Second Intention (17 page)

I hit the ground on the far side and rolled, then dived back toward the bench and plunged my arm into the pile of leaves which had been raked up against its base, my hand closing on the object I had left there earlier just as he came around its far end.

As I stood up he saw what I was holding and stopped dead in his tracks.

An epee, as a piece of sporting equipment, has only limited potential for harm. The spring loaded tip sees to that. An epee with the tip unscrewed and removed, on the other hand, is an entirely different matter. The tiny, threaded end of the blade will meet with virtually no resistance when it encounters human skin. A tipless epee will easily go through a person and out the other side, and Sean well knew it.

‘Look,’ I said, finally feeling as though I was the one in control. ‘I’ve got an epee and you haven’t.’

He said nothing, but turned and strode off into the night.

Eighteen

I glanced at my watch again, and looked around the pedestrian precinct for her. She should have been there ten minutes earlier.

It was an inconvenience, I suppose, but nothing more than that. Not like the whole business with Doktor Chuckles, the
real
Doktor Chuckles, four months earlier. No, back then if she had been late like this I would have gone absolutely frantic.

But now it was all well and truly over. We never had to worry about Sean and his sick games any more.

The whole thing had really come to light in the weeks following the business in Copenhagen. Derek’s detective work, and the recording he had made of my conversation with Sean, had been one of the most compelling strands to the investigation which the police had finally been obliged to undertake. On searching his flat, they uncovered a wealth of evidence about his activities over several years. When I found out the truth I was shocked, and realised Sue and I had got off lightly. There was no denying it, Sean was a seriously deranged individual whose true nature had only really been revealed when he went a little too far during the Doktor Chuckles affair.

He didn’t get prison, but received a suspended sentence and a restraining order keeping him away from me,
Sue and Toby, which basically put an end to his ever going near a fencing tournament. Some might say he had been lucky to escape a custodial sentence, although I was later to learn that he might actually have been a lot safer inside.

The word was that Leon
Rutherford, a man of enormous power and influence, hadn’t taken kindly to what Sean had done to his son, and had friends who had other friends who would be dishing out a little rough justice at some point soon.

Sean, on getting wind of this, had immediately given up his fancy job and flat in St. Albans and vanished, presumably back to
Ireland. Whatever, he would be sleeping with one eye open for the rest of his life.

And so the story of Sean and his sick, twisted, second intention strategy came to an end. It was a chapter in my life I don’t look back on with any great fondness, but I suppose it’s one of those things which you learn from. What was it that Nietsche said? That which does
not kill me makes me stronger?

There was just one more thing…

I was just glancing at my watch again as she came around the corner towards me. Normally, if she’s late for any reason, her expression says it all. She looks harassed, angry, defensive, all kinds of emotions showing at once.

This was different though.

No, she looked - what was it? - blissfully happy.

‘I’m late,’ she said, a huge grin on her face.

‘Yes, I know,’ I replied, glancing at my watch.

‘
No, pet, you don’t understand,’ she cut in, smiling from ear to ear. ‘I’ve been with the doctor. I’m
late!’

Acknowledgements

My thanks must go to those people who have given me so much support and encouragement with my writing projects: my fellow author, Sue Welfare, our national sporting heroine, Kate Allenby, and the broadcaster, Sue Dougan. Thank you to my beautiful and long-suffering wife, for allowing herself to be hauled around countless fencing tournaments with nary a word of complaint.
I really appreciate it.

Thanks also to the terrific production team who took my story and turned it into a book: Maureen Vincent-Northam, Rebecca Emin and Jane Dixon Smith. You all make being an author so much easier.

Finally, I must thank all those fencers I’ve met over the years who have played such a significant part in making my life an exciting one. Keep it up.

‘En garde. Pret? Allez!’

A.V.

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