by Liz Fielding
‘You’ll cope. You’re both strong enough to handle it.’ He gave her a hug. ‘Hey, come on. Don’t let the little one see you cry. What’s her name?’
Dora sniffed. ‘Sophie.’
‘She’s amazingly like John, you know.’
‘Really?’ Dora laughed through her tears.
‘When he was a kid. Solemn and bony. What happened to her mother? Do you know?’
‘Only that she died.’
All the doubts were there in her voice. She still couldn’t quite shake them. ‘He’s okay, you know, Dora. A good man.’
‘Is he?’ Yet how could she have ever doubted him? He had risked everything for Sophie. If only she could have trusted him completely, he would be here with her now—with her and Sophie.
Richard nodded, as if her question had been purely rhetorical, not requiring an answer, then he crouched down and held out his hand. ‘How d’you do, Sophie? I’m Richard. I know your daddy.’ Sophie regarded him for a moment, then handed him her armbands. Richard laughed and instantly obeyed this mute command to inflate them.
The magistrates’ court was unbelievably busy. Dark-suited solicitors, bewigged barristers, witnesses waiting to give evidence, anxious family members. Dora and Richard squeezed in at the back of the hot, crowded gallery and he took her hand as she grew increasingly nervous. ‘Are you going to be all right, Dora?’
‘What? Oh, yes.’ And then he was there, in the dock. ‘Oh, John,’ she whispered, grasping Richard’s hand tighter. ‘Oh, my poor darling.’ He looked gaunt, exhausted, far worse than she had expected. The only colour in his skin was the faded tan that gave him a sickly yellow look, and his eyes and cheeks had dark shadows. Even the cleft in his chin seemed deeper, more noticeable. ‘He looks so ill,’ she said, half rising. The movement caught Gannon’s attention and he glanced up. For a moment he stared at her. Then quite deliberately he looked away again, facing directly in front of him as the magistrate began to speak.
‘John Gannon, you have pleaded guilty to the charges made against you—’
‘When?’ Dora demanded, surprised. ‘When did he do that?’
Richard glanced at her. ‘Last week. Surely—’ The magistrate glanced up at the gallery, waiting impatiently for silence. When he had it, he continued.
‘I’ve received an impressive number of reports as to your good character, and the mitigating circumstances in this case, but I have to say, Mr Gannon, that in your desperation to recover your daughter from a refugee camp you have shown an almost reckless disregard for the law...’ The man droned on, listing, it seemed to an anguished Dora, every possible misdemeanour that John Gannon might have committed since he had left his pram. ‘Taking all this into account, I have no option but to sentence you to six months—’
‘No!’ Dora cried out, leaping to her feet before Richard could restrain her. ‘No!’ The cry tore out from the suffocatingly hot little gallery into the courtroom, and seemed to swell and hang there while everyone turned and stared at her.
‘Six months,’ the magistrate repeated, glaring at Dora, daring her to say another word. But she was beyond words. As the blood seeped from her head Dora Kavanagh crumpled in a heap against her brother-in-law and knew no more, until the ornate moulding on the ceiling of the clerk’s office, gradually swam into focus.
For a moment she couldn’t think where she was, what had happened. Then, as the horror of it came back in a rush, she tried to sit up. ‘I’ve got to see him,’ she said, glaring at the stranger whose firm hand was restraining her. ‘John Gannon,’ she said urgently. ‘I’ve got to see him. Now.’
‘I’m afraid you can’t, miss. He’s already gone.’
CHAPTER TEN
DORA stared at the man, one of the court ushers, her head still swimming. ‘Gone?’ she asked stupidly, her limbs like water as she struggled to sit up for a moment longer and then gave in, subsiding back onto the sofa. It seemed an unlikely item of furniture for a court usher’s office. But maybe they had to deal with a lot of this kind of thing.
‘You just lie still, miss,’ the man said as she fell back. ‘You’ll feel better in a moment.’ It sounded like the voice of experience, but she still doubted it.
How on earth could she ever feel better until she’d seen John, made him listen to her? She’d been so sure that today she would have the chance to confront him, make him hear her out. Instead it had all gone horribly wrong. She’d fainted. Fainted! Who had ever heard of anything so pathetic...?
She closed her eyes against the fierce sunlight streaming in through the windows and tried to concentrate over the throbbing of her head. John had gone, the man had said. Where? Had he been put in handcuffs, whisked away in one of those barred vans that she had seen on the news to serve his sentence? Surely they couldn’t have done that to him? He hadn’t hurt anyone...
‘Gone?’ she repeated. ‘You did say he had—’
‘That’s right, miss,’ the man repeated patiently. ‘Now, you just stay there until your friend comes back with his car,’ he added warningly, as she made another attempt to sit up.
‘So soon...’
‘They don’t hang about once the case has been heard,’ he assured her. ‘Now, do you want to try that again? Slowly, mind.’ Quite suddenly there didn’t seem to be any rush—actually, there didn’t seem to be much point in moving at all—but Dora allowed herself to be eased up into a sitting position. ‘Just you have a sip of this, then sit there quietly for a minute. You’ll be right as ninepence in no time.’
Dora drank a little of the water she was offered and remembered her manners. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.’ She turned as the door opened. ‘Richard! He’s gone...’
‘I know. I tried to speak to him but I was too late. Look, can you move? I’ve got the car outside with a traffic warden watching it, but she said no more than two minutes...’
‘Of course I can move.’ She lurched to her feet, and Richard took her arm as she swayed and put her hand to her head.
‘She needs to take her time,’ the usher warned. ‘Until she’s quite recovered.’
‘I have to speak to him. It’s absolutely essential. He thinks I called the police, but I didn’t... You’ll have to see him—tell him.’
‘You can tell him yourself, Dora.’
‘But I can’t...don’t you see? He won’t speak to me.’
Richard stared at her. ‘But I thought... Oh, good grief, you moved too soon...’ As the colour drained from her face once more, Richard picked her up and carried her out, easing her onto the back seat of the car, where she sat groggily while he fastened the seat belt.
‘Will you be all right, sir?’ the usher enquired doubtfully, bringing up the rear with her handbag.
‘I’m just going to pick up my wife. Her sister,’ he explained. ‘She’ll look after Dora. Thanks for your help back there.’
The drive home passed in a blur of misery. Dora was vaguely aware of Poppy getting into the car, sitting in the back with her, putting her arm around her. But she was beyond comfort. She had thought that when John saw her everything would be all right.
What a fool she’d been. He had stared at her as if she wasn’t there. Cut her dead. And it would be six months before she could see him, because he’d never let her visit him in prison. She didn’t need to ask, it had been there in his face.
But surely he would want to know about Sophie? How she was? What she was doing? Photographs... As quickly as hope flared it died. Fergus would take care of that. That was why Fergus had been given responsibility for her. Not because of his influence, or because no one would dare challenge his authority. John Gannon had asked Fergus to help him because he couldn’t bear to have anything to do with a woman who would betray him. And Fergus had agreed, hoping to keep them apart. There was no point in appealing to her brother for help because he didn’t approve of John. He hadn’t said as much, but it was as clear as day that he didn’t believe John Gannon was the right man for his precious little sister
.
Oh, he’d done everything for Sophie and dealt with all the paperwork once the blood tests had proved without doubt that she was John’s daughter. But, as he never ceased to remind her, John Gannon had come close to involving her in a court case, and she could easily have been standing in the dock beside him. As if she would have cared.
The trouble with Fergus was that he’d never been in love, so he couldn’t be expected to understand.
‘Come on, darling, we’re home,’ Poppy said, when they reached Marlowe Court. ‘Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down for a while? You still look pretty shaky.’
‘No, I’ve got to see Sophie. Where’s Sophie?’ The child was her only link with John, and she had a sudden morbid fear that Fergus would whisk her away somewhere. ‘I must see Sophie,’ she repeated.
‘Hey, calm down, love. She’ll be in the kitchen with Mrs Harris, I expect. Come on, we’ll go and find her.’ But Dora was yards ahead of her.
Sophie, wrapped in a huge apron, was sitting at the work-counter sticking currant eyes and buttons onto a trayful of gingerbread men, but she slipped down from the chair and ran to Dora as soon as she saw her, flinging her arms about her knees. Dora bent and hugged her. Too tightly. She mustn’t cling to the child. She would have another life, somewhere else, with John. She loosened her grip and looked at his little girl. There was such a change in her after just a few days of Mrs Harris’s good cooking.
‘You’ll save me one of those, won’t you darling?’ she said, a little shakily, her throat tight with tears she could not shed as she helped the child back up onto the chair.
Poppy took her arm. ‘Go on now, Dora. Lie down for a while. Mrs Harris and I will look after Sophie. Maybe have a swim later.’
She begrudged every minute that she would lose of Sophie’s company, knew she should be thinking, not resting, but her head was aching so much. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said. ‘Just for half an hour...’
‘Take as long as you need, she’ll be fine with us. Go. We’ll see you at dinner.’
The thought of food made Dora feel faint. All week the thought of food had made her feel faint. Maybe that was why, in the end, she had fainted. It wouldn’t do. She’d need all her strength if she was going to get through this. ‘I just need an hour.’
‘Take all the time you need.’
Fergus arrived home just after four. ‘Where’s Dora?’ he asked, as he walked down to the poolside.
Poppy, standing beside the pool in a sleek white one-piece bathing suit, waiting for Richard to change and join her, turned at the sound of her brother’s voice. ‘She’s lying down. She had a bit of a wobbly turn.’
‘Why?’ Fergus asked sharply. ‘What’s the matter with her?’
Belatedly remembering that Fergus wasn’t supposed to know about her sister’s trip into London, she said, ‘Nothing. It’s just the heat.’
‘It’s probably just as well. I’ve got Gannon in the car; he’s come to collect his daughter.’ He looked about him. ‘Where is Sophie?’
‘In the kitchen with Mrs Harris. She’s just started tea, so you’d better ask Mr Gannon in for a drink while he’s waiting.’
‘You’re sure Dora is resting?’
‘She was fast asleep when I looked in on her about ten minutes ago. Why, Fergus? Are you trying keeping them apart?’
Fergus pulled a face. ‘I know better than to try and keep Dora from anything she wants, Poppy. It’s Gannon who doesn’t want to see her. He just wants to collect his little girl and go.’
‘That’s pretty shabby, considering all she’s done for him.’
‘Maybe it is, and I won’t deny that I’ll miss Sophie about the place, but he’s adamant.’
‘Oh, Fergus!’
‘Don’t “Oh, Fergus!” me, Poppy. This is entirely his decision.’
‘But one you have done nothing to alter?’
‘I’ve seen him; you haven’t. The man’s mind is made up. But, since Dora is out of the way, I’ll tell him to come in and wait for Sophie. You can give him a drink if you want to. It’ll give you the chance to tell him exactly what you think of him while I go and check on progress in the kitchen.’ With that he turned and walked quickly back to the front of the house.
‘Did I hear your brother?’ Richard asked, crossing the pool terrace from the changing room.
‘You did.’
‘Pity. I was rather hoping we might have the pool to ourselves for a while.’
‘There’s no one here now,’ she pointed out, smiling seductively at him, then giving a little scream of delight as Richard grabbed her and swept her off her feet. Then she kissed him.
John Gannon, rounding the corner of the house, stopped abruptly. Fergus Kavanagh had told him that Dora was asleep or he would never have got out of the car. Not that Kavanagh had needed much convincing that it would be wiser for them not to meet. He was clearly not about to encourage a man who had so nearly got his sister into serious trouble with the law. And into serious trouble with her marriage—although whether he knew that or was simply guessing he couldn’t be sure. But Gannon didn’t blame him for wanting him in and out of his house with all possible haste. A clean cut. Painful, but necessary.
And it had been painful. It had been like cutting out his own heart, lying in a hospital side ward, hearing her plead with the nurse. To hold her letter in his hand and not open it. To tell his solicitor that under no circumstances must she be given his address. But it had been right. He had known it. He hadn’t needed Fergus Kavanagh to look at him as if he was trouble. He was.
But even then, somewhere deep in the recesses of his soul, he had still hoped. Until today, when he had turned and seen her in the public gallery with Richard. And then she had cried out, and he knew he couldn’t face Richard either. Because everything he was feeling would surely show. He wouldn’t be able to hide his guilt, or his pain.
And now his worst nightmare was before him. She was there, wrapped in the arms of his oldest friend. A man who was her husband. A man who loved her. He could understand that, because he loved her himself. He loved her beyond reason. If he had ever doubted it, he knew it now. Just as he knew that he should have trusted his own instincts and stayed in the car.
Now the breath was being squeezed from his body, and he grabbed at his tie to loosen it as he fought the suffocating jealousy, spinning round to make good his escape before they saw him.
‘John!’ Too late. He stopped, slowly turned as Richard came towards him, hand outstretched, grinning broadly. ‘Damn, but it’s good to see you. And Dora’s been quite frantic.’ He turned and held out his hand to the woman behind him. ‘John’s here at last, darling.’
Gannon forced himself to stand there, to take Richard’s hand. To let nothing of his feelings show as he turned to her, to smile as if his world wasn’t ending.
‘Richard—’ he began, then stopped, confused. The woman behind Richard was not Dora. The woman Richard had been kissing was not Dora.
‘I told you I was the happiest man in the world,’ he was saying. ‘Now you can see why.’ He half turned. ‘Poppy, darling, this is John Gannon. You remember? I wanted him for our best man but he was away in some far-flung corner of a foreign field. Where were you at Christmas, John?’
‘Rwanda,’ he replied. ‘I think.’
She was like Dora superficially. She had the same long fair hair, the same slender body. But she was taller, older, oozed the kind of glamour that goes with the world of fashion and beauty. ‘Poppy?’ He repeated her name as if it was somehow imbued with magic.
‘Dora’s big sister,’ she confirmed. He still couldn’t take it in. ‘Poppae and Pandora,’ she added helpfully, mistaking his confusion. ‘Mother was into all that ancient stuff.’
He swallowed, trying to get his head round this. ‘Er...how come Fergus escaped?’
Poppy laughed. ‘Family legend has it that Mother wanted to call him Perseus, but Father put his foot down. Said everyone would call him Percy.’
&
nbsp; He was still looking from one of them to the other. ‘And you’re married to Richard?’
‘If he’s told you any different, he’s lying,’ she said, with a grin. ‘And he’ll have to pay a forfeit.’ She started to pull her husband back towards the pool.
‘Where’s Dora?’ he demanded, his urgency stopping her at the edge of the water. ‘I have to see her.’
‘But I thought—’ Then, ‘Dora’s upstairs, John, lying down. She fainted in court. It was all a bit much for her—the heat and everything. But you know that; you were there.’
‘Where can I find her?’ he insisted. ‘I have to see her now.’
Dora’s big sister smiled. ‘Top of the stairs, third door on the right.’ And with that the pair of them disappeared in a splash.
Gannon walked slowly up the broad oak staircase. Dora wasn’t married to Richard. He kept saying it over and over in his head, and still he didn’t quite dare to believe it. He could see how the confusion had happened. The policeman had assumed she was Poppy and called her Mrs Marriott, and he had accepted it without question. But why had she let him go on thinking it?
The third door on the right. He tapped lightly but there was no answer. In the silence he heard a burst of childish laughter from the kitchen. Sophie. He had found Sophie. He had brought her home safe through all kinds of dangers. He would not be stopped now by something as mundane as a door. He grasped the handle and opened it, and after that nothing mattered. Only that he loved her.
She was asleep. Her hair spread out across the pillow, her golden limbs lightly covered with a sheet. Sleeping Beauty. He longed to wake her with a kiss, but this wasn’t a fairy tale and he was no prince.
Instead he knelt beside the bed, propping his chin upon his hands, every part of him aching for her to wake so that he could take her in his arms, yet reluctant to lose this moment of perfect hope. The promise had been there in her name. He should never have lost hope.
And then he realised something extraordinary. Her cheek was wet. He reached out and touched her skin with the tip of his finger, carried the salt taste of her tears to his lips. She had been crying in her sleep.