Whiteout - Ken Follett [118]
There was a hat stand at the foot of the stairs. Most of the family’s coats and boots were kept in a walk-in closet in the boot lobby by the back door, but Daddy always left his in the hall, and she could see his old blue anorak hanging from the stand, and below it the leather-lined rubber boots that kept his feet warm while he walked Nellie. They should be enough to keep her from freezing to death while she plowed through the snow to the cottage. It would take her only a few seconds to slip them on and sneak out through the front door.
If she had the guts.
She started to tiptoe down the stairs.
The voices from the kitchen became louder. There was an argument going on. She heard Nigel say, “Well, bloody well look again, then!” Did that mean someone was going to search the house? She turned and ran back, going up the stairs two at a time. As she reached the landing, she heard heavy boots in the hall—Daisy.
It was no good hiding under the bed again. If Daisy was being sent back for a second search, she was bound to look harder this time. Miranda stepped into her father’s bedroom. There was one place she could hide: the attic. When she was ten years old, she had made it her den. All the children had, at different times.
The door of the suit cupboard stood open.
She heard Daisy’s steps on the landing.
She fell to her knees, crawled inside, and opened the low door that led to the attic. Then she turned and closed the cupboard door behind her. She backed into the attic and closed the low door.
She realized immediately that she had made an error that might be fatal. Daisy had searched the house a quarter of an hour or so ago. She must have seen the door of the suit cupboard standing open. Would she now remember that, and realize that someone must have closed it subsequently? And would she be smart enough to guess why?
Miranda heard footsteps in the dressing room. She held her breath as Daisy walked to the bathroom and back. She heard the sound of cupboard doors being flung open. She bit her thumb to keep from screaming with fear. There was a brushing sound as Daisy rummaged among suits and shirts. The low door was hard to see, unless you got down on your knees and looked under the hanging clothes. Would Daisy be so thorough?
There was a long moment of quiet.
Then Daisy’s footsteps receded through the bedroom.
Miranda felt so relieved that she wanted to cry. She stopped herself: she had to be brave. What was happening in the kitchen? She remembered the hole in the floor. She crawled slowly across to take a look.
***
HUGO looked so pathetic that Kit almost felt sorry for him. He was a short man, and pudgy. He had fatty breasts with hairy nipples and a belly that hung over his genitals. The thin legs below his round body made him look like an ill-designed doll. He seemed all the more tragic by contrast with his usual self. He was normally poised and self-assured, dressed in natty suits that flattered his figure, and he flirted with the confidence of a matinee idol. Now he looked foolish and mortified.
The family were crowded together at one end of the kitchen, by the pantry door, away from any exits: Kit himself, his sister Olga in her black silk wrap, their father with swollen lips where Daisy had punched him, and Olga’s husband, the naked Hugo. Stanley was sitting down, holding Nellie, stroking her to keep her calm, afraid she would be shot if she attacked the strangers. Nigel and Elton stood on the other side of the table, and Daisy was searching the upstairs.
Hugo stepped forward. “There are towels and things in the laundry,” he said. The laundry was off the kitchen, on the same side as the dining room. “Let me get something to wrap around me.”
Daisy heard this as she returned from her search. She picked up a tea towel. “Try this,” she said, and flicked it at his crotch. Kit remembered, from school shower-room horseplay, how that could sting. Hugo let out an involuntary yelp. He turned around, and she flicked it again, catching him on the backside. He skipped away, into the corner, and Daisy laughed. Hugo was