The Hostage Heart

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  Moss laid a hard hand on Gavin’s arm, but Gavin had already stopped himself. He stared at the two men in front of him with horrified eyes. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

  “All right, Harry, take it easy,” Moss said. He sounded amazingly calm, almost conversational, but Gavin beside him could feel the Superintendent’s body vibrating with tension. “Why don’t you do yourself a favour? You know it’s all over. There’s nowhere else to go. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

  “You make me laugh,” the Boss sneered. “I’m holding all the aces, Mossy, so don’t kid yourself.”

  Moss didn’t seem even to have heard him. “Listen,” he went on, “if you chuck it up now and come quietly, I’ll put in a good word for you. I’ll do what I can to talk your sentence down. But if you make me take you, by God you’ll be sorry. What about it?”

  “Go—yourself!” snarled the Boss, with a violent obscenity that made Gavin flinch.

  Moss had been trying to inch forward as he spoke, but he saw James’s finger shiver on the trigger, and realised he was too far gone to be reasoned with. He turned his attention instead to the younger man.

  “What about you, son? Are you going to be sensible? Come on, Andy, we know all about you. You can’t get away, you’re going down one way or another, but you don’t want to do longer than you have to, do you? Chuck it up now, and do yourself a favour. Don’t let old Gentleman Jim talk you into a twenty-stretch. Let him do his own time.”

  Andy licked his lips uncertainly, and glanced at the Boss. “He’s right, Boss,” he said. “We’ve had it. Let’s chuck it up. We don’t want anyone to get hurt—”

  “Shut up! You snivelling little rat, shut your face!” the Boss yelled. “You try it and I’ll shoot you first!”

  “But Boss—”

  In that instant, when the Boss’s attention was distracted, Gavin caught Emma’s eye. In the extraordinary tension of the moment, understanding flowed between them like a surge of electricity. Gavin felt the hair rise on his scalp. It was as if, just for that split second, each knew exactly what the other was thinking.

  Andy’s grip on Emma had slackened as his attention was focused on the Boss. It was enough for her. As she and Gavin exchanged that strange knowledge, she jabbed backwards with her elbows with all her strength, throwing her weight with them. Andy grunted with pain, and staggered, thrown off balance; Emma wrenched herself free, and made a break for it, running away from the group, sideways, away from the Boss.

  Everything happened in a second. Andy staggered, the Boss thrust Poppy away from him as he took aim at Emma, and Gavin flung himself in one springing leap at the Boss’s gun-arm.

  Gavin’s hands closed over the Boss’s wrist. He felt the weight of the gun in the man’s hand. He thrust the arm away from him, trying to push it upwards; and as the gun went off he felt the violent concussion a split second before he heard the explosion.

  Gavin had been quick enough to spoil the Boss’s aim, but not quick enough to prevent him firing. While the shot was still ringing on the quiet morning air, the rest of the police piled in, snatching Poppy away and overpowering both men. It was all over in the blinking of an eye; but to Gavin it seemed as though time had stopped, and he was frozen into immobility, staring at the crumpled figure of Emma, lying a few yards away, face down in the tussocky grass.

  It was months before he managed to rid his memory of the image, and stop replaying in his dreams the moment when the shot rang out and she fell, and lay still, face down as she had fallen, in that terrible silence. He had known then that she was dead, that he had killed her, and his heart had died too in that moment.

  He and another policeman reached her simultaneously. They could not have taken a second, for the pigeons were still rattling up from the trees, disturbed by the shot. Four eager hands turned her over; and then her eyes opened and she looked up at Gavin, and he felt sick with relief. “Emma,” he said, and it was like a prayer, like thanksgiving.

  “My leg,” she whispered.

  “She couldn’t save herself,” the policeman said, “because of her hands being tied.” He was examining the wound. “I don’t think it’s too bad. Looks as if it’s gone through the fleshy part. Bit of a mess,” he added in a lower voice to Gavin, “but as long as the bone’s not broken—”

  “It hurts,” Emma moaned.

  “Don’t worry, love, we’ll get an ambulance to you right away,” the policeman said, standing up; and to Gavin, “Stay with her, all right?”

  Gavin didn’t even hear him. He was busy working on the knot in the rope that tied her arms; then he remembered his knife, and got on quicker. He felt sick again at the sight of the ragged wounds on her wrists. “Oh Emma,” he moaned, “what did they do to you?”

  She looked up at him imploringly; he read her eyes and took her into his arms, holding her close against him. She shivered, feeling the terror of the past week begin to drain from her at last into the strength of his body. And then there were hurrying feet and a small, desperate voice crying, “Gavin!” and Poppy flung herself on them. Gavin opened up one arm and took her in too, and hugged them both tightly.

  “I’ll never let either of you out of my sight, ever again,” he said. He held them tighter, and heard himself make a strange noise, like a sob, or a laugh of relief – perhaps both.

  “Ambulance is on its way,” came Superintendent Moss’s voice from behind him. “And one of the lads is bringing up a first aid kit from one of the cars, see if we can dress that until it comes.”

  Gavin laid Emma back down on the grass, and looked up at the Superintendent. “Thank you for getting them back,” he said, his whole heart in his voice.

  “Couldn’t have done it without you,” Moss said kindly. “You’ve been a bloody nuisance, but you’ve been a great help too. And that was a brave thing you did, Miss Ruskin. Foolhardy, but brave.”

  “She’s been brave all the time,” Poppy said, garrulous with the relief and excitement of their rescue. “She’s been so brave and clever you wouldn’t believe! And those two men, I hope they go to prison for ever and ever! Poor Emma, does it hurt a lot? I’m so sorry to make all this trouble for you.”

  Emma tried to speak, to reassure her, but she was greying out with the pain. Gavin saw, and took hold of her hand, squeezing it hard. “Hold on to me,” he said softly. “Not long now.”

  It seemed an eternity, the wait for the ambulance; but after a while Emma seemed to grow detached from it, so that she knew she was in pain rather than felt it. The rough grass under her, the open sky above her; the warmth of the sun on her face and the sound of birds and distant voices; all these drifted in and out of her consciousness as she floated a little out of her body. But Gavin’s hand holding hers – the warmth and hardness of it, the shape of the palm and the impress of every finger – that was real. It was the point of contact which kept her tethered to the earth, and stopped her letting go and floating right away like a big, weightless, pain-filled balloon.

  It wasn’t until the afternoon that the hospital allowed the police in to take a preliminary statement; and even then, Emma was so drowsy with painkillers and shock that they did not stay long. Just a few points, they said, and they’d leave her to sleep. They could come back the next day for a more detailed statement.

  Moss himself called in the next morning, to thank her again, and see how she was getting on.

  “It hurts,” she said briefly. She felt very low and rather tearful, which the nursing staff said was reaction to the fear and suspense of the past week. “What will happen to the Boss and Andy?”

  “Twenty years, I should think,” Moss said tersely. “Andy Luckmeed might get less, given that Harry James was the brains behind it; but neither of them will be seeing the light of day again for a long, long time.”

  It took hours to take her statement; she needed frequent breaks. The policemen went out obediently when the medical staff made their rounds, and again when the nurses came to take her temperature and give he
r painkillers. She bore it all stoically. She wanted them to have every detail that might put the two men away for a good, long time.

  In the afternoon there was a very embarrassing visit from Mr Akroyd. He tiptoed in almost camouflaged with a vast bouquet of roses; and seeing she was awake, stood at the foot of the bed and looked at her, giving the impression that if he had been a cap-wearer, he would have been twisting it round and round in his hands.

  “I want to thank you, Miss Ruskin,” he said, “but I can’t think of any words that would be enough. You saved my little girl. What can I say? Anything you want, anything at all, just name it – it’s yours.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” Emma said awkwardly.

  “But I do,” Mr Akroyd went on; and a surprising blush coloured his face. “And I have to apologise to you. When all this came out – well, the police said it must have been an inside job, someone who knew the ropes, you see. And, not to beat about the bush, I thought it was you. You’d only been with us a few weeks. It seemed obvious that it must be you. Well, I was wrong, I admit it. I feel as bad as can be that it even crossed my mind. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “It’s all right,” Emma said. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter.” Mr Akroyd was not used to being contradicted. “It seems from what Superintendent Moss says that you’ve acted throughout the whole business with courage and resourcefulness, and that if it wasn’t for you they’d never have found you both, or got you away from the kidnappers. It was all down to your guts and initiative that we got Poppy back. So whatever you want by way of a reward, it’s all right with me. The sky’s the limit – and I won’t take no for an answer, so just think on! You can let me know what you’ve decided when you come home.”

  Emma was feeling very tired and the painkillers were wearing off again, and Mr Akroyd’s belligerent determination to see himself in her debt made her feel tearful. She felt he wanted to pay her off, so that he needn’t be under obligation to her, needn’t think about her any more. And to call Long Hempdon ‘home’! It was not her home, and never could be. She was glad when a nurse came in and chased him away.

  That evening she had the visit she’d been waiting for. Gavin came in, weighted down with flowers, gifts, messages and cards.

  “Hullo, how are you feeling?” he said. He put the whole armful down on the floor so that he could lean over and kiss her cheek. “You look tired. How’s the leg?”

  “Hurts like hell,” she said. She was glad she didn’t need to be polite about it, not to him.

  He frowned and picked up her hand and kissed her bandaged wrist. “I don’t know how we can ever repay you.”

  “Oh, don’t you start,” she said wearily. “I had your father in earlier, threatening me with a reward, like a belligerent Father Christmas. I can’t accept anything, you must know that.”

  Gavin smiled. “I’ll talk to him, try and head him off. What did they say about your leg?”

  “The doctor said the bullet passed right through the calf, which is the good news. If it had hit bone, I’d have been in a terrible mess. As it is, he says it will heal eventually, though I may be left with some permanent muscle damage.”

  Gavin looked stricken. “Oh Emma, what can I say? All this for our little girl!”

  “How is she? How is Poppy?” Emma asked, knowing she’d get the truth from him. “I haven’t seen her since the arrest.”

  “She’s really wonderful. I can’t believe how she’s bounced back. She’s so full of talk and self-confidence, you’d think she’d been on some kind of adventure holiday, rather than an ordeal like that. The only thing is—” he bit his lip. “She thinks you might blame her for what’s happened to you.”

  “That’s silly!”

  “She thinks you won’t come back. That’s what’s worrying Dad, as well. I know it must have been a dreadful experience for you, but I promised them both that I would ask you.” He looked at her with a veiled, watchful expression. “When you’re well, will you come back and teach her again?”

  Emma looked at him, her heart a cold lump in her chest. In the woods he had held her close, and she had seen love and concern in his face; now he was wary, detached, non-committal. She was just an employee to him after all; she had been mistaken.

  “No,” she said, “I won’t. I love Poppy dearly, as if she was my own sister – almost as if she was my daughter – but it isn’t right. She needs to go to school and be with other children her own age, not to be shut up in that house all day with an adult. In the right school, she’ll flourish – and I say this though it will make me very sad never to see her again, so you know how strongly I feel about it.”

  “Good,” Gavin said, his face clearing. “I’m glad you feel like that, for two reasons. The first is that I have a plan for Poppy which I’m hoping to persuade my parents to agree to, and having your approval will make it easier. I want to enrol her in a school in London that I know of – the child of a friend of mine goes there, and he recommended it. I’m going to get a flat near by, so that she can be a day pupil and live with me during the week. And she can go home to Long Hempdon for weekends and holidays. What do you think?”

  “I think it sounds pretty good.” Emma was surprised. Mrs Grainger had said he was like a father to Poppy, but this seemed quite a sacrifice on his part. She wondered whether he would manage to look after a little girl all on his own. But of course, being rich he could afford a housekeeper, or whatever was needed. “How will that fit in with your work?” she asked.

  “I’ve been offered a management job with a firm outside the group. It’s based in London, and I’d like to take it for a couple of years, to get some experience before I step into the family business.”

  “Well, that seems to have worked out nicely, doesn’t it,” she said. And then, “You said there were two reasons. What’s the second?”

  Gavin looked at her almost timidly. He picked up her hand and stroked it. “You said that you’d be sorry never to see Poppy again. How would you like to really be her sister?” She stared at him. “I’m not making much of a job of this, am I?” he said with a rueful smile. “What I’m trying to say is that I love you, Emma. Will you marry me?”

  “Marry you?” she whispered blankly.

  “Oh my God, is it such a terrible prospect? Which of us is it you don’t want to live with – me or Poppy? Tell me the truth – I can take it.” He lifted her hand and put it to his cheek. “Look at me, clowning to cover up my nerves. Emma, put me out of my misery! Was I mistaken? I thought you cared for me.”

  “I do,” she said suddenly, her poor overloaded brain catching up with her tongue at last. “I do – but – but do you really love me?”

  “Madly. Entirely. Will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes! Kiss me, you idiot!”

  He didn’t need asking twice. He kissed her long and thoroughly, and when he let her go, she only sighed and smiled at him. “I’ve waited so long for that,” she murmured.

  “Me too,” he said. “D’you mind if I do it again?”

  He came to visit her every day, and spent as much time with her as he could. Her leg was going to be a long time mending; it was lucky they had plenty to talk about. They told each other their side of events; Gavin told her, gravely, about Zara’s involvement. She was shocked, but, on later reflection, not terribly surprised. Zara was being sent abroad for six months, to a Swiss academy to learn cordon bleu cookery. It was what Society people did with difficult girls, she learned.

  She had other visitors too. Her parents came, in a state of delayed panic; Poppy and Mrs Henderson both came; Lady Susan almost did – she was moved enough to send a message of thanks and some grapes. The police came and reporters came – the hospital wasn’t too pleased about that. And there were heaps of letters, cards and flowers, many of them from complete strangers.

  “You’re quite famous in a quiet sort of way,” Gavin said.

 
; “This is quiet?” she protested.

  “You know what I mean. You’re a heroine. Here, I promised to see you got this one.” He distracted her with a large card, signed by her former flat-mates. “They were worried sick – saw the arrest in the papers. They want to know if they can come and visit you at the weekend.”

  “Of course! I’d love to see them. I do miss them. Have you spoken to them, then?”

  “I called in yesterday when I was up in town.”

  “I suppose they were all over you? You made a big impression there, you know.”

  “They’re nice. And I envied you so much, living like that.”

  “So tell me,” Emma said, getting to a question she had long wanted to ask, “how come you were so affable and easy-going with them the first time you met them, and with me you were stiff and formal and practically hostile.”

  “I wasn’t in love with them.”

  “Don’t tease – I want to know.”

  “It’s true – I fell in love with you almost the moment I met you.”

  “But you were so cold and aloof with me, I thought you despised me.”

  “It wasn’t all my fault, you know. You were very brittle and uncompromising. You picked on me all the time. I thought you despised me.”

  She grinned. “So that’s what you liked about me!”

  “I’d never met anyone like you – you were so bull-headed and determined.”

  “How feminine you make me sound!”

  “And when I found you loved Poppy, I loved you even more. And then you disappeared and I thought, if I should lose you—” He stopped. “I don’t ever want to go through anything like that again.”

  They were silent, and he saw that he had made her relive it, and was sorry. To lighten the mood he said, “Would you mind living in the house in Mayfair for a short time after we’re married? Just until we get a flat?”

  “No, I suppose not. Why?”