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A jockey becomes the sole inheritor of his late brother's business, horse, mistress, and enemies.
Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page Acknowledgements Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 “Straight is Dick Francis writing at his very, very best.” —Larry King, USA Today “If you read the first paragraph of Straight, I’m willing to wager, whatever the odds, you will spring to
often asymmetric, all colorful eye-catchers supreme. “Can I help you?” a voice said. A neutral man, middle-aged, in a black suit, coming from a doorway at the rear. “My name’s Franklin,” I said. “Came to see Prospero Jenks.” “A minute.” He retreated, returned with a half smile and invited me through the doorway to the privacies beyond. Shielded from customers’ view by a screening partition lay a much longer space which doubled as office and workroom and contained a fearsome-looking safe and
explained all the same. The straight lines were the sum of the activity in Greville’s brain. None at all. There was no private goodbye. There was no point. I was there, and that was enough. They asked for, and received, my agreement to the disconnection of the machines, and presently the pulsing lines straightened out also, and whatever had been in the quiet body was there no longer. It took a long time to get anything done in the morning because it turned out to be Sunday. I thought back,
that another time. It had been for him, anyway, not for her. Nicholas Loder’s two-year-old won the sprint at a convincing clip and I caught a glimpse of the owner afterward looking heavily satisfied but unsmiling. Hardly a jolly character, I thought. Clarissa went off to join her husband for the University race and after that, during their speeches and presentations, I went in search of Dozen Roses who was being led round in the pre-parade ring before being taken into a box or a stall to have
a strip of half the telephone directory, or so it seemed. “Lovely, isn’t it?” June said, pressing another button to stop it. “When he was away on trips, Mr. Franklin would enter all his expenses on here and we would print them out when he got home, or sometimes transfer them from the Wizard to our main computer through an interface ... oh, dear.” She smothered the uprush of emotion and with an attempt at controlling her voice said, “He would note down in there a lot of things he wanted to