More Than You Can Say by Paul Torday Page B

Then she shut the door of the sitting room. There was a phone in the kitchen. I went to it, and looked at the little black book where I kept phone numbers. I looked up the one that I wanted and then dialled. It was early here, but not quite as early where the phone was ringing. After a moment another sleepy voice, this time a man’s, answered in bad French.
    ‘Ed,’ I said. ‘It’s me, Richard Gaunt.’
    ‘Do you know what the fuck the time is?’
    There was a pause, but before I could say anything, Ed Hartlepool’s voice came again, this time sounding more awake.
    ‘Richard? I was expecting you to call. Richard, I’m sosorry.’ I had no idea what he was talking about, but it seemed like a good time to get on the front foot in what might be a difficult phone conversation. The very fact Ed Hartlepool was calling me by my given name rather than the irritating nickname they all used meant that for some reason I had the upper hand.
    ‘So you should be,’ I said.
    ‘I simply overslept. We went on playing cards at the Diplomatic after you left to walk to Oxford – some fool suggested one last hand and I didn’t get into my bed until five o’clock. I slept right through my alarm clock and woke up about midday, just in time to cancel my lunch date with my uncle. Then I remembered about you, walking all the way to Oxford, but your mobile didn’t seem to be working.’
    It wouldn’t have done. It was at the bottom of the Thames, or inside a fish. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had – or I would have – walked all the way to Oxford to complete my part of the bet, and this idle bastard hadn’t even got out of bed in time to drive there in his Mercedes. In other circumstances I might have taken the next plane to the south of France, found Ed’s villa, and strangled him. But these were not other circumstances. I needed his help.
    ‘I walked all that way, Ed, for nothing. What are you going to do about the bet?’
    There was a silence.
    ‘Could you bear to cancel it?’ he asked, in what I think he hoped was a contrite voice. ‘Not the card debt, I mean. I’ll honour that whenever I see you next. But the double or quits bet: the extra three thousand pounds. Could you see your way to letting me off the hook?’
    I let him dangle for a bit. Then I said, ‘If you will do me afavour in return, I’ll think about it. It won’t cost you anything, either.’
    ‘Name it,’ said Ed. ‘Anything, just tell me what it is.’
    ‘I need a bed for a few nights, somewhere out of London. A couple of beds, in fact. I was thinking of Hartlepool Hall. Is it completely shut up when you are away?’
    This time Ed laughed.
    ‘Hartlepool Hall? Are you sure it’s going to be big enough for you? Who are you taking with you? Who is she?’
    ‘Never mind all that,’ I said. ‘I’m not looking for somewhere to go and bonk someone. I’m trying to help a friend who’s in a bit of a jam and needs to be out of the way for a while.’
    ‘How long’s a while?’ asked Ed.
    ‘Say a week?’
    Ed thought for a moment. Then he said. ‘Fair enough. I’ll call Horace. Do you remember him?’
    Horace was the Hartlepool family butler.
    ‘Yes, I do.’
    ‘I’ll call him. He lives in a flat at the back of the house, and Mrs Dickinson, the housekeeper, lives in a cottage near by. They assist with the occasional functions that we have to have there – weddings and such – to help pay the bills. I may not go there much myself, but the bills keep coming in. I’ll ask them to make up a couple of rooms for you and get some food in. Don’t expect spectacular cooking, but you won’t starve.’
    ‘It’s a deal,’ I said. ‘Do this for me and we can consider your debt cancelled. One other thing … it’s very important.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Don’t tell anyone. I mean no one.’
    *
    As I turned from the phone Adeena came out of the sitting room. She must have finished communing with God.
    ‘We can go now,’ she said.
    I