Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [74]
One of the nurses came into Claudia’s room to once more take her vital signs and to settle her in for the night. I took it as my cue to leave.
“Night-night, my darling,” I said. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
“What about your job?” she said sleepily.
“I’ll call the office and tell them I’m not coming in,” I said. “The work will have to wait.”
She smiled and laid her head back on the pillow. She looked very vulnerable with her pale face almost matching the slight grayness of the hospital linen. We had to beat this impostor within her body, this cancer that would eat away at our happiness. If chemotherapy was what was needed, so be it. Short-term discomfort for long-term gain, that was what we had to think, what we had to believe.
I checked in to the hotel using a false name, and I paid for the room in advance with cash that I had drawn from an ATM in Euston Station. As the superintendent had said, I’d probably been watching too much TV. I didn’t really believe for a minute that the gunman had access to my credit card accounts, but I was taking absolutely no chances.
I had left the hospital by the main door only because there were no dark shadowy corners as there were outside the back entrance, but not before I had stood for a while behind a pillar watching the road, checking for anyone lurking in wait for me with a silenced pistol.
And I hadn’t left the building alone but had waited for a group of cleaning staff going off duty.
No one had fired a shot or come running after me. But would I even know if they did? I was certain Herb had been dead at Aintree before he realized what was happening.
I locked my bedroom door and then propped a chair under the door handle for good measure. I then relaxed a little and ate the takeaway cheeseburger, fries and milk shake that I’d bought from a late-night burger bar in the railway station.
It was the first thing I’d eaten all day. My mother would not have been pleased.
I removed my computer from my bag and logged on to the Internet to check my e-mails.
Amongst the usual bunch from various fund managers wanting me to contact them about their latest investment offering was one from Patrick expressing his disquiet over recent happenings both inside and outside the office.
It hadn’t been addressed solely to me but had been sent to all the Lyall & Black staff, but it felt like I was the main target.
“Dear colleagues,” Patrick had written. “At this time of seemingly major upheaval within the firm, it is important for us all to concentrate on why we are here. While we are, of course, greatly saddened by the tragic loss of Herb Kovak, it is our clients who we are here to serve. It is they who pay our salaries and we must not give them cause to look elsewhere for their investment advice. We need to conduct our personal affairs with the highest degree of probity and not give them any reason to doubt our honesty and integrity. I am sure that you will be asked by clients to speculate concerning the reason for Herb’s untimely death, as well as on the nature of it, and on the other unfortunate event that occurred in these offices last Thursday. I ask that you refrain from any comments that may in any way place Lyall & Black in a bad light. If in doubt, please refer the clients to Mr. Gregory or myself.”
I assumed that the “other unfortunate event” referred to was my arrest.
It made me wonder how Billy Searle was faring in the hospital and whether the police had made any progress in finding his attacker. Claudia’s cancer revelation and her operation, coupled with the minor matter of finding an assassin on my doorstep, had kept my mind somewhat occupied elsewhere.
I went on to the Racing Post website.
“Billy Searle,” it said, “was reported to be making steady progress. In fact, doctors at the Great Western Hospital in Swindon are amazed by the swiftness