small insolence of a long look at the Chairmanâs powerful hands.
CHAPTER 6
Vic Knowles did not drive far before he stopped the Sierra. He had set off with no idea where the car was heading, anxious just to get away from the ground. As soon as the floodlights of the Oldford Football Club stadium were out of sight, he stopped the car and put his head in his hands.
His mind raced with a variety of emotions, not all of which he understood. He was glad to be employed again in football. It was the only thing he knew well, and with all his faults he loved his sport. It was still for him the âbeautiful gameâ; it was still the sport which stirred him, when he witnessed the âtotal footballâ of the Dutch, or the Braziliansâ instinctive brilliance and improvisation.
And he still felt himself capable of managing well; he had brought out the best in hardened professionals, he had spotted and developed young talent in the years which were now behind him, and he could do it again. His pulses quickened at the thought, as they had done each time he took on a new job over the years. He had the gamblerâs optimism that each new venture would bring a great success, as well as the gamblerâs lack of self-knowledge and refusal to confront unpleasant reality.
Normally, he would have savoured his new post, wanted to stay near the ground which was to be the physical setting for the triumphs which might lie ahead. Yet this time he had driven himself quickly away from any sight of the ground. He had been overwhelmed by the wish to put distance between himself and Kemp, to remove himself while there was still time from the man he was already aware was going to control him.
He felt the meshes of Kempâs net closing already about him. How much did the man know? He had been shaken by that sudden shaft about his gambling debts. Knowles had the feeling that his new Chairman knew everything. Kemp would have been delighted: that was the very impression he had wished to create. Knowles felt as if he was even now under observation, though his reason told him that the notion was absurd.
Perhaps he should not take the job, after all. There was nothing signed. But he had agreed it now with Charlie Kemp, who was not a man to cross. Besides, he needed the money, desperately. He didnât think Kemp had even half-believed that stuff about other offers he was considering. The man seemed to know his every secret. Perhaps he knew he had been in Oldford last night. Perhaps Kemp even knew what he had done last night.
Paranoia crept into the warm car and settled around Victor Knowles.
âFeeling a little under the weather, are we, sir?â
He started violently at the words, snatching his hands from his face. He was so dazzled by the sudden sun that his head swam a little, and he could not immediately focus either his eyes or his mind. It took him a moment to register the dark uniform and the black and white hat; the policeman was in shirt-sleeve order because of the heat, but his tie as he stooped dangled through the open driverâs window and almost touched Knowles.
âIâm â Iâm all right.â Knowles looked nervously around him; in his distress, he had not worried where he parked. He could see no yellow lines, and he was not near a junction.
The policeman nodded briefly to his left, and his colleague came over from the patrol car to join him. There was a smell of whisky from the driver: perhaps he had been sleeping it off. âIs this your car, sir?â
âYes. Iâm Vic Knowles.â Once that name had carried weight; now the policeman looked impassive, and Knowles added, more nervously than he had intended, âThe football manager.â It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he had just taken on the managership of Oldford, but he remembered just in time that it was all still secret and unofficial, that he had agreed with Kemp to say nothing until his predecessor had
CHAPTER 6
Vic Knowles did not drive far before he stopped the Sierra. He had set off with no idea where the car was heading, anxious just to get away from the ground. As soon as the floodlights of the Oldford Football Club stadium were out of sight, he stopped the car and put his head in his hands.
His mind raced with a variety of emotions, not all of which he understood. He was glad to be employed again in football. It was the only thing he knew well, and with all his faults he loved his sport. It was still for him the âbeautiful gameâ; it was still the sport which stirred him, when he witnessed the âtotal footballâ of the Dutch, or the Braziliansâ instinctive brilliance and improvisation.
And he still felt himself capable of managing well; he had brought out the best in hardened professionals, he had spotted and developed young talent in the years which were now behind him, and he could do it again. His pulses quickened at the thought, as they had done each time he took on a new job over the years. He had the gamblerâs optimism that each new venture would bring a great success, as well as the gamblerâs lack of self-knowledge and refusal to confront unpleasant reality.
Normally, he would have savoured his new post, wanted to stay near the ground which was to be the physical setting for the triumphs which might lie ahead. Yet this time he had driven himself quickly away from any sight of the ground. He had been overwhelmed by the wish to put distance between himself and Kemp, to remove himself while there was still time from the man he was already aware was going to control him.
He felt the meshes of Kempâs net closing already about him. How much did the man know? He had been shaken by that sudden shaft about his gambling debts. Knowles had the feeling that his new Chairman knew everything. Kemp would have been delighted: that was the very impression he had wished to create. Knowles felt as if he was even now under observation, though his reason told him that the notion was absurd.
Perhaps he should not take the job, after all. There was nothing signed. But he had agreed it now with Charlie Kemp, who was not a man to cross. Besides, he needed the money, desperately. He didnât think Kemp had even half-believed that stuff about other offers he was considering. The man seemed to know his every secret. Perhaps he knew he had been in Oldford last night. Perhaps Kemp even knew what he had done last night.
Paranoia crept into the warm car and settled around Victor Knowles.
âFeeling a little under the weather, are we, sir?â
He started violently at the words, snatching his hands from his face. He was so dazzled by the sudden sun that his head swam a little, and he could not immediately focus either his eyes or his mind. It took him a moment to register the dark uniform and the black and white hat; the policeman was in shirt-sleeve order because of the heat, but his tie as he stooped dangled through the open driverâs window and almost touched Knowles.
âIâm â Iâm all right.â Knowles looked nervously around him; in his distress, he had not worried where he parked. He could see no yellow lines, and he was not near a junction.
The policeman nodded briefly to his left, and his colleague came over from the patrol car to join him. There was a smell of whisky from the driver: perhaps he had been sleeping it off. âIs this your car, sir?â
âYes. Iâm Vic Knowles.â Once that name had carried weight; now the policeman looked impassive, and Knowles added, more nervously than he had intended, âThe football manager.â It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he had just taken on the managership of Oldford, but he remembered just in time that it was all still secret and unofficial, that he had agreed with Kemp to say nothing until his predecessor had
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