The Madman's Room

They heard three discreet knocks and Mostyn appeared in the doorway:

‘Dr. Meadows is here, madam.’

* * *

Mike Meadows looked at Paula in astonishment:

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Six hundred pounds,’ repeated the young woman, pronouncing each syllable carefully. ‘Francis won it the other day at the races.’

Dr. Meadows placed his glass of port on the low table, paused for a moment, then looked questioningly at Francis:

‘Does that happen often?’

‘Unfortunately not. And, by the way, I’ve never bet that much before.’

‘A hunch, was it?’

Francis and Paula exchanged amused glances. She explained:

‘Francis went to see Brian a few days ago and he predicted a large sum of money in the future.’

Francis shook his head:

‘He did more than that. He more or less told me I’d win on a bet.’

Meadows took a sip of port and lit a cigarette:

‘That man has some astonishing gifts. But I thought you’d always been sceptical about him?’

‘Sceptical, but not deaf. When he told me, I decided to have a go, and I bet on a real outsider.’

Steps sounded and Meadows turned round:

‘Ah, Sarah darling. Francis and Paula have been telling me the news. Extraordinary, isn’t it?’

* * *

Howard Hilton watched the rain through his bedroom window.

‘It’s been like that for the last twenty-four hours and they say there’ll be no change in the next few days. It’s a real quagmire out there. I was planning to do the flower beds, but it doesn’t look as though that’s going to happen before next week… and maybe not even then. Wait a minute….’

Mrs. Hilton, sitting up in bed, shut her book and asked:

‘Yes, Howard, what is it?’

‘Mike Meadows just left, and it’s only a quarter to ten.’

‘That’s not an unreasonable time to retire.’

‘I agree, but he normally doesn’t leave before eleven o’clock.’

Mrs. Hilton had wanted to keep reading, but now she put her book down on the bedside table.

‘I’m tired, dear.’

Howard Hilton knew his wife well enough to know she was about to turn off the light.

‘So am I,’ he said with a yawn, ‘but I think I’ll have one last drink.’

He cleared his throat and made his way to the door, taking care not to look at his wife, and left the room. In the corridor he noticed Paula who had just come up the stairs. She gave him a little wave and disappeared into the bathroom. As he reached the top of the stairs he almost collided with Sarah, who was taking the steps two at a time.

‘Good evening, darling. Is everything all right?’

Sarah nodded with a brief smile and continued on her way.

In the salon, Howard Hilton found his son slumped in one of the armchairs, smoking a cigarette and looking worried. He served himself a whisky, sat down opposite him and asked:

‘You’re looking thoughtful, Francis, having problems?’

‘No, I was thinking about the money I won.’

‘I can well understand. It doesn’t happen every day.’

‘Quite so, but I was thinking about how it happened, not the result. Or, rather, about Brian. I’ve just been talking about it with Meadows, Sarah and Paula. We compared notes about all his predictions. It’s pretty surprising. I’m beginning to wonder whether he doesn’t indeed….’

‘Have a gift?’ replied Howard Hilton, contemplating his glass. ‘You know, Francis, the one thing that has surprised me is that no one has yet discovered Brian’s true nature. But that’s where we have to look to get to the bottom of all these mysteries. Brian may be shy and introverted, but that doesn’t stop him being an acute observer of human nature. People talk about a sixth sense, which is a convenient way of avoiding discussion about what might be another form of intelligence. Be that as it may, what’s undoubtedly true is that some people possess a flair for future events, even if they can’t explain it themselves. They seem to be able to process every slight detail about people they meet: their attitudes, their reactions their emotions, their thought processes, and somehow synthesise it all so they may announce a future event….’

‘Maybe,’ replied Francis dubiously. ‘But being able to predict that someone will be able to place a winning bet… I can’t see any explanation for that.’

His father responded with a smile. He emptied his glass and served himself another one.

‘There’s another thing. All the professional gamblers talk about “beginner’s luck.” It may be a trap to lure novices into the game, but apparently there’s quite a lot of evidence to support the idea. I know you’ve always liked the horses, but you’ve never placed a big bet, so in that sense you’re a beginner.’

‘If I understand you correctly,’ observed Francis, ‘I was condemned to win from the start!’

The conversation continued until half past ten, when the two men got up. They climbed the stairs — in Howard’s case, rather unsteadily — and stopped on the landing to wish each other goodnight.

‘Aren’t you going to see Paula?’

‘Not right now. There’s something I have to do in the study.’