Flying Finish by Dick Francis

Author:Dick Francis [Francis, Dick]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780515125603
Publisher: Jove
Published: 1966-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Not only did John Kyle and his engineer come to Cheltenham, but Patrick as well.

'I've never been before,' he said, his yellow eyes and auburn hair shining as he stood in the bright March sun. 'These two are addicts. I just came along for the ride.'

'I'm glad you did,' I said, shaking hands with the other two. John Kyle was a bulky battered looking young man going prematurely thin on top. His engineer, tall and older, had three racing papers and a form sheet tucked under his arm.

'I see,' he said, glancing down at them, 'th . . .that you won the United Hunts Ch ... Challenge Cup yesterday.' He managed his stutter unselfconsciously. 'W... w... well done.'

'Thank you,' I said. 'I was a bit lucky. I wouldn't have won if Century hadn't fallen at the last.'

'It d ... d ... d ... does say that, in the p ... p ... paper,' he agreed disarmingly.

Patrick laughed and said, 'What are you riding in today?'

'The Gold Cup and the Mildmay of Flete Challenge Cup.'

'Clobber and Boathook,' said John Kyle readily.

'I'll back you,' Patrick said.

'M.. . m.. . money down the drain b.. . backing Clobber,' said the engineer seriously.

'Thanks very much,' I said with irony.

'F ... form's all haywire. V ... v ... very inconsistent,' he explained.

'Do you think you've got a chance?' Patrick asked.

'No, not much. I've never ridden him before. The owner's son usually rides him, but he's got jaundice.'

'N... not a b... betting proposition,' nodded the engineer.

'For God's sake don't be so depressing, man,' protested Kyle.

'How about Boathook ?' I asked, smiling.

The engineer consulted the sky. The result wasn't written there, as far as I could see.

'B ;.. B ... Boathook,' he remarked, coming back to earth, 'm... m... might just do it. G... good for a p... place anyway.'

'I shall back both, just the same,' said Patrick firmly.

I took them all to lunch and sat with them while they ate.

'Aren't you having any?' said Patrick.

'No. It makes you sick if you fall after eating.'

'How often do you fall, then ?' asked Kyle curiously, cutting into his cold red beef.

'On average, once in a dozen rides, I suppose. It varies. I've never really counted.'

'When did you fall last?'

'Day before yesterday.'

'Doesn't it bother you?' asked Patrick, shaking salt. 'The prospect of falling?'

'Well, no. You never think you're going to, for a start. And a lot of falls are easy ones; you only get a bruise, if that. Sometimes when the horse goes right down you almost step off.'

'And sometimes you break your bones,' Kyle said dryly.

I shook my head. 'Not often.'

Patrick laughed. I passed him the butter for his roll, looked at my watch, and said, 'I'll have to go and change soon. Do you think we could talk about the day you took Simon Searle to Milan ?'

'Shoot,' said Kyle. 'What do you want to know ?'

'Everything you can think of that happened on the way there and after you landed.'

'I don't suppose I'll be much help,' he said apologetically.

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