Chapter 2

On the way out, I was shown the entrance to the car park. Dee said she would express courier a ticket and parking pass to me at home on Monday, to be left in my box at the flats. All I needed now was to become like the other women, well dressed and blonde.

During that week I visited my usual salon and discussed hair with Debbie, my stylist. She was adamant that a short-term colouring would not do my hair any good, and that I would look funny as it grew out. She showed me how to layer my own hair under a skull cap and when she put a short wig on me, I looked like a different person. It was curly and exposed my ears and neck. With a good dress and appropriate make-up, I would be just another blonde among blondes.

I was up at a good time on Saturday morning so that I could make the changes. I had a good breakfast and started my transformation. A long bath in scented suds, a careful shaving to make sure I was smooth all over, good underwear with garter belt and stockings, and then I sat to arrange my wig and paint my face.

I wore one of the Erminia dresses that Susan had given me, with heels and a shoulder bag. Before I left, I had an early lunch and then made sure I had everything I needed, especially the ticket and passes, and drove to Ascot.

It was jumping! There were lots of very expensive cars in the car park, even the one I parked in that was just for the general public. I got out and went into the main area of the racecourse, in front of the grandstand, just to soak up the atmosphere. It was like an up-market pop concert without the big band, although there was a string quartet I could hear playing in the Members section.

I walked around and looked at the prices of the food on offer, glad I had eaten earlier. I did get a glass of champagne so that I didn’t look out of place. I was standing there, glass in one hand and looking at the first race field in the other, when a very elegant lady walked up to me and asked me if I was entered in the Fashions in the Field. I told her that I had only arrived a little while ago and that it was my first time here.

“My dear, a fresh face on the catwalk! You’ll be certain to score well, depending on who else is entered. We do get some who go well over the top to try and win, you’re just so simply elegant!”

She led me to a marquee where I added my name to the list. I gave it as Debbie Wigzell, in deference to my stylist. I then wandered around and looked at the area where the bookmakers hung out. I noticed that every one of them had one or two fit young men near them, with a few having a beautiful girl to keep the record of bets. Dee had emailed me some likely winners so that I could start as someone in the know, and I compared the odds being offered. David had given me some grounding on the differences, and I went to the bookie offering the best place odds on the first horse I had been told, spending a tenner.

The horses were starting to be led into the mounting yard and I went to have a look. It was odd, seeing elegantly dressed men and women standing next to a very large horse. I bet they didn’t get so close when it came back sweaty. The horse I had been given looked ready to beat the world and I followed the crowd as they surged towards the rails when the horses went out on the track. The race was over in what seemed like seconds, and my horse had been a close second.

I went back to the bookie and proffered my ticket, with him giving me twenty-five back. Then I heard the loudspeaker call for entrants in the Fashion in the Field to assemble at the marquee. When I got there it was a total chaos of femininity. Every colour in the rainbow, every style known to womanhood, and even a couple that looked as if they weren’t women at all.

It wasn’t a public vote, thank goodness, but there were three judges with notepads. We all were given a number and went up onto a catwalk to strut our stuff. At the end, we were all up there, in our number order when the results were handed down. I didn’t win, but, like my horse, came second. The prize was a voucher to spend at Harrods, worth five hundred pounds, which I put in my bag with thanks to the judges. The winner was wearing an outfit that, even to my untrained eye, looked as if it had cost five times the value of her prize.

The horses were being brought out for the second race and I went off to put my tenner on the one I had been given, only to find that it had been scratched due to a sore fetlock or something. I looked at the runners and then decided not to bother, heading for the tearoom to get a cup of tea and a cake, so wiping out my previous winnings.

I sat at the small table and watched to race progress and wondered how the victims had been chosen, and then how had they been approached. With the third race, I went for broke and put a tenner on the tip that Dee had given me, with it winning at seven to one, so recouping my winnings and a bit more. I was standing near the rails, with a glass in my hand, waiting for the next race, when a lad in a suit stood beside me.

“Hello, Debbie. I’m Stan. This your first time here?”

“It is Stan. Why do you ask?”

“I like to talk to pretty ladies, especially those who do well in that parade. How are you going with your bets?”

“Not bad, I’m a few pounds in front. I might stop at that and not chase unlikely winnings.”

“I’ll give you a tip that you shouldn’t miss in the fifth. Honest Joe should give you the best odds.”

He told me the name of the horse. When he walked away, I realised that I had seen him talking to Honest Joe when I was coming out of the tearoom. I found my way to Honest Joe and put my usual ten on the tip that Dee had given me in the fourth, followed by an early bet of fifty on the nose for the one that Stan had given me at twenty to one.

My horse won in the fourth and I held off collecting my winnings, waiting for the next race, going to line up at the ladies first, which took until the fifth was at the starting gate. The tip I had been given was running in the field until the last moment when it burst to the front to win.

I jumped up and down with the rest, and then was grabbed by a lad in a good three-piece suit, who kissed me. I brought my knee slowly up to his groin and jiggled it. When he pulled back, I smiled.

“Do that again, buddy, without asking nicely, and the knee will be travelling a lot faster.”

He laughed.

“Please my lady, can I kiss you again?”

“That’s better, you may partake of my lips.”

He held me and we kissed again, this time I joined in, and we held the stance for a while.

“I’m Bertie, may I take you to dinner?”

“I’m Debbie, and I think I’d like that. I just have to collect my winnings, first.”

“Me too. I’m a sucker for good looking outsiders, as well as beautiful strangers. Are you from around these parts?”

“No, I live in London, what about you?”

“I have an apartment in Canary Wharf. We’ll have to take a taxi to the hotel; I came with a friend so haven’t a car.”

“That’s all right, mine is in the carpark.”

We went to our bookies, and I came away with over a thousand pounds which went into the bag. I waited for Bertie to collect his. By the size of the wad of notes he was given, he had done very well. He put them in his pocket and walked towards me.

“Shall we exit this den of gambling, my lady Debbie?”

“We can do that, Lord Bertie. My chariot awaits.”

I drove us back to London, where he directed me to a restaurant where he was obviously well known, getting us a table. It was still early, so we had a few drinks and talked about the horses until it was time to order. After the meal, we went to his apartment and his lordship exercised his authority over this poor commoner, with clear evidence of his experience. When we had exhausted ourselves, I went to the ensuite and did my business, taking my bag with me to repair my make-up. He was snoring when I got back, so I dressed quietly and left him a thank you note on his personalised notepaper before I let myself out and drove home, arriving in the early hours. I made sure to take a page of his notepaper with me as I left.

It had been a good day at Ascot. I was well up and knew that it was all down to my new friend Stan. I still didn’t know why he helped like that, and how it became something worth killing for. Sunday morning, I took things easy and put my thousand away in my piggie bank. I rang Dee on the landline to report on my day at the races. When I told her who was calling, she was blunt.

“All that bluster, Maxine, and I didn’t see you there. What are you playing at?”

“Did you watch the Fashions in the Field?”

“Yes, I did. The winner was a regular, her husband is a soccer star, and she spends a fortune on clothes.”

“I was the runner-up in Erminia and a blonde wig.”

“That was you! Good Lord, you were certainly disguised, why?”

“Because all the other victims were blondes and I thought I would have a better chance of catching the attention of the killer. I think it worked.”

“Tell me more!”

“I was given a tip for the winner in the fifth race, but before the fourth so that I could lay on a bet at twenty to one. I took the money and left the races. The guy who gave me the tip is called Stan, and I saw him with Honest Joe, the bookie I made my bet with.”

“I know him. He usually works in the stables. He doesn’t work for any one owner but is employed by a few courses as a casual. He works for Joe once his other duties are over, and then helps with the cleaning up. He doesn’t seem like a serial killer.”

“If there was a description that fitted all serial killers, the police could round them up before they started. I still haven’t worked out why they do it.”

“The bookie can claim a tax break on his losses. Perhaps he had made too much money on the first three races.”

“All right. I’ll go to another meeting and see what happens there. If the history of the other victims is followed, I’m safe until the big meeting at Epsom in the new year. Look, I met a nice guy at the course, and we had dinner. I’ll see if he’ll take me to another meeting.”

“There’s another meeting next Saturday. Do you still have your pass?”

“I do. Look, if you see me to talk to, remember that I’m Debbie Wigzell and we have met because I do secretarial work in Davids’ office. Tell him not to call me Maxine if I’m with anyone.”

“All right, that I can do, we’ll see you on Saturday. Dumluk is getting her first outing at a premier track, so be certain to put a pound or two on it, each way.”

We I put the phone down, I thought for a moment or two and then picked it up again to ring Bertie.

“Bertie, dear. It’s Debbie, just giving you a call to see if you had a good sleep. You were out like a light when I left.”

“Debbie, darling. I had a wonderful sleep, only spoiled by waking up to find that you were still not beside me.”

“I left because I needed my own sleep, and that wasn’t possible with your snoring.”

“Is that why any girls I’ve spent the night with never go out with me again? With all my money, all my charm, and all my good looks, it comes down to my snoring! I’ll have to talk to someone about it.”

“You certainly have the good looks and the charm, Bertie, and there are specialists who can help you.”

“I’ll look into it. When can I see you again? You’re the most grounded girl I’ve met.”

“There is another meeting at Ascot, next Saturday. Would that be soon enough? This girl does have to work, you know.”

“That would be perfect. Can you pick me up in the morning? That meeting isn’t a big one, and you can dress more casually. I’ll buy us lunch; I know a nice little pub.”

“You mean to tell me that with your money and charm, you don’t have a car?”

“Ah! Trapped by my own perfidy. I do have a very nice Aston in the basement garage. What I don’t have is permission to drive it for another four months. I tell you what! You can drive us on Saturday, it needs to get some time on the road. Every time I see it, it looks like it’s sulking.”

“All right, I’ll be there at eleven. I’ll give your bell a press and you can come down and show me where to park.”

When I put the phone down, I was thinking to myself that he didn’t need to be shown where to park, not after last night. For the rest of the week, I did the usual round of sleuthing for a pittance. On Saturday morning, I was up early and made sure that although my outer wear was casual, my underwear was serious. In a nice pair of designer jeans that I had bought in Norwich, with boots; and my Erminia blouse, I looked good enough for Ascot, with a leather jacket made to resemble a biker jacket but useless if on a bike in the rain, I made sure I had the wig firmly secure, five hundred in my bag and went off to Canary Wharf.

It all went well. I parked outside and told the doorman that Bertie would come down, rang his bell and he stepped out of the lift in a similar outfit to me, jeans, boots, and a leather sports coat. He used his fob to open the garage doors, got in the passenger seat and directed me to a visitors bay. When we had got out of the car and I locked it, he smiled.

“May I have a kiss, my lady?”

“You may, my lord. In fact, I am tempted to give you permission for the rest of the day.”

He held me close as we kissed, and then he led me to his car, which he opened with the button and handed me the keys.

“Treat her kindly, Debbie. Too much wellie and she will be doing the ton before you know it. That’s what got me into trouble.”

I was careful as I extracted the magnificent beast from its parking bay and into the sunlight. One of the courses I had done at Hendon was in high-speed driving, so I knew how to handle this beauty. What had stopped me going to the traffic division was the fact that they didn’t think girls would cut it in that job, preferring big, hairy, blokes.

He guided me through the city and into the countryside on the A4, and then through Windsor, before arriving at a pub in Woodside. It was a lovely place, with the bar festooned with signed pictures of some of the clientele. I knew that Elton John lived close by so wasn’t surprised that he had eaten there. I expected that the meal would be more than enough.

It was very pleasant, with me staying off alcohol because I was driving. Over the course of the meal, I learned more about Bertie. He was really a Lord, having inherited it from his father, although, by the time it came to him there were no country estates or money. He made his own living as an entrepreneur, organising smaller music festivals and charity events. I told him that I did secretarial work in a legal office.

He was nice to be with, and the time passed quickly before we needed to get to Ascot. He had the tickets, and I still had the car pass, so it wasn’t long before we were trackside and discussing the runners. Dee had emailed me some tips, so I didn’t look like a bimbo as we looked at the fields and decided which ones were going to be on the receiving end of our generosity.

We did steadily, me making money on the first, him making money on the second. I went off to collect my winnings while Bertie went to find a glass of champagne. I hadn’t gone to Honest Joe this time, but while I was waiting to collect, I looked over and saw Stan in a close conversation with a red-headed lad, about the same age. It was while Bertie was off to collect his winnings after the second race when Stan appeared to my side.

“Hello again, beautiful Debbie. What do you fancy in the fifth?”

I looked at my list and told him.

“That one is very good for a place, but there’s good odds on an outsider to win. If you act soon, Honest Joe can take your bet.”

He told me the horse and went off. That’s when I noticed the red-headed lad talking to a guy who was very nattily dressed. When Bertie got back, I told him that I had an urge to bet on a horse in the fifth. I told him the name of the horse and he smiled.

“I think I told you I was a sucker for a good outsider. Here’s two hundred, put it on the nose for me.”

I took a sip of his drink, gave him back the glass and went off to see Honest Joe. I put twenty each way on my pick for the third, and four hundred on the nose for the tip for the fifth, at fifty to one. On the way back, I saw the natty guy coming out of the gents and tried to decipher what I was seeing.

He was reasonably tall, well built, and carried himself as a man who had seen action. That did not fit the mauve suit and the silk cravat. I looked at his feet and saw the one-inch heels on his shoes. So, he was gay? Maybe, or he could just be different. Either way, he must be the recipient of a good tip from the carrot top as he headed directly to Honest Joe.

If he was being given tips, it went against the whole modus operandi, unless there had been guys in the past who were dumped somewhere else. I needed to observe but stay clear of him for the rest of the day, so went back to Berties’ side. We both had winnings after the third, with his winning and mine coming second.

I had two horses to bet on in the fourth, the one Dee had given me and their horse, Dumluk. I suppose it’s not the thing to tip your own mount, but I was sure that it would do well. When we went to collect, I put a hundred on Dumluk to win. She was at a hundred to one, seeing that she only had some placings at smaller tracks in the past.

We went to the mounting yard so that I could see what I had put my faith in. When she was led in, she looked more like a picture I had seen of horses that had been used in the first war than a thoroughbred. It was a longer race, so that might be helpful. I was starting to regret my extravagance when I saw David and Dee come out. Everyone was standing around and I saw Dee looking around at the crowd. I gave her a wave and she waved back.

“Do you know that person?”

“Yes, she is the wife of David Townley, a lawyer. I went to school with her, and I work in his office.”

“I’ve heard of him; he did some work for a singer I know. What’s the horse?”

“Dumluk, it’s her first outing in a group race, or so Dee told me. She’s a two-year old filly with some placings at smaller tracks. She’s a rank outsider at a hundred to one.”

“Stay here, you’ve been my lucky charm, so far. This one I have to back.”

When he came back, he had a betting slip.

“Somebody must have spooked the bookies, it’s down to fifty to one at the moment.”

The horses were led out and Dee came over to where we stood.

“Debbie, who is this handsome man?”

“Dee, this is Lord Bertie Woodward. We met last week.”

“My word, a Lord. You must both come over to the house after the races, whether we get a result in this race or not. David has organised a party to celebrate us having a horse accepted in a group race. You still have the button?”

“I do. We’ll see you there.”

As she walked to follow David into the Members’ stand, Bertie looked at me.

“Button?”

“Yes, it’s for the gate. They live in a house inside the grounds of a big manor. There are others that have built on the grounds, but nobody can see anyone else for the trees. It’s a really beautiful setting, and the houses would be worth several million each.”

We found a gap at the rail and waited for the race to start. Dumluk was towards the back from the start but moving up at the far turn. As they came onto the straight, she was loping along in fourth and then the jockey must have whispered something in her ear, as she moved up a gear and came first by a head. We had won!

We jumped up and down and kissed. It was like the time we met, but this time we knew each other from top to toe and were kissing because we wanted to. I was almost in a daze when we went to collect. The bookie got me to huddle close as he gave me my ten thousand, which went into my shoulder bag. We went to Berties’ bookie, who gave him five thousand.

“Do you think we should leave, now we are rich?”

“No way, my sweet. We have a substantial bet in the fifth, remember. And then we need to sit somewhere until it’s time to go to a party. Any nookie will have to wait until I take you home.”

“Yes, my lady. Whatever you say, my lady.”

We didn’t go overboard on our luck after that. When the fifth was over and all clear given, we went to collect our twenty thousand and then sat in the stand nibbling cake and drinking champagne until the meeting was over. I didn’t see Dee among the Members after their win, so wondered if they had checked with their trainer and gone home. I had been looking out for Mauve Man and saw him heading for the exit after the fifth.

We went off to get in the Aston and head for a party.

Marianne Gregory © 2024