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Edward Lincoln is a worldwide celebrity who plays detectives on the big screen. But when his godmother asks him to investigate her racehorses in South Africa, he's out of his depth. Soon enough, he's plunged into a plot of gold, greed, and gilded lives that forces him to uncover a killer and give a bravura performance he'll never give again....
said. ‘We’ll have to take it again.’ I inhaled a lungful straight from the Sahara, and counted five in my mind. Then I said, ‘I’m going over to the caravan for a beer and a pee, and we’ll shoot it again when I come back.’ They wouldn’t pay out the pool on that, I thought in amusement. That might be a crack in the volcano, but it wasn’t Krakatoa. I wondered if they would let me take a bet on the flashpoint myself. No one had bothered to put the canvas over the Minimoke, to shield it from the
yellow-rimmed sunglasses, and a stick-like figure clad in an orange and tan checked trouser suit. The spontaneous friendliness in her manner saved her from any impression of caricature. Conrad took in her colour temperature with an appreciative eye, while explaining he had been engaged on four films with me in the recent past. Roderick’s attention sharpened like an adjusted focus. ‘What is he like to work with?’ he demanded. ‘That’s not fair,’ I said. Neither Roderick nor Conrad paid any
Jonathan who leant forward and let out the jet of truth. ‘He’s a rude bloody bastard with hands as heavy as a gold brick.’ ‘I have to advise Nerissa, when I get home,’ I commented. ‘Aunt Portia always said he had a way with horses,’ Sally objected, in defence. ‘Yeah. Backwards,’ said Jonathan. Van Huren gave him a flickering glance in which humour was by no means lacking, but he changed the subject immediately with the expertise of one thoroughly awake to the risk of slander. ‘Your Clifford
as if his thoughts were somewhere else. ‘Could I have some orange juice?’ Sally said. Evan and Conrad arrived before the waiter, and the drinks order expanded. Evan was at his most insistent, waving his arms about and laying down the law to Conrad in the usual dominating I-am-the-director-and-the-rest of-you-are-scum manner. Conrad looked half patient, half irritated: lighting cameramen were outranked by directors, but they didn’t have to like it. ‘Symbolism,’ Evan was saying fiercely.
‘O.K.’ ‘It is to do with my horses.’ She paused to consider, her head inclined to one side. ‘They are running so badly.’ ‘But,’ I said in bewilderment, ‘they haven’t been out yet, this season.’ She still had two steeplechasers trained in the yard where I had grown up, and although since my father’s death I had had no direct contact with them, I knew they had won a couple of races each the season before. She shook her head. ‘Not the jumpers, Edward. My other horses. Five colts and six fillies,