Royal Heist Read Online Free PDF

in international races during the winter, and there were frequent trips to Dubai and Hong Kong. By November the horse’s program had consisted of walking and trotting, but after Christmas it would build up for a couple of preparation races. It was planned that he would run the Thresher Trial at Sandown in April and then the Lingfield Derby trial.
    De Jersey drove a golf cart into the yard. He wore a checked cap, jodhpurs, and a yellow cashmere polo-neck sweater beneath his Harris tweed jacket. His hand-stitched, brown leather riding boots were highly polished. He paid his first call of the day to Royal Flush. The horse had not outgrown his moody temperament, and he still had a bullyboy streak to him. He’d given a couple of the lads nasty bites. De Jersey had been worried that if he remained a stallion Royal Flush would be a danger to the other horses—he had already attacked a few in the yard. It would have been heartbreaking to geld him, but Royal Flush, perhaps sensing what was at stake, at three years old was finally settling down.
    After a while de Jersey drove over to the east wing of the yard to inspect a new filly from Ireland. When he started the engine again, his cell phone rang. It was his wife.
    “What’s up?” he asked.
    “Helen called.” Her Swedish accent was always more pronounced on the telephone. “She was very distressed. I think David is sick. You’d better call.”
    Back at the house, de Jersey scraped his boots outside the kitchen door.
    De Jersey walked into the kitchen. The table was set for him with grapefruit juice, black coffee, two slices of Christina’s homemade rye bread, and a lightly boiled egg. He picked up the phone, but David’s number was engaged so he decided to have breakfast before trying again. De Jersey had not seen David since Royal Ascot, preferring to leave the financial side of his business to his adviser. Recently he and David had discussed liquidating some of his investments. The cost of running the stables was astronomical, and the foot-and-mouth outbreak had meant a hefty loss for the adjoining farm. His cash resources were stretched to the limit.
    Christina came in, her arms filled with holly and fir branches for the hall. The tree would not arrive until a few days before the girls returned from boarding school.
    “The line was engaged. I’ll try again after I’ve had a look at the papers.”
    Christina spread some old newspaper on the floor and began to spray the branches silver. “Helen was crying. For her to call so early, something must be wrong.”
    “Okay, I’ll try again now. I hope to God I don’t have to go over there. I’ve got a hectic day ahead.”
    Moments later, after having spoken to Helen’s sister, de Jersey was arranging to land the helicopter at the small airport close to David’s house in Radcliff, a particularly affluent London suburb.
    “What’s the matter?” Christina asked.
    “Not sure. I spoke to Helen’s sister. I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He kissed her cheek and was gone.
    David Lyons’s house was set back from the road. The gates were open, so the taxi drove straight through. The white stucco house had fake Georgian pillars and latticed lead windows with Swiss-style shutters and a green slate roof. The front door was ajar.
    De Jersey stepped into the hall and made for the lounge, a dreary sea of beige. It was eerily empty. “Helen?” he called.
    Frustrated, he headed toward the ornate indoor swimming pool, returning to the hall just as a small, pale-faced woman appeared. After introducing himself, he asked where Helen was.
    “I’m her sister, Sylvia Hewitt. I spoke to you earlier. Helen’s upstairs. Shall I get her for you?”
    “I’d be grateful if you could tell me what’s going on. You just said that Helen had to see me. Is David all right?”
    “No—no, he isn’t.” She started to cry.
    “Has there been an accident?” De Jersey was worried now.
    “I’ll get Helen. Please go and sit in the