," I said. "So what's your fancy in the next race?"
"Starlight Dancer. The filly's a dead cert. Oh!"
She stared at me in horror while I gazed steadily back over the rim of my glass.
"How unfortunate," she muttered.
"A poor choice of words, certainly" I agreed, thinking, as we both were, of Jaynee Johnson. "But apposite as usual, KD."
She glared at me.
"Stop it."
"So, when do you do your bit?" I sipped at my massively overpriced glass of wine and hoped KD would pay out for the next one.
"From four o'clock. The dog show is out the back, the other side of the grandstand."
We gravitated towards the far side of the bar area just as a surge of people swept past us in the opposite direction. The
As well as the dog show there were several races on the card that afternoon and spectators were pouring into the course. A swirling sea of people ebbed and flowed around the new grandstand, like survivors of a maritime disaster desperately trying to reach the safety of the ship sent to rescue them. Rising concrete tiers with blue painted railings looked for all the world like decks on an ocean-going cruise liner that should be plying the warm waters of the Caribbean, not stuck in dry dock at Crofterton Racecourse. The distorted metallic voice of a Tannoy informed us that judging would shortly take place in the Gun Dog class before going on to announce the runners and riders in the next race. How the hell was I going to find KD in this seething mob? Hemmed in on all sides, I turned quickly narrowly avoiding stepping on a Yorkshire Terrier masquerading as a mobile toupee. Sod this for a game of soldiers, I thought, as I engaged 'elbow mode'. Using these extremities as deadly weapons I forced my way through the crush much as Boadicea's chariot scythed through the Romans, eventually reaching the main doors at the base of the stand. I smiled briefly at the man on the door and stepped into a haven of coolness and calm.
“ You took your time getting here,” snapped KD irritably, when I finally stood, glass in hand, at her side in the VIP lounge on the top floor. The circular room with its floor to ceiling, plate glass, folding doors gave panoramic views over the course and the surrounding countryside.
“ Where on earth have you been? I've had to listen to that dreadful woman droning on for hours.”
“ Which dreadful woman?” I asked looking around.
They all looked pretty awful to me, face-lifted matrons showing far too much flesh, their over applied make-up already beginning to run in the afternoon heat.
“ Lavinia Drew-Steignton. She's a Kennel Club judge who breeds Borzois.”
"Doesn't everybody?" I muttered as KD pointed out a woman in a pale pink dress and jacket leaning against the bar, talking to a dark haired man incongruously dressed amidst all the finery in a Barbour and brogues.
“ And her breath reeks of gin.”
"The same could be said of everybody in here, KD," I pointed out.
She laughed. "Too true."
There was certainly enough booze being swilled to fill an Olympic sized swimming pool. Suddenly I jumped at a loud bang directly behind me. I twirled round in time to see champagne frothing out of a bottle held in the pudgy hand of John Brackett. He was pouring the golden flow into the firmly gripped glass of Candida Clark. I turned back quickly, for some reason unwilling to let her see me.
"Stop being so jumpy, Verity. What's the matter, did you think it was a gunshot?"
I grinned weakly.
"Just nervous, I guess. One corpse a week is enough for anybody."
"Verity." KD drew out the last syllable of my name in admonishment. "Enough. You're here to have fun."
"OK," I said. "So what's your fancy in the next race?"
"Starlight Dancer. The filly's a dead cert. Oh!"
She stared at me in horror while I gazed steadily back over the rim of my glass.
"How unfortunate," she muttered.
"A poor choice of words, certainly" I agreed, thinking, as we both were, of Jaynee Johnson. "But apposite as usual, KD."
She glared at me.
"Stop it."
"So, when do you do your bit?" I sipped at my massively overpriced glass of wine and hoped KD would pay out for the next one.
"From four o'clock. The dog show is out the back, the other side of the grandstand."
We gravitated towards the far side of the bar area just as a surge of people swept past us in the opposite direction. The
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