Free Dick Francis's Gamble by Felix Francis Page A

sisters.
    â€œWe tried, of course,” she said. “And once I did become pregnant, but the baby miscarried at three months. It nearly killed me.”
    Again, I didn’t know what to say, so once more I said nothing. I just hugged her instead.
    â€œIt was the real reason behind so much unhappiness in our marriage,” she said. “Your father gradually became so bitter that I couldn’t have any more babies, stupid man. I suppose it was my body’s fault, but I couldn’t do anything about it, could I? I tried so hard to make up for it, but . . .” She tailed off.
    â€œOh, Mum,” I said, hugging her tight again. “How awful.”
    â€œIt’s all right,” she said, pulling away from me and turning back towards the stove. “It’s a long time ago, and I’ll overcook these potatoes if I don’t get to them now.”
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    W e sat at the kitchen table for dinner, and I ate myself to a complete standstill.
    I felt bloated, and still my mother was trying to force me to eat more.
    â€œAnother profiterole?” she asked, dangling a heaped spoonful over my plate.
    â€œMum,” I said, “I’m stuffed. I couldn’t eat another thing.”
    She looked disappointed, but, in fact, I had eaten far more than I would have normally, even in this house. I had tried to please her, but enough was enough. Another mouthful and my stomach might have burst. She, meanwhile, had eaten almost nothing.
    Whereas I had plowed my way through half a cow, along with a mountain of potatoes and vegetables, my mother had picked like a bird at a small circle of steak, much of which she had fed to an overweight gray cat that purred against her leg for most of the meal.
    â€œI didn’t know you’d acquired a cat,” I said.
    â€œI didn’t,” she said. “It acquired me. One day he just arrived and he has hardly left since.”
    I wasn’t surprised if she regularly fed it fillet steak.
    â€œHe sometimes goes off for a few days, even a week, but he usually comes back eventually.”
    â€œWhat’s his name?” I asked.
    â€œI’ve no idea,” she said. “He isn’t wearing a collar. He’s a visitor, not a resident.”
    Like me, I thought. Just here for a good meal.
    â€œAre you going to the races tomorrow?” she asked.
    The April meeting at Cheltenham ran for two days.
    â€œYes, I’ll go for the first few,” I said. “But I have some work to do here in the morning. I have my computer with me. Can I use your phone and your broadband connection?”
    â€œOf course you can,” she said. “But what time do you plan to leave? I don’t want to rush you away but I have the village historical society outing tomorrow afternoon.”
    â€œThe first race is at two o’clock,” I said. “I’ll go around twelve.”
    â€œThen I’ll get you some lunch before you go.”
    The thought of yet more food was almost unbearable. And I knew she would have bought the makings of a full English breakfast as well.
    â€œNo thanks, Mum,” I said. “I’m meeting a client there for lunch.”
    She looked sideways at me as if to say she knew I’d just lied to her.
    She was right.
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    I don’t like it, but we have to do as he asks,” said Patrick when I called him at eight in the morning using my mother’s phone in the kitchen. “I’ll get Diana on it right away.” Diana was another of his assistants, the one who had just qualified as an IFA. “Are you at Cheltenham again today?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “But I’ll probably just stay for the first three.”
    â€œTry and have another word with Billy Searle. Get him to see sense.”
    â€œI’ll try,” I said. “But he seemed pretty determined. Scared, even.”
    â€œAll sounds a bit fishy to me,” Patrick said. “But we are required