The victor was led into the space reserved for the winner by Simon Paulson, and he had a rather embarrassed expression on his face.

I, meanwhile, wondered if the plan all along had been for the horse to lose and, short of joining the other two on the floor at the last fence, he’d had no choice but to win. But maybe I was being uncharitable.

‘That was a bit of luck, Simon,’ I shouted across to him.

He looked back at me with the same air of panic as I’d seen in Jimmy Shilstone’s eyes earlier. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘Enjoying a day’s racing,’ I replied. ‘Is there anything wrong in that?’

He didn’t reply as he busied himself trying to put a rug over the steaming body of his horse, but his body language spoke volumes. ‘Hold him still, can’t you?’ he snapped at the unfortunate groom as the horse shied away from the rug. Simon Paulson was clearly unnerved by my presence.

As well he might be.

He glanced back at me and then his eyes moved to my left and, if anything, his look of panic intensified.

I nonchalantly stood up straight, looked at my racecard, and turned to my left. Standing just a yard or so away from me was the man I was interested in, together with the woman and the boy. All three of them were watching Simon.

‘Hello, Harry,’ I said. ‘Was that one of yours?’

The man turned slowly and looked at me. He did his best to keep his face unmoved, but a touch of the colour in his cheeks drained away ever so slightly and I thought I could spot a slight glistening of sweat breaking out on his forehead. But maybe I was imagining it.

‘Hello?’ he said in a slight questioning tone as if he couldn’t remember where he had met me before. But he knew me, all right.

‘Sid Halley,’ I said, playing the game.

‘Oh yes, of course.’ He turned and looked as the horse was led away, back to the racecourse stables. ‘No, not one of mine this time, but I like to support my trainer.’ He waved a hand towards Simon Paulson. ‘A good win but a fortunate one in the circumstances.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ I said. ‘Very fortunate.’ I looked at his companions.

‘Ah, yes, sorry. Sid, can I introduce my daughter, Carrie.’ We nodded at each other. ‘And also my grandson Henry. He’s named after me.’

‘Henry Payne,’ the boy said with a big wide smile. ‘I want to be a jockey when I’m older.’

‘He’ll be too tall,’ his mother said. ‘Shooting up like a beanstalk.’

Henry pulled a face.

‘Mr Halley here was a jockey,’ his grandfather said. ‘A champion jockey.’ So now he’d proved he knew who I was.

Young Henry’s eyes widened in excitement. ‘Wow.’