Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [109]
“I know, I know,” I said. “But everything will be just fine. You’ll see.”
I leaned down and gave her a hug and a kiss.
“I do so hope you’re right,” she said.
This cancerous Sword of Damocles seemed to cast a shadow over our every waking moment. We were living in limbo, and as far as I was concerned the sooner she started the chemotherapy, the better. These weeks of doing nothing just seemed to invite the cancer to grow within her.
To my mind, there was nothing more revitalizing to the soul than a bright, sunny spring morning on the gallops. My only sadness was that I was watching the horses work from inside Jan’s Land Rover rather than from the saddle.
God, how I still ached to ride, to sit again astride half a ton of Thoroughbred racehorse, and to gallop once more at full pelt with the wind in my face.
I watched with envy as Jan’s stable staff brought the horses up the hill towards us, side by side in pairs, some racing flat out and others at half or three-quarter pace. Just to hear the sound of their hooves thudding into the turf was enough to give me goose bumps, and to raise my pulse.
How cruel had been my neck injury to rob me of such delight.
But I supposed I shouldn’t be too downhearted. At least my broken neck hadn’t killed me, unlike someone else I could think of.
I didn’t wear Jan’s offered sunglasses, but I did don one of her ex-husband’s old trilbies, with the brim pulled firmly down, and with my coat collar turned up. And I was careful not to get too close to the horses. I could easily recognize some of Jan’s longserving stable staff and I was still wary of them seeing me, if only to prevent DCI Flight from turning up with his handcuffs.
Claudia had no such qualms and walked across the grass to be nearer the horses.
Standing there, I watched her in the sunshine as she shook her hair out of a woolly hat and let it blow free in the wind.
How strange things had been over the previous few weeks. I had thought I was losing her to another man and now I feared losing her to illness. There was no doubt that the cancer had brought us closer together. I loved her more now than ever. I would stay alive for her, I promised myself. And she must live for me.
She turned towards me and waved, her long hair blown in streaks across her face. In spite of it, I could tell she was laughing with joy, living for the moment.
I waved back.
In two or three weeks’ time, all that gorgeous hair would start to fall out, and she would absolutely hate it, but I suppose it was a relatively small price to pay for more life, and more love.
After lunch, I took the car out to call Chief Inspector Tomlinson. In the light of the episode at the Swindon pub, I decided that calling on the run was the best policy, hence I started to dial the chief inspector’s number as I was traveling at seventy miles an hour eastwards along the M4 motorway between Newbury and Reading. But the phone rang in my hand before I had a chance to complete the number.
“Nicholas Foxton,” I said, answering.
“Hello, Mr. Foxton, it’s Ben Roberts.”
“Yes, Ben,” I said. “How can I help?”
“My father has changed his mind. He’d now like to talk to you.”
“Great,” I said. “When and where?”
“He wonders if you would like come to Cheltenham Races tomorrow evening as his guest. It’s the Hunter Chase evening meeting, and he’s hired a private box. He says he would like to talk to you at the end of the evening’s racing.”
“Will you be there?” I asked.
“I will to start with, but I’ll have to leave early to get back to Oxford for a club dinner.”
“Can I get back to you?” I said. “I need to talk to my fiancée.”
“Bring her with you,” he said immediately. “It’s a buffet supper, not a sit-down, so numbers are not a problem. And I’ll be leaving before the pudding, so there’ll be plenty of that left anyway.” He laughed.
I couldn’t help but like Ben Roberts.
“OK,” I said. “I’d love to.”
“One or two?” he asked.
“One definitely, two maybe.”
“I’ll tell my Dad. He’ll be pleased,” he said. “We’ll be there by five o’clock. See you then.