Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [77]
“And I definitely can’t go to your mother’s without my makeup,” she said defiantly.
“I’ve collected that too,” I said, trying not to sound too triumphant.
We went to my mother’s, but not before I’d received another tongue-lashing over my extravagance in hiring a car for the trip.
“And what’s wrong with our Mercedes?” Claudia had asked angrily.
“I thought you’d rather have a bit more space after your op,” I said, all sweetness and light. “The SLK is so cramped for the passenger.”
And rather conspicuous, I thought.
The man at the Hertz car rental center had tried to get me to hire his “Car of the Week,” a bright yellow Audi convertible with shiny chrome wheels. “It would suit you, sir,” he’d said eagerly. “Your sort of color. Makes a big statement.”
I had opted instead for a bog-standard, four-door blue sedan with not so much as a “Go faster!” stripe down the side. I wanted to blend into the background, not stand out from it.
I’d make my big statement in another way.
I’d told Claudia that my mother was looking forward to having us to stay, and she was, but only after I had talked her out of going to her regular Wednesday-afternoon whist drive in the village.
“Mum,” I’d said on the telephone, having woken her at ten to seven in the morning, “I just need to get us away for a few days.”
“But why, darling?” she’d replied. “What’s so sudden that you can’t come tomorrow?”
“Please, Mum,” I’d said to her in a tone like a seven-year-old trying to get his reluctant parent to buy him an ice cream.
“Oh, all right,” she’d said. “But I’ll have to go shopping for some food. And I really don’t like letting down the other players.”
“They’ll understand,” I’d said. “Just tell them your son is coming and bringing his fiancée home for the first time.”
She hadn’t been able to speak for a few moments. I had waited.
“Oh, darling,” she’d said eventually, her voice full of emotion, “is it really true or are you just saying that?”
“It’s really true,” I’d replied.
Hence, when we drove down the lane to her cottage, my mother was already outside to welcome us, in tears and almost unable to speak due to joy. She hugged Claudia like she’d never done before.
“What did you say to her?” Claudia asked me quietly as we went inside.
“I told her we were engaged,” I said. “We are, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Of course we are. But what else did you tell her? You know, about the cancer?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’ll leave that for you to decide.”
“I think not,” she said. “Not yet.”
“Fine,” I replied.
We went into the open-plan kitchen/dining room/living room, and Claudia sat down gingerly on a chair.
“What’s the matter, my dear?” my mother asked with concern. “You look like you’re in pain.”
“I am, Dorothy,” Claudia said. “I’ve just had an operation. A hernia. But I’ll be fine soon.”
“My dear,” said my mother, “come at once and put your feet up on the sofa.”
She fussed around her future daughter-in-law like a brooding mother hen and soon had Claudia propped up on the sofa with multiple pillows.
“There,” my mother said, standing back. “How about a nice cup of tea?”
“That would be lovely,” Claudia said, and she winked at me.
I left them to their bonding session while I took our things upstairs to the guest bedroom, negotiating the narrow, twisting staircase with our bags.
I sat on the bed and called the office using my mother’s cordless phone. Gregory should have returned from his long weekend away by now, and, with luck, Patrick would have convinced him over lunch not to hang, draw and quarter me, and even perhaps to let me back into the offices.
Mrs. McDowd answered.
“Lyall and Black,” she said in her usual crisp tone. “How can I direct your call?”
“Hello, Mrs. McDowd,” I said. “Mr. Nicholas here.”
“Ah yes,” she said curtly. “Mr. Patrick said you might ring. But it’s not your number.”
Mrs. McDowd, I decided, was sitting on the fence with regards to me. She was being neither friendly nor hostile towards me. She would clearly wait to see how I fared with the senior partners before committing to an allegiance either