His Little Girl

by Liz Fielding

  ‘Does she?’ He knelt beside her, but he wasn’t looking at Sophie. Dora had showered, her hair was still damp, and she smelled deliciously of soap and shampoo and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. For a moment, as they stared at one another, he felt as if he’d known her all his life. Then Sophie, tired of being ignored, showered him with a well-aimed jet of water and he turned on her, splashing her back, making her squeal with laughter until she was begging him to stop.

  As he turned away to pull a towel from the shelf he realised that Dora was still staring at him, her concentration so intent that there was a tiny furrow between her brows. ‘Dora?’

  For a heart-stopping moment she continued to look at him. Then she turned quickly away and, grabbing a towel, bent over the bath to scoop Sophie out. ‘Why don’t you go and make a start on breakfast, Gannon?’ she said abruptly. ‘While I look for something a bit more suitable for Sophie to wear.’

  ‘Anything special?’ She shook her head, but didn’t look back at him. ‘Right.’

  ‘And perhaps you could relight the fire. It’s not very warm this morning. I don’t want her to get cold.’

  ‘Leave it with me.’

  ‘And, John.’ He paused in the doorway, and this time he was the one determined not to look round. ‘I’ll do whatever I can to help.’

  Despite himself, he glanced back at her. She was standing, feet slightly parted, Sophie in her arms, and the early-morning light was making a halo out of the wisps of hair that had escaped the band. In that moment he knew exactly why Richard had fallen for her, why in an age where most people just lived together he had married her, so that she would always be his. In Richard’s place he would have done exactly the same. He nodded, and without another word headed back downstairs.

  Once he had disappeared from sight, Dora let out a long-held breath. She was what the media termed a ‘Sloane’, one of the ‘girls in pearls’ who divided their time between Henley and Ascot and the Hurlingham Club. She was used to being stared at, but when John Gannon looked at her something seemed to heat up inside her, some secret place inside her that she hadn’t known existed. And then the heat began to spread.

  Sophie put her thin arms about her neck, hugging her tightly, and Dora turned to smile at the child, kiss her thin cheek. ‘Come on, darling. Let’s find you something to wear.’

  Dora sorted through her drawers and found nothing that was of any real use to Sophie. She was just so tiny, so terribly thin, that Dora’s baggy T-shirts swamped her. Was that the reason Gannon had snatched her? Because she had been cruelly neglected?

  Whatever the reason, Sophie couldn’t tell her. She bundled her up as best she could to keep her warm, and gave her a hug before carrying her downstairs. ‘This child needs clothes, Gannon,’ she said briskly.

  He glanced up from the cooker. ‘She looks fine to me.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. She’s got no underwear for a start.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it bothers her.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it does, much. But what about shoes? I’ve tried putting my socks on her but they just fall off, and her feet are cold.’

  He shifted uncomfortably. ‘The fire will soon get going.’

  ‘That’s a rather temporary solution. Or are you planning to stay here until she grows into my things?’

  It was a tempting thought. ‘No. Under the circumstances, the sooner we go the better.’

  ‘What circumstances?’

  That he had snatched his daughter from a refugee camp without permission. That the British and French police would soon be looking for him, if they weren’t already. That he was in grave danger of making a fool of himself over a friend’s wife.

  All of them were pressing reasons for leaving the cottage, but none of them would make a very graceful exit line, would they?

  Dora grew tired of waiting for an answer. ‘Where will you go, Gannon? And what about Sophie? You can’t just walk out of the door with her. She’s just a baby. She needs warmth, shelter. She needs to be looked after.’

  He had no argument with that, but escape had been the only thing on his mind—getting the child to safety. Once they were at the cottage he’d known they would be able to rest, recuperate, and he would have time to think. He hadn’t counted on company. The only alternative was his own flat in London, but that was the first place the authorities would look. He began to crack eggs into a pan. ‘I’m open to suggestions.’

  ‘Are you?’ Dora wasn’t so sure, but she tried one for size. ‘Well, why don’t we deal with one problem at a time? Before you can take her anywhere Sophie has to have some clothes. So, I’ll go into town and buy her some.’ She saw him struggle with this. ‘Or you could go and I’ll stay with Sophie,’ she offered.

  He stared at her, trying desperately to get inside her head, work out what was making her tick, but she had put down the shutters and her dark grey eyes were like mirrors.

  ‘Can I trust you?’

  ‘Trust me to do what? Buy clothes? Or keep your presence here a secret?’ Dora looked around. ‘I don’t see anyone else. I guess you’ll have to.’ She placed Sophie on a stool. ‘Right, young lady. How do you fancy a bowl of cornflakes?’ She rattled the box, and Sophie grinned back at her.

  As soon as Sophie had been fed Dora went to find a tape measure to run over her. And she drew outlines around the child’s feet, which made her laugh as the pencil tickled.

  ‘Where are you going to shop?’ he asked, as she prepared to leave.

  ‘Nowhere without my car keys.’ She was checking the contents of her bag. ‘I seem to have mislaid them.’

  He fished them out of his pocket and handed them to her. ‘I suppose you’ll need this, too,’ he said, looking at her wallet, with its stack of credit cards.

  ‘I suppose I will.’ He briefly considered keeping the cash, but couldn’t bring himself to remove it in the face of the slightly old-fashioned look she was giving him. He just pushed it into her hand. ‘I’ll pop into Maybridge,’ she said, finally answering his question. ‘It’s the nearest place of any size.’

  ‘Keep a note of what you spend,’ he said, somewhat unnecessarily he realised, in view of her propensity to hoard receipts. ‘I’ll repay you as soon as I can get to a bank.’

  ‘Please don’t feel you have to hold one up to repay me. Buying Sophie a few clothes won’t break me.’

  He remembered the extravagant receipts for her own wardrobe. ‘Or Richard?’

  Suddenly she wasn’t as bold, he noticed, as her gaze slid away, refusing the direct challenge. ‘I’m sure he’d do the same if he were here,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  He followed her out to the far end of the barn, now used to garage Richard’s bruising great four-wheel drive. Poppy’s bright little sports car stood next to it. Her own dark green Mini seemed very tame alongside them, but she wasn’t interested in turning heads.

  ‘You’ve got a lot of horsepower for two people,’ Gannon said as he pulled open the door so that she could drive out.

  ‘This is just my shopping trolley.’ Dora strapped herself into her seat before looking up at him. ‘But if you should be thinking about legging it before I get back, I should warn you now; Richard immobilised those two before he left.’

  Gannon grinned. ‘Doesn’t he trust you with his prized wheels?’

  Dora widened her mouth in a humourless smile. ‘Maybe Richard knows his friends better than they know him.’ She leaned forward and started the engine. ‘When I get back, Gannon, you’d better be prepared to tell me what’s going on.’ She flipped open a pair of sunglasses she kept on the dashboard and slipped them on. ‘Who knows? If I think you’re a deserving case I might come up with some bright ideas to help.’

  She didn’t give him time to return some smart answer, but backed neatly out, swung around in the yard and headed for the lane.

  Gannon watched her drive away, wondering if he was making a really big mistake. On balance, he thought not. But you could never be sure. T
here was something about her that he couldn’t put his finger on. And it bothered him. Or perhaps it was just that she bothered him.

  He turned quickly and re-entered the house, locking the door behind him. Then, calling to Sophie to follow him, he went upstairs. He helped her up onto Dora’s bed and told her to stay there, quietly, while he showered and changed. He spoke to her first in her own language and then in English. The sooner she became fluent the better.

  ‘Is Dora coming back?’ Sophie asked.

  Gannon answered her, repeating the words slowly for her in English, ‘I hope so, sweetheart. Snuggle down there and keep warm. I won’t be long.’

  He showered, shaved and then sorted through Richard’s wardrobe. He had never been as thickly built as Richard, and he’d lost a hell of a lot of weight in the last few months, but he cinched in a belt and looked presentable enough in a pair of casual trousers, a soft shirt and a jacket. But he was in no hurry to leave the room. He felt less constrained about looking around with Dora out of the house, and he wandered around the bedroom, checking the slightly different view from the window to see if anyone was about. But the area alongside the river was deserted. Not a fisherman in sight.

  He glanced into the en suite bathroom, furnished in much the same style as the guest bathroom, the twin basins provided with expensive his and hers toiletries. Another door led into a beautifully fitted dressing room. He opened the walk-in closet and whistled softly at the array of expensive clothes.

  The receipts in Dora’s handbag had clearly been just the tip of the iceberg, he realised, as his eyes swept over the rainbow colours of exquisite evening gowns and elegant daywear. Hardly the everyday wardrobe of a woman who lived quietly in the country—a woman who wore leggings and a sloppy T-shirt to visit the local shops and who tied her hair back with an elastic band, he thought. It all seemed just a little sophisticated for Dora.

  And yet, right at the back of the closet, not quite covered by white sheeting, was indisputable proof that she had told him the truth. He lifted the cover to reveal a wedding gown in heavy ivory silk with a matching hooded cloak in velvet. Very simple, very sophisticated. Absolutely perfect for a Christmas wedding. He dropped the cover and spun round, scarcely feeling the protest from his ribs at the sudden movement. Until that moment, he realised, he hadn’t actually believed that Richard and Dora were married. Hadn’t wanted to believe it.

  What an idiot! Gannon crossed to the window and stared out at the familiar view. He just didn’t understand. What on earth had gone wrong between them? Obviously something serious. Why else would Dora have moved into the guest bedroom when all her beautiful clothes were stored in the dressing room?

  He returned to Sophie. He had problems enough of his own, without worrying about Richard and Dora, yet he needed to make some sense of what was going on. He glanced at the small pine wardrobe and without a twinge of conscience opened the door, searching for something that would explain why she had moved out of the main bedroom.

  He was staring at the contents of the wardrobe, his forehead puckered in a deep frown as he tried to work out what was bothering him, when he heard a long, low beep. Sophie giggled, and the sound was repeated. He half turned. The child was playing with something half hidden by the folds of the bedcover. Had Dora found the child a toy of some kind?

  Then, as he took a step towards her, it began to ring. Sophie let out a cry of surprise, looking at him with such a comical ‘I-didn’t-do-it’ look that he almost laughed. Almost.

  ‘It’s all right, sweetheart,’ he said, with a reassurance he was far from feeling as the ringing continued. ‘It’s just a telephone.’ Just a telephone. He’d heard himself saying the words and could scarcely believe it. He picked it up and held it, uncertain whether to answer it or let it ring. In the event the decision was made for him when the caller gave up.

  Dear God, but she was a cool customer. She could have called half the county while he had been downstairs sleeping in front of the fire. She probably had. Then she had told him that she wanted to help, called him John in that soft, seductive voice of hers, and calmly suggested that she drive into town to buy clothes for Sophie. She had made it all sound so reasonable that he’d given her back her car keys without a qualm. Well, without much of one. And, because she’d need some cash, he’d handed back her wallet for good measure.

  Cool! Ice cream wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Despite himself, he was impressed.

  So, who had she called? Richard? Surely she would have called him first? If she had it would account for the fact that this morning she seemed so much less tense, so much more willing to help.

  He’d almost convinced himself that must be the case when he heard the sound of a car making its way slowly up the lane.

  It was too soon for Dora to return, unless she’d forgotten something, and he crossed swiftly to the window. No, it wasn’t Dora. It was a police patrol car. He’d teased Dora that her young constable would make some excuse to return, but he hadn’t expected it to be at ten o’clock in the morning.

  Then from his vantage point he saw another vehicle, a big police transit van, following it. He stepped back, and, sparing just enough breath for one muttered curse, swept Sophie up, heading down the stairs before his escape was cut off. Her blanket, dry now, was folded up on the sofa. He flung down the telephone and grabbed it.

  The lane led naturally around to the rear of the cottage, and to use what had originally been the front door it was necessary to walk around the path. Gannon took the few moments of grace given him to slip out that way, and, crouching low behind the hedge, ignoring the breath-snatching pain scything through his ribs, he headed for the shelter of a small copse.

  He paused there to gather his breath and wipe away the cold sweat standing out on his forehead. Sophie made no sound. She had been through situations like this too many times to cry out. But she clung to him, her face buried in the collar of his jacket, and she was rigid with fear.

  One of the men looked in the direction of the copse and Gannon edged slowly back, deeper into cover. And with every step he silently cursed the girl who had betrayed them in such a calculated manner. Had she thought he would hold her hostage against his own safety if the police arrived mob-handed while she was there? Was that what she had told them?

  He slumped against a tree. He could scarcely blame her. But she had told him that she would do what she could to help him. She’d looked at him with those beautiful eyes, said his name, and with every cell in his body panting he had wanted to believe her. Oh, how he’d wanted to believe her.

  He watched the police circle the cottage. What had she done? Told them she would call them when she was clear of the cottage? Tell them when it was safe to move in...

  The problem with shopping for little girls, Dora discovered as she browsed through the mouthwatering selection of clothes in the comfortable anonymity of a chainstore, was not deciding what to buy but knowing when to stop. There was just so much to choose from, each dress, each frilly pair of socks, each cute pair of dungarees simply crying out ‘buy me’. But for the moment function was more important than frills. And, since little girls seemed to prefer jeans, sweatshirts, slouch socks and trainers to lace and smocking, she confined herself to those, although indulged herself by choosing the prettiest underpinnings she could find.

  She chose a bright, padded weatherproof coat to top it all, and handed it to the cashier. Then she spotted a rag doll. It wasn’t very big but it had a mop of black wool hair and reminded her so much of Sophie that she couldn’t resist it. She paid with a credit card and then headed for the bank.

  She didn’t even wonder at the casual manner in which she had written a cheque for five hundred pounds as she waited while the clerk checked her account. In for a penny.

  Not that Gannon had asked her to get money for him, but it seemed an even bet that he would need some. Of course, she wasn’t planning on simply handing it over, no questions asked.

  The money would stay tucked safely out of his
reach until he had told her exactly what was going on. Where would be safe? Not her handbag, that was for sure. The bra was the classic hiding place. She recollected any number of films where she had seen sexy ladies push loot into a generous cleavage. The trouble was Gannon had probably seen them too. She started out of her reverie as she realised that the bank clerk was regarding her impatiently, clearly awaiting some response.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘did you say something?’

  ‘How would you like the money, Miss Kavanagh?’

  ‘Oh. Tens and twenties, please. No, wait, tens would be better. Just tens.’

  Dora watched as the woman counted out the money and pushed it towards her. It made quite a pile. If she stashed it in her bra Gannon couldn’t fail to spot the sudden increase in her forward projection, and if he needed the cash, she didn’t think he would hesitate to investigate. Suppressing a giggle, she thanked the clerk and stuffed the notes in her bag. She’d worry about what she’d do with the money when she got back to the car.

  She walked back through the shopping centre, stopping at the bakers for some fresh bread and doughnuts. And then, as she passed the big newsagents and bookshop, she stopped and went inside. The foreign dictionaries and phrasebooks were stacked with the guidebooks and maps, and she quickly found what she was looking for, taking it to the desk and putting it on the corner of the counter next to a pile of local newspapers while she delved in her bag for her wallet.

  Then, as she retrieved the book, she caught sight of the banner headline. STOLEN PLANE IN EMERGENCY LANDING IN FIELD.

  For a moment she remained frozen to the spot, totally oblivious to the fact that the cashier was holding out her hand for her purchase.

  It couldn’t be Gannon. Really. No. The whole idea was too melodramatic for words.

  Then a little shoosh of air exploded between her teeth. Last night had been the very stuff of melodrama. Nothing had been missing.