Dead Heat - By Dick Francis & Felix Francis Page 0,88

temporary accommodation while I decided what to do long term.

‘You can come and live with me,’ she said.

‘I would love to,’ I said, smiling. ‘But I need to be nearer to the restaurant, at least for a bit. I’ll think of something. It’s all a bit hectic in my mind at the moment.’

‘You look after yourself,’ she ordered.

I promised I would.

‘I’ll call you at seven your time, after rehearsal,’ she said, and hung up.

I looked again at my empty wrist. It seemed a long time until seven my time.

Using the rest of my cash, I bought myself a new watch in one of the Newmarket High Street jewellers. That was better, I thought, as I checked to see if it was running properly. My existence was regaining some semblance of normality.

I returned to my bank and drew out another sheaf of banknotes and used some of them to buy a box of chocolates and a bouquet of spring flowers for my neighbour.

I parked the Mondeo on the road outside my cottage, the same road I had rolled across the previous night. I took a brief look at the sorry remains of my abode. It was not a pretty sight with its blackened walls standing pitifully alone and roofless, pointing upwards at the grey sky above. I turned away gloomily and went to knock on my neighbour’s door. She answered not in her pink ensemble of last night but in a green tweed skirt with a long-sleeved cream jumper and sensible brown shoes. Her hair was as neat as before but, this time, without the hairnet.

‘Oh hello, dear,’ she said, smiling. She looked at the bouquet. ‘Oh, are those for me? They’re lovely. Come on in.’

I gave her the flowers and she headed back towards the kitchen. I closed her front door and followed, sitting again at the, now familiar, kitchen table.

‘Would you like some tea, dear?’ she said, as she placed the flowers in a vase by the sink.

‘I’d love some,’ I said.

She set the kettle to boil and fussed around with her flowers until she was happy with the arrangement.

‘There,’ she said at length. ‘So beautiful. Thank you.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure what I would have done without you last night.’

‘Nonsense, dear,’ she said. ‘I was just glad to be able to help.’

We sat and drank tea, just as we had done some twelve hours ago.

‘Do you know yet what caused it?’ she asked.

‘No,’ I said. ‘The fire brigade say they will send their investigation team to have a look. It’s pretty well burnt everything. You can just about tell the difference between what was the fridge and what was the washing machine but even those are badly melted by the heat. The oven is recognizable but the rest has seemingly gone completely.’

‘I’m so sorry, dear,’ said my kindly neighbour.

‘Well, at least it didn’t get me,’ I said with a smile.

‘No, dear,’ she said, patting my arm. ‘I’m glad about that.’

So was I.

‘Do you know what you will do?’ she asked.

‘I’m staying with a work colleague for the next couple of days,’ I said. ‘Then I’ll try to find somewhere more permanent.’

‘I really meant with the house, dear,’ she said. ‘Are you going to rebuild?’

‘Oh, I expect so,’ I said. ‘I’ll have to wait and see what the insurance company says.’

I stayed with her for over an hour and, by that time, dear, she had showed me photos of all her many children and her very many grandchildren. Most of them lived in Australia and she was obviously quite lonely and thankful for having someone to talk to. We opened the chocolates, and I had a. second cup of tea.

I finally extricated myself from her life story and went back next door for a closer look at the remnants of my castle. I was not alone. A man in a dark blue jersey and royal blue trousers was picking his way through the ash.

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m fire brigade,’ he said. ‘From the investigation team.’

‘Oh right,’ I said. ‘I own this heap of garbage.’

‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘Ah well.’ I smiled. ‘At least my ashes aren’t here for you to find.’

‘Are anyone’s?’ he asked seriously.

‘No,’ I said. ‘There was no one else in the house. Well, not unless they broke in after I had gone to bed, and then died in the fire.’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time,’ he said, unamused.

He went on poking the ash with a stick. At one point he stopped and bent