‘Now what can I do for you?’ he asked, looking back up at my face.

‘As I was passing, I thought I’d pop in to see how you are. Is Jackie well?’

He stared at me. ‘She left me eighteen months ago.’

Now I hadn’t been able to find out that on the internet.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. And maybe I knew how he felt—or maybe not.

‘Yeah, well. I’m not really that sorry,’ Simon said. ‘She ran off with an accountant from Leeds. He’s welcome to her and her bloody nagging—eat this, don’t drink that. Poor sod. I almost feel sorry for him.’

It started to rain.

‘Can I come in?’ I asked.

‘I’d rather not,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit of a mess in there.’

Clearly no one was nagging him to keep the house tidy either.

We both stood there on his doorstep getting wet.

‘Is there somewhere else we could talk?’ I asked.

He didn’t much look like he wanted to talk to me at all, but the rain was getting harder.

‘Come into the yard office.’

He led the way across the gravel, past a small horsebox with SIMON PAULSON RACING painted on the back, and into a large barn with a line of stalls laid out on each side and a wide walkway down the middle. Several of the equine occupants of the stalls put their heads out over the half-doors to check out the human arrivals.

‘Are you full?’ I asked.

‘Pretty much. I have a few spare boxes round the back. But always room for one more if you’re thinking of buying?’

I laughed. ‘No chance of that.’

‘Shame.’

‘Have you taken any from the Bremner yard?’ I asked him nonchalantly.

He shook his head. ‘I hear that all those that survived have gone to a place up near Leyburn. Though God knows what will happen to them eventually.’

We walked down the line of stalls, Simon pausing to stroke the noses of each of the occupants in turn.

‘This is Regal Monarch,’ he said as we reached the last horse on the right, a tall liver-chestnut with a proud-looking head. Simon gently pulled at the animal’s ears in affection. ‘He seems to have recovered well from yesterday’s exertions. Ate up well last night and again this morning, didn’t you, old boy?’

The horse raised and lowered its head as if nodding in agreement.

‘I plan to step him up a level and go for the bet365 Gold Cup at Sandown next month, that’s if the going is still soft. He likes the mud.’

I wondered if I should ask Simon if it was his idea to enter the horse at Sandown or was someone telling him to.

‘Who owns him?’ I asked.