(1964) Nerve by Francis Dick

Author:Francis, Dick [Dick, Francis,]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-06-30T14:52:40.546000+00:00

I found I still hoped by perseverance to dig something up, so I booked a room in a hotel in Cheltenham, and spent the evening in a cinema to take my mind off food. On the telephone Tick-Tock sounded more resigned than angry to hear that he would be car-less yet again. He asked how I was getting on, and when I reported no progress, he said, "If you're right about our friend, he's as sly and cunning as all get out. You won't find his tracks too easily." Without much hope I went down in the morning to the Cheltenham railway station and sorted out, after a little difficulty with old time-sheets and the passing of a pound note, the man who had collected the tickets from the passengers on the stopping train from Tnnberley on the day the Jaguar was abandoned.

He was willing enough, but he too had never seen Kemp-Lore, except on television; though he hesitated while he said so.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Well, sir, I've never seen him, but I think I've seen his sister." "What was she like?" I asked.

"Very like him, of course, sir, or I wouldn't have known who she was. And she had riding clothes on.

You know -jodhpurs, I think they're called. And a scarf over her head. Pretty she looked, very pretty. I couldn't think who she was for a bit, and then it came to me, afterwards like. I didn't talk to her, see? I just took her ticket when she went through the barrier, that's all. I remember taking her ticket." 'when was it that you saw her?" I asked.

"Oh, I couldn't say. I don't tightly know when it was. Before Christmas though, some time before Christmas, I'm certain of that." He flipped the pound I gave him expertly into an inner pocket. "Thank you, sir, thank you indeed," he said.

I dressed and shaved with particular care on the Thursday morning as, I supposed, a sort of barrier against the reception I knew I was going to meet. It was six days since I had been racing, six days in which my shortcomings and the shreds of my riding reputation would have been brought up, pawed over and discarded. Life moved fast in the changing-room.

today was important, tomorrow more so; but yesterday was dead. I belonged to yesterday. I was ancient news.

Even my valet was surprised to see me, although I had written to say I was coming.

"You are riding today then?" he said. "I was wondering if you wanted to sell your saddle.." there's a boy just starting who needs one." "I'll keep it a bit longer," I said. "I'm riding Turniptop in the fourth. Mr. Axminster's colours." It was a strange day. As I no longer felt that I deserved the pitying glances to which I was treated, I found that they had, to a great extent, ceased to trouble me, and I even watched with fair equanimity the success of two of my ex-mounts in the first two races.

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