Dick Francis - Silks

‘Oh, right,’ she said, sounding relieved. ‘It’s just we have the house rule…’ she tailed off.

‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘I hadn’t expected to stay with you anyway.’

From the house-rule point of view, I was clearly still seen as a casual rather than a long-term relationship. And I suppose that was fair, I thought. Eleanor and I had hardly kissed, so staying the night with her would have been a huge step.

I phoned ahead to the Queen’s Arms Hotel in East Garston, the pub where Eleanor and I had met for our first drink and meal back in the previous November.

‘Yes,’ they said. ‘We have rooms available for tonight. For how many people?’

‘For one,’ I said. ‘But I would like a double-bedded room please.’ Well, you never knew.

Bob took me straight to the hotel, where the receptionist was surprised that I had no luggage, not even a wash bag. It was too complicated to explain, so I didn’t. She kindly allocated me a room on the ground floor in a modern extension alongside the eighteenth-century inn, and I went and lay down on the bed to rest my aching back and to wait for Eleanor to arrive to look after me.

∗

We had dinner at the same table as before but, on this occasion, our evening was interrupted by an emergency call on her pager.

‘I just don’t believe it,’ said Eleanor, disconnecting from her mobile phone. ‘No one who’s been on call this week has been needed and now this.’ She took another mouthful of her fish. ‘I’ll try and come back.’ She stood up.

‘Do you want me to save your dinner?’ I said.

‘No, I’ll be longer than that,’ she said. ‘I’ll call you.’

She rushed off to her car and left me sitting alone. I was disappointed. And, for the first time, I realized that I didn’t feel guilty about being out with someone other than Angela.

I finished my dinner alone, drank my wine alone and, in time, went along the corridor to my bed, alone.

Eleanor did call eventually, at five to midnight.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Atwo-year-old with a bad haemorrhage in its lung. Still a bit touch and go. I’ll have to stay here. Also it’s a bit late for dessert and coffee.’ She laughed nervously at her own little joke.

‘I’m in bed anyway,’ I said. ‘It’s fine. I’ll call you in the morning.’

‘Right.’ Did she sound relieved? Or was it my imagination? ‘Goodnight.’

‘Night,’ I replied, and disconnected.

Life and love were very complicated, I reflected, as I drifted off to sleep.

On Friday morning I went shopping in Newbury. A taxi picked me up from the hotel and I spent a couple of hours buying myself, maybe not a complete new wardrobe, but enough to see me through the next few weeks at Oxford Crown Court.

The hotel receptionist raised a questioning eyebrow when I arrived back at the Queen’s Arms with two suitcases of luggage that I hadn’t had the previous night.

‘Lost by the airline,’ I said to her, and she nodded knowingly.

She carried the cases to my room as I struggled along behind her with the damn crutches.

‘Are you staying tonight, then?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure yet,’ I said. ‘Someone told me at breakfast that late check-out would be OK.’ For a fee, of course.

‘Oh yes, that’s fine,’ she said. ‘The room is free tonight if you want it.’ I presumed she didn’t mean free as in money, but free as in unoccupied.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I’ll let you know.’ And I closed the door.

I eased myself out of the white plastic shell and chanced standing in the shower without it, letting a stream of cool water wash away the grime and bring relief to my itching body. I washed my hair with new shampoo, brushed my teeth with a new toothbrush, and shaved my chin with a new razor. I then reluctantly put myself back in the plastic straightjacket before dressing in crisp clean new shirt and trousers. I suddenly felt so much better. Almost a new man, in fact.

The taxi returned after lunch and took me to Uffington, back to the Radcliffes’ place. I had called Larry Clayton to say I was coming and he was sitting in his office when I arrived about two thirty, the same scuffed cowboy boots resting on his desk. It had been only two days since I had been here, but somehow it seemed longer.

‘How can I help?’ he said, not getting up.

I handed him a copy of the Millie and foal photo.

‘Do you recognize anyone in this picture?’ I asked him.

He studied it quite closely. ‘Nope,’ he said finally.

‘The foal is Peninsula,’ I said.

He looked again at the picture.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Still can’t help you.’

‘When did you say you arrived here?’ I asked him.

‘Last September,’ he said.

‘Where were you before?’ I said.

‘Up in Cheshire,’ he said. ‘I managed a meat-packing plant in Runcorn.’

‘Bit different from this,’ I said. ‘How did you get this job?’

‘I applied,’ he said. ‘Why, what’s your problem?’ He lifted his feet off the desk and sat upright in his chair.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘No problem. Just seems funny to move from meat packing to foals.’

‘Perhaps they wanted me for my man-management skills,’ he said, clearly annoyed with my questions.

‘Is there anyone working here now who was here when Peninsula was born?’ I asked, trying to change direction.

‘Doubt it,’ he said unhelpfully, leaning back and replacing his feet on the desk. It was his way of telling me that my time was up.

‘Well, keep the photo anyway,’ I said. ‘If anyone recognizes the man will you ask them to give me a call.’ I handed him one of my business cards but I suspected that he would put it in the waste bin beside his desk as soon as I was through the door, together with the photo.

‘When did you say the Radcliffes will be back?’ I asked him from the doorway.

‘The Kentucky Derby is at Louisville tomorrow,’ he said, leaning further back in his chair. ‘They’ll be back sometime after that.’ He seemed determined not to be too helpful.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Would you ask them to look at the picture as well, please?’

‘Maybe,’ he said.

The taxi had waited for me and I asked the driver to take me back to the Queen’s Arms. That had all been a waste of time, I thought.

I called Eleanor and asked her if I should stay for a second night or go on to Oxford. Arthur had booked my hotel from the Friday, and I had already called to check that all my boxes had arrived there safely.

‘I’m on call again,’ she said.

‘Is everything all right?’ I asked her. She seemed strangely reticent for someone who had previously been so forthcoming, almost eager.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’m just very busy at the moment.’

Was it something I had said, I wondered.

‘But would you like to have dinner together?’ I asked. ‘You may not be paged tonight.’ There was a pause from the other end of the line. ‘But we can leave it if you like,’ I went on quickly. Was I being too pushy?

‘Geoffrey,’ she said seriously. ‘I’d love to have dinner with you, but…’

‘Yes?’ I said.

‘I’ll have to come back here afterwards.’

‘That’s fine,’ I said, upbeat. ‘Why don’t we have dinner at the Fox and Hounds in Uffington, and then I’ll get a taxi to take me on to Oxford while you go back to Lambourn.’

‘Great,’ she said, sounding a little relieved.

‘Are you sure everything’s all right?’ I asked her again.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I promise. Everything is fine.’

We disconnected and I was left wondering whether men could ever fully understand women.