Murder on the Rocks (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 7) Page 8

  “I’m not exactly a racing fan myself, Ralph. How about you?” Said Granger as he toyed with his tie. “I wish I’d worn a cravat. If it gets a bit warmer I’ll take the damn thing off. After all it is our day off,” he grinned.

  Ralph was seeing Granger in a new light. Away from college he seemed like a likeable chap. Just then a waiter approached holding a tray of champagne flutes and another with a tray of canapes. Ralph could see that Katie and Ruth were laughing as they studied the race card. He knew that Katie had this rule that you put half your winnings in one pocket and gambled the rest. She had told him that she had a float of 40 pounds and that was her limit. He reckoned the bookmakers would go broke if all the punters adhered to her rule.

  “I’m told they bring a tipster round so that we can see which horse to bet on,” said Granger as he looked out over the course. I expect that with you being up on statistics and probabilities you can work out the odds yourself. Any winning strategies you’d like to share? Or is it more a question of taking a fancy to one of the horses in the parade arena.”

  “Well, I think it probably helps if you know the jockey and the handicap, you know, how much weight they carry. The serious betters have a whole list of things they look at. Form, pedigree and goodness knows what else. It’s not a lot different than selecting someone to do a job. But you’re right. It’s probably all about the horse, and no one really knows about that apart from the owner or the trainer. I heard somewhere that its 95% the horse and 5% down to the jockey.”

  They chatted on as they were shown to their table. Ralph had watched as the stands filled up and he tried to listen to the announcements from the PA over the din. He was surprised when he looked around and noticed that the room had filled with other race-goers. Over the chatter of the crowd he heard a shout.

  “I’ll be damned if it isn’t Ralph Chalmers. I haven’t seen you for years, old man. You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Ralph recognised his friend from those long past Cambridge days. Thinner and looking slightly gaunter than the enigmatic young man that he remembered, but still the same Roberto.

  “Well, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes, Roberto. I can see that the good life agrees with you,” Ralph said as the two friends shook hands and clapped each other on the back.

  “I can see I don’t need to make any introductions here,” Rupert said as he stepped forward. I was just telling Ralph that you had been kind enough to invite Ruth and me to your villa for a meal when we were on holiday in France last year.” The Count turned and smiled at Granger.

  “It’s good to see you, Rupert. Where are you hiding the charming Lady Ruth? I hope you don’t think I invited you here so I could spend my time looking at a bunch of crusty old men,” he said with a laugh. Same old ladies’ man, thought Ralph. And still able to insult someone and make them think you’re giving them a compliment.

  They were seated at a table for six. It was arranged in the round with Katie opposite Ralph, Granger facing Ruth and Roberto facing a charming young woman whom he introduced as Senorita Maria Campio, his personal secretary. Young enough to be his daughter, Katie had whispered as Ralph held her chair for her as she sat down.

  Ralph wondered why Roberto had hired a Spanish woman to work for him in Milan. Surely someone as well connected as Roberto could take his pick from hundreds of eligible Italian women. But his thoughts were interrupted when the waiter handed him a menu. One glance and he could see that any ideas he had about knocking time off the 10 K road section of the upcoming Tin Man in Italy would have to wait. This was too good to miss. He had been slightly disappointed to see that whoever planned the event had followed the Amuse–Bouche idea spawned by the Novelle Cuisine movement in the 80’s and the table was covered with silver trays holding bite sized portions of Panetta and parmesan popcorn. The rest of the menu looked fantastic.

  Starter

  Bouillabaisse of mixed seafood

  Duck liver pate on toast

  Waldorf Salad

  Dressed Selsey crab

  Main Course

  Fillet of beef with summer vegetables, New Forest girolle mushrooms, rosti potato and balsamic reductions

  Cod Fillet with poached hen’s eggs, crushed potatoes and chive butter sauce

  Pumpkin, thyme and smoked garlic ravioli with truffle foam and fennel crisps

  Yellow fin tuna with red pepper crumb, anchovy yoghurt and wasabi pearls

  Pudding

  Vanilla rice pudding and bitter chocolate

  Lemon meringue tart with lemon jelly

  Chocolate torte honeycomb and salted caramel ice cream

  Local Cheese Plate

  Everyone chatted and laughed as they enjoyed their meal. The first race had already started before they managed to finish their coffees and move out onto the balcony overlooking the race track. Katie had placed a bet on Red Hunter in the 2.30 and just had time to peer through Roberto’s field glasses as they crossed the finishing line. At odds of 15:1 she had managed to turn her £20 pound bet into a handsome profit.

  “You seem to have picked a double winner, Ralph,” said Roberto. “A beautiful woman who is also a born gambler. It’s a combination that we Italians admire.” He laughed and gave Katie a mock bow.

  Granger was obviously anxious to turn the conversation to his scheme to get Roberto to invest in the University. He stood little chance of doing that while Roberto talked and flirted with the ladies, so he led him away to the bar. Katie and Ruth had joined up with Maria and they stood talking to the tipster about who to back in the next race.

  Ralph had eaten far too much and felt decidedly uncomfortable. He thought he would take advantage of the fact that he seemed to be surplus to needs at the moment and stretch his legs and get some fresh air away from all the noise. He knew that if Granger wanted him to help to sell his proposition he would soon come looking for him. Outside he walked over towards the saddling enclosure where the horses paraded around the small arena. He had to admire the gleaming beasts as they pranced on their toes, looking more like ballet dancers than the powerful athletes that they were. The liveried jockeys all decked out in their racing colours stood nearby as owners and trainers gave them their instructions. He felt the buzz of excitement as the time for the jockeys to mount up approached. In some ways he envied them as they prepared to sit astride the amazing creatures and compete to the roar of the crowd.

  “I never saw you as a racing fan.” Ralph vaguely recognized the voice. When he turned he saw it was Robert Stigart. The Colonel from Gibraltar. Ralph wondered what he was doing over here He seemed taller than when they had met in Gibraltar and in some ways he appeared almost threatening. Ralph quickly recovered himself and put down his momentary paranoia to the notion that Stigart was in some way tied up with gun running and the Eta terrorists.

  “Colonel Stigart. What a surprize running into you here,” Ralph said as he held out his hand.

  “Robert.” The Colonel corrected. “I didn’t mean to startle you, old man. Who do you favour to win this one?”

  “I’m not really a betting man, Colonel. Sorry, Robert. That is unless I get an inside tip. You?”

  “The Queen has an entry so I must go for that one, of course. How about you Professor? Are you loyal to Queen and Country?” Ralph recognised the use of tone to imply a criticism. It was a bad habit but he sometimes used it with his students.

  “Plenty of inside tips around here, old lad. The thing is knowing who to trust.” He laughed and clapped Ralph on the shoulder.

  Ralph realised that he had not returned the Colonel’s hospitality for their dinner in Gibraltar. Before he had time to consider the consequences he spoke up.

  “Look Colonel, Katie and I are up in the Charlton Hunt Stand. We’d be delighted if you would join us for tea. I think they should be serving it soon.” The Colonel accepted, and having encouraged Ralph to place a bet, they watched the race.

  The Queen’s horse, Estimate won by 3 lengths and the jockey, resplendent in the Queen’s d
istinctive purple and scarlet silks saluted the crowd as he crossed the finish line. Ralph’s horse finished last. The Colonel collected his winnings on their way to join Katie and the others for tea.

  “I thought you’d abandoned me and run off with one of those cute female grooms,” Katie said as Ralph walked up with the Colonel.

  “Look who I ran into down by the saddling enclosure,” Ralph said by way of an evasive tactic. He introduced the Colonel to the rest of the party and was relieved to see that Granger was looking particularly pleased. Obviously his dealings with the Count had gone well. Ruth and Katie took their tea out on to the balcony and Roberto leaned across to speak to Ralph.

  “So tell me, Ralph how are things going for you in academia? I heard that you were with one of the big London consulting firms for a while and then I heard that you got yourself involved with some art dealer. Russian mafia, or so the rumour went. What was that all about?”

  “Just rumour,” Ralph replied. But he wondered how Roberto got wind of all of that. It was a while ago now, and nothing had come of it.

  “I never saw you as a chalk and talk merchant wasting your talents on a bunch of idle youths. Who was the art dealer, anyhow?” He pursued.

  “You probably remember him. It was that pal of ours back at Cambridge, Grant Richardson. He and his wife Elizabeth had a big art showroom just outside Cambridge. As a matter of fact he offered me a job and I toyed with the notion of chucking in academia and going to Paris to work for him, but it all got too complicated. I think he’s somewhere in Europe now.” Ralph’s mind raced back to how his one-time friend had killed an art valuer in London and had escaped capture by the police.

  “Too bad you didn’t grab the chance when it presented itself, Ralph. You always were a bit serious, if you don’t mind me being direct. But you never were much of a risk taker. I can see how you finished up teaching at that red brick University of yours. Unless of course I have it all wrong and you’re playing a much more complicated game than I thought.”

  “Not really,” Ralph said noncommittally. “But as a matter of fact, I quite enjoy teaching. I get a lot of bright kids coming through my door and I find it really rewarding when one of them turns into a real success story.”

  “But you must admit, Ralph, You academics earn a pretty measly pittance. And Kingston, and no disrespect intended, is not like being a Fellow at Cambridge.”

  “As a matter of fact, Kingston has one of the better business faculties around and I’m quite happy there.”

  “If you say so, Ralph. But that Granger of yours is typical of the sort that I have to deal with. Small men in big jobs, as my tutor used to say. Not a good combination. Unless you’re a submariner,” he laughed at his own joke. A habit of Roberto’s that Ralph had always found annoying. He knew that he had a tendency to short fuse and he resolved to keep a lid on it now. After all, he was meant to be the oil that smoothed the waters with his old Cambridge pal, not the screw in the works. Granger might have been a real pain at times, but loyalty was one thing Ralph valued and he would be letting himself down if he simply let that remark go.

  “That’s a bit unfair. Granger is an excellent Dean and it’s a thankless job at the best of times.” He was starting to remember why he had never really liked Roberto all those years ago when they were at Cambridge. And unlike the wine they had enjoyed at lunch, he had not improved with time. On top of that, he was a snob of the worst kind.

  “Look, Ralph, I’m a business man. We’re happy to invest, albeit as acts of philanthropy in your type of University. Building new Halls of accommodation and funding Chairs, it keeps us in contact across Europe with a range of clients and contacts at Government levels.” He made as if to stand up. “We should join the ladies now, but why don’t you come up to London or over to Milan. I have a few ideas on how we might work together. Don’t say no. Think about it and when you’re ready just give Maria a call and she’ll set it all up.” Before Ralph could respond he continued on.

  “Bring your charming lady along. We’ll show you the life you should be leading.” With that he pushed back his chair and walked towards the balcony where the others stood and watched the racing.

  “Good friends back at Cambridge? Sorry I wasn’t earwigging, but I couldn’t help overhearing,” said the Colonel as he placed his tea cup back on the cluttered table.

  “You mean the Count. Not really, just someone I knew a long time ago at University. My boss the Dean over there met him on holiday in France last year. I think I’m only here to help close some deal or other.” Having said that, he realized he had been a bit garrulous and chalked it up to the champagne and the heat, even with the breeze that blew in from the Sussex Downs.

  “I always find that all the big deals are done in places like this,” said Stigart. “Corporate hospitality never stops. Anyhow, I thought I heard you and your friend say something about a deal, that’s all,” the Colonel said when Ralph gave him a puzzled look.

  “Oh, not a deal, really. It’s just about some new building that the Dean wants funded. It’s the sort of thing that the Count’s organisation sponsors; a means to inflate the figures in the Goodwill column on the account sheet, I suspect. You know, to get the potential shareholders and banks to think that you’re worth more than you actually are. Needless to say, it’s not exactly my idea of a day out. He says he wants me to join his organisation, but I can’t imagine spending my time at events like this all week, even though your adversaries slit your throat in a gentlemanly manner.” The Colonel smiled.

  “Until things don’t pan out the way they want. Then it all gets a bit rough and nasty. Believe you me I’ve seen how it works.” He grunted.

  “I expect you’re right,” Ralph said agreeably.

  “Anyhow, if you ever want to have a chat about any of those deals he offers you, just give me a ring. I might be a blustery old soldier but I’ve dealt with a lot of people in my time.”

  “I doubt it’ll come to anything,” Ralph said.

  “Look. I’ve got to get back to my crowd. Why don’t you come up to my club sometime when you’re in London?”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Ralph hedged.

  “I’d invite you and your wife over to my place, it’s not far from here, but as you know I’m not in England that often and the place is in mothballs and covers for most of the time. And I can always be contacted through the club. Don’t leave it too long. We can have a good old chat. Who knows, we might even sort something out.”

  With that he said his goodbyes to the others and left.

  The last race proved a disaster for Ruth and Ralph wondered just how much she had lost. It was a mugs game alright. The bookmakers always go home happy thought Ralph. He glanced across at Katie and he could see that she looked quite pleased with herself. No doubt she had stashed away half of her winnings so she would not go home out of pocket.

  The evening concluded with a fireworks display and some aerobatics from the local flying club with their WW1 biplanes. The final spectacle of the proceedings was to have an RAF Spitfire do a low run across the Downs. The pilot put the plane into a Victory Roll while the military band played patriotic music. As the emotive sound of the Spitfire’s Merlin engine faded, the plane soon disappeared into the pale yellow light of the night sky. Everyone applauded as they made to go home. Ralph was just as glad that he and Katie, unlike their fellow race-goers, would not have to face the prospect of finding their car and driving themselves home.

  As promised, Nick turned up at the stroke of nine. They were back at Katie’s house in Chelsea before they knew it. Nick practically saluted when Ralph thanked him and gave him a generous tip. Years of military discipline would be a hard thing to shake off, he mused. Thinking of the military brought his thoughts back to Colonel Stigart.

  Was he after all just an old soldier and not the gun runner that he and Katie had suspected? There was one sure way to find out.

  An idea started to form in his mind. What if he paid a visit to the Colone
l’s home at Petworth and took a look around? It was a bit bizarre, but he wondered how he could get a closer look at that unkempt and deserted house that the Colonel seemed determined to keep him away from.

  And then there was Roberto and his suggestion that he could offer Ralph a job in Milan or Rome and a chance to live the high life and get out of academia. What if he and Katie combined his Tin Man competition at Lake Como with a visit to Roberto in Milan? They could fly into Zurich and drive down from there, he mused.

  He sat on the edge of the sofa and waited while Katie retrieved mugs of hot chocolate and a slice of Madeira cake from the kitchen.

  “Ralph, are you okay? You’ve hardly spoken since we got in the car. You’re not sulking because you lost your bet on that horse, are you?”

  “Sorry I think I had too much to drink. By the way Roberto has invited us both to Milan for a chat.”

  “What do you mean a chat? About what?”

  “I think he wants to offer me a job.”

  “I thought our plan was to get you the job as Dean, for me to get on the promotion fast track at UCL, enjoy our cottage in Devon with a nice group of friends, where you can enjoy your sailing and I can go riding, and have the occasional trip abroad when we feel like it.”

  “I know,” Ralph said. “It’s probably just the champagne in that hot sun.”

  “So let’s relax, listen to some of your favourite music, drink our chocolate and then get to bed. Tomorrow you’ll have forgotten all about it.”

  He knew she was right. But he still wanted to find out more about Colonel Stigart and his house in the Sussex Downs near Petworth Park.

  __________________

  Chapter 7

  The heat bouncing off the road made breathing more difficult than normal. Ralph usually concentrated on keeping his rhythm and just staying up near the front. Here his main focus was to simply keep his circulation going. The swim had been a shock to his system. The dark blue alpine water of Lake Como was as cold as ice. It had been more like trying to survive an assault course than the swim leg of a triathlon. It had been a huge field. Arms flailing, legs kicking everywhere. He had taken one or two knocks but still managed to finish well. Then the bike. He had concentrated on maintaining a cadence that would carry him from the bike to the running stage. His mind had kept telling him to think of something to take his mind off the pain. He had certainly tried.