Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [58]
Claudia was at home when I arrived and she’d been crying.
She tried to hide it from me, but I could always tell. The slight redness of the eyes and the streaky mascara were dead giveaways.
“You could have phoned me,” she said crossly as I walked into the kitchen. “You should know better than to sneak up on a girl.”
I’d hardly sneaked up, I thought. This was my home, and I was arriving back from the races at six-thirty on a Saturday evening.
“You can’t phone on the Tube,” I said.
“You could have phoned on the train from Sandown.”
That was true, but the reason I hadn’t was because I didn’t want my call to go straight to voice mail again. That alone sent my imagination into overdrive. It was much better not to know if Claudia’s phone was turned off.
“Now, darling, what’s the matter?” I said, putting an arm around her shoulders.
“Nothing,” she said, shrugging me off. “Just my back hurts. I’m going up to have a bath.”
She walked briskly out of the kitchen, leaving me standing there alone. She had complained of backache a lot recently. Probably from too much lying on it, I thought somewhat ungraciously.
I mixed myself a large, strong gin and tonic. Not really a great idea after two glasses of wine at Sandown, but who cares? I wasn’t trying to make a riding weight for the next day’s racing. More’s the pity.
I could hear her bath running upstairs and, quite suddenly, I was cross. Did she think I was a fool? Something was definitely not right in this household, and, painful as it might be, I had a right to know.
I thought about charging upstairs and confronting her in the bathroom, but I was frightened. I didn’t want to lose her. And I’m not sure I could bear it if she said she was leaving me for someone else.
I walked through into the living room and flicked on the television, but I didn’t watch it. Instead I sat in an armchair feeling miserable, and drank my gin.
In due course, I heard the bathwater draining, and, presently, Claudia came downstairs and went into the kitchen, closing the door.
I really didn’t know what to do. Did she want me to go in to her or not? “Not,” I thought, or she would have left the door open.
I stayed where I was in the living room and finished my drink. According to the clock on the mantelpiece it was twenty past seven.
Was it too early to go to bed?
I sat in the armchair while some teenage stick insect warbled away on the screen in a TV talent show, going over and over in my head what I needed to say to Claudia. Doing nothing was no longer an option.
If our relationship was dead, so be it. Let me mourn. Anything was better than remaining in this state of limbo with my imagination running wild and my emotions in turmoil. I loved Claudia, I was sure of it. But, here I was, angry and hurt, accusing her in my mind of deceiving me and sleeping with another. It was time for the truth.
When I walked into the kitchen, she was crying openly and with no pretense this time that she wasn’t. She was sitting at the kitchen table in her blue dressing gown, her elbows on the table, a glass of white wine in one hand and her head in the other. She didn’t look up as I went in.
At least, I thought, she’s not leaving me with a dismissive wave of the hand and not a single glance back. This breakup was going to be painful for both of us.
I went over to the worktop beside the fridge and poured myself another stiff gin and tonic. I was going to need it.
“Darling, what’s the matter?” I said, but without turning around.
Perhaps it would be easier for her to talk if she couldn’t see my face.
“Oh, Nick,” she said, her voice quavering slightly. “There’s something I have to tell you.” She gulped. “And you’re not going to like it.”
I turned around to face her. Maybe I didn’t want to make it too easy for her after all.
She looked up at me.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
I could feel the tears welling up in my own eyes. All I wanted to do was to hug her.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “I’ve got cancer.”
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