His Little Girl

by Liz Fielding

  ‘Dora...’ For long moments he drank in her tender beauty. He knew he shouldn’t touch her, that touching her face with just the tip of his finger was every bit as much a betrayal of friendship as taking her to his bed would be, but he couldn’t help himself.

  His whole body was trembling with his longing for her, his ache to put his arms about her and bury his head in her breast, lose himself in the sweetness of her body. But he had prayed for help and it had come. If he held her now he would be damned for ever.

  Dora saw the battle going on inside him, saw the heat clouding his eyes, saw the desire that darkened them and knew they were a reflection of her own longings. Why? John Gannon was a stranger, a man - full of secrets. And yet the moment she had switched on the kitchen light at the cottage and startled that oath from him, she had felt that special heart-leap, had heard that inner voice, quiet as a baby’s breath, insistent as the drip of a tap. This one. This is the one. This is the midnight man who comes in your most secret dreams. The man you will remember the day you’re dying. Even if you live to be a hundred Why else would she have risked so much for him?

  Free and clear, and with the evidence of his flight in a stolen plane in front of her, she had not betrayed him. She had gone back to the cottage, faced down the policemen who were waiting for her, and then gone after him to help him. And Sophie.

  She raised her hands to cradle his face. His skin was pale, drawn tight across his cheekbones. She wasn’t sure which of them was trembling most, all she knew was that she would move heaven and earth to make things right for him.

  ‘John...listen to me. I have to tell you something,’ she began urgently. ‘About Richard and me... You’ve got it all wrong...’

  The bell rang again, this time accompanied by a determined knocking. ‘It’s the police, Dora. Go,’ he said, pushing her away. ‘Before they break the door down.’

  ‘Miss Kavanagh?’ There was no need for the warrant card that the man held out for her. She knew that, despite his well-cut suit and silk tie, the man standing before her was indeed a policeman. ‘Detective Inspector Reynolds.’ And he was not alone. ‘PC Johnson,’ he said, turning to introduce the young female officer with him. ‘May we come in?’

  ‘Do you have a warrant?’ she stalled, trying to think.

  ‘I didn’t imagine I would need one, Miss Kavanagh. I only want to talk to you.’ That took two of them? What about manpower shortages, cost-cutting? ‘Of course, if you would prefer to come down to the local police station—’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Inspector. I imagine I’m the reason you’re here.’

  ‘Mr Gannon?’ Gannon was clutching the kitchen door. ‘Mr John Gannon?’ He nodded, and the Inspector formally charged him with a number of offences before formally cautioning him. ‘If you’ll come with me, sir—’

  ‘You can’t possibly take him,’ Dora said indignantly. ‘Surely you can see that he’s sick?’

  ‘Leave it, Dora,’ he gasped, clutching at his chest as he gave a shallow, painful cough. ‘Don’t get involved.’

  ‘Damn it, Gannon, I am involved.’ She swung back to the policeman. ‘You can’t take him and throw him in some cell. I won’t allow it.’

  The constable turned to Gannon and looked at him more carefully. ‘He doesn’t look too good, guv,’ she said. ‘Were you hurt landing the plane, Mr Gannon?’

  By way of answer, Gannon simply slid down the doorframe and measured his length on the carpet.

  ‘There! What did I tell you?’ Dora bent over him, before turning on them. ‘You—use that radio thing and get an ambulance here, right now!’

  The young woman threw the Inspector a look but didn’t argue, unclipping the radio from her collar while Dora cradled Gannon’s head in her lap until the ambulance arrived and the paramedics moved her gently away so that they could take his vital signs and attach a drip, prior to loading him onto a stretcher.

  ‘What the devil...?’

  Dora looked up to see her brother standing in the open doorway ‘Fergus! What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘I had a call from the Assistant Commissioner. He said you might be in a spot of bother so I thought I’d better come and see what nonsense you’ve got yourself involved with now—’

  ‘Oh, Fergus!’ Lost between laughter and tears, she reached out for her brother, hugging him. ‘Oh, Fergus. You are a true sight for sore eyes. I honestly can’t think of anyone who would be more welcome right now.’ She turned to the ambulancemen. ‘Where are you taking him?’

  They told her the name of the nearest hospital. ‘Do you want to come with him, miss?’

  Of course she did. She didn’t want to let him out of her sight. But she couldn’t leave Sophie. Not even with Fergus to babysit. When the little girl woke up and realised that her father wasn’t there she would need someone she knew, someone she trusted. ‘I can’t leave the flat right now, but I’ll come as soon as I can. Tell him that, will you? When he comes round.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Fergus demanded. Then, ‘What’s the matter with him?’

  ‘Looks like pneumonia, sir,’ one of the paramedics said. ‘He’ll be back on his feet before you know it.’

  ‘Go with him, Johnson,’ the Inspector said, with a jerk of his head. ‘Mr Gannon isn’t the kind of man to let pneumonia slow him down for long.’

  ‘Why don’t you handcuff him to the stretcher?’ Dora demanded angrily.

  ‘Dora,’ Fergus said, gently, putting his arm about her, heading her in the direction of the sitting room and pouring her a stiff measure of brandy from the tantalus on the sideboard. ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on here?’ he said, offering it to her. ‘Then we might be able to do something about it.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir, but if you don’t mind I have to ask the young lady a few questions first. Is the little girl here, Miss Kavanagh?’

  But Fergus intervened. ‘And you are?’ The Inspector told him. ‘Well, Inspector, you’ll understand that my sister is in a state of shock. And she won’t be answering any questions until her solicitor has arrived. If you’d like to wait downstairs in the lobby, I’m sure the porter will find you a cup of tea.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I have to know. Is the child here, Miss Kavanagh?’

  ‘She’s asleep, Inspector. Please don’t disturb her.’

  ‘I’ll have to inform the Social Services—’

  ‘No!’ Dora’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘You can’t take her away. I promised John I’d look after her.’

  ‘I’m sorry, miss, but—’

  Dora realised that emotion was not going to help. ‘Sophie’s father asked me to take care of her until he was able to do it himself—’

  ‘Father? You’ll forgive me, miss, but that’s to be proved—’

  ‘Sophie’s father,’ Dora repeated patiently, ‘has just been taken to hospital. I am the only other person in this country that she knows, and if you take her away from me she’ll be frightened and quite alone. I promised John Gannon that I would look after her and I will.’

  ‘We will, Inspector,’ Fergus said, stepping in. ‘In fact, the best thing all round would be for my sister and the child to come back to Marlowe Court with me.’ Fergus gave the Inspector his card. ‘I think you can take my word that my sister will present herself at the police station with her solicitor first thing in the morning.’

  The policeman looked at the card Fergus had given him. ‘It’s really not for me to say, sir,’ he said, uncomfortably.

  ‘You don’t have to.’ He lifted the telephone and offered it to the man. ‘Call the Assistant Commissioner. I’m sure he’ll vouch for me.’

  Dora almost felt sorry for the man. It was one thing dealing with a young and slightly distraught woman. Quite another to be faced by Fergus Kavanagh in dictator mode. His sisters might take liberties with his dignity, they might tease him and call him Gussie behind his back when he fussed and worried about them, but to the rest of the world he was the chairman of Kavanagh Industries,
and woe betide the rest of the world if they forgot.

  ‘Would you like to see Sophie? Reassure yourself that she’s well?’

  The man’s relief was palpable. ‘That would...’ He made a gesture that said it all.

  Sophie, her rag doll clutched beneath her arm, was sleeping peacefully.

  ‘Thank you, miss. I’ll have to let the Social Services know where she is, of course. I’ll leave them to voice any objections they might have directly to Mr Kavanagh.’ And for just a moment she thought she saw a hint of amusement in his eyes at the thought.

  ‘How did you find out?’ she asked as she escorted the policeman to the door. ‘That John was here?’

  ‘Oh. It was the clothes.’ Dora frowned. ‘You bought the little girl some clothes. You told the constable who questioned you that they were for your niece—’

  ‘My sister’s niece.’

  ‘Your sister’s niece. Yes. When he made his report, the station sergeant knew you were lying because his wife was at the same antenatal class as Mrs Shelton, which meant your, er, sister’s niece could only be six or seven months old. The clothes you’d bought were for a much older child.’

  Dora grinned wryly. ‘I wouldn’t make a very successful criminal, would I?’

  ‘I do hope not, miss.’

  The following morning Fergus instructed his chauffeur to take a detour via the hospital on their way back to Marlowe Court, so that Dora and Sophie could see Gannon. She’d phoned earlier and been told that he had had ‘a comfortable night’, but nothing more. She was directed to the appropriate ward, but, unable to see him, she enquired at the ward sister’s desk.

  ‘I’m looking for John Gannon. He was brought in last night,’ she said, picking up Sophie, who was fidgeting nervously at her knees.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Dora Kavanagh. This is Sophie, his daughter.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Kavanagh, but Mr Gannon has expressed a wish not to receive any visitors.’

  Dora stared at the girl for a moment, then she frowned. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘He doesn’t want visitors.’

  ‘But...I don’t understand. This is his daughter...he must want to see her.’ The nurse looked sympathetic, but she was immovable.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Dora could not get her head around what the woman was saying, looking about her as if Gannon might somehow just appear, look at her with that lazy smile. But he didn’t.

  She didn’t understand. And then she thought perhaps she did. He thought that she had betrayed him. That while he was sleeping she had called the police. She could understand that he would be angry, that he would refuse to see her. But to refuse to see Sophie?

  Sophie began to grizzle, and Dora cuddled her, comforting her. Maybe he thought she would be frightened by the hospital. Maybe he was right about that, if nothing else.

  ‘How is he?’ she asked helplessly.

  ‘He had a comfortable night. The doctor will be seeing him again later.’

  Dora wanted to grab her by the apron front and shake her, tell her that she had to see him because she loved him...that she had to tell him... But the woman was simply doing what Gannon had told her to do. ‘Can I write to him? Or has he forbidden that, too?’

  The nurse gave her something close to a smile. ‘Not as far as I know. Do you want to write something now?’

  ‘Yes.’ Then, ‘No.’ She needed to sit down and explain everything properly, not dash off a few words on a scrap of paper. Or maybe that would do it. ‘Actually...’ The nurse pushed a pen and a piece of paper across the desk, and without even stopping to think she wrote simply—‘Sophie is safe. I love you, Dora.’ Then she added Fergus’s telephone number before folding the paper and handing it to the nurse.

  ‘I’ll see he gets it,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you.’ With one last glance about her, in the desperate hope that she might catch a glimpse of him through some open doorway, so that even if he wouldn’t see her she could see him, Dora acknowledged defeat and left the hospital.

  She could scarcely contain her impatience until they arrived at Marlowe Court—the house where she was born, the house where Fergus lived these days in lonely state, with just his staff for company—certain that John would have called her to say that he understood, to ask her to come back because he needed her. He hadn’t. He didn’t.

  Fergus had a call from Gannon’s solicitor, arranging for Sophie to remain in his guardianship while the results of the blood tests were awaited. ‘Why you?’ she demanded jealously. ‘He doesn’t know you. He’s never met you.’

  ‘He’s protecting you, Dora. He’s only too aware that he involved you in all kinds of trouble. I don’t think you realise quite how much.’ And with that she had to be satisfied. That and writing a long letter explaining everything. About Richard, and that he was married to her sister. Explaining why she hadn’t told him the truth. Explaining how the police had tracked him down.

  It was returned, unopened, three endless days later. And her headlong rush back to London, determined to lay siege to the hospital until they let her see him and hang the consequences, proved futile. He had discharged himself and she had no idea where to find him. His solicitor, however, did not seem surprised to see her. But he too had had his orders and was unable to help.

  Dora was standing outside his offices, taxing her brain, refusing to admit defeat, certain there must be something she had overlooked, when the receptionist who had made her a cup of coffee while she had waited to be seen—a young woman who had read about and shown enormous interest in her aid convoys—appeared at her elbow. ‘Have you ever been to the local magistrates’ court, Miss Kavanagh?’ she asked.

  Dora frowned. ‘Magistrates’ court?’

  ‘I’m sure you’d find it interesting. Next Friday, for instance. At about ten o’clock.’ And with that she was gone.

  Dora spent the following week amusing Sophie, talking to her all the time, so that the child’s understanding of English expanded at an almost unbelievable rate.

  She took her shopping, delighting in buying her clothes and simple toys, and as the weather settled back into the hot, still days of perfect August weather she began to teach her to swim in Fergus’s swimming pool.

  But all the time the thought of Friday haunted her with the promise of seeing John, with the threat that he might really never want to see her again.

  Well, he would have to. She would make him. And she would make him listen to her. She loved him. ‘Swim, Dora! Sophie swim!’ Sophie came running up with her armbands to be blown up. She loved Sophie, too, and she swept her up into her lap and began to tickle her until the child screamed with laughter. They were making so much noise that they didn’t hear the footsteps behind them.

  ‘What’s all this, then?’

  ‘Poppy, Richard!’ Dora scooped Sophie up in one arm, hugging her sister and brother-in-law with the other. ‘How lovely to see you. When did you get back?’

  ‘Last night. Hi, kitten,’ Poppy said, gently rubbing the child’s cheek. ‘I understand you’ve been having interesting times.’

  Dora pulled a face. ‘You’ve been talking to Fergus.’

  ‘Mmm. Anything we can do?’

  ‘Drive me to London tomorrow?’ she asked. ‘I haven’t got a car here and I’ve got a date at a magistrates’ court. I was going to hire a car, but to be honest I’m scared to death—’

  ‘What about Fergus? I thought he was handling everything?’

  Her brother couldn’t have taken over more effectively if it had been a business coup. And he was determined that she keep out of it. ‘He is. But do you know, Poppy, he’s somehow quite forgotten to mention that John is in court tomorrow? Why is that, do you think?’

  ‘Have you asked him?’

  ‘No. I haven’t told him I know about it. If I did he’d move heaven and earth to keep me from going.’

  ‘He’s just being protective, Dora. You know what the press are like...you went down to the cot
tage to escape them...’

  ‘I don’t give a hang about the press or anyone else. I’m going, whether you come or not,’ she said, with grim determination.

  ‘Hey, I didn’t say I wouldn’t. But...well, actually, I can’t. I’ve got a meeting that I simply can’t cancel—it’s the reason we’ve flown back from the States early. But we’ll drive you up to town. You can drop me off and Richard will go to court with you—won’t you, sweetheart?’

  ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘But what about this little charmer?’

  ‘Mrs Harris will look after her. They’re great friends.’

  Poppy laughed. ‘I’ll bet. Mrs Harris is a frustrated mother hen. She must be in her element with this little one to fuss over. Will she come to me, do you think?’

  ‘Give her a little while to get used to you. We’re just going in the pool—why don’t you join us?’ Poppy gave the water a doubtful look. ‘It’s all right, Fergus has turned the heating up for Sophie.’

  ‘Wow. He must be smitten too. I’ll go and change.’ She disappeared towards the changing rooms in a glamorous swirl of cream and peach silk.

  ‘How’s John?’ Richard asked.

  ‘Out of hospital. Apart from that I know nothing. He...’ She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say, He won’t see me. ‘He’s keeping his distance. Because of the court case.’

  He must have sensed her uncertainty, because he said, ‘But he left his daughter with you.’

  ‘With Fergus, technically.’ Richard raised his eyebrows and she smiled. ‘The Social Services wanted to whisk her away and put her into a foster home until the paternity thing has been settled, but you know Fergus. He threw his weight about a bit. Called some friends. Came up trumps.’

  ‘And John has a hearing at the magistrates’ court tomorrow?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m scared, Richard. Really scared. He said they would have to make an example of him. To stop other people...’ And suddenly she was shaking so much that she had to put Sophie down. ‘Suppose they send him to prison?’