Midnight Runner - Jack Higgins [47]
"Maybe we should go back to Oxford," she said, feeling light-headed from the drink.
He put an arm around her reassuringly.
"Come on, baby, it'll be all right. Okay, it was a piece of shit back there, but let's not let it spoil the weekend."
"All right," but there was a reluctance in her voice.
"Come on, we'll get a cab." Which they did a few moments later.
A t South Audley Street, Rupert Dauncey switched off the live coverage on television and turned to Kate.
"There they are, all running like scared rabbits."
"I wonder what happened to the Quinn girl?"
"I'll call the place where Grant's staying and see." He did, but the phone simply rang and rang.
He replaced the receiver and frowned, looking out at the gathering darkness of the March evening, uneasy and not really sure why.
He said to Kate, "I think I'll go down to Canal Street and see if they're there. I'll use your Porsche, if that's okay."
"Why, darling, you're taking this personally."
"I love you, too," he told her, and left.
I n the cab, Grant remembered the Ecstasy chocolates and gave her one. He knew it was too late for Dauncey's purposes, but, hell, now she'd really be ready. He intended to screw her brains out. And screw Dauncey, anyway. Big, self-important bastard, with his threats. Grant wasn't afraid of him--he had it all on tape! And on the way to the bus after leaving Dauncey, he'd run into a friend who wasn't going to the demonstration. It had been the perfect opportunity. He'd given him the pen for safekeeping and told him to stick it in Grant's mailbox. No sense risking it getting lost in the excitement.
No, Mr. Dauncey, Grant thought, grinning to himself, we'll just see who's going to be very, very sorry.
A t the house in Canal Street, he began the wrestling with Helen Quinn on the couch. She was thoroughly drunk now and struggling, trying to avoid his kisses.
"No, Alan, I feel awful. My head's splitting."
"You'll be all right. I'll be back in a minute."
He went upstairs to the bathroom, trembling with excitement. He splashed his face with water, dried it, and combed his hair, and was just coming back down when he heard a sudden cry. He ran down the rest of the stairs and went into the living room.
She was writhing convulsively on the couch, her entire body shaking. "What is it?" he cried.
When he put a hand to her face, it was burning; he saw that her eyes were bulging and then froth appeared on her mouth. It was every horror story he'd ever heard about people who got an adverse reaction to Ecstasy.
He couldn't walk out. Everyone knew they'd been together.
There was only one thing for it, St. Mark's Hospital half a mile up the High Street. If he got her there, they'd fix her. He ran to the front door, opened it and then the garage door, got into his brother's Escort and reversed out. He went back inside and helped her to her feet and looped her purse around her neck. Strangely enough, she was able to shuffle along, and he got her out of the house and into the rear seat of the Escort.
R upert, in the Porsche, had just turned into Canal Street, saw Grant leading her out, and knew instantly from the way she was walking that there was something seriously wrong. He drove past the Escort, turned the Porsche, and was on their tail as Grant drove away. They were at the hospital in minutes.
Rupert followed them into the main car park and watched as Grant got her out. She was really suffering now, walking like a zombie, as Grant took her up the steps to the entrance to the Casualty department. Rupert got out and followed.
Inside, it was crowded, as was typical of most English National Health Service hospitals; all seats were taken, with some people standing. Rupert stayed back by the entrance. Grant glanced around, wondering what to do, and Helen cried out and started to struggle. He couldn't hold her and she fell to the floor. Some people jumped up in alarm.
A passing nurse ran over and knelt beside her. There was a huge amount of foam on her mouth now.
The nurse looked up at Grant. "What is it?"
He