Royal Heist Read online

  “I’ve been caught up with work, but I have tried calling you.” David drained his glass, which de Jersey refilled. They had known each other for twenty-five years but rarely socialized. David’s latest business venture on de Jersey’s behalf, financing an Internet company, had proved a gold mine.

  “What do you say is going to be a surefire bet? Come on now, you’ve got to have insider information, Edward.”

  “There never is one.” De Jersey hesitated. David’s words were an eerie reminder of his father, who always used to say the same thing. He suddenly felt like talking about his father but resisted. David would have heart failure if he knew some of the things de Jersey had done. He was straight and honest, the very reason de Jersey placed so much trust in him.

  “David, I am really pleased you and Helen could join us today.”

  David smiled. He had whiter than white teeth and always appeared suntanned. His balding head and big ears were often a source of amusement, but he was, in actual fact, a very confident man. Now that he was flushed with champagne, David’s discomfort at wearing an oversize morning suit was beginning to lessen.

  “Edward, lemme tell you. What with Helen’s ruddy flower garden hat and me in this suit, I was of two minds about whether to come today. I said to this bloke at Moss Bros, can’t you take the trousers up? No, he said, then puts the jacket on me and the sleeves covered my hand. I said, I can’t go to Royal Ascot looking like a chump. Can’t you recommend someone that’s got one more my size? And you know what he said? No one will notice! I said, They will when I do a pratfall in front of the Queen.

  “And then I get the manager, and he starts kneeling down with these pins in his mouth. He says to me, Can you stand on the stool? And I says, That’s not gonna help. I can’t carry that around the racetrack!” David chortled with laughter and showed the wide hem on his trousers as Helen blushed with embarrassment.

  By the time Christina suggested they sit down for lunch, everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves. The vicar had accompanied David to the Tote and appeared to have backed every horse in the first race. It was one thirty. More champagne was offered, then chilled white Chablis as the oysters were served. They were to be followed by wild salmon in aspic with new potatoes and salad. There would be a break between courses to watch the races from the balcony.

  Just as they finished the oysters, the crowds below cheered wildly and everyone left the table to watch the Royal procession pass beneath the balcony. Moments later the first runners were under starter’s orders, and they were off. Their guests, led by David, cheered on the winner—Charcoal at twelve to one—then David and the vicar rushed out to collect their winnings.

  De Jersey felt the knot in his stomach tighten. Two more races, then he would go down to the stables.

  David was making his way to the Tote on the floor directly below. Natasha had already placed her bet, but when she saw him join the line she waited, and they returned together. David hurried to the balcony, but Natasha joined her father.

  “Daddy, David put on an enormous amount of money!”

  “Shush,” Christina admonished.

  “He can afford it, sweetheart,” de Jersey said, grinning. “What’s he backed?”

  “Classy Lady.” Natasha giggled. “Maybe because of his wife’s awful rose-garden hat.”

  Christina said sternly, “That will do, Natty. Edward, don’t encourage her. They’re your guests.”

  De Jersey pulled a po-face. “Me?”

  Natasha stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “I’m on Blue Babushka, the outsider, a fiver on the nose.”

  “Then join the others or you’ll miss the race.” Christina glanced at the table, now freshly laid for the next course. Natasha left, and de Jersey watched the television screen as the horses cantered past, heading for the starting gate. “Royal Flush will go in last,” he said. “He gets so frisky. I might go and have another look at him.”

  “Not before we finish lunch. You’ve got almost two hours yet… . Darling?”

  He was staring into space. “Next year, the Derby. That’s my dream, to have a Derby winner.” He lapsed into silence again. Sometimes he wanted to tell her about his childhood, but so much of the past was buried beneath the person he had become that the less she knew the safer he felt.

  They had just finished the main course when Donald Fleming came into the box. “Mickey’s in the weighing room,” he said.

  “I won the last race!” his wife called to him.

  Fleming blew her a kiss, then turned to Christina. “Thank you for inviting my wife.”

  Christina patted his arm. “She looks wonderful.”

  “Thanks to you, all those dresses you sent over—she was like a little girl at Christmas. And don’t tell me they were ones you didn’t wear anymore because a couple had the price tags still on them.”

  “You didn’t mind, did you? I knew she hadn’t been well enough to go shopping.”

  “Mind? Course not. Having her here today makes it even more special. Cream’ll be if Royal Flush wins.”

  Fleming crossed to his wife. She was talking about her recent mastectomy with Helen Lyons, who found operations fascinating.

  De Jersey turned to Christina. “What was that about his wife?”

  “I sent over some dresses for her to choose something to wear. She’s been very poorly.”

  “I thought the operation was a success,” he said, looking at his watch. He was impatient to go to the stables.

  “Yes, but she lost self-confidence.” Christina touched the emerald-and-diamond brooch on her lapel. “Can you see if the safety catch is on?” Her husband bent to look. “I don’t know why you wanted me to wear it. I’m always afraid of losing it, and with these crowds …”

  “Looks okay. It suits that jacket.”

  Christina nuzzled his neck. “It would suit any jacket. It’s magnificent.”

  De Jersey grinned boyishly. He adored buying her expensive gifts. This brooch, for her last birthday, had been especially costly. The matching earrings were in his pocket. He had intended to give them to her before he left that morning but then decided that if Royal Flush won they would make it a memorable day for her too.

  The next race was ready for the off. Fleming beckoned to de Jersey; it was time to get Royal Flush saddled up. De Jersey asked Christina to take the girls to the parade ring; he would join them there. He leaned close. “Just you and the girls, darling. You know I don’t like too many people around when we saddle up.” She nodded. As de Jersey and Fleming left, she joined the guests on the balcony to explain they would return after the race. David was put out that he couldn’t come, so Christina explained Edward’s nervousness and suggested that David could make his way to the stands around the parade ring and watch the saddling from there.

  “Will the Queen be with her horse?” he asked like a kid.

  “Yes, I believe so. She has a runner in the same race.”

  “Bloody hell, I wouldn’t miss that. We’ll go over to the stands then after the next race. Which way do we go?” After giving him directions, Christina signaled to the girls, and the five of them left the box.

  They passed under the archway and headed along the grass path toward the arena, where the horses would be brought to their owners and trainers. There, the jockeys received their last-minute instructions before mounting to ride down the track to the starting gate. Dense crowds lined the fenced walkway to watch the Queen as she, too, made her way toward the parade ring.

  De Jersey arrived at the stables as the horses were being walked outside. They were unsaddled but draped in their owners’ colors, and their numbers were attached to their bridles. The sun blazed, and some were already sweating. Royal Flush was number seven. He was playing up, tossing his head. A couple of other horses walked sideways; some were kicking out. Her Majesty’s trainer walked with her to the ring, surrounded by bodyguards and security officers, six feet in front and behind. Although they had walkie-talkies and were monitoring the crowds, they were
discreet, and there was a wonderful atmosphere of well-being. Here at Royal Ascot the Queen could relax and enjoy her favorite pastime. She acknowledged the cheers but was deeply engrossed in talking to her trainer.

  Quite a way behind, Christina was strolling with the girls, who were agog at such glamour. They excitedly spotted stars of movies and television and kept taking secret glances ahead to the Queen’s party.

  Royal Flush was still acting up as he was led into a stable. Fleming and de Jersey saddled him. De Jersey dipped a sponge into a bucket and squeezed water into the horse’s mouth past the bit, talking to him all the time, but the horse was increasingly hard to control. Finally, the saddle was on and he was led out, rearing and bucking, ears flattened. De Jersey looked on, concerned.

  “He’s in a right mood,” muttered Fleming.

  “It’s bloody hot for him.”

  As the stable lad took the reins, de Jersey tapped his shoulder. “See you in the ring.”

  “Yes, sir. He’ll calm down. He’s just desperate to get onto that track.”

  De Jersey straightened his gray silk cravat and replaced his topper. “Let’s go.” Then he and Fleming walked side by side toward the parade ring.

  At the center the crowds pressed against the railings, and the green was full of owners and trainers. The Sheikh was waiting for his runner to appear, and de Jersey could see Christina and the girls chatting to friends. Making his way toward them, he passed the Queen and tipped his top hat. He was astonished when she acknowledged him. He had seen her on several occasions, but never before had she spoken to him.

  “Do you play cards, Mr. de Jersey?” the Queen asked, smiling.

  “Infrequently, ma’am.” He bowed.

  “I wondered how your horse came about his name.”

  De Jersey flushed to the roots of his hair; the royal flush was an unbeatable poker hand. “Whether it will prove to be his rightful name remains to be seen, ma’am.”

  The Queen inclined her head; the conversation was over.

  His heart pounding, de Jersey replaced his top hat and continued to cross the green. He could hardly believe that Her Majesty had known his name and stopped a moment to get his breath.

  “You all right?” Fleming asked.

  “I’m fine, just … She knew who I was, Donald!”

  Fleming laughed. “She doesn’t miss a trick. She’s got a stable of horses on a par with yours, and I bet she knows just what the competition is from our boy. That’s her horse being led into the ring now.” He gestured to a magnificent bay draped in the Royal colors, bigger than Royal Flush, and calmer. Royal Flush, a deep, almost burnt chestnut, still tossed his head, and there was a white film of sweat on his neck.

  “Bloody hot for his second time out,” de Jersey said. Then he greeted Christina by slipping an arm around her waist, and they watched as his lad walked Royal Flush round the ring.

  Mickey Rowland adjusted his chin strap, whip under his arm, and looked around. Spotting de Jersey, he came over. “Hot out here,” he murmured, nodding to Christina.

  “You’ve met my daughters, and these two young ladies are—” De Jersey suddenly saw that Leonie was about to take a photograph. “Not now,” he snapped.

  “But, Daddy—”

  “No! Christina, take the camera off her now!”

  Leonie looked frightened and lowered it. Christina took the camera, explaining, “It’s supposed to be unlucky, sweetheart. Take as many as you like after the race.”

  De Jersey, Fleming, and Mickey were deep in conversation, the incident forgotten. “I think it’s best to give him his head. With this ground it’s going to be fast. Let’s see what he can do, maybe give him a tap halfway, keep him off the rails, center of the course. It’s already been churned up, so if it’s too rough move him across.”

  Mickey’s face was expressionless. He and de Jersey walked toward Royal Flush. De Jersey bent low, speaking privately: “You know him best, Mickey. Do what you have to do. Let’s see how good he is.”

  Mickey smiled. “See you in the winner’s enclosure, then, shall I?”

  De Jersey laughed and gave his jockey a leg up. Mickey tightened his gloves, tapped his helmet with his whip, and urged Royal Flush to walk out of the ring. The crowd headed back for the stands to watch the race. The horses would take a good, easy canter to the starting gate.

  De Jersey walked ahead toward the owners’ and trainers’ stand, leaving Fleming to guide Christina and the girls. He didn’t see David and Helen Lyons waving from behind the barrier, but they had seen him pause by the Queen; David had the photograph to prove it.

  Christina fanned herself with her race card as they headed up the steps to the front row of the stand. They were all very hot. She knew not to speak to her husband as he trained his binoculars on Royal Flush cantering up to the starting gate. De Jersey lifted them, lowered them, looked to the wide screen, then went back to the binoculars. Fleming was more relaxed.

  “He’ll start his shuffle in a minute,” he whispered to Christina. Whenever de Jersey watched one of his horses race, he would shift from one foot to the other as if he were standing on hot coals. They exchanged smiles.

  Now the commentator was saying that all the horses were in the gates except Royal Flush. Then he was in, and the next second they were off. Fleming stood close by de Jersey, who muttered, “Came out well, but he’s boxed in. Move him up, Mickey, that’s it—good, he’s in a nice position.”

  As Christina squinted at the screen, Natalie asked where Royal Flush was.

  “I think he’s fourth, no fifth—he’s right in the center. See the star on Mickey’s cap?”

  De Jersey yelped, and everyone turned to look. He was hopping up and down. “He’s dropped back! What the hell is he doing?” His face was like thunder. “Come on, come on, Mickey! Ride him. That’s it! That’s it.” He nudged Fleming so hard that he was almost knocked off his feet. “He’s moving up, sitting in a lovely position, see him?”

  But the Queen’s bay was breaking away from the pack. He was almost a length in front of the rest of the field.

  De Jersey lowered the binoculars as the horses thundered down the backstretch. Royal Flush was still in fourth but looked as if he was tiring. Boxed in on both sides, he was struggling to hold his position. Then, suddenly, he began to draw ahead of the horses, neck and neck on either side of him.

  Christina turned to see her husband standing, as if frozen, his hands at his sides. Then she was shouting at the top of her voice: “Come on … Come on. Yes, Yes. Come on!”

  Suddenly Royal Flush seemed to get a second wind. The horse flew, his stride never faltering as he moved up from fourth to third, and then he was unstoppable. He passed the winning post two lengths ahead of the field. Mickey, high in the saddle, turned to look behind as he raised his whip in victory.

  Fleming and de Jersey looked at each other, speechless for a moment, then Fleming gasped. “He’s done it, just like you knew he would.” De Jersey blinked back tears. Then Christina was in his arms, and his girls were hugging him. There were congratulations from everywhere, but he could hear nothing, his heart was pounding fit to burst.

  They hurried to the winner’s enclosure. Mickey rode in to cheers. De Jersey and Fleming took the reins as the jockey slid off Royal Flush and wrapped his arms around the sweating horse’s neck. Then he removed the saddle. As he loosened his chin strap, Mickey said, “He’s got a lot more under the bonnet. I’ve never felt anything like it. I hardly had to touch him.”

  De Jersey held the horse’s head. “Next year it’s the Derby, my boy.”

  Fleming laughed. “Give him a break! He’s just won the Chesham. That’s good enough for now.”

  The prize giving was a blur. De Jersey forced himself to keep calm, though he wanted to shout out that he had found it, a champion of champions! The dream of every trainer and owner, the fulfillment of twenty years’ hard work. It was his!

  Moments later, Fleming was being interviewed by the television sports team,
but de Jersey sidestepped them. He avoided publicity and always left the interviews to his trainer.

  After seeing that Royal Flush was hosed down and made ready to be driven home, de Jersey returned jubilantly to his box. The guests had all bet on Royal Flush. David was standing on a chair waving a fistful of fifty-pound notes, singing, “We’re in the money!” They celebrated well into the afternoon, and David and Helen Lyons were the last to leave. After monitoring him drinking numerous cups of black coffee, Helen assured Christina that David was sober enough to drive.

  “Don’t worry, it’ll take us a good hour to get out of the car park,” David said and then clasped de Jersey’s hand. “This has been one of the best days of my life. Delicious food, the best champagne and … and … I’m going to get that photograph of you with the Queen framed. I’ll have it on my desk!”

  “It was a special day, David, and I am glad you were here to share it. If it wasn’t for you I probably wouldn’t have been able to afford it!” de Jersey said, shaking David’s hand. His financial adviser’s mood suddenly deflated. He looked as if he wanted to say something but decided against it, saying instead, rather briskly to his wife, “Let’s go, Helen, we don’t want to overstay our welcome or we won’t be invited next year.”

  Then dropping his voice, David said soberly to de Jersey, “Everything is going to be all right.” They were gone before a puzzled de Jersey could reply.

  De Jersey sat down, exhausted, watching while Christina marshaled the girls. “Will you be all right to fly the helicopter?” she asked.

  He made no reply. As she repeated the question, he reached out and brought her hand to his lips. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll see you at home. Thank you for today. It was a good idea to invite David and Helen. I think it meant a great deal to them.”

  She laughed softly. “I don’t know if it was such a good idea to invite the vicar. Donald’s had to drive him home. He could hardly stand up.”

  De Jersey blew his daughters a kiss, then stood up. “Drive carefully. I won’t be too late.” He picked up his top hat and walked to the door. “There’s something for you on the table,” he said to his wife over his shoulder. Then he left.