His Little Girl

by Liz Fielding

  ‘Do you think Sophie would like this?’ she asked, showing him a can, delaying the moment of truth just a little longer.

  ‘Sophie isn’t fussy. She’ll eat anything and be glad to get it.’

  Yes, of course she would. ‘I’ll open it, then. There must be some bread in the freezer.’ What on earth was the matter with her? He kept giving her opportunities, so why couldn’t she just say the words? Actually I’m not married to Richard. I’m not married to anyone. What was so difficult about that?

  Because without that barrier there would be nothing to stop him jumping to all the right conclusions about the way she’d kissed him, instead of all the wrong ones, because she had to face it, he hadn’t exactly reeled back in horror. Considering she was supposed to be the wife of his very good friend Richard Marriott.

  It had already occurred to her that Gannon might actually be just the tiniest bit pleased that she wasn’t Richard’s wife—once she had got around to telling him. He might even be pleased enough to kiss her again. She might even let him.

  Might? Her subconscious gave a hollow laugh at such self-delusion as she opened the freezer and dug out a loaf of bread, and a little bubble of excitement rose beneath her breastbone as she remembered the touch of his lips against hers; cold and wet from the rain, they had heated up like steam in a boiler.

  Was that knowledge the root of her reluctance to tell him the truth? Because it would be so easy to get carried away, lose her head if he decided to try it again? A fact she was quite sure he was aware of and would use to his own advantage if she let him. And she wasn’t kidding herself...any man who’d snatch a child, steal a plane, break into a friend’s house and kidnap his wife wouldn’t think twice about seducing her if he thought it would serve his purpose. At least he wouldn’t think twice about it if she was giving him the impression that she might welcome the experience...

  Okay, so maybe he’d hadn’t exactly kidnapped her, but he’d certainly kept her prisoner in that bathroom while he’d taken a shower, and any man who would do a thing like that was scarcely over-endowed with scruples, was he? In fact a besotted woman would suit such a man very well indeed. She wouldn’t ask so many awkward questions.

  And it was right after that kiss that he had stopped arguing and agreed to her plans. Sure that she was on his side. Sure that she wouldn’t betray him. Sure that she was putty in his hands.

  And at that moment he might well have been right. If it hadn’t been for that careless crack about her knowing Brian would keep quiet because she brought strange men home on a regular basis, she would still be putty...

  But her anger had worked liked a dose of smelling salts, clearing her head, bringing her down to earth. The truth was that except for the fact that he knew her. brother-in-law John Gannon was still a complete mystery to her. She didn’t know who he was or what kind of trouble he was in.

  What kind of trouble she was in—because she’d held the forces of law and order at bay for him, lied to them for him... And now he was in her apartment, at her invitation, and he’d heard her tell Brian to keep everyone away, including Fergus. That had been a mistake. Fergus was just the man she needed—they needed—right now. Because he would certainly know exactly what to do. The only danger being that he might decide calling the police was exactly what to do. He could be right.

  Helping take relief supplies into Eastern Europe had been positively sane in comparison with this. Or at least, if not sane, she’d known the risks. But the moment this stranger had stepped over the threshold of the cottage she’d apparently lost what little sense she’d been born with.

  ‘Did you have an argument about it? About driving relief supplies?’ Gannon continued. ‘Is that why you’re sleeping apart?’ Dora froze, and it had nothing to do with the cold air spilling out of the freezer and condensing around her feet in the warmth of the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, almost immediately. ‘It’s none of my business. Forget I asked.’

  She swallowed, guilt heating her skin. Now. Tell him now. ‘Richard and I... Richard isn’t...’

  ‘I just couldn’t help noticing that you weren’t using the marital bed,’ he added, just when she’d decided to do the decent thing and own up.

  Was that what this inquisition was all about? Did he think that since the marriage bed was apparently vacant, and she had made free with everything else, she might just oblige with that too? Could it be that the thought of good old Richard wasn’t going to prove quite the restraint that she had hoped?

  But then she hadn’t behaved quite like a besotted bride when he’d kissed her, had she? Kissing him back had been a bad mistake. Well, it was too late to do anything about that, but she could make sure it wasn’t repeated.

  She slammed the freezer door shut and swung around. ‘You’re right, Gannon. It isn’t any of your business. You’re the one with all the explaining to do.’ She put the bread on the counter-top and, using a blunt knife, levered the slices apart. ‘Why don’t you see if you can do two things at once? While you’re explaining what this is all about, you can make yourself useful by opening that can.’ That would at least keep his hands busy.

  ‘And you’re still using your own name,’ he said, totally ignoring her demand for some answers. His gaze strayed to her left hand, bare of rings. ‘I know, it’s not compulsory. But you don’t really strike me as a hard-line feminist.’ Unfortunately it was not as easy to keep his mouth occupied. The only way she could think of was definitely off limits.

  ‘Really? And what do I strike you as?’ Wrong, wrong. You’re just playing into his hands that way. But she was human enough to want to know.

  ‘I’m still working on that one.’

  She might have guessed. He hadn’t yet given her a straight answer to the simplest of questions. ‘Well, let me know when you’ve come to a conclusion. It will be a pleasure to tell you just how far off the mark you are.’

  For a moment their eyes locked in a battle of wills, then Gannon slid off the stool, picked up the can and, still looking at her, slowly opened it.

  There was speculation in that look. Something knowing that curled up her insides, and she knew she’d been right not to tell him the truth. Okay, so he suspected her ‘marriage’ might be in trouble. But at least he still thought she was married. To a man he claimed as a friend. So he wouldn’t do anything silly, would he? Not unless she encouraged him. And she wasn’t about to do that.

  The kiss in the woods didn’t count. It hadn’t started out as anything more than an attempt to hide her face from Mrs Fuller. And they could both hide behind fear and adrenalin for the way it turned out. If they were sensible. Ha!

  If only she knew more about him, why he needed her help. So far she had relied on her instincts to guide her, and her instincts had told her that, despite all the evidence to the contrary, he was on the side of the angels. But then women had been fooling themselves that way since the Fall. Maybe she was just fooling herself now.

  He hadn’t been exactly brimming over with confidences, and he had simply countered her questions with his own. Side-tracking her. Keeping his secrets.

  Good grief, this was the classic situation of every woman-in-peril thriller. If she’d been watching this on the cinema screen she would have been urging the stupid woman to call the police, get out of there, run...

  And she couldn’t say she hadn’t been warned. From the very first day at nursery school one thing had been drummed into them all...never talk to strangers. Okay, so Gannon hadn’t offered her sweets...or had he? That kiss had been sugared almonds and jelly babies and chocolate buttons all rolled into one. And everyone knew how addictive chocolate was.

  She was seriously regretting instructing Brian not to tell her brother she was home. Fergus might read her the riot act endlessly for her stupidity, and check up on her every move for the next ten years because of this madness, but he only did it because he loved her, wanted to protect her...

  Well, maybe it wasn’t too late to call him. Gannon had trusted her su
fficiently to let her go out and get some clothes for Sophie. Surely he wouldn’t object to a trip to the local shop to stock up the fridge? They had to eat.

  ‘I’m going to have to go out and buy some food,’ she said.

  ‘The freezer looked pretty well stocked to me.’

  ‘We need eggs, cheese, milk,’ she snapped out. ‘And some orange juice for Sophie.’ The evening newspaper might not be such a bad idea, either. ‘Maybe she should have some vitamins, too. And I wasn’t planning on waiting for something to defrost before we ate. It’s been a long time since breakfast. You must be hungry.’

  ‘I’ve known worse.’

  ‘In Grasnia?’

  ‘There and other places. Until recently I was a foreign correspondent for a news agency. Wars a speciality.’ He regarded her with something close to, but not quite, a smile. ‘In case you were wondering.’

  ‘And what are you now?’

  ‘I’m self-employed...at least where trouble is concerned.’

  ‘You said it, Gannon. So you’d better stay here and feed Sophie while I go and shop.’

  ‘Actually, I really don’t think that’s such a good idea, Dora.’

  ‘I won’t be long,’ she said, hoping the tremor in her limbs wasn’t transmitting itself to her voice. She hadn’t seriously considered the possibility of him keeping her locked up in her own apartment. Hadn’t she done enough to convince him that she was on his side? Whatever side that was.

  ‘How long does it take?’ She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, and it must have shown on her face because he decided to explain. ‘The last time you went shopping the police arrived in force,’ he reminded her.

  Dora was outraged. ‘I told you that was nothing to do with me—and you’re not the only one in trouble, Gannon. I lied to them for you.’

  ‘And now you’re having second thoughts about it. I don’t blame you, Dora, but you’ll understand my reticence about letting you out of my sight again. If you need supplies, I’m sure your friendly hall porter would be only too happy to help. You might ask him to get you a copy of the evening newspaper, too. Just in case I’ve made the front page.’

  ‘Is that likely?’ she demanded, appalled at the prospect. ‘If you have he’ll recognise you.’ And he’d be the one calling the police. That possibility should have made her feel better. But oddly it didn’t.

  His smile was a touch wry. ‘I doubt that, somehow.’ He rubbed the palm of his hand over his chin. ‘I’m not exactly looking my best.’

  She attempted a careless shrug. ‘Whatever. I’ll go down and ask him.’

  He wasn’t so easily fooled. ‘Why don’t you save energy and use the internal telephone?’ He lifted the receiver and offered it to her.

  It seemed he was serious, deadly serious, about not letting her out of his sight again. She swallowed nervously. ‘Have you already disconnected the outside line?’ she enquired. He’d been all around the apartment, checking the lay-out.

  ‘No. I’ll need the telephone.’

  ‘To call up more of your understanding friends?’ She put all the disdain she could muster into her voice. But it was too little and much too late.

  ‘A man needs all the friends he can get. Maybe you should call Richard, too,’ he suggested. ‘Just in case he’s wondering where you are. Or have things got so bad that you aren’t even speaking?’ He held up his hands in a defensive gesture as she glared at him. ‘All right, I know. It’s none of my business. But he was a good friend when I needed him. And one failed marriage is enough for anyone.’

  ‘Are you speaking from personal experience, here?’

  ‘No. That’s one of the few mistakes I’ve yet to make. But I saw what it did to Richard.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about him, Gannon. Richard is as happy as any man has a right to be,’ she declared roundly.

  ‘You can guarantee that, can you?’

  ‘Stick around and ask him. I don’t think he’ll disagree with my assessment of his state of mind. I’d call him and let him tell you himself, but I can’t, he’s travelling about all the time. I don’t know where he is from one day to the next.’

  ‘And he doesn’t call you?’

  ‘He’s probably been trying the cottage,’ she said, without so much as a twinge of conscience, her every good intention about telling him the truth on hold. The only information prisoners were obliged to part with was name, rank and number. He had all that, and more. At least he thought he had, and she’d done enough fool things in the last few hours without making things worse. ‘Of course he won’t be able to get through,’ she added.

  Gannon wasn’t in the least bit apologetic. ‘What about the mobile?’ he asked.

  That was the trouble when you started improvising. Things just got out of hand. ‘It’s new.’ She said the first thing that came into her head. ‘He doesn’t have the number. Maybe he’ll call Sarah, and she’ll tell him I’m here.’

  ‘You didn’t tell Sarah that you were coming here,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Didn’t I? Well, she’ll guess. Or he will.’

  ‘Whatever you say,’ he replied evenly, clearly not believing a word. He was still holding the telephone receiver, and once more he offered it to her. ‘So, are you going to give Brian a call?’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  Rather than face the dark, searching challenge of his eyes another moment, she snatched the receiver from him and turned her back on him as she pressed the button to call the porter. He responded instantly.

  ‘Brian? It’s Dora Kavanagh. Can you ask the corner shop to send me some groceries, please? I’ll give you a list.’

  Gannon watched her as she told the man what she wanted. She was rattled. On edge. Well, it was hardly surprising; she’d been through a lot in the last few hours. He’d put her through a lot.

  Until now she’d scarcely batted an eyelid. But suddenly she was nervous.

  He’d have liked to be able to pretend that he didn’t know why. But he’d spent too many years studying people who were trying to hide their feelings to get off that easily. She had changed from the moment when he had kissed her on that muddy path and she had kissed him back. He wondered what had bothered her the most; that in a moment of madness she had betrayed her husband, or the realisation that given the chance she would do it again?

  She’d been quiet on the drive into London, but he hadn’t had time to worry about it then; he’d been too busy worrying about whether they would reach their destination in one piece, worrying how long it would be before the pain got too bad for him to keep going. But ever since the front door of her apartment had closed behind them she had become increasingly edgy.

  She was ready to bolt given half a chance, and he couldn’t allow that. Sophie needed her. And you need her, too. He tried to ignore the insistent voice in his head, but it wouldn’t go away. You want her.

  His fingers curled around the edge of the countertop. He wanted her more than any woman he had ever met. Even now, looking at her as she concentrated on remembering everything she might want for the next day or two, his guts were being twisted like spaghetti round a fork, with the kind of longing he thought he’d left behind with all his other illusions.

  It should have been like all the lights in the world coming on at once. But it wasn’t. Richard was his friend; Dora was his friend’s wife. There would be no angels singing the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ for him, just the bleak prospect of doing the right thing and walking away the moment that he’d sorted this mess out But not yet. He couldn’t go yet. Not while his ribs were giving him hell, while Sophie’s future was in any doubt.

  ‘There.’ She hung up and turned defiantly to face him. ‘That should do it.’

  ‘It certainly should. You’ve laid in sufficient supplies for the five thousand.’

  She shrugged. ‘Well, you never know when the five thousand might drop by, probably all of them wearing policemen’s helmets. In the meantime, since that soup wo
n’t heat itself, I’ll do it, shall I? And while I look after Sophie you can make your phone calls.’

  ‘You’re that keen to get rid of me? Well, I can’t say I blame you. I promise I won’t stay a second longer than necessary.’

  ‘I don’t exactly have a choice, do I?’ Not that she wanted him to go. Despite all her doubts, she wasn’t in the business of lying to herself. What she really wanted was to touch him, hold him, make everything right for him, and she’d never felt that way about anyone before in her entire life. It made her feel vulnerable, at the mercy of feelings she didn’t understand. Or maybe she did understand them, all too well. She just didn’t want to acknowledge the fact. ‘But I don’t like being on the wrong side of the law, Gannon,’ she said curtly. ‘I want things sorted out. For Sophie’s sake as well as my own.’

  ‘Then we have the same objective.’

  ‘Good. So you won’t mind if I call my doctor and have him give her a thorough check-up, will you?’ She turned and looked at him, and despite her anger her heart turned over.

  There was a greyness about his skin, a pinched look around his mouth from pain—pain that he was refusing to acknowledge. He should see a doctor too, she knew, but she didn’t say anything. She’d leave that argument until she had the doctor to back her up.

  ‘Actually, that’s not a bad idea.’ She almost collapsed from the shock. It must have shown on her face because he almost smiled. ‘I need to organise a blood test,’ he said. ‘The sooner the better.’

  ‘A blood test?’

  ‘Don’t look so concerned. I just need to be able to prove that Sophie is my daughter, establish that she has a right to be here.’

  His daughter! ‘Your daughter? But I thought—’

  ‘You thought she was just some refugee I’d whisked out of the country without proper papers?’