Felix Francis - Dick Francis's Front Runner

I actually think it was the best Christmas lunch I’d ever had, which I put down to the company rather than the ambience of the surroundings. I didn’t want to spoil it by suggesting to Henri that her cousin might have tried to kill me, but it was she who brought up the topic of the dodgy tanks.

‘One of the doctors here at the hospital rang Carson Ebanks to tell him that you didn’t have the bends after all. It seems you were poisoned by carbon monoxide from a dive tank.’

I nodded. ‘The doctor told me that too.’

‘He called Carson to demand that all his dive tanks be immediately emptied and refilled with clean air, as a precaution, to stop it happening again.’

‘But the tanks we used didn’t belong to Carson.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘They were Martin’s and he had filled them himself using his own compressor. That’s exactly why Carson called us.’

‘Did anyone else suffer any effects?’ I asked. ‘Did you have a headache or anything?’

‘No, nothing. And Martin seemed to be fine as well. I don’t know about Truman Ebanks, but he used his own tanks anyway.’

‘We should get the tanks tested for carbon monoxide,’ I said. ‘Including the ones we didn’t use.’

‘It’s too late,’ she said. ‘As soon as Martin got the call from Carson, he went straight out to his dive store and opened all his tanks to empty them. He even removed the valves and washed the tanks out. He said he didn’t want there to be any chance that someone else would be poisoned.’

How convenient, I thought.

I looked at Henri and raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘You surely can’t think that Martin poisoned you on purpose?’

‘It was he who told me to use the yellow tanks,’ I said. ‘And it was he who invited me to go diving with him in the first place, when he’d been anything but welcoming beforehand.’

‘Yes, but...’

‘But what?’ I asked.

‘Why would he do such a thing?’

Why indeed?

‘God, I’m so dreadfully sorry,’ Martin said. ‘I can’t think how it could have happened. I’m so careful when I fill the tanks for the very reason that I know how dangerous the engine exhaust fumes can be.’

He really did sound quite apologetic, and almost believable.

He was standing in the centre of the living room of our apartment at the Coral Stone Club having walked down the beach from his house. It was five o’clock and I had been there about half an hour, having been discharged from the hospital.

Henri and I were sitting next to each other on the sofa in front of him.

Should I come straight out and accuse him of poisoning me on purpose?

Perhaps not just yet.

‘It was strange how none of the other tanks was affected,’ I said.

‘Yes, I thought that,’ Martin replied. ‘You must have been unlucky. I’m always careful about placing the compressor outside in the open, with the engine exhaust downwind from the air intake, but maybe the wind shifted direction, or something, when that particular tank was being filled.’

Or something , I thought. Like purposely turning it round.

‘Who knew I would use the yellow tanks?’ I asked pointedly.

‘The yellow tanks are my guest tanks. They are the easiest to see and I generally give them to the diver who I think needs the most watching. In this case that was you. If Bentley had been diving, he would probably have had them.’

But Bentley hadn’t been diving. He’d brought no swimmers with him.

‘Who knows that?’ I asked.

‘It’s standard practice. At least, it is for me.’ He paused, but he wasn’t finished. ‘Are you seriously suggesting that you were in some way specifically targeted? That someone gave you a contaminated tank on purpose?’

I just looked at him as he built up a head of steam.

‘That’s preposterous. How dare you!’ He looked fit to explode.

‘I’m sure Jeff didn’t mean that,’ Henri said, stepping in to try to defuse the bomb.

But I did mean that. However, it seemed diplomatic not to continue with that line just at the moment.

‘At least I’m fine now,’ I said, smiling at him. ‘Fully recovered.’

He was only a little placated. He turned on his heel and stomped back out to the beach without another word.

Bloody cheek, I thought.

His contaminated dive tank had nearly killed me .

On purpose, or by accident, it was still his fault.

Surely it was I who had the right to be angry, not he.

But Henri was cross with me as well.

‘You simply can’t go around accusing people like that,’ she shouted at me as soon as Martin was out of earshot. ‘What evidence do you have?’

‘I was poisoned,’ I said. ‘There’s no doubt about that. It was one of Martin’s yellow tanks, filled by him, which was responsible. No other tanks appear to have been contaminated. It was Martin who made sure I used the yellow tanks. And, on top of that, he has since emptied the tanks and washed them out so that they can’t be tested for carbon monoxide. OK, I’ll admit the evidence is circumstantial, but... what else am I meant to think?’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ she said. ‘Why on earth would Martin try to kill you? It just doesn’t make any sense. He would be risking everything.’

But Martin was not averse to taking risks.

What had Bentley said to him on the balcony at Newbury?

You’re a total fucking idiot! You absolutely shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t even be in the country. It’s far too risky.

An uneasy truce was established between Henri and myself, helped in part by the Chanel № 5 Christmas present, which she adored.

‘It’s my favourite,’ she said, kissing me. ‘Thank you so much.’

However, she was still cross with me, not so much for my initial accusation, but for then not agreeing with her that it was ridiculous, and for not apologizing to Martin.

We had been invited by Theresa to go up to their place for a light supper and some Christmas games. But I was not really in the mood for party games. And especially not for Murder in the Dark.

‘You go,’ I said. ‘I’ll stay here and watch the television. I could do with the rest.’ I leaned my head back on the sofa and put my feet up on the footstool.

‘I’m not going without you,’ she said adamantly. ‘I’m not letting you sulk here like a spoilt schoolboy. So move your blooming arse and get yourself changed.’

I was still wearing the baggy tracksuit I’d been lent by the hospital to come home in.

‘OK, you win.’ I dragged myself upright. ‘Do you know what happened to the shirt I had with me on the boat? And also my phone is missing.’

‘Sorry, I’ve no idea,’ Henri said. ‘I was too busy worrying about you. But I’m sure they’re safe somewhere. Carson Ebanks probably has them.’

I hoped so. Even though I occasionally backed up everything from my phone to my laptop, I hadn’t done it for a while and I’d hate to lose the photos taken on this trip.

As it was getting dark, we walked along the road to the Reynard residence to avoid being bitten by the sand flies on the beach.

Martin’s welcome was less than enthusiastic and his anger simmered just below the surface for most of the evening. He pointedly did not offer me a drink when we arrived, even though he poured a glass of wine for Henri.

Fortunately, Henri noticed, giving me her glass before fetching another for herself. It saved a minor diplomatic incident.

I didn’t care. I could cope with his spiteful little actions with ease. He wasn’t likely to walk up behind me and blow my brains out, as I’d suspected of some of the hosts with whom I’d been a houseguest in Afghanistan. At least, I hoped he wasn’t.