“With some money,” I said. “Say, to go and buy something for me or to place a bet.”

“Maybe half,” he said.“The rest would just spend it on themselves. On drugs, mostly.”

Half of them would be enough, I thought.

“Would you know which are the ones to trust?” I asked him.

“Sure,” he said with confidence. “The ones who are my mates.”

“What did you do, Duggie?” I asked, changing the subject. “To be sent to the club?”

There was a long pause.

“Stole cars,” he said finally.

“For money?” I asked.

“Nah,” he said. “For fun.”

“Do you still steal cars?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“Do you have any recorded convictions?” I asked.

There was another long silence from the back of the car.

“Duggie,” I said. “I’m not asking so that I can judge you myself, but I need to know under the conditions of my bookmaking license.”

Under the terms for the issuing of licenses in the mammoth Gambling Act 2005, prior convictions did not, in themselves, mean an individual was not a fit and proper person to hold a bookmaker’s license. Equally, they didn’t preclude someone from working as a bookmaker’s assistant. But I needed to know. Convictions for violence would be a no-no.

“Yes,” Duggie said.

“Just for stealing cars?” I asked.

Convictions for fraud were also not permitted.

“Yes,” he said reluctantly. “But I never really done it. I was told to plead guilty.”

“Who by?” I asked.

“Our poncey lawyer,” he said. “There was a group of us. We all got done for it. The lawyer said we would get a lesser sentence if we pleaded guilty. So I did.”

“But why if you didn’t do it?” I asked.

“I was in the car, wasn’t I?” he said. “But I didn’t know it was stolen. The poncey lawyer said I would get done anyway, so I should plead guilty.”

I wasn’t sure whether to believe him.

“Is that all?” I said. “Only the once?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“OK,” I said.

I drove on in silence for a while.

“I won’t steal your money, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Duggie said eventually.

I wasn’t, but I might keep a close eye on him anyway.

The Wednesday racing at Worcester was quiet compared with the previous evening at Towcester. There were not really enough runners in each race, and, in spite of the closeness of the racetrack to the city center, not that many punters had actually turned up. Those who had seemed to have little cash with them to gamble, and overall it was not a very profitable afternoon for us and hardly covered the cost of the petrol to get there.

One of the plus points, however, had been Duggie. He had gradually opened up as the day progressed and had clearly enjoyed himself. The more responsibility I gave him to pay out the winning tickets, the more confident I became in his ability.

“Where are we on Monday?” I asked Luca as we packed up after the last race.

“Nowhere,” he said. “It’s a day off.”

“Not anymore,” I said. “We’re going to Bangor-on-Dee.”

“That’s a long way for a small meeting.”

“Nevertheless, we’re going,” I said. “I’ve looked at the race entries. Tell Larry Porter he’s going too. And tell him to bring the box of tricks.”

Luca stopped loading the trolley, stood up and looked at me.

“Right,” he said, smiling. “I will.”

“And Luca,” I said. “I need you to do something for me on Friday.”

“We’re at Warwick on Friday,” he said.

“Not anymore, we’re not,” I said. “Friday is now a day off from racing. I want you to go and see some of your electronics club delinquents, the trustworthy ones, Duggie’s friends. I need their help.”

I explained fully what I wanted him to do and his enthusiasm level went off the scale. I didn’t mention to him, however, that I’d be spending Friday afternoon at my father’s funeral in Slough Crematorium.

“Duggie here will help you,” I said as we loaded the equipment into the back of the Volvo. “He seems to know them pretty well.”

Duggie smiled. “Does that mean I’ve got the job?” he asked.

“You’re on probation,” I said. “Until Monday.”

He looked at me uncertainly.

“Not that sort of probation,” I said with a laugh.

We discussed our plans as I drove back around the M42 in the rush-hour traffic, and then on to my house in Kenilworth.

“Warwick tomorrow evening, then?” said Luca.

“Definitely,” I said. “Do you want to come here first or go straight there?”

“We’ll come here first,” Luca replied. “First race is at six-thirty. Here at five?”

“Five will be fine,” I said.

“I hope your wife will be all right, Mr. Talbot,” Duggie said as he climbed into Luca’s car.

“Thank you, Duggie,” I said.

He would do well, I thought.

You could have cut the air in the house with a knife, such was the tension between the sisters. The truce, it seemed, was over.

Sophie met me in the hallway tight-lipped, with angry-looking eyes. She nodded her head in the direction of the stairs at the same time as looking up. I understood immediately that she wanted me to go up. So I did. And she followed.

Safely in the privacy of our bedroom, she explained the problem, not that I couldn’t have guessed.

“My bloody father,” she said explosively. “Why can’t he be more reasonable?”

It was a rhetorical question. I’d been asking myself the same thing since the day I’d first met him.

“What’s he done now, my darling?” I said in my most calming of voices.

“Oh, nothing,” she said in frustration.

Whatever he’d said was obviously about me, and she’d suddenly decided against telling me, probably to avoid hurting my feelings.

“Come and sit down, my love,” I said, sitting on the side of the bed and patting the space next to me. She came over and sat down. I put my arm around her shoulders. “Tell me,” I said.

“My father can be such a fool,” she said. She started to cry.

“Hey, come on,” I said, stroking her hair. “Whatever he said can’t be that bad.” She said nothing. So I went on. “He probably told you that it was me who was the cause of all your problems and you’d be much better off leaving me to come home to live with him and your mother.”

She sat up straight and looked at me. “How did you know?” she asked.

“Because it’s what he always says. Ignore him. He’s wrong.”

“I know he’s wrong,” she said. “I told him so. In fact, I told him that it was him who was the cause of my problems, not you.”

“I bet he didn’t like that,” I said with a laugh.

“No,” she said, also laughing, “he didn’t.” She wiped her eyes with a tissue from the bedside table. “He said that he’d cut me out of his will if I didn’t ‘see sense,’ as he put it.”

“I suppose seeing sense meant divorcing a bookmaker,” I said.

“Yes,” she replied, half laughing and half crying. “I told him he could stuff his will up his arse, for all I cared.”

“Good girl,” I said, giving her a hug.

“Then bloody Alice puts her twopenny’s worth in.” Sophie became angry. “Starts bloody agreeing with the old fool. I gave her what for, I can tell you.”

“I thought Alice liked me?” I said.

“I think she does,” Sophie said. “But she’s so frightened of the old tyrant, she won’t say anything against him.”

So much for Alice having steel-toe-capped boots to kick him with, I thought. More like fluffy pink slippers.

“So now you’re having a row with Alice as well?” I asked.

“It seems like it,” she said.

“I presume she’s still here?”

“Down in the kitchen,” she replied. “But she said she’s going home just as soon as you got back.”

“Do you want her to?” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “No.” She paused. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Let’s go down, and Alice and I can have a glass of wine,” I said. “Everything always looks better after a glass of wine.”

“I’ll have a small one too,” Sophie said.