“So I see,” I said, smiling at them both.

“We’ve been talking about Mum and Dad,” said Sophie. “They want to come over and see us.”

I stopped smiling. I hadn’t spoken to Sophie’s parents in nearly ten years, and I had no wish to start doing so again now. They had been so hurtful towards me when Sophie had first fallen sick, accusing me of bringing on the mania by acts of cruelty towards the wife I adored. Her father even told me that Sophie’s illness was God’s punishment for me being a bookmaker.

I had walked out of their house on that day and had never been back. And, as far as I was aware, they had never set foot in my house, and I had no intention of inviting them to do so now.

“You can go and see them if you really want to,” I said. “But count me out.”

Sophie gave me a pained look.

I knew that Sophie had seen her parents at various times throughout the previous ten years, but we never spoke about it. I knew only because she was always agitated after the visits and I didn’t like it. Once or twice, those agitations had led to full-blown mania and subsequent depression. And on at least one occasion I was sure of, an argument between Sophie and her stubborn, ill-tempered and self-righteous father had resulted in her early return to the hospital.

“You know it’s not a good idea,” I said to her gently. “It always ends in a row of one sort or another, and rows are not good for you.”

“It’s different this time,” she said.

That is what she always said. Of course, I lived in the hope that it would be different this time, but, inside, I had to assume it wouldn’t be. I would be unable to endure the future disappointment if I placed too great an expectation on her present progress only for my optimism to be dashed.

I could hardly tell her not to see her own parents, and she would probably ignore me if I did. But I felt quite strongly about it. However, I didn’t want her going secretly behind my back, knowingly against my wishes. And, most of all, I didn’t want to argue with her.

What was I to say?

“What do you think Sophie should do,Alice?” I said, sidestepping the problem and placing it on another’s shoulders.

“I know Mum is very keen to see her,” she said.

“Then why didn’t she visit her in the hospital?” I asked. But I knew the answer.

“The hospital is so upsetting for them both,” said Alice.

It hadn’t been a barrel of laughs for the rest of us, but we had still gone. The truth was, I thought, that neither of Sophie’s parents could bear to admit that their precious elder daughter was mentally ill, and, provided they didn’t actually see her in an institution, they could go on fooling themselves that she was fine and well.

However, they didn’t fool me or, indeed, Alice, who had been painstaking and diligent in visiting her sister almost every other day. Even her two brothers had visited Sophie at least twice during her recent five-month stay. But of her parents, there had been not a sign.

“You must do what you think is best,” I said to Sophie. “But I would prefer it if they didn’t come here. So go and see them at their place, if you like. I won’t come, but, if you do go, I think it would be a good idea for you to go with Alice.”

“To dilute them, you mean,” Sophie said.

“Yes,” I said. “And to try and prevent a row.”

“Fine by me,” said Alice. “If Dad starts being a pain, I’ll kick him.”

She and Sophie laughed, their heads close together in sisterly conspiracy.

She’d better take steel-toe-capped boots, I thought.

18

The first race at Towcester’s late-June evening meetingstarted at six p.m. I have always liked to be set up at least an hour before the first in order to capture the early punters, and also to give time for us to sort out any problems we might have with our equipment, in particular flat batteries and poor wireless Internet signal. Consequently, I drove in through the racetrack-entrance archway a little before five and parked in the shade of a large oak tree in the center of the parking lot.

I have always enjoyed going to Towcester Races, and not only because most of their meetings have no admission charge for the public and hence none for the bookies. I also loved the parkland course set on the rolling countryside of the Easton Neston estate, and their recent investments in new facilities that made it an attractive venue for both bookies and punters alike.

As the racetrack was approximately midway between our homes in Kenilworth and High Wycombe, Luca and I had agreed to meet there, traveling in our separate cars, so I unloaded everything myself and pulled it on our trolley into the racetrack enclosure.

The betting ring at Towcester was unusual insofar that it was in the space between the grandstands rather than in front of them, as on many courses. This was due to the stands having been built very close to the track, which I suppose was sensible as it gave a much better view of the racing for the spectators.

Luca was already waiting for me as I pulled the trolley to our pitch.

“Where’s Betsy?” I asked.

“She’s not coming,” he said. “In fact, I don’t think she will be coming again, ever.”

“Oh?”

“She packed up yesterday and moved out of my flat,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said, not meaning it.

“I’m not,” he replied.“Not really.” He paused.“I suppose I’ll miss her.” He paused again. “I’ll definitely miss her in bed. Wow, she was so good.” He smiled at me.

“Too much information, Luca,” I said, laughing. “Far too much information.”

We set up the stuff in silence for a while.

“I suppose we’ll need a new junior assistant now,” Luca said.

“Yes,” I said. “Any ideas?”

“There’s a lad at the electronics club who might be good.”

“I don’t want any juvenile delinquents.”

“He’s a good lad at heart,” said Luca. “He just fell in with the wrong crowd.”

“Talking about the electronics club,” I said, “did you tell the police about that microcoder thing?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

“I should think so too. I nearly got arrested yesterday.”

“God! I’m sorry. I didn’t even know Jim was a copper until after he’d asked.”

“Tell me about it,” I said.

“This chap, Jim, who also helps at the club, he called me up yesterday morning and asked about that black-box device thing you gave me to look at. Jim had helped me to investigate it. He was the bloke who fixed it up to the oscilloscope. So he just casually, like, asks me where I got it from, and I told him that you gave it to me. I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong to say so, but Jim then says his boss will be most interested. So I ask him who his boss is, and he says some chief inspector or something.”

“You could have bloody warned me,” I said, fighting with the catch that held our board up.

“Sorry,” he said. “Jim called right in the middle of my own domestic crisis. Betsy had just accused me, point-blank, of sleeping with her sister, Millie.”

I stopped what I was doing and looked at him in surprise. Perhaps I might forgive him for not remembering to tell me about PC Jim.

“And have you?” I asked, intrigued.

“That’s none of your business,” he said, laughing. “But, no, not exactly.”

“And what the hell does that mean?” I said.

“I kissed her. Only once, mind. At her birthday party. You know, we went there from Ascot. But Betsy caught us.”

“Oh come on,” I said. “Everyone kisses the birthday girl at her own party.”

“Not with tongues,” he said. “And not out in the garden, behind a bush.”

“Ah,” I replied. That explained a lot. Betsy had been cool towards Luca ever since that party, and now I knew why.

“So what are you going to do?” I asked him.

“Nothing,” he said. “Leave things to settle for a while, I think. Then I’ll see how the land lies.”