Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [26]
She put me through.
The sale of Billy Searle’s assets was progressing smoothly, albeit with a sizable loss on some of my recent bond purchases. But did I care? No, probably not. Billy deserved it. I chided myself a little for such non-IFA thoughts, but I was only human. I thanked Diana and disconnected.
“Hello, lover boy,” said a voice close behind me. “On the phone with my competition?”
“Please stop,” I said with mock indignation, “people will talk.”
Jan Setter cuddled herself up to my back.
“Let them talk,” she said while giving me a tight hug, pressing her whole body against mine. “I want you.” She said it in my ear with passion.
This was the second time in two days she had made a pass at me in public, and there was nothing casual and lighthearted about this one. Perhaps she really was serious, and that could be a problem. I had always rather enjoyed my flirtatious friendship with Jan, but that was because I had believed we were both just having a bit of verbal fun with no prospect of any actual physical contact. Now, it seemed, the stakes had been raised quite a few notches.
I pulled her arms away from my waist and turned around.
“Jan,” I said firmly. “Behave yourself.”
“Why should I?” she asked.
“Because you must.” She turned down the corners of her mouth like a scolded child. “For a start,” I said, “I’m too young for you.”
“Oh thanks a lot,” she said crossly, stepping back. “You really do know how to make a woman feel wanted.”
There was no mock indignation here, she was angry and hurt.
“Look,” I said, “I’m sorry. But I never intended this to get out of hand.”
“Nothing has got out of hand,” she said. “Things are just as they have been before. Nothing has changed.”
But we both knew things had changed, and there would be no going back to what we had been before.
“Great,” I said.
She smiled at me ruefully. “But you will let me know if you change your mind.”
“OK.” I smiled back at her. “What do you have running?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Most of mine have finished now for the summer.” She paused. “I only came today because I hoped you would be here.”
I stood silently for a moment and looked at her.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Yeah,” she replied with a sigh. “So am I.”
Colonel The Honourable Jolyon Westrop Roberts, MC, OBE, younger son of the Earl of Balscott, was waiting for me in the same place on the grandstands where I had met him the previous day.
“Ah, Nicholas,” he said as I made my way up to watch the first race. “I was hoping you might be here again today.”
“Hello, sir,” I said. In spite of calling himself plain Mr. Roberts, I knew he liked his formality. “How can I help?”
“Well,” he said with a slight laugh. “I hope you can help. But there may be nothing to help about. If you know what I mean?”
“No, sir,” I said, “I don’t know what you mean. You haven’t told me anything.”
He laughed again, nervously.
“As I explained to you yesterday,” he said, “there may be nothing to worry about. In fact, I expect there isn’t. I’m probably only wasting your time. And I wouldn’t want to get anyone into trouble now would I?”
“Sir,” I said with some determination. “How would I know if you won’t tell me? What is it, exactly, that is worrying you?”
He stood for a few seconds in silence, looking out over my head towards the track as if deciding whether he should go on.
“Gregory,” he said finally. “I’m worried about Gregory.”
“What about Gregory?” I asked. At times we had all been worried about Gregory. He ate far too much and didn’t do any exercise that we were aware of other than to walk to the end of Lombard Street for a substantial lunch five days a week.
“It’s probably nothing,” Jolyon Roberts said again. He stamped his feet and looked uncomfortable. “Best forget I ever said anything.”
“Are you worried about Gregory’s health?” I asked.
“His health?” Mr. Roberts repeated with surprise. “Why would I worry about Gregory’s health?”
“Then what is it about Gregory that you are worried about?”
Jolyon Roberts drew himself up to his full six-feet-three,