10 lb Penalty - Dick Francis [93]
Joe said thoughtfully, “You know what?”
“What?”
“Just in case we’re doing Wyvern a great injustice, thinking it was he that shot at you ... I mean, so far we’ve only got theory to go on, really. Why don’t you and I do an unofficial walk through ... a reconstruction? I’ll use a walking stick for a gun. I’ll transport it in a golf bag. And I’ll carry it up into the little lounge, and aim it at you while you’re crossing the square, like you did that night, and I’ll see how difficult it will be to put the walking stick up in the gutter. What do you think?”
“Can’t do any harm.”
“We might come across something we haven’t thought of. It often works that way with reconstructions.”
“OK.”
“We’ll have to do it at night,” Joe said.
“It was after midnight.”
“After midnight, then. I’ll be off duty. It will be just the two of us.”
I agreed that we would meet that evening in The Sleeping Dragon, and that Joe would tell the manager what we were doing.
I went to see Orinda, who had finally returned from her weekend and answered the telephone.
Five years had been kind to her. She looked as striking as ever, the green eyes black-lashed, the greasepaint makeup smooth and blended. She was less brittle, less stressed, more fulfilled.
She called me darling with only two or three a’s. “Daaarling.”
“Orinda.” I hugged her.
“How you’ve grown,” she exclaimed. “I mean, not just upwards, but older.”
She had made us a salad lunch with Diet Coke and coffee after.
She knew about the power struggle going on in the party and mentioned that every time there was this sort of ballot, the politicians changed the rules.
“They invent whatever procedure they think will give a result that everyone thinks is fair, even if not everyone is happy with the eventual winner. I don’t think they’ve ever before done a vote like today’s. It’s now all up to the party’s MPs, the members of Parliament.”
I had forgotten how much Orinda knew about governments.
“I suppose Dennis told you how it all works.”
“No, it was Alderney Wyvern.” She frowned. “I never want to see that man again.”
I said neutrally, “Did you know that Wyvern now controls Hudson Hurst, like he used to control you and Dennis? Do you realize that if Hurst wins the ballot and becomes prime minister, it will be Alderney Wyvern who effectively governs this country?”
Orinda looked horrified but shook her head. “Your father’s more popular in the country.”
“Don’t forget schadenfreude.”
Orinda laughed. “You mean the malicious enjoyment of someone else’s misfortune?”
I nodded. “Half the Cabinet would like to see my father come a cropper after his spectacular way of fighting the fish war.”
“It will be marvelous for this constituency if he wins.” She smiled widely. “I never thought I would say that, but it’s true.”
I told Orinda about the reconstruction that Joe Duke and I had planned.
I asked, “Do you remember much about that evening?”
“Of course, I do. I was furious at not being chosen as candidate.”
“How much were you with Alderney Wyvern after the political meeting?”
“I wasn’t. I was angry and miserable and drove straight home.”
“Do you know if Alderney Wyvern had his golf clubs with him at the meeting in the hall?”
“What an extraordinary question! He always used to have them in the back of the car.”
Orinda might have hated my father that night, but not enough to do him harm. She had no wickedness in her nature.
I spent a comfortable hour or two longer with her and then drove to Polly’s house to wait for my father to telephone from London with the result of the ballot.
He gave me news from his car. “It was all indecisive,” he reported. “It was basically a three-way split. All that’s certain is that we have to vote again tomorrow.”
“Do explain,” I begged him.
He described a day that had been full of doubt and maneuvering, but it seemed that what had finally happened was that neither my father nor Hudson Hurst had received enough votes to secure victory outright. Jill Vinicheck, the third candidate, had received the fewest votes and had been eliminated. The next ballot would be