Whiteout - Ken Follett [129]
She had heard Kit say the police were coming and, for a joyful moment, she had thought they were saved. All she had to do was sit tight until men in blue uniforms walked in through the front door and arrested the thieves. Then she had listened with horror as Nigel rapidly devised a way of getting rid of the police. What was she to do if the police seemed about to leave without arresting anyone? She had decided she would open a bedroom window and start screaming.
Now Kit had spoiled that plan.
She was terrified of meeting Daisy again, but she held on to her reason, just.
She could hide in Kit’s bedroom, on the other side of the landing, while Daisy searched the attic. That would not fool Daisy for more than a few seconds, but it might give Miranda just long enough to open a window and yell for help.
She ran through the bedroom. As she put her hand on the doorknob, she heard heavy boots on the stairs. She was too late.
The door flew open. Miranda hid behind it. Daisy stormed through the bedroom and into the dressing room without looking back.
Miranda slipped out of the door. She crossed the landing and stepped into Kit’s room. She ran to the window and pulled back the curtains, hoping to see police cars with flashing lights.
There was no one outside.
She peered in the direction of the lane. It was getting light, and she could see the trees laden with snow at the edge of the wood, but no cars. She almost despaired. Daisy would take only a few seconds to look around the attic and make sure no one was there. Then she would check the rest of the upstairs rooms. Miranda needed more time. How far away could the police be?
Was there any way she could shut Daisy in the attic?
She did not give herself a second to worry about risks. She ran back to her father’s room. She could see the door of the suit cupboard standing open. Daisy must be in the attic right now, staring around with those bruised-looking eyes, wondering if there were any hiding places big enough to conceal a grown woman, somewhat overweight.
Without forethought, Miranda closed the cupboard door.
There was no lock, but it was made of solid wood. If she could jam it shut, Daisy would have trouble busting it open, especially as she would have little room to maneuver inside the cupboard.
There was a narrow gap at the bottom of the door. If she could wedge something into it, the door would stick, at least for a few seconds. What could she use? She needed a piece of wood, or cardboard, or even a sheaf of paper. She pulled open her father’s bedside drawer and found a volume of Proust.
She started ripping pages out.
***
KIT heard the dog bark in the next room.
It was a loud, aggressive bark, the kind she gave when a stranger was at the door. Someone was coming. Kit pushed through the swing door that led to the dining room. The dog was standing with her forepaws on the windowsill.
Kit went to the window. The snow had eased to a light scatter of flakes. He looked toward the woods and saw, emerging from the trees, a big truck with a flashing orange light on top and a snowplow blade in front.
“They’re here!” he called out.
Nigel came in. The dog growled, and Kit said, “Shut up.” Nellie retreated to a corner. Nigel flattened himself against the wall beside the window and peered out.
The snowplow cleared a path eight or ten feet wide. It passed the front door and came as close as it could to the parked cars. At the last moment it turned, sweeping away the snow in front of Hugo’s Mercedes and Miranda’s Previa. Then it reversed to the garage block, turned off the drive, and cleared a swath of the concrete apron in front of the garage doors. As it did so, a light-colored Jaguar S-type came past it, using the track it had made in the snow, and pulled up at the front door.
A figure got out of the car: a tall, slim woman with bobbed hair, wearing a leather flying jacket with a sheepskin lining. In the reflected