The Silver Falcon Read Online Free PDF

You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.… I want you to have it all. And the Falcon –’ He made an effort to raise himself and failed. She could see that every word was a tremendous effort, and she tried to quiet him, but he went on, driving himself by the force of an indomitable will.
    â€˜The Falcon … he’ll win the Derby. I want you to race him for me. I want you to promise me – promise me you’ll send him over. Carry my colours … even if I don’t see it. Promise me!’
    â€˜I promise,’ Isabel said. ‘I promise you, darling. I’ll do just what you want.’
    â€˜I wanted to win that damned race.…’ For a moment his voice sank to a mumble, repeating the words again and again. ‘I bred him for it. Just for the Derby. He’ll do it. I know he will … you do this for me, Isabel. The last thing …’
    â€˜Nothing will stop me,’ she said. ‘I give you my promise.’ He sighed as if a burden had been lifted from him; for a moment his eyes closed. Isabel knew that death was very near; she held him close and tight against her.
    â€˜Richard …’ She could hardly hear him. It was a hoarse, slow whisper.
    â€˜Don’t have him round after I’ve gone. Don’t ever trust him … he’ll try and stop you running the Falcon … he knows how much it means.… Don’t let him near you, Isabel.… I won’t be here to take care …’ He didn’t finish the sentence; his breathing deepened, a harsh choking sound came in his throat. She knew its significance, and her tears fell. She was holding him against her like a child when a few minutes later he died.
    There were no arrangements for Isabel to make; Charles had thought of everything. He had planned his funeral; he wanted a service in the Episcopalian church and a private burial in the grounds of his home, near his beloved horses. He had left a list specifying the close friends who were to be invited to the final ceremony.
    The day of his death passed in a curious blur for Isabel. From the time she left his bedroom the sense of unreality grew stronger. It couldn’t have happened. It wasn’t possible that the long sad weeks of waiting had culminated that morning. She saw Rogers, who gathered the old black cook, weeping copiously, the three indoor maids and a young boy who had run general errands round the house, into the drawing room, and told them that Charles was dead. There was a silence, broken by the butler clearing his throat; there were tears in his eyes.
    â€˜He was a fine man, Mis Schriber. We’re surely going to miss him. We want yuh to know we’ll do anythin’ we can for you. Just like it was for him.’
    She thanked them; when they went out, closing the door, she was alone in the room where she had been married. She had never felt more lonely in her life, nor more determined not to fail him in the smallest detail.
    And the most important was five miles away in his private trainer’s yard. His last wish, wrung from his sinking body with such effort, was for the grey colt, Silver Falcon. Promise me … the words whispered again in her mind, and then the others followed them. Richard … don’t ever trust him.… She shut them out. To be so implacable even in the moment before death – and now it was too late. She hadn’t sent the cable in time. There would be no reconciliation now.
    She went round to the back of the house; the hours had fled by and it was late afternoon. She took the Range Rover out of the garage and drove round to the back gates.
    A few minutes later she drove through the entrance to the training yard, and pulled up outside Tim Ryan’s bungalow.
    The stables for Charles’s two-and three-year-olds were part of a handsome complex, and included the bungalows occupied by Harry Grogan and his wife, and Tim Ryan. Each was bordered by a low white