Whiteout - Ken Follett [101]
“Of course. We want them to think we’re harmless.”
“Especially Daisy.” Kit turned to her. “You keep your hands to yourself.”
Nigel backed Kit. “Yeah, Daisy, try not to give the bloody game away. Act like a girl, just for a couple of hours, okay?”
She said, “Yeah, yeah,” and turned away.
Kit realized that at some point in the argument he had given in. “Shit,” he said. “Just remember that you need me to show you where the Land Cruiser is. If any harm comes to my family, you can forget it.”
With a fatalistic feeling that he was helpless to stop himself hurtling toward disaster, he led them around the house to the back door. It was unlocked, as always. As he opened it, he said, “All right, Nellie, it’s me,” so that the dog would not bark.
When he entered the boot lobby, warm air washed over him like a blessing. Behind him, he heard Elton say, “Oh, God, that’s better.”
Kit turned and hissed, “Keep your voices down, please!” He felt like a schoolteacher trying to quiet heedless children in a museum. “The longer they stay asleep, the easier it will be for us, don’t you see that?” He led them through the lobby and into the kitchen. “Be nice, Nellie,” he said quietly. “These are friends.”
Nigel patted Nellie, and the dog wagged her tail. They took off their wet coats. Nigel stood the briefcase on the kitchen table and said, “Put the kettle on, Kit.”
Kit put down his laptop and turned on the small TV set on the kitchen counter. He found a news channel, then filled the kettle.
A pretty newsreader said, “An unexpected change in the prevailing wind has brought a surprise blizzard to most of Scotland.”
Daisy said, “You can say that again.”
The newsreader spoke in a seductive voice, as if inviting the viewer back to her place for a nightcap. “In some parts, more than twelve inches of snow fell in as many hours.”
“I’ll give you twelve inches in some parts,” said Elton.
They were relaxing, Kit saw with trepidation. He felt even more tense than before.
The newsreader told of car accidents, blocked roads, and abandoned vehicles. “To hell with all that,” Kit said irately. “When’s it going to stop?”
“Make the tea, Kit,” said Nigel.
Kit put out mugs, a sugar bowl, and a jug of milk. Nigel, Daisy, and Elton sat around the scrubbed-pine table, just like family. The kettle boiled. Kit made a pot of tea and a cafetière of coffee.
The television picture changed, and a weather forecaster appeared in front of a chart. They all went quiet. “Tomorrow morning the blizzard will die away as quickly as it came,” he said.
“Yes!” Nigel said triumphantly.
“The thaw will follow before midday.”
“Be precise!” Nigel said in exasperation. “What time before midday?”
“We can still make it,” Elton said. He poured tea and added milk and sugar.
Kit shared his optimism. “We should leave at first light,” he said. Seeing the way ahead cheered him up.
“I hope we can,” Nigel said.
Elton sipped his tea. “By the cringe, that’s better. Lazarus must have felt like this when he was raised from the dead.”
Daisy stood up. She opened the door to the dining room and peered into the gloom. “What room is this?”
Kit said, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I need a shot of booze in this tea.” She turned on the light and went in. A moment later, she made a triumphant noise, and Kit heard her opening the cocktail cabinet.
Kit’s father walked into the kitchen from the hall, wearing gray pajamas and a black cashmere dressing gown. “Good morning,” he said. “What’s all this?”
“Hello, Daddy,” Kit said. “Let me explain.”
Daisy came in from the dining room holding a full bottle of Glenmorangie in her gloved hand.
Stanley raised his eyebrows at her. “Do you want a glass of whisky?” he said.
“No, thanks,” she replied. “I’ve got a whole bottle here.”
4:15 A.M.
TONI called Stanley at home as soon as she had a spare moment. There was nothing he could do, but he would want to know what was happening. And she did not want him to learn about the break-in from the news.
It was a conversation she dreaded. She had