Here in the outer office sat Vernon’s pretty assistant, going over some papers. It was a small firm that did a large business. It was also very informal. When Jury said he just wanted a few words with Mr. Rice, the assistant smiled, leaned over her desk and looked towards the half open door of her boss.

Jury could see Vernon Rice studying the screens of several monitors, back to the door, hands shoved in pants pockets.

“Go on in, Mr. Jury; he’s just daydreaming.”

Jury knew Rice wasn’t daydreaming, but he went to stand in the doorway. Silently at first, then saying, “Vernon. I need your help.”

Vernon Rice turned quickly around, looking first astonished and then pleased. “Richard Jury. You’ve got it. Come on in.”

Jury relaxed and took one of the Italian designer chairs near a coffee table on which rested a pewter pot, steam coming out of the neck, cups and saucers beside it, cream and sugar.

“You’re expecting somebody?”

“Yes, you. Have a cup? Rosie always puts out extra cups.”

“Good for her. No cream, one sugar. Thanks.”

They sat back with their coffees. “Tell me what’s going on,” said Vernon.

Jury started the story of Tom Brownell and Bryher just as it had started for him and barely stopped to drink or draw breath before Vernon knew as much as he did about Sydney Cooke.

Vernon then rested his head back against his chair and silently warmed his hands on his cup, sipping occasionally from it.

Jury finally broke the silence by saying, “Look, sorry, Vernon, I don’t know what I thought you could—”

“Sure you do. You think I can get this something about her mother out of her—this secret. The question is, though, what secret?”

“Her mother—”

“We’re assuming it’s to do with her mother’s death, but why not one of the others? Or something else entirely.” He fell silent again and then said, “Shergar.”

Jury looked puzzled.

“That great Irish race horse. The one that was kidnapped, possibly by the IRA, and never heard from again.” Another silence. Then Vernon said, “When do you want to go?”

“How about now? But I’m barging into your day.”

“Oh, go ahead and barge. I’m only doing money. Can we take my car? It’s probably faster than yours.”

“Anything’s faster than mine.”

21

In Vernon’s Ferrari it took them less than two hours to drive to Ardry End from London.

Vernon was talking about Aggrieved as they pulled up before the columned steps of the house. “Wonderful horse.” They were halfway up the wide marble stairs when that very horse came around from the side of the house, Sydney in the saddle.

Vernon Rice stopped cold and stared.