Dead Heat - By Dick Francis & Felix Francis Page 0,81

paprika,’ I said, laughing. ‘This dish used to be on lots of restaurant menus, but unfortunately, these days, it tends to be made without the beef, is called mushroom stroganoff and is served up for vegetarians.’

‘Like the Komarovs,’ she said.

‘Indeed,’ I said. ‘Just like the Komarovs.’

Monday morning was full of contradictions and wildly different from the evening before.

Caroline was eager to leave for the airport and could hardly contain her excitement at the prospect of jetting to Chicago to join the orchestra. She kept complaining at how slowly the time was passing as we waited for the taxi she had ordered to take us to Heathrow.

I, meanwhile, was dismayed at how quickly the hours were rushing by. I was sickened by the thought of her being so far away from me, while, at the same time, I was trying to share her pleasure at going.

We arrived at the terminal more than two hours before her plane was due to leave and she checked in with no problems.

‘I’ve been upgraded to business,’ she exclaimed with a squeal, clutching her viola case to her chest.

‘The check-in man must have fancied you,’ I said.

‘It was a woman,’ she said, poking me in the ribs with her finger.

We sat on high stools and had a coffee. There was an unease between us. I wanted to spend every last moment with her while she was desperate to get through to departures as if, by doing so, her plane would leave more quickly. Neither of us wanted to express our eagerness to the other, as we both understood the situation.

‘Do you want another coffee?’ Caroline asked.

‘No thanks,’ I said. ‘I think you ought to go through now in case the queues for security are long.’ I didn’t want her to. I wanted her to stay with me for ever.

‘I’ll stay a little longer,’ she said, but I don’t think she really wanted to. She was trying to please me.

‘No,’ I said. ‘You go now and I’ll get the train back to London, then on to Newmarket.’

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said, clearly relieved.

I waved to her until the very last second, until she and Viola finally disappeared into the security area and the departure lounge beyond. I then stood there for a while waiting just in case they came back, just in case they needed something. But, or course, they didn’t.

How was it, I thought, that she could be so close to me, just through a door or two, and yet so far away? I even spoke to my overnight bag. ‘How could she go without me?’ I asked it. It didn’t reply. I thought of my passport sitting in the side pocket. Why didn’t I just fly to Chicago? Would Caroline be pleased or embarrassed by my arrival? What would Carl say if I didn’t go back to the Hay Net for another week?

‘Stop being so silly,’ I said to the bag, and received some strange looks from those around me.

I caught the Heathrow Express train to Paddington and felt very lonely. It wasn’t so much that I was not with her, it was also the fact that I couldn’t even call her on the telephone if I wanted to, and wouldn’t be able to do so for at least the next nine hours. I couldn’t tell her how much I was missing her already, how much I was hurting. Perhaps it was just as well, I thought.

By the time I got to King’s Cross station I reckoned that her flight must have surely departed. She would be sitting comfortably in her business class seat, sipping champagne and deciding which movie to watch. She was cocooned in an aluminium tube, rushing away from me at six hundred miles an hour, and I felt dreadful.

Carl collected me from Newmarket station at three o’clock and drove me to the Hay Net. I didn’t want to go home and sit alone in my cottage.

‘We did sixty-five lunches yesterday,’ said Carl.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we can now say we’re back to normal.’

‘Still down a bit on dinners,’ he said. ‘We only had twenty last night and that’s low, even for a Sunday.’

‘Perhaps we should close on Sunday evenings,’ I said. ‘What do you think?’

‘It would give us all Sunday evening off,’ he said. Fixing the weekly staff rota to provide for time off was always a headache.

‘How many lunches did we do today?’ I asked him.

‘It was quite good,’ he said. ‘At least thirty-five. But we’re the only place that