John Creasey - Gideon’s Sport

“I do, sir.”

“Very well.”

Gideon glanced at Hobbs, who immediately said:

“Rooms seven and eight on the third floor have been put aside for this, Commander.”

Gideon nodded.

“Right, Bligh. Take which one you prefer for your own use, and get someone else in the second room quickly.” Gideon studied the other’s face; a very intelligent, alert face, in which the blue eyes gave an indication of suppressed excitement. “This is an innovation, of course, but it could well become permanent. We need co-ordination of crowd control, larceny prevention, demonstrations handling, and the like. They’re usually regarded as separable, but we may find it will pay to regard each game and each playing-field or arena as part of an entity.”

Bligh was so eager to go that his hand was at the door.

“I do understand, Commander!” he assented. And as Gideon nodded, he strode out.

This was one of the moments when Gideon most liked Hobbs: found him much warmer, and more human than he often allowed himself to appear. They both watched Bligh disappear, both smiled, both chuckled. They were very close.

Then, in a strange, baffling way, Gideon seemed to find the other man drawing away from him; as if a kind of barrier were being deliberately erected between them. Hobbs’ face took on a woodenness which half-suggested that he regretted showing his feelings; that he was aware of a great gulf between himself and Gideon.

And suddenly, almost stiffly, he asked: “Can you spare ten minutes for a — personal matter, George?”

What the devil’s this? wondered Gideon, and said promptly:

“Of course!” He was acutely aware that Hobbs’ personal life had been savagely disrupted when his deeply-loved wife had died; and although that had been two years ago, it still seemed to explain the reserve, almost the aloofness of this man. “Like to sit down?”

“No, thanks,” said Hobbs. But he waited for Gideon to sit, and seemed to draw a deep breath. “George — you will probably say this is nothing to do with me. Please believe it is said with the best possible — ah — intentions.” He paused, bewildering Gideon still more, then almost blurted out. “Kate isn’t well — I’m worried about her. Penelope is very worried indeed. We both feel that you should know.”

CHAPTER TEN

Shock

For a long moment, Gideon simply sat there, Buddha-like in his huge chair, staring up at Hobbs. And-almost warily, hardly perceptibly — Hobbs moved until he was directly opposite him, so that they were like antagonists in confrontation.

Gideon was first aware of the shock — savage, painful, frightening. But his was a trained mind, and the shock did not make him miss the other significant thing Hobbs had said:

“Penelope is very worried indeed. We both feel that you should know.”

Slowly he picked up a telephone and as an operator came on the line, said in a clipped voice: “Get my wife!” Then he put the receiver down, over-carefully. He had to be extremely careful and slow-moving, the last thing he must do was to act impulsively. In a very calm voice, through lips which hardly moved, he asked: “And how long have you known about this?”

“That Kate wasn’t too well? Two months, I suppose.”

“Two months!” Gideon breathed.

“She promised—” Hobbs broke off, gulped, then went on: “She promised to see a doctor, and to tell you as soon as she knew what the trouble was. She didn’t — doesn’t — think it is serious.”

Again, Gideon could only stare at him,, without speaking. The telephone bell jarred through the silence, and he picked it up.

“Kate?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s no answer from Mrs. Gideon.”

“Oh.” Gideon’s mouth was suddenly dry: he had to force himself to speak naturally. “Keep the call in — every ten minutes, without fail, until she answers.”

“Very good, sir.”

Gideon put the receiver down in the same, careful way as before. But now, for the first time, he eased his position a little and putting his left hand to his pocket, drew out a pipe with a very big, very shiny bowl. He seldom smoked it; but he always kept it in that pocket and in moments of stress, would rub it between thumb and forefinger or simply nurse it in his palm. He did that now, hand on the desk. Not once did he look away from Hobbs.

“So you’ve known for two months?” he said, flatly.

“Yes, George. I —”

“I’d like to find out what’s going on in my own way,” Gideon interrupted, less tensely but very gruffly. “How did you come to know?”

“Penny — told me. In the beginning.”

“So, Penny confided in you?” A streak of near-physical pain stabbed through Gideon. Confided in Alec, he thought, not in me.

“Yes.”

“In what circumstances?”

“George,” Alec Hobbs said, quietly. “You’re making very heavy weather of this.”

Gideon paused, considering that; gripping the pipe until it strained his sinews and his knuckles, hurtfully. He was silent for a long time.

“Yes,” he conceded at last. “I think perhaps I am. But I’ll do it my way, all the same. What were the circumstances in which Penny confided in you about Kate’s health?”

“We-Penny and I have seen quite a lot of each other, lately.”

“I see,” said Gideon. “You and Penny, close friends.”

Hobbs drew in his breath. He looked a little baffled, and on the defensive: his expression was very set, his eyes wide open, rounded, intent.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Quite — quite a while.”

“I see.” Gideon pushed back his chair and thrust his way towards the window, staring out over the summery brightness, the colour, the bridge with its ceaseless flow of traffic, the masses of people. His beloved London. He had stood at this window and concentrated on some of the major problems of his professional life, but never before had he stood there thinking with such fierce intensity of personal, emotional family matters.

Slowly, a subconscious voice began to whisper: “Don’t let this get out of perspective, George. Take it calmly, take it calmly. You’ve had a shock remember!” And then his consciousness took over. My God-he’s forty-odd! Penny’s not much more than half his age . . . And behind my back . . . My God-Alec Hobbs!”

He did not look round.

“How long, Alec?” Thank heavens that came out quite naturally.

“It really began at the River Pageant last year,” said Hobbs, flatly. “I was with Penny, remember.”

“I remember.”

“I asked you if you would mind if I took her out to dinner.”

“I remember that, too.” Gideon could see Penny’s eager eyes, her obvious delight in the thought of going to a West End restaurant with such an escort. It had been, for her and for Kate, a golden, glorious evening. But he had never dreamed . . .

“We drifted into the habit,” Hobbs said now, and when Gideon made no comment, went on: “Especially after late rehearsals, or a late performance. I would meet her and we would go to a place in Fulham or Chelsea, or — to my flat,”

“Ah!” Gideon turned round sharply.

They stared at each other very tensely.

Again Gideon’s warning inner voice sounded: “This is today. We’re not living in yesterday — and she tent twenty-one: she’s twenty-five. She’s a young woman.” Then his conscious self reasserted itself: Hobbs and Penny! But she had a young man — she was always having different young men: there was only one with whom she had been serious. Had she told him nothing?

“This is today, remember!”

“George,” Alec Hobbs said, in a very calm voice. “I am in love with Penny. Very deeply in love. But I have — you must know that I would behave as if she were my own daughter. I am not at all sure how she feels about me.”