The Silver Falcon by Evelyn Anthony Page B

Richard to pay up.’
    â€˜I watched him this afternoon,’ Susan said slowly. ‘He’s getting round that woman and she doesn’t even know it. I feel really sorry for her.’
    â€˜We can’t afford to be,’ Gerry said. ‘There’s a lot at stake for us too. Come on, darling, nice bright smile – let’s get outside some of Roy’s champagne.’
    â€˜How good is the Falcon?’ Roy Farrant asked. He and Richard had gone off to play golf at the exclusive course adjoining the housing estate. They had driven off with golf clubs in the little buggy the Farrants kept for running round the island. When they got to the golf course, they left the clubs in the buggy and went straight into the club house. Farrant ordered iced coffee and Richard asked for rum. They chose a table on the verandah far from the few people having an early morning drink. Farrant’s eyes were hard and narrowed; he looked much older when he wasn’t smiling. Richard swallowed hard at his drink.
    â€˜Very good,’ he said. ‘But you ought to know that; you know what his performance was last season.’
    â€˜Yes of course I bloody know that,’ Farrant interrupted angrily. ‘He won two Grade I races. But there’s all the difference in the world between a top-class two-year-old and a Classic winner! Is he going to train on? And is he going to be as good as he was?’
    â€˜Better,’ Richard said. ‘He’s grown on since last year; he was very lightly raced because Ryan doesn’t believe in overdoing two-year-olds. He’s a big, powerful colt and he hasn’t been stretched at all. Ryan said he got a mile and a quarter without any trouble. He’s confident he’ll get the distance for the Derby. From the look of him and what I picked up out there, he’ll slaughter Rocket Man.’
    â€˜Christ,’ Farrant said. ‘There’s nothing else in England that can beat us. Nothing!’
    â€˜It’s been a bad year for English two-year-olds,’ Richard remarked slyly.
    Farrant glared at him. ‘Keep your bloody cracks to yourself,’ he said. ‘You know Rocket Man is a certain winner this year. Everybody knows it. There’s only one Frenchman to reckon with and we can fix him. I’m not worried about that.’
    â€˜If you want me to tell you that Silver Falcon doesn’t look the better horse, then okay, I will. But it isn’t the truth. If I were you I wouldn’t plunge on Rocket Man. My money goes on the Falcon.’ He got up and went to the bar. He came back with another glass of rum. Farrant looked up at him and scowled.
    â€˜You must have bloody hollow legs,’ he said. Richard played with the glass, making the ice tinkle. He didn’t say anything. After a few minutes Roy Farrant looked up.
    â€˜I have plunged,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ve laid thirty thousand on him. But it isn’t the money. I want that race!’
    â€˜You sound like my father,’ Richard said. ‘He was a glory hunter too.’
    â€˜It’s definite she’s going to run him?’ Farrant asked.
    â€˜No question; she promised my father on his death bed. The old bastard couldn’t even let up when he was dying. Falcon’ll run.’
    â€˜Unless something happens to him,’ Farrant muttered.
    Richard Schriber shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t rely on it,’ he said. ‘Nigel Foster’ll guard him like the gold in Fort Knox. He’s never broken down a horse in his life in training. And you won’t get within a mile of him before the race. There’s nothing you can do about it.’
    â€˜When Schriber died I thought we were home and dry,’ Farrant said. ‘All the papers were full of it. You’ve never read such a lot of crap in your life about the great American sportsman and how tragic he didn’t live to see his great hope run in the Derby. You