df.theedge-第7部分

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　　The　next　day；　Tuesday；　I　drove　north　to　Nottingham　for　a　normal　day's　hard　work　hanging　around　doing　nothing　much　at　the　races。
　　I'd　bought　the　new　clothes　and　a　new　suitcase　and　had　more　or　less　packed　ready　for　my　departure　the　next　morning；　and　the　old　long…distance　wanderlust　that　had　in　the　past　kept　me　travelling　for　seven　years　had　woken　from　its　recent　slumber　and　given　me　a　sharp　nudge　in　the　ribs。　Millington　shouldn't　fear　losing　me　to　Filmer；　I　thought；　so　much　as　to　the　old　seductive　tug　of　moving　on；　moving　on。。。　seeing　what　lay　round　the　next　corner。
　　I　could　do　it　now；　I　supposed；　in　five…star　fashion；　not　back…packing；　in　limousines；　not　on　buses；　eating　haute　cuisine；　not　hot　dogs；　staying　in　Palm　Beach；　not　dusty　backwoods。　Probably　I'd　enjoy　the　lushness　for　a　while；　maybe　even　for　a　long　while；　but　in　the　end；　to　stay　real；　I'd　have　to　get　myself　out　of　the　sweet　shop　and　do　some　sort　of　work；　and　not　put　it　off　and　off　until　I　no　longer　had　a　taste　for　plain　bread。
　　I　was　wearing；　perhaps　as　a　salute　to　plain　bread；　a　well…worn　leather　jacket　and　a　flat　cloth　cap；　the　binoculars…camera　slung　round　my　neck；　a　race…card　clutched　in　my　hand。　I　stood　around　vaguely　outside　the　weighing…room；　watching　who　came　and　who　went；　who　talked　to　whom；　who　looked　worried；　who　happy；　who　malicious。
　　A　young　apprentice　with　an　ascendant　reputation　came　out　of　the　weighing…room　in　street　clothes；　not　riding　gear；　and　stood　looking　around　as　if　searching　for　someone。　His　eyes　stopped　moving　and　focused；　and　I　looked　to　see　what　had　caught　his　attention。　He　was　looking　at　the　Jockey　Club's　paid　steward；　who　was　acting　at　the　meeting　as　the　human　shape　of　authority。　The　steward　was　standing　in　social　conversation　with　a　pair　of　people　who　had　a　horse　running　that　day；　and　after　a　few　minutes　he　raised　his　hat　to　the　lady　and　walked　out　towards　the　parade　ring。
　　The　apprentice　calmly　watched　his　departing　back；　then　made　another　sweep　of　the　people　around。　Seeing　nothing　to　worry　about　he　set　off　towards　the　stand　the　jockeys　watched　the　races　from　and　joined　a　youngish　man　with　whom　he　walked　briefly；　talking。　They　parted　near　the　stands；　and　I；　following；　transferred　my　attention　from　the　apprentice　and　followed　the　other　man　instead；　he　went　straight　into　the　bookmakers'　enclosure　in　front　of　the　stands；　and　along　the　rows　of　bookmakers　to　the　domain　of　Collie　Goodboy　who　was　shouting　his　offered　odds　from　the　height　of　a　small　platform　the　size　of　a　beer…crate。
　　The　apprentice's　contact　didn't　place　a　bet。　He　picked　up　a　ledger　and　began　to　record　the　bets　of　others。　He　spoke　to　Collie　Goodboy　（Les　Morris　to　his　parents）　who　presently　wiped　off　the　offered　odds　from　his　board；　and　chalked　up　new　ones。　The　new　odds　were　generous。　Collie　Goodboy　was　rewarded　by　a　rush　of　eager　punters　keen　to　accept　the　invitation。　Collie　Goodboy　methodically　took　their　money。
　　With　a　sigh　I　turned　away　and　wandered　off　up　to　the　stands　to　watch　the　next　race；　scanning　the　crowds　as　usual；　watching　the　world　revolve。　I　ended　up　standing　not　far　from　the　rails　dividing　the　bookmakers'　section　of　the　stands　（called　the　Tattersalls　enclosure）　from　the　club；　the　more　expensive　end。　I　often　did　that；　as　from　there　one　could　see　the　people　in　both　enclosures　easily。　One　could　see　also　who　came　to　the　dividing　rails　to　put　bets　on　with　the　row　of　bookmakers　doing　business　in　that　privileged　position。　The　'rails'　bookmakers　were　the　princes　of　their　trade；　genial；　obliging；　fair；　flint…hearted；　brilliant　mathematicians。
　　I　watched　as　always　to　see　who　was　betting　with　whom；　and　when　I　came　to　the　bookmaker　nearest　to　the　stands；　nearest　to　me；　I　saw　that　the　present　customer　was　Filmer。
　　I　was　watching　him　bet；　thinking　of　the　rail　journey　ahead；　when　he　tilted　his　head　back　and　looked　straight　up　into　my　eyes。
　　
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　Three
　　
　　I　looked　away　instantly　but　smoothly；　and　presently　glanced　back。
　　Filmer　was　still　talking　to　the　bookmaker。　I　edged　upwards　through　the　crowd　behind　me　until　I　was　about　five　steps　higher　and　surrounded　by　other　racegoers。
　　Filmer　didn't　look　back　to　where　I'd　been　standing。　He　didn't　search　up　or　down　or　sideways　to　see　where　I　had　gone。
　　My　thumping　heart　quietened　down　a　bit。　The　meeting　of　eyes　had　been　accidental：　had　to　have　been。　Dreadfully　unwele；　all　the　same；　particularly　at　this　point。
　　I　hadn't　expected　him　to　have　been　at　Nottingham；　and　hadn't　looked　for　him。　Two　of　his　horses　were　certainly　down　to　run；　but　Filmer　himself　almost　never　went　to　the　midland　courses　of　Nottingham；　Leicester　or　Wolverhampton。　He　had　definite　preferences　in　racecourses；　as　in　so　much　else：　always　a　creature　of　habit。
　　I　made　no　attempt　to　shadow　him　closely；　as　it　wasn't　necessary：　before　the　following　race　he　would　be　down　in　the　parade　ring　to　watch　his　horse　walk　round　and　I　could　catch　him　up　there。　I　watched　him　conclude　his　bet　and　walk　away　to　climb　the　stands　for　the　race　about　to　start；　and　as　far　as　I　could　see　he　was　alone；　which　also　was　unusual；　as　either　the　girlfriend　or　the　male　panion　was　normally　in　obsequious　attendance。
　　The　race　began　and　I　watched　it　with　interest。　The　chatty　apprentice　wasn't　riding　in　it　himself；　but　the　stable　that　employed　him　had　a　runner。　The　runner　started　third　favourite　and　finished　third　last。　I　switched　my　gaze　to　Collie　Goodboy；　and　found　him　smiling。　A　mon；　sad；　fraudulent　sequence　that　did　racing　no　good。
　　Filmer　stepped　down　from　the　stands　and　headed　in　the　direction　of　the　saddling　boxes；　to　supervise；　as　he　always　did；　the　final　preparation　for　his　horse's　race。　I　drifted　along　in　his　wake　to　make　sure；　but　that　was　indeed　where　he　went。　From　there　to　the　parade　ring；　from　there　to　place　a　bet　with　the　same　bookmaker　as　before；　from　there　to　the　stands　to　watch　his　horse　race。　From　there　to　the　unsaddling　enclosure　allotted　to　the　horse　that　finished　second。
　　Filmer　took　his　defeat　graciously；　making　a　point　as　always　of　congratulating　the　winning　owner；　in　this　case　a　large　middle…aged　lady　who　looked　flushed　and　flattered。
　　Filmer　left　the　unsaddling　enclosure　with　a　smirk　of　self…satisfaction　and　was　immediately　confronted　by　a　young　man　who　tried　to　thrust　a　briefcase　into　his　hand。
　　Julius　Apollo's　face　turned　from　smug　to　fury　quicker　than　Shergar　won　the　Derby；　as　Paul　Shacklebury　would　have　said。　Filmer　wouldn't　take　the　case　and　he　practically　spat　at　the　offerer；　his　black　head　going　forward　like　a　striking　cobra。　The　young　man　with　the　briefcase　retreated　ultra…nervously　and　in　panic　ran　away；　and　Filmer；　regaining　control　of　himself；　began　looking　around　in　the　general　direction　of　stewards　and　pressmen　to　see　if　any　of　them　had　noticed。　He　visibly　sighed　with　relief　that　none　of　them　showed　any　sign　of　it…and　he　hadn't　looked　my　way　at　all。
　　I　followed　the　demoralized　young　man；　who　still　held　on　to　the　briefcase。　He　made　straight　for　the　men's　cloakroom；　stayed　there　for　a　fair　time　and　came　out　looking　pale。
　　Filmer's　effect　on　people's　guts；　I　reflected；　would　put　any　laxative　to　shame。
　　The　shaken　youth　with　the　briefcase　then　made　his　nervous　way　to　a　rendezvous　with　a　thin；　older　man　who　was　waiting　just　outside　the　exit　gate；　biting　his　nails。　When　the　thin　man　saw　the　briefcase　still　in　the　nervous　youth's　possession　he　looked　almost　as　furious　as　Filmer　had　done；　and　a　strong　argument　developed　in　which　one　could　read　the　dressing…down　in　the　vigorous　chopping　gestures；　even　if　one　couldn't　hear　the　words。
　　Thin　man　poked　nervous　man　several　times　sharply　in　the　chest。　Nervous　man's　shoulders　drooped。　Thin　man　turned　away　and　walked　off　deep　into　the　car　park。
　　Nervous　man　brought　the　briefcase　with　him　back　through　the　gate　and　into　the　nearest　bar；　and　I　had　to　hang　around　for　a　long　time　in　the　small　crowd　there　before　anything　else　happened。　The　scattered　clientele　was　watching　the　television：　nervous　man　shuffled　from　foot　to　foot　and　sweated；　and　kept　a　sharp　look…out　at　the　people　passing　by　outside　in　the　open　air。　Then；　some　time　after　Filmer's　second　runner　had　tried　and　（according　to　the　closed…circuit　mentary）　lost；　Filmer　himself　came　past；　tearing　up　betting　tickets　and　not　looking　pleased。
　　Nervous　man　shot　out　from　his　waiting　position　just　inside　the　door　of　the　sheltering　bar　and　offered　the　briefcase　again；　and　this　time　Filmer　took　it；　but　in　fierce　irritation　and　with　another　sharp　set　of　glances　around　him。　He　saw　nothing　to　disturb　him。　He　was　leaving　after　the　fifth　of　the　six　races　and　all　forms　of　authority　were　still　engaged　to　his　rear。　He　gripped　the　case's　handle　and　strode　purposefully　out　on　his　way　to　his　car。
　　Nervous　man　shuffled　a　bit　on　the　spot　a　bit　more　and　then　followed　Filmer　through　the　exit　gate　and　into　the　car　park。　I　tagged　along　again　and　saw　both　of　them　still　making　for　their　transport；　though　in　different　directions。　I　followed　nervous　man；　not　Filmer；　and　saw　him　get　into　the　front　passenger　seat　of　a　car　already　occupied　by　thin　man；　who　still　looked　cross。　They　didn't　set　off　immediately　and　I　had　time　to　walk　at　a　steady　pace　past　the　rear　of　their　car　on　the　way　to　my　own　whi