Dead Heat - By Dick Francis & Felix Francis Page 0,58
limbs.’
‘Oh.’ The images of missing arms and legs made another unwelcome visit to my consciousness.
‘Look, I must go now,’ said Ms Harding. ‘I’ve got work to do.’
She hung up and I sat on the end of my bed wishing that she hadn’t stirred my memories of the carnage, memories that had started to fade, but which all too easily rose to the surface like a cork in a bucket of water.
I decided to cheer myself up by calling Caroline.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘You’ve still got my number then.’
‘You bet,’ I said with a smile. ‘I called to thank you for last night.’
‘It should be me thanking you,’ she said. ‘I had a great time. ‘
‘So did I. Any chance I could entice you up to Newmarket for dinner tonight or tomorrow?’
‘Why don’t you beat about the bush a little?’ she said. ‘Why don’t you talk about the weather or something?’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘It might make you sound rather less eager,’ she said.
‘Do I sound too eager?’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t apologize,’ she said, laughing. ‘In fact, I think I rather like it.’
‘So will you come?’ I asked.
‘To dinner?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Where?’
‘At my restaurant.’
‘I’m not eating on my own while you do the cooking.’
‘No, of course not,’ I said. ‘Come and watch me cook and then we’ll have dinner together afterwards.’
‘Won’t that be rather late?’ she said. ‘How will I get home?’
I wanted to ask her to stay with me, in my bed, in my arms, but I thought it might not be prudent. ‘I will get you on the last train to King’s Cross or I will treat you to a night in the Bedford Lodge Hotel.’
‘On my own?’ she asked.
I paused for a long while. ‘That’s up to you,’ I said finally.
There was an equally long pause at her end. ‘No promises and no strings?’
‘No promises and no strings,’ I agreed.
‘OK.’ She sounded excited. ‘What time and where?’
‘Come as early as you like and I’ll pick you up from Cambridge station.’
‘Isn’t there a station at Newmarket?’ she asked.
‘There is but you have to change at Cambridge anyway and it’s not a great service.’
‘OK,’ she said again. ‘I’ll look up the train times and call you back. On this number?’
‘Yes,’ I said. I was elated at the thought of seeing her again so soon.
‘What do I wear?’ she said.
‘Anything,’ I said.
Even the prospect of being prosecuted under the 1990 Act couldn’t dampen my spirits as I skipped down the stairs. I laughed out loud and punched the air as I collected my coat and went out to the car. Caroline was coming to dinner! At my restaurant! And she was staying the night! Pity it wasn’t going to be in my cottage.
The brakes of my Golf failed at the bottom of Woodditton Road.
I was feeling good and my speed, probably like my expectation, was rather too high. I put my foot on the brake pedal and nothing happened. I pushed harder. Nothing. The car actually increased in speed down the hill towards the T-junction, with Dullingham Road at the bottom. I suppose I could have been quicker with my thinking. I suppose I could have tried the handbrake, or maybe changed down the gears to slow me down. I suppose, as a last resort, I could have turned the car through the hedge on the left and into the field beyond. Instead, I gripped the steering wheel tightly in panic and kept pushing the useless brake pedal harder and harder into the floor.
In a way, I was lucky. I didn’t hit a brick lorry head-on as my father had done. My dear little car was struck by a fifty-three-seat, fully air-conditioned coach, with individual video screens built in. I knew this because the Golf ended up on its side round the back of the bus and I could read the details of their service as advertised in large white letters painted on a red background. Funny how the mind works. I remembered the words as my consciousness slowly drained away: fifty-three seats.
CHAPTER 10
I was being wheeled on a hospital trolley along a grey corridor. I could see the lights in the ceiling. But they weren’t the usual bright rectangular panels; they were different. Instead, they were round glass globes. And there were windows, lots of bright sunlit windows. And voices too, lots of voices, both male and female.
‘I think he’s come round again,’ said one male voice above me.
‘Hello,’ called a female one on my left. ‘Mr Moreton, can you hear me?’