Dead Heat - By Dick Francis & Felix Francis Page 0,73

I said, ‘the Hay Net restaurant is perfectly safe, I promise you.’

‘Mmm,’ she replied, not sounding as if she believed it.

‘Come to dinner as my guest, and bring Patrick.’

‘Maybe,’ she said. And maybe not, I thought. The saddlery business run by Patrick and Margaret Jacobs supplied equine equipment to the majority of the stables in the town and I needed them not to spread their suspicions about my food. It was very easy to get a bad reputation, whether deserved or not, and a bad reputation was very hard to get rid of.

‘Think about it,’ I said. ‘And feel free to bring a couple of guests with you.’ How much would I have to offer, I wondered, before she agreed?

‘When?’ she asked. I had her hooked.

‘Any time you like,’ I said, reeling her in. ‘How about next weekend?’

‘Saturday?’ she said.

‘No problem,’ I said. ‘I’ll book you in for four. At eight o’clock?’

‘OK,’ she said with a little trepidation in her voice. ‘Thank you.’ The catch was landed. But it didn’t move me any further along in my search for answers.

Life without a car was becoming a real bore. The invention of the internal combustion engine has proved to be the greatest provider of personal freedom that man has ever known, but it has become a freedom we tend to take for granted. The most recent provider of my own personal freedom was still sitting in a mangled heap at the back of the recovery garage, and I severely missed its convenience for quick, simple journeys, journeys that were now neither quick nor simple.

I called the New Tax taxi number, which I now knew by heart, and booked myself a ride to Cambridge station to catch the five o’clock train to London. I threw a few things into an overnight bag and waited impatiently for the taxi to arrive. Why, I wondered, did I feel like a naughty schoolboy skiving off lessons?

Almost as an afterthought I put my passport in my bag, just in case. I told myself I was being foolish, but so what? Hadn’t Shakespeare said in As You Like It something about not having loved unless one could remember having run off on some folly or other? Was I falling in love? Yes, I think I probably was.

King’s Cross station was full of disappointed football supporters waiting for the train back north after their team’s defeat in the Cup Final. The mood was sombre and not a little aggressive. Hard as I tried, it was impossible for me not to be smiling broadly with excitement at the prospect of spending two nights with Caroline. Consequently, I received some unwelcome attention from a group of half a dozen red-football-shirted young men who were all rather the worse for drink.

‘What are you smiling at?’ demanded one of them, pushing his face close to mine and giving me a generous sample of his alcoholic breath.

‘Nothing,’ I said, rather timidly.

‘You can bloody well sod off then,’ he said, slightly slurring his words. I could read in his eyes the thought processes going on behind them in his intoxicated brain. He was obviously the leader of the troupe and I could see that the others were watching his every move. I sensed that he was weighing up his options and the simple choice of moving away and leaving me be would mean, in his eyes, a loss of face among his followers. It might have been funny if it hadn’t been so frightening. His eyes widened as I saw his irrational reasoning come to the conclusion that physical violence was his only viable course of action.

But so slow were his reactions that I saw his haymaker of a right hook coming from a very long way back and I was able simply to sway backwards out of his reach. There was a slight expression of surprise on his face as his fist sailed harmlessly past the end of my nose with an inch or two to spare. The momentum of his plump, flailing arm proceeded to throw him off balance and he went down heavily on to the station concourse. Time, I thought, to make a swift exit. I turned and ran.

A very scary few minutes ensued with me haring through the station with the rest of the pack in pursuit. Fortunately, most of them were not only carrying an excess of beer in their bellies but also some substantial extra pounds around their waists and they were no match for my adrenalin-fuelled