Second Intention (4 page)

Jack was beginning to look puzzled, and also a little impatient. He had psyched himself up for the fight, and was keen to get on with it.

‘Hold on,’ I said. I fetched the third of my body wires and plugged one end straight into the spool. I then put the tip of Jack’s sword onto the earthing pin.

‘
Bzzzzt.’ Green light.

Three
failing body wires?

We swapped ends, just to make sure there was nothing wrong with the box, the spools, or the ground leads which connected them all together, and tried all three of my body wires. Red light each time.

This was no coincidence. I peeled back the rubber cover on the plugs of all three wires, and was shocked to find that an earthing pin had been disconnected on each one.

It was no accident.

It was no coincidence.

Somebody had deliberately tampered with my kit.

*                  *                   *                  *

‘
So what is it you’re saying?’ said Shirley, reaching for her beer. ‘Somebody’s sabotaged your stuff?’

‘
Well …Yeah.’

In the cosy confines of the Red Lion, to which we always retire after training on a Tuesday, it did seem a rather melodramatic suggestion. I would have felt a little foolish, except that there was no denying it - somebody
had
been in my bag and tampered with the wires.

‘
But why would anybody do that?’ asked Little Bob, one of our foilists. ‘You weren’t even in the competition, so it’s not as if anybody had anything to gain from it. You’d be sure to find out the next time you went training anyway.’

I looked down at my half-drained pint. He was right about that, of course. There was no advantage to be gained from it, but it was very unsettling all the same. Maybe that was the idea. Just to unsettle me.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps it’s a practical joke. Or maybe it’s just somebody trying to piss me off.’ As soon as I said it I knew it sounded pretty lame.

‘
You must have really upset somebody for them to want to get back at you that much,’ said Shirley. ‘Bit of a risk, wasn’t it, when they must have known you could have come back at any moment.’

‘
Mmmm.’ She was quite right. Whoever had done it must have had a very good reason for taking that big a risk.

‘
Go on then, Richard,’ chipped in Dominic, grinning as he raised his glass. ‘Who is it that you’ve been making enemies with?’

‘
Well … er … I don’t know.’ I took a sip of my Guinness. ‘I’ve been thinking it through and coming up with nothing. I don’t really have any enemies. You know me - I tend to avoid conflict if I can help it.’

‘
Yeah,’ said Shirley, clearly unconvinced by what I was saying. ‘You don’t have any enemies, you’re just a little paranoid, that’s all.’

I smiled. It must all have seemed ridiculous to them. Personal vendettas like this just didn
’t happen in the world of fencing. Sure, you get people who don’t get on, but that’s only to be expected in a highly charged, competitive environment. Whilst there is, I suppose, the opportunity and potential for underhand trickery, it was so unlikely as to be regarded as impossible.

‘
Well,’ said Dominic decisively, as he drained his glass and plonked it down on the table, ‘the way I see it there are three possible explanations. One, you
do
have your very own stalker who’s tampering with your kit on purpose. Two, it’s just a practical joke by some arsehole at Cheltenham, and it’s getting under your skin a little more than it should.’

‘
And three…?’ I raised an eyebrow at him.

‘
Three, Shirley’s right. You really are paranoid.’

Everybody had a little laugh at that. Yes, very funny. Of course, I hadn
’t told them about the phone calls or the flat tyres, so it was probably very easy for them to make a big joke out of Old Richard’s persecution complex.

‘
Another?’ Little Bob rose, pulling out his wallet and gesturing towards my now empty glass.

‘
Er …. no, no thanks. I’d best be off.’ I glanced at my watch.

I always make a point of only having the one drink after training, as we live far enough from the Red Lion that I have to drive back. It
’s different for the other three though, as they all live within walking distance and don’t mind hauling their bags back through the darkened streets of Ely. As Little Bob headed for the bar to rack up another round I excused myself and made for the door.

It was ten thirty and
I was wide awake. I always am for hours after training, the adrenaline in the system taking a while to dissipate, so I tend to stay up late and watch TV while eating supper. Sue is nearly always fast asleep by the time I get in, but as I pulled into our drive that night I was surprised to see nearly every downstairs light on.

I let myself in, dumped the bag
, and wandered through to the living room. She was sitting on the sofa, her feet tucked up underneath her and a magazine on her lap. The TV was on, and she was absorbed in Jeremy Paxman tearing some poor politician to bits.

‘
Hello, love,’ I said. ‘You’re up late.’

She snapped round, clearly not having heard my arrival. I could see something was wrong, a look of concern in her eyes.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.

She stared at me for a moment before speaking, then asked a question to which she already knew the answer.

‘Have you been trying to call me?’ she said.

Four

We went out for dinner on Wednesday night. We both wanted just to enjoy each other
’s company and have a romantic few hours together. Also, although neither of us said as much, I think we quite liked the idea of being away from the telephone.

The previous night we had agreed that the calls must have just been kids messing around, and that it was nothing to worry about, although it was clear that Sue hadn
’t been happy about it. For that matter, neither was I.

Yes, getting out of the house suited us well right then.

There’s this little bistro which we sometimes go to when the fancy takes us. Georges, the guy who runs it, knows us fairly well by now and always knows the sort of thing to recommend. We ate a wonderful meal and savoured the atmosphere, the unspoken tension ebbing away from both of us. Sue told me about some ideas she had for an exhibition she was going to be putting together at the gallery, and I could tell she was really excited about it.

I asked her if she fancied coming to the tournament in
Oxford on Sunday, and she said she would. I was pleased, since I always fence well whenever she’s there, and we could go and take a stroll around her Alma Mater when I had finished.

After finishing the very fine cognac Georges brought us, we strolled home arm in arm, the crisp chill of the night air giving us dragon breath. Under a starlit sky we could see the vast expanse of the flat fenland stretching out ahead of us as we gently made our way back to the house. I could tell she was feeling quite strong today, which was good.

I didn’t bother checking the phone for messages when we got in. We just went straight to bed and made beautiful, passionate, gentle love.

*                  *                   *                   *

The warm up had gone well. I was feeling good, and I knew that this was a day when I could really storm through to a big helping of points. I would need to. I had to make up for the previous weekend’s disaster.

There was a good turnout for the men
’s epee event. A lot of top fencers from the big clubs in London had made the journey up the M40 to take part, which was useful since we get extra points for every fencer ranked in the top fifty who competes in a tournament.

They called the pools for the first round, and I have to admit I was a little dismayed when they got as far as mine.
‘Pool number eight on piste thirteen. Harper, Prime, Teasdale, Wells,  Hanford and Rutherford. Harper to collect the pool sheet please.’

So. Toby
Rutherford. It was a distraction I could well have done without. Whilst I knew I could beat him, I couldn’t afford to be too preoccupied with that, when there were actually more important opponents in the pool for me to be concentrating on. I wished I’d kept my mouth shut the previous weekend.

As Sue and I made our way to piste thirteen he slid over to us, a smirk on his face.

‘We have a chance to settle that little matter after all, don’t we Richard?’ he said, actually looking at Sue rather than me.

‘
If that’s all you came here for then good luck to you,’ I replied, trying to sound as though it was of no importance. ‘I’ve actually got other concerns.’

‘
Oh, but of course,’ he sneered, turning away to the table on which the box stood and picking up the clipboard with the pool sheet. ‘On the piste, Harper and Prime. Getting ready, Wells and Teasdale.’

The first bout was over quickly, the fast left hander, John Prime, making easy work of his inexperienced opponent. I stepped onto the piste and plugged myself in. Looking back I could see Sue standing near the end of the piste, and she gave me a wink and a smile of encouragement. I turned to face Alex Wells, knowing that this bout could set the tone for my performance in the whole pool.

We saluted each other, then the president, and pulled on our masks.

‘
On guard. Are you ready? Fence.’

I took a step forward, quickly and decisively, before he could claim any ground. I saw that it produced a reaction, an almost instinctive circular parry, and one which I could exploit if I could just gauge the timing of it right. He was light on his feet, and had good footwork, but I could tell he was nervous. His whole body language shouted it out.

I tried a beat on his blade and it had the same effect. An instant circular parry, desperately trying to pick up my blade.

Yes, I could get this guy.

I stepped forward again, my leading foot slapping down onto the piste in the move known as an
appel
and extended my arm, feinting towards his mask. It had the desired effect. He made his big circular move to try and parry the attack and I disengaged to hit him under the wrist.

Perfect. A classic second intention move, drawing his parry and avoiding it to make my hit.

‘Halt,’ the president called out, steering us back to our on guard lines. ‘For the right, one. One zero. On guard. Are you ready? Fence.’

I did it again, this time with a beat and a feint to the inside line of his extended forearm, disengaging from his parry and putting in a long lunge t
o hit him on the upper forearm.

‘
Halt. For the right, two. Two zero. On guard. Are you ready? Fence.’

From then on we both knew the fight was going to be mine. Having started the bout in such complete control I now had the psychological dominance. I had not only hit him twice, but made it look very easy, and I could see that he was losing the self-belief which is so essential if you
’re going to pull back from a two hit deficit.

He was lucky with the next couple of hits, managing to get his point in the right place to secure doubles, the tips of our epees landing on target simultaneously. It was okay though. I just wanted to chalk up a victory for my first fight, and wasn
’t too bothered about the indicator at this stage.

‘
For the right, four. Four two. On guard. Are you ready? Fence.’

I wasn
’t going to mess about. I wanted to settle it quickly. My last move was too fast for him even to begin his parry, as I beat the blade and launched myself forward in the flying
fleche
attack, hitting him squarely on the chest and running past him.

It was a good move on which to finish the bout. A forceful and dynamic one, which my next opponents would all have seen and now be expecting at some point. Good. Let them. I wouldn
’t be doing any more fleche attacks in this pool, but while they were all waiting for one they wouldn’t be able to think so clearly about the moves I
would
be making.

We saluted, pulled off our masks and shook hands. He seemed relieved that it was all over.

The next bout was between Toby Rutherford and the lanky scot, Ian Hanford. It was a close one, but Toby just edged it five four. He had learned to be a bit more patient, obviously, as he was not doing his usual trick of just hurling himself at his opponent and hoping for the best. He looked pretty pleased with himself, and I made a mental note not to underestimate him when it was our turn.

The pool more or less went to form after that. I won both of my next two bouts, beating Rob Harper easily, but nearly throwing it away against
Hanford. I fell victim to three very tidy stop hits as I came in with the attack, and rapidly put myself three one down. I had forgotten just how good his timing and point control were, but  changed my tactics just in time, drawing his counter attacks with a feint and engaging his blade to push through and hit him on the upper arm. It was five four to me in the end, which is a little too close for comfort, but any victory is better than no victory at all.

Prime was on form, totally dominating his opponents, which set things up for an interesting last fight for this pool between him and me. Before that, though, there was the showdown between myself and Toby to get out of the way.

As we took to the piste he had the usual sneer on his face. We plugged in and stepped forward to test the weapons, saluted each other, then saluted Wells, who was presiding.

Mask on. Time to do it.

‘On guard. Are you ready? Fence.’

The moment he had said it, Toby launched himself forward in a very fast and dynamic fleche attack, and, I have to admit, it took me by surprise. I made no attempt to parry, but went instead for the instinctive move and stop hit him on the mask, just as his point hammered into my chest. Two lights came up on the box and I secretly cursed myself - it had been such a brutal, lumbering move that I should have tried to pick up the blade with a parry and then riposte, but he really had caught me unawares. Still, it probably didn
’t matter. A double hit at this stage in the bout wasn’t going to make much difference.

‘
Halt,’ commanded Alex Wells. ‘Double hit. One each. On guard please. Are you ready? Fence.’

Just try it again sonny, I thought. This time I
’ll be ready for you.

But he wasn
’t about to do it for a second time. No, having started off that way he was actually doing the smart thing now and was hanging back. We just bounced around a bit, playing with the distance and timing for a few moments, before I saw the opening I needed and made a direct lunge under his guard to hit him squarely on the wrist. He countered by stepping forward to plant his point on my forearm, but I knew it didn’t matter - I had clearly hit him first.

One light came on as the box buzzed.
His
light.

What the f……?

‘Halt. For the right, two. Two one.’

I couldn
’t believe it. I had hit him first. The box should have locked out his hit within a fifteenth of a second of my point landing. I lifted up my mask and tested my epee, tapping the tip on my foot and bringing up a light on my side of the box.

Toby pulled his mask up and looked down the piste at me.
‘I think you’ll find your hit was flat,’ he said with a sneer.

‘
Flat’ hits do happen now and again, where the side of the tip makes contact rather than the end of it, which means that the spring loaded contacts don’t get compressed and complete the circuit. They tend to be fairly rare for experienced fencers, however, which is why I was surprised. Toby had clearly said what he said to wind me up.

I glanced across at Alex Wells who just shrugged his shoulders and called us back on guard.

‘Are you ready? Fence.’

This time it was my turn to pull a surprise out of the bag. I beat his blade sharply, knowing it would draw an instinctive parry, which I
anticipated and avoided, lunging to hit him on the upper arm. He countered with a hit on my chest which, again, would have been too late. Except …

One light.
His
light.

Damn. Not again …
?

‘
Halt. For the right, three. Three one.’ Wells could see the look of disgust on my face as I tore off my mask, and was clearly wondering what to do.

I shouldn
’t have done it, but couldn’t help myself. If my weapon was failing, and the president was the person who established it, then he would have to annul the last hit, but, like an idiot I tapped the tip on my foot again to see why my hit hadn’t registered.

No light.

The weapon was failing, probably because the contact spring inside the tip wasn’t quite reaching. At least, not all the time. An intermittent fault is the worst sort to have, and it explained why I had just lost two perfectly good hits.

‘
Well … er …’ began Alex Wells, uncertainly. ‘If Richard’s epee is failing I guess I’ll have to ...’

‘
No!’ snapped Toby. ‘You saw him. He fiddled with it before presenting it to you for testing. The rules are very clear about it - you can’t annul my hit now.’

Bugger. He was absolutely right, and John Prime confirmed it for the benefit of the bewildered teenager.

Alex looked at me. ‘I’m really sorry, Richard. I’m afraid I’ll have to …’

‘
Hey, it’s okay,’ I interrupted, not wanting to make a big thing of it. ‘Toby is absolutely right, and it was my fault anyway. Let me change this thing though.’

I walked back down the piste to where Sue was standing, and dropped the offending weapon onto my bag. I took out a second epee, plugged it in, and tested it three times to make damned sure it
was working.

I could see the look of concern on her face, and I gave her a wry grin and raised my eyebrows.

‘So that’s  . er ... three one to Toby,’ confirmed Alex. Toby and I tested guards again, as you always do when somebody changes a weapon, and took to our on guard lines. ‘On guard. Are you ready? Fence.’

Time I stopped messing about and started doing this properly.

My next move was possibly one of the best hits I’ve ever made. Just recently Phil has been getting me to play around with the timing of my lunges, varying the tempo rather than just going through the whole move at one set speed. I made a direct attack, extending my point to threaten his target, but starting the footwork slowly, letting my leading foot hang for a fraction of a second before driving off from the back leg and accelerating to make the hit.