He poured her some tea. She sat up and put both hands around the cup to warm them. “Didn’t you get a newspaper?”
“In a supermarket?”
She gave him a sharp look. “They sell them in supermarkets now. Don’t you ever go shopping?”
She didn’t know-or wasn’t supposed to know-that he’d broken out of jail. Several times already she’d almost twigged.
He said, “The news doesn’t interest me.”
“It ought to if you’re in it. There might be a picture of me in the paper. ‘Massive Hunt for Missing Student.’
Mountjoy said, “You’ve got some hopes.”
“My dad will see to it. He’s the Assistant Chief Constable, or one of them, anyway.”
“I know.”
“You think just because he’s a top dog in the police he must have buckets of money, but you’re wrong. They don’t get paid much. What’s your job? What do you do, apart from kidnapping helpless women?”
“I make them sandwiches if they’re not too bloody inquisitive,” said Mountjoy.
“All right.” She tugged the blanket aside. “And I’ll need my legs untied.”
“What for?”
“Don’t be so dense.”
“Again?”
The bodily functions were embarrassing on both sides. Moreover, untying her created an additional hazard. She was a strong young woman and each time she used the toilet there was a risk that it was the pretext for an escape attempt, so the door had to remain open.
He let her loosen the flex around her ankles.
She said, “What do you think I would do if you left me untied? I’m not going to get far without shoes, am I?”
He didn’t answer. Just opened the toilet door and stood with his foot against it to prevent her from closing it. In his planning this large caravan had seemed ideal for his purpose. Civilized, even. He had no wish to cause unnecessary suffering. He hadn’t appreciated the physical constraints. Now they were increasingly stressful.
When she came out, she spoke his thoughts almost exactly. “How much longer does this have to go on?”
“Depends.”
“On my father?”
He said, “It can’t end soon enough for me.”
“But it’s got to end the way you want it?”
“Obviously.”
After an interval, she said, “Sometimes in the past I fantasized about being kidnapped, but it was always by someone like Harrison Ford, and there wasn’t a shortage of blankets and I didn’t even think about wanting a change of clothes or a hot dinner. Being a hostage is degrading and disgusting. Have you spoken to my father on the phone?”
“No.”
“How did you contact him, then? By letter? How will he know I’ve been kidnapped?”
“It’s under control.”
“You left a message with someone else?”
“Something like that.”
“And you’re certain he knows?”
“Positive.”
She brooded on this for a while.
“Doesn’t say much for my parents, does it, if they won’t stomp up? Are you demanding an impossible ransom?”
He said, “Did you, or did you not, want a corned beef sandwich?”
“I told you I did. You weren’t listening. Or is this bribery now? Do I have to stop asking questions before I get fed? I can fix it myself if you let me.”
He wasn’t letting her into the kitchen. He told her to get back on the bed. While he was winding flex around her ankles, she took a comb from her pocket and started working at her hair, separating the strands and teasing them out to restore the exuberant frizz.
Wanting to say something civil as he performed the unedifying task of tying her, Mountjoy commented, “How long have you had your hair that way?”
“Six months or so. It should be softer than this. It wants shampooing.”
“It looks fine.”
“It’s greasy and tangled and it feels horrible.”
“Is it natural?”
“Of course not. It takes ages in the hairdresser’s.”
“I mean the color.”
“That. Yes, I was born with it. I hated it when I was younger. You get called things all the time.”
“If you want to be one of the crowd, why have a Style like that?”
“Oh, I don’t mind now. It’s a big plus to be noticed.”
“By men, do you mean?”
She reddened and stared at him, disturbed by the question. The sexual threat she had largely dismissed suddenly resurfaced. She said rapidly and stiffly, “I meant as a musician. Classical music is becoming just as competitive as pop, so far as image is concerned. You have to sell yourself, as well as your talent. So I went for a style that makes a statement.”
In a casual tone that was meant to restore confidence, he told her, “You make the statement: I’ll make the sandwich.” Making the sandwich wasn’t going to be much of a task-a square slice of corned beef between two slices of cut bread. No butter or mayonnaise. The cuisine didn’t run to such refinements.
She continued combing the hair. She’d worked on it like a cat ever since he’d brought her here.
She asked, “What will we do for food when the money runs out? You must have spent most of it already.”
He didn’t answer.
She said, “You’ll have to take my violin and go busking. Can you play? If not, I’d better give you lessons. It will help to pass the time.”
He handed her the sandwich on a plate, and asked her if she wanted more tea. There was some left in the pot.
She said she would like some. “I’m surprised you bought loose tea. Tea bags are more practical. That’s all I ever buy. You can get them in all varieties now-orange pekoe, Earl Grey, Lapsang souchong.”
That “now” was another dig. She’d worked out that he was on the run, he was practically certain. He told himself to be relaxed about it. It didn’t matter so much now. He hadn’t wanted to panic her at the beginning.
She asked, “What else is in the carrier? Did you get anything really delicious?”
“Chocolate.”
“Brings me out in spots, I’m afraid, but if I’m really hungry I’ll have some. May I see?” She dropped the comb and held out her hands for the bag, which still lay on the floor with some of its contents inside.
“No.”
“Why not?” She sounded quite hurt. “There’s no harm in seeing. I’m not going to take a bite of your precious chocolate, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
He picked up the bag and carried it to the kitchen.
“It was my money,” she pointed out. “I’m entitled to know what you bought with it.”
In the kitchen he started storing the things in the tiny cupboard. Not wishing to provoke her any more than was necessary, he said, “Two sliced loaves, four packets of chicken soup, a pint of milk, eight slices of corned beef, six bananas, some tea and some sugar. Satisfied?”
“And the chocolate.”
“And the chocolate.”
She said, “I don’t see why you have to treat a bag of shopping as a state secret.”
He said, “Because it’s boring.” And out of her line of vision he took the final item from the bag and tucked it out of sight on top of the cupboard.
It was a packet of hair tint, labeled Mocha.
Chapter Five
A whiff of fried bacon was in the air.
From deep in the bed came an utterance just comprehensible as, “You can chuck my clothes off the chair and leave the tray.”
“It’s five past eight, sir,” the cadet announced as he went out.
Diamond heaved himself up to a sitting position.
The breakfast had been a brilliant idea. He was less convinced about the sleep. Three hours had not been enough. He was left with a pounding headache and a mouth that tasted as if it had Hoovered the carpet. He reached for the mug on the tray.
The tea tasted good. It hadn’t come from an urn. This was almost like home.
Out of curiosity he leaned toward the tray and lifted the cover. Some angel in the canteen had a long memory: two eggs coated pale pink on a slice of thick fried bread, with several strips of crisp streaky bacon, a sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes and a heap of fried potato.