Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [80]
“I’ll try,” he said. “But some of these rural detectives can be reluctant to discuss their cases with officers from other forces.”
“Just remind them it was me who gave them the information that Billy Searle owed someone a hundred thousand, and it was you that stopped them from looking bloody foolish by charging me with attempted murder when I had a cast-iron alibi.”
“OK. OK. I said I’d try.”
When I went downstairs, my mother and Claudia were in full flow with wedding plans.
“It was about time he asked you to marry him,” she said to Claudia while looking at me.
“But he didn’t,” Claudia replied. “I asked him.”
My mother was quite taken aback and even rendered speechless for a few seconds. She had always been a stickler for tradition.
“How very unusual,” she said finally. “But Nicholas always was a funny boy.”
Jan Setter had called me strange.
Was I really funny, or strange?
I didn’t think so.
To me, I was “normal,” but I suppose everyone thinks they are normal. And yet we are all so different. There was actually no such thing as normal.
“Now, darlings,” my mother said, changing the subject, “would you like some late lunch? I’ve a shepherd’s pie in the oven.”
“Mum,” I said, “it’s gone three o’clock.”
“So?” she replied. “I thought you might be hungry when you arrived.”
Surprisingly, I was, and I could tell from Claudia’s eager look that she was too. I had been so busy trying to make the journey smooth and jerk-free, to keep Claudia as comfortable as possible, that I hadn’t even thought of stopping for food.
Consequently, the three of us sat down to a very late lunch of shepherd’s pie and broccoli, with my mother insisting that I have a second helping.
I called Patrick on his mobile at twenty to six, late enough for the funeral to be over but early enough to still be the workday.
Claudia was upstairs having a rest, and my mother was busying herself by the stove, preparing yet another high-protein, high-fat chicken casserole for our dinner. I sat on the chintz-covered couch, facing her but at the farthest point of the room.
“Ah yes. Nicholas,” Patrick said, seemingly slightly flustered. “Mrs. McDowd told me you’d called. Sorry I wasn’t able to speak to you earlier.”
“And I am sorry to hear about Colonel Roberts,” I said.
“Yes, what a dreadful thing. He was only sixty-two as well. Enjoy life while you’ve got it, that’s what I say. You never know when the Grim Reaper will catch you up.”
Yes, I thought. But I’d outrun him once down Lichfield Grove.
“Have you spoken to Gregory?” I asked, getting to the point of the call.
“Yes, I have,” he said. “He is still very angry with you.”
“But why?” I asked.
“Why do you think?” he said crossly. “For getting arrested and being splashed all over the papers and the television. He believes you brought the firm into disrepute.”
“But, Patrick, his anger is completely misplaced, and he is wrong. It wasn’t my fault that I was arrested. The police jumped to a conclusion and it was an incorrect one.”
“Yes,” he said. “But you did give them reason to draw it.”
“I did not,” I said, getting quite angry myself. “It was that idiot Billy Searle who shouted out about murder. I did absolutely nothing wrong.”
My mother glanced over at me from the kitchen area.
“Gregory says there is no smoke without fire. He still thinks you must have had something to do with it.”
“Well, in that case Gregory is more of an idiot than I thought.” My raised voice caused my mother to stand and look at me from across the room, and with a furrowed brow. I paused to calm myself down. I then spoke much more quietly. “Am I being fired? Because if I am, I’ll be taking Lyall and Black to court.”
He did not reply, and I stayed silent. I could hear his breathing.
“You had better come in to the office tomorrow,” he said at last. “I will tell Gregory to hold his tongue.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But I may not make it in tomorrow. Claudia is not very well, and I’ll probably work from home using the remote-access system. I hope to see you on Friday.”
“Right,” he said, sounding slightly relieved that