Murder Most Royal — читать онлайн бесплатно полностью

It was funny – you thought you’d reached your lowest ebb, and then something came along to make you sink lower. Julian felt as if the inrushing tide was washing over his head. On his bookshelves a thicket of Christmas cards were interspersed with others congratulating him on his New Job! and New Home! Many featured crowns and corgis. ‘Proud of you, son.’ ‘Enjoy the moment.’ ‘Don’t shoot any royals!!!! Haha!!!!!’

For a minute, he allowed himself to imagine how it could have been, sitting back on this sofa with a beautiful woman snuggled up beside him, a glass of wine, her body heat, a head full of plans and a clear, bright future.

Then the thought disintegrated. One minute was all it took.

He relived that moment again and again, as he had done since it happened. There was only one answer. He eyed the bottle. But he was distracted by a whimpering sound. Billy, his elderly black Labrador, was sitting at the door, eyeing it keenly, desperate to go out. Julian eased himself up off the sofa and accompanied the dog outside, where he nosed around in the bushes for a while before doing his business.

The sharpness of the night air brought with it a moment of clarity. He realised how fuddled he was. The only noticeable effect of the whisky had been to amplify his sadness. He would stick to wine from now on.

‘Hey, boy,’ he called softly to the dog across the garden.

Billy trotted back to him, his dark eyes glistening in the moonlight, full of love and trust.

‘C’mon, let’s go inside.

’

Drawing up at the stud, she was pleased to see that her timing was good. As she got out of the car, she spotted the brood mares and their foals returning two by two from the paddocks in the huge, old walled garden, where they had been getting a blast of fresh air. She stopped to watch them briefly, enchanted as ever by the sight of the leggy foals, who had grown dramatically since the last time she saw them. Each one was the progeny of a line of distinguished racehorses.

They weren’t yet weaned, but already some stood out to her as potential champions. It took a combination of proportions, strength, character and temperament. Having watched foals grow up into racehorses for as long as she could remember, by now she had a sixth sense for spotting the perfect blend.

From ten o’clock onwards, a succession of Range Rovers began delivering their contents to the front door in strictly managed order of seniority.