Felix Francis - Dick Francis's Gamble

“I’m not at home. And my mobile doesn’t work where I am.”

“And where is that?”

I was a little reluctant to tell him. The fewer the people who knew, the safer I’d feel. But he was the police, and he had provided me with an unshakable alibi when I was arrested for attempted murder.

“I’m in a village called Woodmancote,” I said. “It’s near Cheltenham racetrack. It’s where my mother lives.” I gave him my mother’s telephone number.

“Cheltenham is a long way from your office,” he said in a tone that seemed to ask a question.

“I know. I know,” I said. “I ran away. Superintendent Yering was unable to provide me with any protection, and I felt very vulnerable, so I didn’t go home.”

“I can’t say I really blame you,” he said.

“So how about you giving me a bodyguard?” I asked. “Preferably one bristling with guns, and with evil intent towards assassins.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “Especially if it does turn out that Colonel Roberts was murdered.”

“And another thing,” I said, deciding to get my requests in quickly as the chief inspector seemed to be in a generous mood. “Can you find out whether Billy Searle has started talking to the Wiltshire Police? And what he’s told them.”

“Do you think he has something to do with all this as well?”

“No, I don’t,” I said. “I happen to know where Billy’s money was invested because I did it and it was nowhere near Bulgaria. I’m just interested to know what he’s told the police. After all, I was arrested on suspicion of trying to kill him.”

“I’ll try,” he said. “But some of these rural detectives can be reluctant to discuss their cases with officers from other forces.”

“Just remind them it was me who gave them the information that Billy Searle owed someone a hundred thousand, and it was you that stopped them from looking bloody foolish by charging me with attempted murder when I had a cast-iron alibi.”

“OK. OK. I said I’d try.”

When I went downstairs, my mother and Claudia were in full flow with wedding plans.

“It was about time he asked you to marry him,” she said to Claudia while looking at me.

“But he didn’t,” Claudia replied. “I asked him.”

My mother was quite taken aback and even rendered speechless for a few seconds. She had always been a stickler for tradition.

“How very unusual,” she said finally. “But Nicholas always was a funny boy.”

Jan Setter had called me strange.

Was I really funny, or strange?

I didn’t think so.

To me, I was “normal,” but I suppose everyone thinks they are normal. And yet we are all so different. There was actually no such thing as normal.

“Now, darlings,” my mother said, changing the subject, “would you like some late lunch? I’ve a shepherd’s pie in the oven.”

“Mum,” I said, “it’s gone three o’clock.”

“So?” she replied. “I thought you might be hungry when you arrived.”

Surprisingly, I was, and I could tell from Claudia’s eager look that she was too. I had been so busy trying to make the journey smooth and jerk-free, to keep Claudia as comfortable as possible, that I hadn’t even thought of stopping for food.

Consequently, the three of us sat down to a very late lunch of shepherd’s pie and broccoli, with my mother insisting that I have a second helping.

Icalled Patrick on his mobile at twenty to six, late enough for the funeral to be over but early enough to still be the workday.

Claudia was upstairs having a rest, and my mother was busying herself by the stove, preparing yet another high-protein, high-fat chicken casserole for our dinner. I sat on the chintz-covered couch, facing her but at the farthest point of the room.

“Ah yes. Nicholas,” Patrick said, seemingly slightly flustered. “Mrs. McDowd told me you’d called. Sorry I wasn’t able to speak to you earlier.”

“And I am sorry to hear about Colonel Roberts,” I said.

“Yes, what a dreadful thing. He was only sixty-two as well. Enjoy life while you’ve got it, that’s what I say. You never know when the Grim Reaper will catch you up.”

Yes, I thought. But I’d outrun him once down Lichfield Grove.

“Have you spoken to Gregory?” I asked, getting to the point of the call.

“Yes, I have,” he said. “He is still very angry with you.”

“But why?” I asked.

“Why do you think?” he said crossly. “For getting arrested and being splashed all over the papers and the television. He believes you brought the firm into disrepute.”

“But, Patrick, his anger is completely misplaced, and he is wrong. It wasn’t my fault that I was arrested. The police jumped to a conclusion and it was an incorrect one.”

“Yes,” he said. “But you did give them reason to draw it.”

“I did not,” I said, getting quite angry myself. “It was that idiot Billy Searle who shouted out about murder. I did absolutely nothing wrong.”

My mother glanced over at me from the kitchen area.

“Gregory says there is no smoke without fire. He still thinks you must have had something to do with it.”

“Well, in that case Gregory is more of an idiot than I thought.” My raised voice caused my mother to stand and look at me from across the room, and with a furrowed brow. I paused to calm myself down. I then spoke much more quietly. “Am I being fired? Because if I am, I’ll be taking Lyall and Black to court.”

He did not reply, and I stayed silent. I could hear his breathing.

“You had better come in to the office tomorrow,” he said at last. “I will tell Gregory to hold his tongue.”

“Thank you,” I said. “But I may not make it in tomorrow. Claudia is not very well, and I’ll probably work from home using the remote-access system. I hope to see you on Friday.”

“Right,” he said, sounding slightly relieved that he had at least another day to dampen the erupting Gregory volcano. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

He hung up and I sat for a while wondering about my future, if I still had one with a gun-toting assassin on the loose.

“What was all that about?” my mother asked with concern.

“Oh, nothing, Mum,” I said. “Just a little problem at work. Nothing to worry about.”

But I did worry about it.

I had really enjoyed working for Lyall & Black over the last five years, but the role of an independent financial adviser was one that necessitated absolute trust, both of the client and of one’s colleagues. What sort of future did I have in a firm where one of the senior partners believed me to be involved in an attempted murder, and, at the same time, I wondered if he had been involved in a successful one?

The three of us sat at my mother’s dining table for dinner, and I ate and drank too much for my own good.

“What’s happened to your cat?” I asked, noticing its absence from under the table.

“It’s not my cat,” my mother said. “He’s just an irregular visitor, and I haven’t seen him for days. He’ll probably be back sometime soon.”

No doubt when fillet steak was back on the menu, I thought.

Claudia and I went up to bed early for us, around ten o’clock.

“You are such a clever thing,” Claudia said to me as we snuggled up together under the duvet.

“In what way?” I asked.

“Insisting we came here,” she said. “If we’d gone home, I would have felt pressured to cook or clean, or do something useful. Here, I can relax completely, my phone doesn’t even ring, and your mother is such a dear.”

I smiled in the darkness. Now, that was a turn up.

“But we can’t stay here very long,” I said seriously.