Whiteout - Ken Follett [56]
Miranda’s voice went cold. “Because you disgust me.”
“Ah, well.” Hugo sounded resigned, but unashamed. “Hate me, then. I still adore you.” He gave his most charming smile and left the room, limping slightly.
As the door slammed, Miranda said, “You fucking bastard.”
Kit had never heard her swear like that.
She picked up her laundry basket; then, instead of going out as he expected, she turned toward him. She must have fresh towels for the bathroom, he realized. There was no time to move. In three steps she reached the entrance to the dressing room and turned on the lights.
Kit was just able to slip the smart card into his trousers pocket. An instant later she saw him. She gave a squeal of shock. “Kit! What are you doing there? You gave me a fright!” She went white, and added, “You must have heard everything.”
“Sorry.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to.”
Her complexion changed from pale to flushed. “You won’t tell, will you?”
“Of course not.”
“I’m serious, Kit. You must never tell. It would be awful. It could ruin two marriages.”
“I know, I know.”
She saw the wallet in his hand. “What are you up to?”
He hesitated, then he was inspired. “I needed cash.” He showed her the banknotes in the wallet.
“Oh, Kit!” She was distressed, not judgmental. “Why do you always want easy money?”
He bit back an indignant retort. She believed his cover story, that was the main thing. He said nothing and tried to look ashamed.
She went on: “Olga always says you’d rather steal a shilling than earn an honest pound.”
“All right, don’t rub it in.”
“You mustn’t pilfer from Daddy’s wallet—it’s awful!”
“I’m a bit desperate.”
“I’ll give you money!” She put down the laundry basket. There were two pockets in the front of her skirt. She reached into one and pulled out a crumple of notes. She extracted two fifties, smoothed them out, and gave them to Kit. “Just ask me—I’ll never turn you down.”
“Thanks, Mandy,” he said, using her childhood name.
“But you must never steal from Daddy.”
“Okay.”
“And, for pity’s sake, don’t ever tell anyone about me and Hugo.”
“I promise,” he said.
5 P.M.
TONI had been sleeping heavily for an hour when her alarm clock woke her.
She found that she was lying on the bed fully dressed. She had been too tired even to take off her jacket and shoes. But the nap had refreshed her. She was used to odd hours, from working night shifts in the police force, and she could fall asleep anywhere and wake up instantly.
She lived on one floor of a subdivided Victorian house. She had a bedroom, a living room, a small kitchen, and a bathroom. Inverburn was a ferry port, but she could not see the sea. She was not very fond of her home: it was the place to which she had fled when she broke up with Frank, and it had no happy memories. She had been here two years, but she still regarded it as temporary.
She got up. She stripped off the business suit she had been wearing for two days and a night, and dumped it in the dry-cleaning basket. With a robe on over her underwear, she moved rapidly around the flat, packing a case for five nights at a health spa. She had planned to pack last night and leave at midday today, so she had some catching up to do.
She could hardly wait to get to the spa. It was just what she needed. Her woes would be massaged away; she would sweat out toxins in the sauna; she would have her nails painted and her hair cut and her eyelashes curled. Best of all, she would play games and tell stories with a group of old friends, and forget her troubles.
Her mother should be at Bella’s place by now. Mother was an intelligent woman who was losing her mind. She had been a high school math teacher, and had always been able to help Toni with her studies, even when Toni was in the final year of her engineering degree. Now she could not check her change in a shop. Toni loved her intensely and was deeply saddened by her decline.
Bella was a bit slapdash. She cleaned the house when the mood took her, cooked when