He seemed unconcerned at letting me loose on his half-share investment and I tried telling myself that ahead lay merely a quick pop over three undemanding obstacles, not the first searching test of my chances of racing. I'd ridden over many jumps before, but never on a racehorse, never fast, never caring so much about the outcome. Almost without being aware of it I'd progressed from the hesitancy of my first few days there to a strong positive desire to go down to the starting gate: any starting gate, anywhere. I had to admit that I envied Sam and Nolan.

Bob was circling on his own horse, waiting for me. Both his horse and Fringe, aware they would be jumping, were stimulated and keen.

'Guv'nor says you're to set off on the side nearest him,' Bob said briefly. 'He wants to see what you're doing.'

I nodded, slightly dry-mouthed. Bob expertly trotted his mount into position, gave me a raised-eye query about readiness and kicked forward into an accelerating gallop. Fringe took up his position alongside with familiarity and eagerness, an athlete doing what he'd been bred for, and enjoyed.

First hurdle ahead. Judge the distance- give Fringe the message to shorten his stride- I gave it to him too successfully, he put in a quick one, got too near the hurdle, hopped over it nearly at a standstill, lost lengths on Bob.

d.a.m.n, I thought. d.a.m.n.

Second hurdle, managed it a bit better, gave him the signal three strides from the jump, felt him lift off at the right time, felt his a.s.surance flow back and his faith in me revive, even if provisionally.

Third hurdle, I left him too much to his own devices as the distance was awkward. I couldn't make up my own mind whether to get him to lengthen or shorten and in consequence I didn't make his mind up to do either and we floundered over it untidily, his hooves rapping the wooden frames, my weight too far forward- a mess.

We pulled up at the end of the schooling stretch and trotted back to where Tremayne stood with his binoculars. I didn't look at Bob; didn't want to see his disapproval, all too wretchedly aware that I hadn't done very well.

Tremayne with pursed lips offered no direct opinion.

Instead he said, 'Second pop, Bob. Off you go,' and I gathered we were to go back to the beginning and start again.

I seemed to have more time to get things together the second time and Fringe stayed beside Bob fairly smoothly to the end. I felt exalted and released and newly alive in myself, but also I'd watched Sam Yaeger in a schooling session one morning and knew the difference.

Tremayne said nothing until we were driving back to the stable and then all he did was ask me if I were happy with what I'd done. Happy beyond expression in one way, I thought, but not in another. I knew for certain I wanted to race. Knew I had elementary skill.

'I'll learn,' I said grimly, and he didn't answer.

When we reached the house, however, he rummaged about in the office for a while complaining that he could never find anything on Dee-Dee's days off and eventually brought a paper into the dining-room, plonked it on the table and instructed me to sign.

It was, I saw, an application for a permit to race as an amateur jockey. I signed it without speaking, incredibly delighted, grinning like a maniac.

Tremayne grunted and bore the doc.u.ment away, coming back presently to say I should stop working and go with him to Newbury races, if I didn't mind. Also Mackie would be coming with us and we'd be picking up Fiona.

'And frankly,' he said, coming to the essence of the matter, 'those two don't want to go without you, and Harry wants you to be there and- well- so do I.'

'All right,' I said.

'Good.'

He departed again and, after a moment's thought, I went into the office to put through a call to Doone's police station. He was off duty, I was told. I could leave my name and a message.

I left my name.

'Ask him,' I said, 'why the floorboards in the boat-house didn't float.'

'Er- would you repeat that, sir?'

I repeated it and got it read back with scepticism.

'That's right,' I confirmed, amused. 'Don't forget it.'

We went to the races and watched Nolan ride Fiona's horse Groundsel and get beaten by a length into second place, and we watched Sam ride two of Tremayne's runners unprofitably and then win for another trainer.

'There's always another day,' Tremayne said philosophically.

Fiona told us on the way to the races that the police had phoned Harry to say they'd found his car in the station car park at Reading.

'They said it looks OK but they've towed it off somewhere to search for clues. I never knew people really said "search for clues", but that's what they said.'

'They talk like their notebooks,' Tremayne nodded.

From Reading station one could set off round the world. Metaphorical cliff, I thought. A guilty disappearance had been the intended scenario, not a presumption of suicide. Unless of course the car had been moved again after Harry had made his unscheduled reappearance.

The racecourse was naturally buzzing with accounts of the row at Tremayne's dinner, most of the stories inflamed and inaccurate because of the embroidery by the press. Tremayne bore the jokes with reasonable fort.i.tude, cheered by the absence of enquiry or even remarks from the Jockey Club, not even strictures about 'bringing racing into disrepute' which I'd learned was the yardstick for in-house punishment.

By osmosis of information, both Sam and Nolan knew details of Fringe's schooling. Sam said, 'You'll be taking my sodding job next,' without meaning it in the least, and Nolan, bitter-eyed and cursing, saw Tremayne's warning glare and subsided with festering rancour. 'How on earth do they know?' I asked, mystified.

'Sam phoned Bob to find out,' Tremayne said succinctly. 'Bob told him you did all right. Sam couldn't wait to tell Nolan. I heard him doing it. b.l.o.o.d.y pair of fools.'

All afternoon Fiona kept me close by her side, looking around for me any time I fell a step behind. She tried unsuccessfully to hide what she described as 'preposterous fear', and I understood that her fear had no focus and no logic, but was becoming a state of mind. Tremayne, sensing it also, fussed over her even more than usual and Fiona herself made visible efforts to act normally and as she said 'be sensible'.

Whenever Mackie wasn't actively helping Tremayne she stayed close also to Fiona, and although I tried I couldn't dislodge the underlying anxiety in their eyes. Silver-blond and red-head, they clung to each other occasionally as long-time friends, and spoke to Nolan, cousin of one, ex-fiance of the other, with an odd mixture of dread, exasperation and compa.s.sion.

Nolan was disconcerted by having lost on Groundsel though I couldn't see that he'd done anything wrong. Tremayne didn't blame him, still less Fiona, but the non-success intensified if possible his ill-will towards me. I was truly disconcerted myself to have acquired so violent an enemy without meaning to and could see no resolution short of full retreat; and the trouble was that since that morning's schooling any inclination to retreat had totally vanished.

I looked back constantly to the morning with huge inward joy; to Ronnie's phone call, to the revelation over hurdles. Doors opening all over the place. All beginning.

The afternoon ending, we took Fiona home and went on to Sh.e.l.lerton House where Perkin came through for drinks, Tremayne went out to see the horses and Gareth returned from a football match. An evening like most others in that house, but to me the first of a changed life.

The next day, Sunday, Gareth held me to my promise to take him and Coconut out on another survival trip.

The weather was much better; sunny but cold still with a trace of a breeze, a good day for walking. I suggested seven miles out, seven miles back; Gareth with horror suggested two. We compromised on borrowing the Land Rover for positioning, followed by walking as far as their enthusiasm took them.

'Where are you going?' Tremayne asked.

'Along the road over the hills towards Reading,' I said. 'There's some great woodland there, unfenced, no signs saying "keep out".'

Tremayne nodded. 'I know where you mean. It's all part of the Quillersedge Estate. They only try to keep people out just before Christmas, to stop them stealing the fir trees.'

'We'd better not light a fire there,' I said, 'so we'll take our food and water with us.'

Gareth looked relieved. 'No fried worms.'

'No, but it will be survival food. Things you could pick or catch.'

'OK,' he said with his father's brand of practical acceptance. 'How about chocolate instead of dandelion leaves?'

I agreed to the chocolate. The day had to be bearable. We set off at ten, collected Coconut and bowled along to the woods.