Read The Dark Horse for Free Online Page B

along.’
    â€˜Idle devil! But he certainly can walk when he wants to. Look at him now.’
    All horses can walk – some badly, some well, but to a few is given a gift of movement feline in its grace, a slouching flowing continuous motion that is a joy to watch. Dark Invader, blissfully ignorant that his fate was in the balance, strode in glorious rhythm, his great shoulders rolling, muscles rippling along his flanks under the satin skin, his simple mind concentrated on one single thought – breakfast.
    â€˜Here a minute, Ted.’ Ted swung the tall horse off the track and halted.
    â€˜Well, Ted, how’s he going?’ asked Peter.
    â€˜First class, sir,’ Ted said it stiffly.
    â€˜Keen?’
    â€˜Keen enough. Galloped a treat. And such a gentleman with it,’ and Ted said defiantly, ‘He’s a bloody lovely hoss, sir.’
    â€˜Ted’s not far wrong at that, you know, Peter,’ said Michael. ‘Just look at him.’
    Resigned to the interruption of his journey, Dark Invader was standing quite still, interesting himself in the sights and sounds of the awakening countryside. His ears were a little long for a thoroughbred, and loosely set. They would lop sideways in moments of rest, contentment or embarrassment. Now they were pricked, eager and active, moving to catch the distant sounds and the voices around him and he seemed the portrait of a thoroughbred horse.
    â€˜He certainly fills the eye,’ said Peter, and Ted burst out as he had once to Michael, ‘There’s nothing wrong with the Invader, sir. It was that Streaky. Streaky as they come. He… ’
    â€˜Happens to be one of Britain’s top jockeys,’ Peter said icily. ‘If he can’t manage Dark Invader no-one can.’
    Sitting on the big horse, Ted was able to look down on Peter, which he unmistakably did, and if Peter’s tone was icy, so was the look on Ted’s face, icy and disdainful. Then, ‘Will that be all, sir?’ he asked Michael.
    â€˜Thank you, Ted,’ and Ted wheeled the Invader round and rode away.
    Peter was slightly disconcerted, then quickly recovered himself. ‘The trouble is, Mike, a splendid conformation’s no good without guts. We have to face it. Darkie is a great big beautiful washout.’
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    Back in the yard they dismounted, and the horses were led away; all the lads’ eyes were on Peter’s car, a new black Sunbeam 3 litre, with the cycle-type front wings and slightly backswept radiator of the marque. Peter had already put his suitcase in the back.
    â€˜Well, what do you want me to do?’ Michael asked abruptly. ‘I must give Leventine an answer.’
    â€˜I don’t think that ’chasing idea is any good,’ said Peter, ‘and, as I said, money’s a bit tight. Besides I have decided to winter abroad, so… ’
    â€˜So?’
    â€˜Sell him, Michael. No good getting married to the brutes.’
    â€˜Very well, I’ll do that. How d’you like your new toy?’ Peter missed the sarcasm, answering seriously, ‘Goes well enough – but it hasn’t the character the old 30/98 had.’ He swung his legs over the side of the low open body, ignoring the vestigial door. The car started with a roar then settled to the usual muted bass mutter of a wide exhaust.
    â€˜So long.’ Peter raised his hand in salute.
    The lane resounded with the crescendo of his going. Michael listened for the last triumphant gear change at the turning into the main road. Then he walked heavily into his office.
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    The voice on the telephone was harsh and imperious, like the quacking of a vast and rather angry duck. Into the little cluttered room with its files of forage bills, tattered copies of the
Calendar
and
Ruffs Guide
,
crumpled entry and declaration forms for race meetings long past, came a breath of world markets, of wide halls where tens of thousands could change hands at a