Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [88]
Perhaps he would go away, I thought.
He didn’t.
The sound of breaking glass put paid to any hope I may have had that this was going to end simply and without violence.
My mother’s windows were old, in keeping with the age of her cottage. They were a version of the old leaded lights, small panes of glass held together by a lattice framework of metal strips.
The gunman had broken just one of the little panes in one of the kitchen windows, but it was enough for him to put his gloved hand through the opening and unlatch the whole thing. I watched him do it in the fading light, and the window swung open outwards.
Where could I hide?
Without doubt the best place to be was in the bathroom upstairs with the door locked but I had no intention of joining Claudia and my mother there. I was sure that that would lead in the end to the deaths of all three of us.
So, where else was there to hide?
Nowhere.
I concluded that hiding was, in fact, my least-favored option. It would simply give the advantage to the gunman, who could take his time, all night if necessary, and eventually he would undoubtedly find me and then I too would get a couple of bullets in my heart and another in my face just as poor Herb had.
So if I wasn’t going to hide, and I certainly wasn’t going to merely stand and wait to be killed, the only other option was to attack, and attack hard and fast.
He started to climb through the window, his gun with its long black silencer entering first.
I stood just to the side of the window and raised the umbrella, holding it by the pointed end so that I could swing the heavy wooden handle.
I used all my strength and brought the handle down hard onto the gun. I had actually been aiming for his wrist, but he pulled it back a fraction just at the last second.
The gun went off, the bullet ricocheting off the granite worktop below the window with a loud zing before burying itself in the wall opposite. But the blow had also knocked the gun from the man’s grasp. It clattered to the floor, sliding across the stonequarry tiles and out of sight under my mother’s old fridge. That evened things up a bit, I thought, but I would have loved to have been able to grab the gun and turn it on its owner.
“Ebi se!” the man said explosively.
I didn’t know what he meant, and it sadly didn’t stop him coming through the window.
I raised the umbrella for another strike, but he was wise to me now and he grabbed it as it descended and tore it from my grasp, tossing it aside as he stepped right through the open window and crouched on the worktop.
I rushed at him, but he was ready, pushing me aside with ease, so that I stumbled across the kitchen towards the sink.
I turned quickly, but the man had already jumped down to the floor. I watched him as he looked around and then withdrew a large carving knife from the wooden block next to my mother’s stove. Now, why hadn’t I thought of that?
I moved quickly to my right, putting the dining table between him and me. If he couldn’t reach me, he couldn’t stab me either.
There followed a sort of ballet, with him moving one way or the other and me mirroring him, always keeping the table between us. Once we ran around and around the table three or four times, with me watching carefully for him to change direction. He pulled out chairs to try to slow me down, but I was quick. I may not be as fit as I was as a jockey but I was still no slouch in the running department. It had fared me well in Lichfield Grove and was doing so again here.
But for how long?
He only needed to get lucky once.
He changed his tactics, using one of the chairs to climb up onto the table, and then he came straight at me across it.
I turned and ran for the stairs, pulling open the latch door and bounding up the steps two or three at a time. I could hear him behind me, and he was gaining.
Where could I go? I was running out of options.
Panic began