Whiteout - Ken Follett [136]
Miranda screamed.
Suddenly Ned moved.
Ignoring the gun that Elton was pointing at him, he stepped between Daisy and Tom. He said something that Miranda could not hear and put a restraining hand on Daisy’s arm. Miranda was astonished: weak Ned standing up to thugs!
Without letting go of Tom, Daisy punched Ned in the stomach.
He doubled over, his face screwed up in a grimace of agony. But when Daisy drew back her arm to punch Tom again, Ned straightened up and stood in her way. Changing her mind at the last instant, she punched Ned instead of Tom, hitting him in the mouth. Ned cried out, and his hands flew to his face, but he did not move.
Miranda was profoundly grateful that Ned had distracted Daisy from Tom—but how long could he stand this beating?
He continued to remonstrate with Daisy. When he took his hands away from his face, blood poured out of his mouth. As Miranda watched, Daisy punched him a third time.
Miranda was awestruck. Ned was like a wall. He simply stood there and took the blows. And he was doing it, not for his own child, but for Tom. Miranda felt ashamed of thinking he was weak.
At that moment Ned’s own child, Sophie, acted. She had been standing still, watching in a stunned way, since Daisy let go of her hair. Now she turned around and moved away.
Elton made a grab for her, but she slipped through his grasp. For a moment, he lost balance, and Sophie broke into a run, crossing the deep snow with balletic leaps.
Hastily, Elton righted himself, but Sophie had disappeared.
Elton grabbed Tom and shouted at Daisy: “Don’t let that girl get away!” Daisy looked disposed to argue. Elton yelled: “I’ve got these two. Go, go!”
With a malevolent look at Ned and Tom, Daisy turned and went after Sophie.
8 A.M.
CRAIG turned the key in the ignition of the Ferrari. Behind him, the huge rear-mounted V12 engine started, then died.
Craig closed his eyes. “Not now,” he said aloud. “Don’t let me down now.”
He turned the key again. The engine fired, faltered, then roared like an angry bull. Craig pumped the throttle, just to be sure, and the roar turned into a howl.
He looked at the phone. It said: “Searching . . .” He jabbed at the number pad, dialing 999, even though he knew it was useless before the phone had connected to the network. “Come on,” he urged. “I don’t have much time—”
The side door of the garage flew open, and Sophie stumbled in.
Craig was taken by surprise. He thought Sophie was in the hands of the dreadful Daisy. He had watched as Daisy dragged her out of the garage. He had wanted desperately to rescue her, but he did not think he could beat Daisy in a fight even if she had not had a gun. He had struggled to remain calm as he watched Daisy maliciously dragging Sophie along by the hair. He kept telling himself that the best thing he could do for Sophie was to stay free and phone the police.
Now she seemed to have escaped unaided. She was sobbing and panicky, and he guessed that Daisy must be on her tail.
The passenger side of the car was so close to the wall that the door could not be opened. Craig threw open the driver’s door and said, “Get in quick—climb over me!”
She staggered over to the car and fell in.
Craig slammed the door.
He did not know how to lock it, and he was too rushed to find out. Daisy could not be more than a few seconds away, he figured, as Sophie scrambled over him. There was no time to phone—they had to get out of there. As Sophie collapsed into the passenger seat, he fumbled under the dashboard and found the remote control device that opened the garage door. He pressed it, and heard behind him a squeak of unlubricated metal as the mechanism operated. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the up-and-over door begin to move slowly.
Then Daisy came in.
Her face was red with exertion and her eyes were wide with rage. There was snow in the creases of her black leather clothes.