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  After the trial my name had faded from the newspapers, but since I still had to earn my living as a jockey, James had kindly suggested that the Sportsman do a small piece about my return to Lambourn.

  'It would just let people know you're still alive,' he had said.

  We were due to move back in on the Monday, and on the Saturday before, the Sportsman duly carried a photograph of Freddie and me outside the cottage, captioned 'Pryde returns after Fall'.

  That night I had Amy and James to dinner to thank them for all their efforts on Tom's behalf and to discuss what steps we could now take to help him. His appeal had been fixed for the end of November and as a grim reminder of his predicament, Amy had brought with her the bronze statuette that had played such a fateful part in his conviction. The police had handed it back to her as my solicitor and it even still had its exhibit number attached to the jockey's arm. I was reluctant to have it on view in the house and put it in the cupboard under the staircase.

  Not surprisingly, the talk about Tom cast a shadow on the evening, although Amy was determined to cheer me up. She was going to spend the night with her parents and devote Sunday to preparing for a trial at Winchester Crown Court on the Monday. Her client was accused of bigamy and was alleged to have three separate families in different parts of the country. James asked whether the maximum penalty for this offence was three mothers-in-law and Amy made us roar with laughter as she read out selected extracts from her client's statement to the police, one of a number of documents in the file she had brought down from London with her and which she refused to leave outside in the car. According to Amy, her client wanted to plead guilty and on no account was his counsel to ask the court for leniency. The prospect of a long jail sentence was, he considered, infinitely preferable to facing his three spouses.

  It was well after midnight when they left and I locked the front door after them. For a woman and child alone, the security in the house was hopelessly inadequate and I resolved to change the lock and have a couple of bolts fitted. As I tidied up, I came across the file that Amy had brought with her: she had obviously forgotten it after finishing off James's bottle of champagne. Feeling inquisitive I sat down and perused the contents for the next half hour. I could well understand, after reading his wives' statements, why the client was so anxious to go inside.

  I went up to bed feeling a good deal more relaxed than I had for some time and I popped into Freddie's room to see if he was fast asleep and give him one last good night kiss. As I stroked his hair and looked down on his angelic little face, I realised that for his sake alone there was much to live for. I went next door, undressed and slipped into bed. It was an odd and unnerving experience being back there for the first time since Edward's murder and I could hardly believe that it was the first night I had ever slept without him in this house. I hugged the pillow and pretended it was Tom. Then, less romantically, I checked that my gun was safely tucked underneath.

  * * *

  The sensation of fingers running through my hair jolted me from my dreams. The tickle, in the darkness, of what felt like the cold, sharp blade of a knife against my throat stopped me from screaming. I didn't dare move or open my mouth. Freddie was next door and at all costs I had to keep his presence in the house a secret. My visitor had climbed into bed beside me and I was revolted and terrified by the thought that he might have been there for the past hour or so. At least he was fully clothed. Sensing I was awake, he took my left hand and ran it slowly over his face, beginning with his unshaven chin, then along his cheeks and finally around his nose.

  I gasped. I'd recognise my husband anywhere.

  'Isn't this a nice surprise?' he said. 'Back in bed together, just like old times.'

  'But I thought…'

  'I know what you thought and everybody else thought the same. There's no need to talk in a whisper. I know Freddie's asleep next door.'

  I was no longer sure that Edward wouldn't harm his own son. I certainly didn't want the boy to wake up and come in and see his father, because he would then be an eye-witness to the truth and a dangerous one at that.

  'But whose body was it in the car?'

  He laughed. 'Wouldn't you like to know?'

  I nodded. If I could keep him talking, maybe I could get hold of the gun. I slid my hand gently under the pillow, fingers outstretched in search of the cold metal.

  'Is this what you're looking for?' Edward sniggered and suddenly leaned over to turn on the bedside lamp; he kept the knife close against my neck.

  'People who hide guns under their pillows need to be light sleepers.'

  I saw the gun on the table, hopelessly out of reach, and my heart began to pound. Edward's eyes were locked on mine, and only inches away, but his expression was a million miles off – on another planet. I noticed a bubble of saliva creeping out of the corner of his mouth.

  'Tell me how you did it.'

  The question seemed to focus his attention. He got out of bed and started pacing round the room.

  'The idea came to me after the fight downstairs when Freddie hit me with that bronze. When I came round and you had gone, I suddenly realised that here was a chance to disappear permanently. That would solve my little problem with Musgrave. There can be great advantages, you know, to being declared dead. You can even commit murder without anyone ever suspecting you.

  'That Friday afternoon, your lover boy phoned up and asked me to meet him at the pub the following evening. Here was a marvellous chance to kill two birds with one stone. Isn't it a shame they've abolished capital punishment? I had known about your affair for ages. In fact, I had even followed you to Melksham Pit and watched you make love on that rug together. I must say that you certainly put more enthusiasm into it with him than you ever did with me. I hated you both for that. Anyway, that evening I telephoned Corcoran, who seemed the ideal victim, and asked him to meet me the following afternoon to discuss the return of his confession note. He had been pestering me about it for months. I met him in a car I had hired that morning in London and drove him out to Melksham Pit. He thought I was going to return the note. Instead, I pulled out a knife and plunged it into his heart, leaving a small pool of blood on the spot to give the police something to work on. You should have seen his face! Died instantly. I then struck him on the back of the head with the bronze statue, which I'd already cleaned and washed free of my own blood that morning. I dumped his body in the boot and left the car down the road from the pit. I duly met lover boy in the pub and provoked the scene overheard by so many other people. What they didn't see, though, was the barbiturate I slipped into his beer while he was in the loo. By the time he had reached his car, he was absolutely legless. I waited for the car park to clear, parked his car in the darkest corner, having first removed his shoes and poured a few drops of petrol on his trousers. Then I laid him down across the front seat. Nobody could see him; anyone seeing the car would think it was empty. I then drove out to Melksham. In the early hours of the morning, working, I thought appropriately, under the gleam of a full moon, I transferred Corcoran from the boot of the hire car into the boot of the Jag. I then drove the Jag up to the pit, dowsed the back seat and the body in petrol, threw a match into the car and watched it burn.'

  'Weren't you worried that he would be identified?'

  'There's no need to whisper. I'm afraid I'm not going to let Freddie grow up an orphan. Shall I continue? I'd put on Tom's shoes to watch the blaze, reckoning if the police were to find any footprints they might as well be his. When it was over, I drove back in the hire car to the pub, replaced Tom's shoes and then on to Lambourn. I put the bronze, with Corcoran's blood on it instead of mine, on the mantelpiece, and drove up to London. Once there, I left the car at the rental place – it was six-thirty, so nobody saw me – and took the train to Fishguard. That night I arrived in Ireland with a job well done. All my problems were over. Everyone would conclude it was my body in the boot of the car. I had taken the precaution of smashing Corcoran's teeth just in case they tried to l
ook up the dental records. I reckoned that if they used that new process I'd read about in the papers, they would rely on the blood on the bronze and the pool of dried blood by the car I'd so kindly left them, just to make sure. Always willing to help the police, you know me. So they had a perfect match, of course, and then needed to look no further. The icing on the cake came when they arrested old lover boy, just as I'd planned.'

  'Then if Corcoran was dead, who was it who lured me to Ireland?'

  'Yours truly, of course. When I saw your notice in the Sportsman I thought I could have a bit of fun and get hold of some cash at the same time. You remember I only ever talked to that dreadful friend of yours, Amy Frost. I saw you both arrive at the airport and after you had left the tea house I slashed the tyres on her car to stop her following you. I was rather pleased with myself over that.'

  It was all so obvious, but I kept asking questions, instinctively playing for time.

  'And the time I was followed in the car?'

  'Me again. As I was officially dead, I had no difficulty in coming back to England provided I kept away from the obvious places. I followed you to Kempton that day and then to London while you had dinner with Amy. I enjoyed the journey down to the Cotswolds and had thought I might even finish you off that night. You did very well to escape.'

  'And the hospital?'

  'That really did please me, although I underestimated the amount of insulin needed. I'd seen my father inject himself for years and when they were both out of the house, I let myself in with my key and borrowed some of the stuff. You should have died that night, too. Still, that would have denied me the pleasure of this evening's performance.'

  I realised that he was mad, quite mad. I had to keep him talking. 'And it was you who put the notice in the Sportsman and phoned Tom's solicitors pretending to be Corcoran?'

  'Yes, another enjoyable part of this affair. They had never heard the Irishman's voice and believed my passable imitation of an Irish accent. I was in two minds as to whether I dared risk coming to London again and booking into the hotel in Victoria, but then I said, why the hell not? No one at the hotel would recognise me and I could sign the statement implicating Brennan and clearing Tom, and then do a runner. Forging Corcoran's signature was easy as I had kept a copy of his note. I loved the idea of building up all your hopes of an acquittal, only to see them dashed again.'

  'And the letters?'

  'My final master stroke. I had discovered where you used to hide those letters early on. I used to quite enjoy reading them when you were out racing. Romantic bastard, that lover of yours. I moved them from the chimney and left them in the desk drawer where the police were bound to find them. Removing that page was a nice idea too, wasn't it?'

  'And Musgrave; did you do him in, too?'

  'I did. You should have seen his face when I walked into his office late on Saturday night. Your expose in the Sportsman had put him into a panic and he was busy destroying his ledger and sheets. I forced him at knife point onto the desk, made him put his own tie around his neck as a noose. You know, I don't think he ever thought I was actually going to hang him – I'll never forget the look of horror on his face when I kicked the chair away!'

  As he chuckled to himself, I could swear I heard a car pull up outside, and then a door slam. I could just make out the sound of footsteps in the road outside. It had to be Amy, coming back for her file. Edward had moved back to the bed and was too engrossed in caressing my hair to notice. My heartbeat began to quicken even more as I realised that Freddie and I might have a chance. I listened for a sound from downstairs, a knock on the door, a ring on the bell. None came. Only footsteps again in the road, and this time the slam of the car door was followed by an engine starting. I wanted to shout out, but I knew it was hopeless. It was all over.

  'How about letting me have it for one last time, for old time's sake?' Edward asked, sending a cold shiver down my spine. He didn't wait for an answer, and I watched him fumbling with his trousers. For the first time he put the knife down and he rolled on top of me. I closed my eyes and prayed. I just heard the tiny movement of the door as it was pushed open. I kissed him long and hard to ensure his undivided attention. Freddie must have woken up and I desperately waved my right arm at him to make him go away, all the while keeping Edward's attention on me as best as I could bear.

  The force of the first blow on Edward's head drove his tongue deep into my mouth. The second and third rendered him limp and motionless. I opened my eyes and through my tears I looked up to see my saviour. Amy was clutching the bronze.

  This time the blood on it was indisputably Edward's. Regaining her composure she rolled him off me on to what used to be his side of the bed.

  'He's stopped breathing,' I whispered, still trying not to wake Freddie. Amy bent over him and listened to his heartbeat. 'He may have been declared dead, but Edward Pryde is still very much alive.'

  At that moment, Freddie appeared in the doorway, and I ran to him and picked him up and put him back to bed.

  'Who was that man on the bed, mummy? He looked like daddy.'

  'You just go back to sleep and I'll tell you all about it in the morning.'

  Amy sat with my gun pointed at Edward, while I went downstairs and telephoned Inspector Wilkinson.

  Edward was just regaining consciousness as the Inspector and two of his men arrived to take him away. I could hear him swearing and cursing, but kept well out of the way. I didn't ever want to see him again.

  As they went out of the front door, Inspector Wilkinson stayed behind and came to find me in the kitchen. Two seconds later Amy joined us and I told them exactly what Edward had said. When I'd finished, Inspector Wilkinson apologised for doubting my story, but I was too relieved to be worrying about grudges. I was more concerned to let Tom know what had happened. I looked at my watch.

  'Inspector, I know it's after two in the morning, but do you think there's any chance of ringing the prison and letting Mr Radcliffe know about this?'

  The Inspector agreed to see that it would be done straight away and said that he would come back in the morning to take statements.

  'Amy, I haven't thanked you yet for saving my life.'

  'Don't mention it. That's what solicitors are for,' she grinned.

  There was no way that Amy and I would be able to go back to sleep now, so we opened a bottle of Scotch and stayed downstairs talking and making plans until dawn broke. It wasn't until Amy mentioned what the newspapers would have to say that I thought about James at the Sportsman, and the promise I had made to him. At seven o'clock I telephoned him and told him that if he wanted the exclusive interview that he'd been after, he had better be down at the cottage by eight-thirty to get it, because by nine o'clock I'd be going off to see Tom and tell him the full story to his face.

  Epilogue

  And so it transpired that Freddie and I owed our lives, and Tom his freedom, to Amy's bigamist. Realising that she had forgotten her file, she had turned back to retrieve it, and had been surprised to find the front door of the cottage open. Seeing a man's jacket draped across one of the armchairs had made her suspect that something was wrong. She heard voices upstairs so had pretended to leave, and then parked her car around the corner. Although petrified with terror, she returned to the cottage, fetched the bronze from the cupboard where she had seen me put it, and tiptoed up the stairs. The rest, thank God, is history.

  Edward recovered consciousness completely in hospital and was charged by a bemused Inspector Wilkinson with the murder of Michael Corcoran and George Musgrave and the attempted murder of myself. Once again, I was to be a witness for the prosecution, only this time the role held no fears and I intended to play my part in seeing that justice would be done.

  Less easy was breaking the news to Freddie that his father was still alive. For the time being, I decided to shelter him from the truth by telling him that Edward had not died in a car accident abroad as we had first thought; but his injuries would keep him away for some time. At least
I would be able to give him all the love and attention he needed. Edward's reappearance had prompted a speedy withdrawal by his parents of their wardship application.

  Tom was given an official pardon and we celebrated his release from prison by going together to the races. By coincidence it was at Worcester and I was riding a novice hurdler for Ralph. There was a fair amount of barging coming round the final bend, ending up with Eamon Brennan going unceremoniously through the rails, and lo and behold, I found myself in front of the stewards. For once, Sir Arthur was charm itself and went out of his way to exonerate me despite the evidence of the head-on film.

  Ralph, Tom and James, who was covering the meeting for the Sportsman as part of a feature on Tom's return to training, couldn't believe I'd escaped without a fine, or at the very least a caution.

  'Come on,' said Tom, putting his arm affectionately around me, 'what's the secret?'

  'Feminine intuition and understanding. Just before the race, I did Sir Arthur a favour. I returned his favourite holiday snap. What he doesn't know is whether I've retained a copy or not.'

  'And have you?' they asked in unison.

  'Now that would be telling!'

  ***

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  Document creation date: 01.07.2012

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