His Little Girl

by Liz Fielding

  He couldn’t believe he’d been such a fool. He should have taken her car and her money last night and got away while he could. He stopped and leaned against a tree, letting it take his weight and Sophie’s for a moment while he regained his breath. He grunted. Who the devil was he kidding? Last night he wouldn’t have got a mile before falling asleep at the wheel. He’d had no choice but to stay at the cottage.

  ‘Dora,’ the child whimpered. ‘I want Dora.’

  He stroked her head, sympathising with her. For a while back there he’d wanted her himself, but a wise man stuck to one impossible dream at a time.

  Dora drove slowly along the lane, peering through wipers struggling with the downpour sluicing down the windscreen, trying to remember where the footpath crossed the road. Then she spotted the neat little green and white sign, pointing hopefully towards the overgrown thicket. She pulled over onto the verge and stopped.

  It was possible that she’d missed him, she had no way of knowing how long ago he’d left the cottage, but the path wound tortuously through the woods. She’d walked it one Sunday back in the winter, when she’d come down to have lunch with Poppy, and unless Gannon knew it well he would have been crazy to stray out of sight of the path. Of course, if he saw her car he might think it was some kind of trap and take the chance.

  She moved the car further up the lane and pulled up in the shelter of an ancient beech tree. But that wouldn’t do either. If he thought she’d betrayed him he wasn’t going to come anywhere near her.

  She climbed out, locked the car and, pulling the coat up around her ears, ran back to the footpath. There was no sign of him. There was no sign of anyone. Well, only a fool, or a man on the run, would choose to walk a muddy footpath in this awful driving rain. But if he wasn’t going to come to her, she would have to go to him.

  She was a hundred yards or so into the wood before she started to call his name softly.

  ‘Gannon. It’s Dora.’ The woods seemed unusually silent. He was there somewhere.

  She walked on a little way. ‘Gannon,’ she called. ‘The police have gone.’ Still there was nothing. ‘I didn’t call them. I didn’t call anybody. I want to help.’

  Dora was beginning to feel distinctly jumpy. She was sure she was being watched. At first she had thought it was Gannon, being cautious. Well, she could understand that.

  Suddenly it occurred to her that it might not be Gannon. It might not have been him in the plane. She had no proof. There might really be some desperate man hiding from the police, capable of doing anything to get away. And then she sensed someone behind her.

  She spun round and let out a little squeal of fright as she saw a figure standing on the path. It wasn’t Gannon. ‘Sophie!’ It was Sophie, her tiny figure swathed in a man’s jacket, her bare feet muddied, but as she moved forward to sweep the child up, carry her to warmth and safety, she was grabbed from behind, a man’s hand over her mouth, another thrown about her, pinning her arms so that she couldn’t move.

  ‘Don’t make a sound, Dora,’ Gannon murmured, close to her ear. She couldn’t have if she tried. She could have struggled, and she knew she could have hurt him, perhaps won her freedom. But she didn’t. She understood his caution. He was holding her firmly, but he wasn’t hurting her, and she had no wish to hurt him, no wish to frighten Sophie. So she remained perfectly still. For seemingly endless moments they remained there, a frozen tableau in the pouring rain. Then he gradually eased his hand away from her mouth. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said carefully. ‘All I want is for Sophie to be safe. My car is parked in the lane. There are clothes for her and there’s five hundred pounds in my pocket, with the keys.’ He said nothing. ‘I know you found the mobile, Gannon, and I don’t blame you for thinking that I called the police. But I didn’t. I didn’t call anyone.’

  ‘Why not?’ His voice was deeply suspicious, but his grip had loosened and she turned to face him, leaning back a little to look up into his face. His dark hair was clinging wetly to skin that had suddenly gone the colour of putty, he was soaked through, his shirt and trousers sticking to him, and he looked gaunt with pain. He should be in bed, not driving about with a small child in tow.

  ‘Because I’m crazy. You’re all over the front page of the local paper—at least, I assume it was you. The stolen plane?’

  He pulled a face. ‘Not stolen. Borrowed from a friend.’

  ‘Like you were going to borrow the cottage? Without asking.’

  ‘I’ll have it repaired, return it, for heaven’s sake, as soon as I can get things sorted out so that Sophie can stay here. Henri will understand.’

  ‘Like Richard? You have a lot of understanding friends, Gannon.’

  ‘I’d do the same for them. They know that.’

  ‘Not from the inside of jail...’ She half turned as she heard the chink of a dog’s collar, but Gannon stopped her. He half bent to pick up Sophie, but as he caught his breath Dora grabbed her instead. Then she saw the dog, a small liver and white springer spaniel bounding ahead of her mistress. It was Bonnie. And her mistress was Poppy’s daily. What had she said about fools? ‘It’s Mrs Fuller. She mustn’t see me, Gannon. She’ll recognise me.’ She hoisted Sophie up beneath her coat and turned to run, but Gannon caught her by the waist, swinging her round. And as the dog bounded up to them, jumping up at Dora’s legs, he clasped her face between his hands and kissed her.

  She gave a little gasp, and for a moment tried to draw back, but his arm tightened around her and his mouth came down hard on hers.

  Gannon had had only one thought when he grabbed her, when he kissed her. To hide her identity, to protect her from the danger he had so thoughtlessly dragged her into. But by the time the dog’s owner had called her to heel and hurried on, her expression tight with disapproval, he had forgotten all about his sensible, legitimate reason for kissing Dora. He was simply lost in the heady pleasure of his mouth moving over hers, the sweet scent of her skin, the warmth spreading through his veins, defying the soaking chill of the rain and heating him from the inside out.

  It was Sophie’s wriggling that finally parted them, and as Dora stepped back, a little flushed, suddenly and stupidly shy, the child whispered something to Gannon. He hushed her. ‘Don’t ask,’ he warned, when Dora raised her brows.

  ‘Why? What did she say?’ He refused to meet her eyes, and she saw that colour had darkened his cheeks, too. Something about them kissing, then. She laughed, but didn’t press it. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of this rain.’

  Gannon stared down into her face. She was laughing. Not angry. Not offended that what should have been nothing but a pretence, a way to hide her face, had escalated into the real thing. No. Well, it hadn’t escaped his notice that once she had got used to the idea Dora had kissed him back with considerable enthusiasm.

  He turned away. Borrowing a friend’s cottage or plane was one thing. A wife was something else. No friend was going to be that understanding. Even if the wife was a willing accomplice.

  ‘The police might come back,’ he pointed out.

  ‘They might, but not for a while. They were a bit embarrassed about breaking the door down.’ She glanced up at him. ‘I didn’t call them, Gannon.’

  ‘Then why did they turn up mob-handed this morning?’

  ‘Mob-handed? Since when did two constitute a mob?’

  ‘There might only have been two in the car, but there was definitely a mob in the van that followed them. I only just got out in time. They surrounded the place before they smashed the door in. I heard it go from the copse.’

  ‘They didn’t say. The two that were waiting for me.’

  ‘Did they give you a hard time?’

  ‘No. Not really. Not once I’d convinced them that I was who I said I was. But I nearly had kittens when they insisted on coming inside. I thought you were there.’

  ‘What excuse did they make?’

  ‘They said they were checking up on all last night’s unexplained
alarms. And—’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They seemed to think I might be some kind of accomplice.’ She had been about to explain about the confusion over identities. She knew she would have to tell him. After that kiss. She couldn’t allow him to think that his friend’s wife let just any passing stranger kiss her at the drop of a hat. But not yet. She wasn’t quite ready for that. Besides, he might think she was encouraging him to do it again. She rather thought he would be right. ‘Or something.’

  He glanced at her, then said, ‘Of course, they might just know I’m a friend of Richard. In which case his cottage would be the obvious place to look.’

  ‘Do they know who you are? The paper said not.’

  ‘The paper might not know all the details, but the police probably have a good idea. And they may be back. I’m sorry, Dora. I’ve caused you an awful lot of bother.’

  ‘You’d better just add me to your list of friends. Then you won’t worry about it. And you needn’t worry about the police either. We’re not going to stay at the cottage. I’m just going back to secure the place, then we’re going to my flat in London.’

  Her flat? Why hadn’t she said our flat? They’d reached the car, and he waited while she unlocked it and then, pushing the bags onto the floor, settled Sophie in the back.

  ‘There’s a doll in one of the bags. Why don’t you give it to her?’ she suggested.

  He found the little rag doll and tucked it in Sophie’s hands. She looked at Dora, smiled shyly and muttered a few words. She dredged her memory and found herself saying the Grasnian equivalent of ‘you’re welcome’.

  ‘Where the hell did you learn that?’ Gannon demanded, suspicion jagging across his features.

  She shrugged a little awkwardly. ‘I’ve been to Grasnia. I understand what you’re trying to do and I sympathise. Truly. You don’t have to lie to me.’ Then, ‘For God’s sake, get in before you collapse.’ He headed for the driver’s door, but she stood her ground. ‘I’m driving.’ He gave her a thoughtful look but didn’t argue, instead climbing into the passenger seat, where he sat bunched up, his knees practically touching his chin, dripping all over the place. ‘You can slide the seat back a bit more,’ she said. It slid back an inch or two.

  She shrugged apologetically, strapped herself in and set off at a brisk pace down the lane, pulling up outside the cottage a few minutes later. ‘You’d better dry off and change your clothes while I try and secure the door.’

  He didn’t waste any time, and when he returned she had just retrieved the mobile phone and was about to punch in a number. He stared at her, but she ignored him and carried on.

  ‘Sarah? It’s Dora. How’s Laurie?’ Sarah would have discussed her infant offspring’s wellbeing, cleverness and beauty at length, but Dora didn’t have the time. ‘Wonderful. Give her a kiss for me. Sarah, darling, I wonder if you could do something for me? I’ve had a bit of an accident with the front door of the cottage. It needs a carpenter and someone to sort out the lock. Rather urgently. And the phone’s out of order, too.’ She smiled at Gannon. ‘Bless you, darling. Send me the bill.’ She finished the call and looked at Gannon thoughtfully. ‘Have you met Sarah?’

  ‘Richard’s sister? Once.’

  ‘She’s a great fixer. You should have called on her.’

  ‘I didn’t plan on calling on anybody, Dora.’

  ‘Anyone who’s in as much trouble as you seem to be needs all the help he can get. Shall we go?’

  He was a terrible passenger. He winced continually as she sped along the motorway and practically made a hole in the floor with his foot, shadow braking as she whizzed through the London traffic. She took no notice. But when he yelped as she took on a black cab at the Hyde Park roundabout and won, she leaned forward and quite deliberately turned up the radio.

  After that he took the hint, but long before they reached her flat he had closed his eyes.

  ‘Okay, Gannon. It’s safe to come out now,’ she said, having whipped into a space between a Mercedes and a Jaguar, missing them both by inches.

  He murmured something that might have been a prayer of thanks. Or then again, maybe not ‘Do you always drive like that?’

  ‘Like what?’ Her expression was pure innocence, and it didn’t fool Gannon for a minute. Dora Marriott, or Kavanagh, or whatever she liked to call herself, was about as innocent as sin. And probably as much fun. A memory of warm lips, the honeyed taste of her tongue returned to taunt him. Not probably. There was no doubt about it. But forbidden fun.

  ‘Come on, sweetheart.’ She had tilted her seat forward and was coaxing Sophie out of the back of the car. The trouble was that Sophie had spent the entire journey sorting through the bags of clothes and trying on anything that she could get on, none of it done up properly.

  ‘I’d better carry her,’ Gannon said.

  ‘Nonsense. She’s fine.’ She set the child down on the pavement. ‘Well, maybe not fine,’ she giggled as the dungarees promptly fell down and she noticed that the trainers were on the wrong feet.

  ‘She managed the coat.’

  Dora picked her up and hugged her. ‘She looks gorgeous. I’ll take her, if you can bring the bags.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Kavanagh,’ the porter said, as they swept into the entrance lobby like refugees from a jumble sale. ‘Can I offer you some assistance?’

  ‘No. We’re fine, Brian. But if you could manage to find me a pint of milk, I’d be grateful.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll bring it up with your post. Since you seem to have your hands full.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And, Brian...if anyone asks for me I’m not at home, and you don’t know where I am.’

  ‘Mr Fergus Kavanagh has been looking for you, miss. He’s called several times. I think he suspected you were at home, miss, but not answering the messages he left on your machine.’

  ‘I’ll check them when I get in, but when I said I’m not at home, I meant it. Especially to my brother.’

  Brian carefully avoided looking at John Gannon. ‘Yes, miss. You won’t be disturbed.’

  Gannon, looking a little grim, followed her to the lift and pushed back the wrought-iron gate. ‘He’ll think you’re having an affair.’

  ‘Maybe. But he won’t tell.’

  ‘You know that from past experience, do you?’

  She turned on him. ‘God, Gannon, you’re bloody rude. I’m already an accessory to whatever crimes you’ve committed, the least you can do is try to be polite.’

  ‘This is a nice place to live,’ he said, in an effort to oblige, but Dora simply threw him a look that suggested he wasn’t trying hard enough. Maybe that was because his head was bursting with questions, questions that were driving his own problems out of his mind.

  ‘You know, the last time I saw Richard he was struggling with all kinds of financial problems. It was why Elizabeth left him,’ Gannon added.

  ‘She left him because she married him for his title and discovered too late there was no money to go with it—at least not the kind she was anticipating. She should have stuck around. Things picked up right after she decided the banker was a better bet.’

  ‘I can see that,’ he said, as they stepped out onto the top floor. He dropped the bags inside the hall of the apartment and glanced through the open doorway to where huge picture windows looked out across the river.

  In fact he could see that Richard Marriott must be doing very well indeed these days, because it suddenly dawned on him that keeping a wife like Dora had to be a very expensive luxury.

  Not that the improvement in his fiscal status had done much to keep his new wife happy. Not if the way she’d thrown herself into that kiss was anything to go by.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘WHAT exactly were you doing in Grasnia, Dora?’

  They were in the kitchen. Gannon on a high stool, his elbows propped up on the island unit, his hands around a mug of the heart-poundingly strong coffee he had declared an essential restorative after Dora
’s driving. Dora, her fridge bare of anything that would seriously constitute lunch, even for a child, was searching her cupboards for a can of soup she was sure she had somewhere. Sophie was in the sitting room, trying on each item of clothing and staring in fascination at the television.

  ‘Exactly?’ Dora didn’t turn around. It was truth time, and she wasn’t looking forward to admitting that she had been lying to Gannon—well, not lying exactly, just allowing him to labour under a misapprehension—about her and Richard. She’d been too angry with him to even speak when they’d first arrived in the flat, but she knew she couldn’t put it off for much longer. Grasnia was a very welcome diversion.

  ‘Precisely will do, if you prefer.’

  ‘I was on an aid convoy,’ she said, finally unearthing the soup and giving the list of ingredients her closest attention. ‘Well, three, actually,’ she said, turning around when there was no response.

  He looked shaken to the core. ‘You drove a lorry to Grasnia?’

  ‘Not all the way. We took it in turns to drive.’ Then, ‘It’s all right, Gannon, I didn’t use London driving techniques to get around,’ she said, assuming it was her driving that was concerning him. ‘It wasn’t the sort of place to try and cut up the opposition.’ Not when the opposition were toting automatic weapons.

  But that wasn’t what he meant. ‘Richard let you go?’ he demanded. ‘Doesn’t he listen to the news? Good grief, Dora, has he any idea of the danger?’

  Oh, it was that old thing. The ‘What’s a sweet girl like you think she’s doing getting involved in something nasty, something dangerous, when she could be more usefully occupied having a facial?’ old thing.

  John Gannon and her brother should get together and form a duet, she thought. Or maybe a trio, because, to be fair, her brother-in-law hadn’t been exactly encouraging either.

  ‘Richard did have a few things to say on the subject,’ she admitted. And then Poppy had reminded him very firmly that it was none of his business what her sister did, and besides, he could safely leave all the really heavyweight nagging to Fergus. Raising his two younger sisters after their parents had been killed in an earthquake had, over the years, given him plenty of opportunity to perfect his technique. But on this occasion to little avail.