‘And how old are you, Henry Payne?’ I asked him.

‘Eleven.’

‘And do you ride?’

He nodded. ‘A bit. Granddad bought me a pony three years ago.’

I looked up at his grandfather. ‘And is the boy any good?’

‘He’s brilliant. His pony is only a Shetland called Blackjack, but he also rides his mother’s horse and he makes that jump like a stag.’

‘Then good luck, young man. But remember one thing, always strive hard to win. Winning is everything. Never be satisfied with anything less.’

‘I won’t,’ he promised.

Together, the four of us stood and watched the race presentation, Simon Paulson collecting the small glass-vase trophy on behalf of the absent owner.

I went to move away but, in true Columbo style, I turned back to ask a final question. ‘So, Harry, should I back your horse Ricardian in the fifth race?’

He stared at me. ‘That’s entirely up to you.’

‘But will it win?’ I asked. I stared back, deep into his eyes, for several seconds, until he finally looked away. I was certain he knew exactly what I meant, and he knew I knew too. But there was also something else in his expression—an assurance that he was in total control of the situation.

‘We hope he’ll win. Don’t we, Henry?’ He tousled his grandson’s floppy light-brown hair.

Henry Payne looked up at his grandfather with his large grey-blue eyes in loving admiration. ‘We certainly do, Granddad.’

‘And what does Anton say?’ I asked him. ‘Does he think Ricardian will win today?’

This time, he was shocked. I could tell by a slight tightening of the skin on his face but, otherwise, his cool control won through.

‘Anton who?’ he asked calmly.

‘Anton Valance.’

He looked up as if thinking. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him.’

‘That’s strange,’ I said. ‘Considering he spent two hours in your house on Monday evening. You know, the big house next to the old chapel in East Witton.’ I smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. His cool control was beginning to crumble.

‘I think this conversation is over,’ he said.

And, with that, Henry—call me Harry—Asquith ushered his family away, back towards the owners and trainers’ hospitality suite in the Roflow Stand.

‘So what happened to the prime minister?’ Chico asked as he finally joined me.

I laughed. ‘I was just talking to him. Didn’t you see?’

Chico looked first to his left, then to his right, in fact all around him.

‘You’re havin’ a laugh,’ he said, settling his eyes back on my face.

‘Can you remember what the crazy woman in East Witton said to you yesterday?’

‘About the Kaiser?’

‘Yes, but what else?’

‘That women should get the vote.’

‘Yes. And?’

‘That the prime minister lives in the big house next to the chapel.’