The Perfect Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page A

the door. We hadn’t heard wheels or tramping feet. It was quite a soft, apologetic knock, not the thundering we’d expected. Still, it froze us. Amy stood, blouse half unbuttoned and slipping off at the shoulder. I noticed the coffee grinder propping up a pile of dictionaries but left it where it was. Gwen’s eyes closed and her fists bunched. The only movement came from upstairs. It was bare feet hitting the floor.
    I hissed at Gwen, ‘Go up there. Stay with her.’
    Gwen went, reluctantly. Whoever it was, standing on the other side of the door, might have heard her going upstairs. I’d expected another knock by now, more demanding, but he was as patient as a cat at a mouse-hole. Amy buttoned her blouse, fingers trembling. This was her first experience of this sort of thing. The second knock at last, a little louder. I prepared my expression of respectable and puzzled householder (not that it would deceive them in the least, but there are conventions about these occasions) and went to open the door.
    *   *   *
    It threw me. I was totally and completely at a loss. I’d expected a policeman in uniform on the doorstep, several more behind him, a vehicle waiting at the kerb. I’d even expected to be shoulder-charged against the door frame, dispensing with the ‘puzzled householder’ formalities. Nothing would have come as a surprise except what I saw. A man in plain clothes. Not the Special Branch’s version, but country tweeds that looked as if they should have bits of heather and dog hairs clinging to them. He was tall and thin, with dark eyes set deep into their sockets and a quiff of dark hair falling over his forehead. He held a brown trilby hat in his left hand. His right hand held a plump bunch of lily-of-the-valley. He’d been smiling, but the smile faded when he saw my face. For a few seconds we stared at each other then he handed the lily-of-the-valley to me.
    â€˜Good morning, Nell. I hope I’m not too early.’ My hand closed round the cool stems of the flowers. Their scent came to me like something from another world. I could see he was disappointed.
    â€˜You said if I got here early we could go somewhere like Box Hill and walk. But we’ll have to be back in time for the opera.’
    â€˜Opera?’
    â€˜Boris Godunov. I managed to get tickets for this evening. Chaliapin’s singing.’
    From inside, Gwen’s voice, sharp and anxious. ‘Nell, what’s happening?’
    He’d already registered there was something wrong. Now he was annoyed as well. He’d come all the way from Manchester and goodness knows what the opera tickets had cost.
    â€˜You’ve got visitors? I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’
    He’d gone stiff and formal.
    â€˜Bill, I…’
    â€˜Only, when I suggested coming down at Whitsun you said…’
    â€˜Oh God, so I did.’
    â€˜Nell, who is it? If I’d realised there were people staying with you, I’d have…’
    â€˜You’d better come in.’
    Gwen was standing with her back against the table, glaring. Amy’s eyes were wide and scared. The two of them took in Bill then looked beyond him for the rest of the squad.
    â€˜It’s all right,’ I told them. ‘It’s only a friend.’
    The room was in more of a mess than usual. There were bedclothes folded on the chaise-longue, blankets piled on the armchair, ashes in the grate. Bill’s air of having just walked in from the country made the sickroom fug from upstairs seem worse than ever. I introduced him to Gwen and Amy as a friend of mine, a barrister, Bill Musgrave. They shook hands guardedly, obviously wondering why I’d gone and invited him during this crisis. There were men who supported us, but somehow Bill at first sight didn’t fit the picture. I said, ‘I’d like to offer you a coffee, but you’d better go.’
    Even Gwen looked