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back at him and her hair fell across her eye. It was difficult to say whether she looked angry or submissive.
    He sat on the bed next to her and gently ran his ring finger along the length of her spine. She shuddered. The palm of his hand cupped her buttock and he trailed it across the swell of her bottom. Then he leaned across and nuzzled her neck, and traced the length of her spine with his lips. He kissed the backs of her legs, starting with the delicate folds at the backs of her knees.
    ‘There should be a word for the back of the knee,’ he said.
    ‘You’re a swine.’
    He moved up to kiss the back of her thighs.
    ‘While you were gone, a hotel waiter came and found me like this. He fucked me. It’s all your fault.’
    ‘Did you give him a good tip?’
    He put his fingers inside her. She was still wet.
    ‘I need a pee! I’m desperate. Duncan?’
    Duncan relented. He started to loosen the cord at her wrist.
    She stopped him. ‘No. I want you to fuck me again before you untie me.’
    Some time later, when they were both getting dressed, Lorna pouted and said, ‘Duncan, do you have any feelings for me at all?’
    ‘Of course I do. I wouldn’t be here with you now if I had no feelings for you.’
    ‘But you never show your feelings. I don’t even know if you like me!’
    ‘Come here.’ He kissed her. ‘I won’t lie to you: I’m not in love with you. I’m not going to mislead you. But I love being with you. Isn’t that enough?’
    ‘No. Yes. I don’t know.’
    ‘Get dressed. I’d better go and settle the bill.’
    ‘Just tell them “Oscar”.’
    ‘Oscar?’
    ‘Oscar.’
    Duncan went down to the hotel reception area and asked to pay the bill. He was relieved that Lorna had parted with the code word. He suspected he didn’t have enough in either his pocket or his bank account to cover lunch and a room at the Ritz. ‘It’s the Cadogan account.’
    ‘Certainly, sir.’ The receptionist took out a file, spread it before him and asked for a reference.
    ‘Oscar.’
    ‘Thank you, sir. That’s all taken care of.’

 
     
     
     
    5
     
     
     
     
    A t Ludlow, Duncan rode a second-placed novice called Billy Blake for Petie Quinn. There was an exciting level of fitness to Petie’s horses, whether they were being brought on or were the more finished article. It reminded him of Charlie’s training techniques. Petie went for a good broad chest and plenty of muscle in the back end. He was less concerned with how pretty or stylish the animal was in the gallop. He knew power when he saw it.
    They had the new silks designed by Petie’s daughter Roisin, a nervy, doe-eyed colleen in her mid-twenties, slim as a reed. The silks were sky blue with dark blue chevrons on the sleeve and a dark blue star on the body. These would be his colours every time he rode for Petie.
    At Exeter the next day he rode a winner and a third. He won the seller at Worcester, and that made Petie very happy. Three days before Christmas they were at Lingfield. Petie had him on a mount called Wellbeing in the second race, a Class 5 handicap hurdle for four-year-olds and upwards, but his big race of the day was the Abercombie Stakes, the fifth race on the card, a Class 1 chase for five-year-olds and above.
    Littlewoods the bookmakers owned the racetrack. They were working to pull in the punters and had organised a Christmas gala day. With a bit of wining and dining and a few free bets for the producers, they’d managed to bring in the TV cameras, too. The Weighing Room had an extra air of excitement, beyond the usual nerves and tension and banter.
    ‘Have you seen that tart they brought with them?’ one naked jockey was shouting, scratching at his balls. He seemed to be talking to the whole room. ‘Women sports commentators, can you believe it? What the hell next?’
    ‘Get her in here,’ shouted another naked jockey. ‘I’ll interview her.’
    Someone flicked a wet towel at his arse.
    It had been two years since the first