The stairs and the landings were all so depressingly familiar now. And it was a long climb for weary limbs.
He almost didn’t see her huddled in a corner on the opposite side of the landing. It was only the slightest sound that made him turn as he was slipping the key in the lock. Her eyes were open and staring up at him. There was no hint of recognition, no reaction. He opened the door and slid his bag inside and crossed the landing to crouch over her. Her face was drained of colour and her dark eyes were ringed and sunk deep in her head. He lifted one of her limp hands and was shocked by its coldness. ‘My God!’ The words came in a breath like mist in the lamplight.
Very carefully he lifted her in his arms and carried her across the landing and into the house. He kicked the door shut and staggered through the half-light in the hall and into the living room. He laid her gently on the settee and lit the fire before switching on a small table lamp and drawing the curtains. Her breathing seemed shallow. He sat on the settee beside her and unbuttoned her coat. All the time her eyes never left him. He took each of her hands in turn and rubbed them briskly between his. ‘I’ll get a doctor,’ he said. But in her first response since he had found her, her hand clutched at his sleeve and she shook her head. ‘You need a doctor,’ he said firmly. She shook her head again and he saw that look in her eyes that he had seen before.
He sighed and thought about it. ‘Have you eaten?’ Again she shook her head. ‘All right, I’ll give you some hot milk to start with. Will that be okay?’ This time she nodded and he thought he saw a little smile about her lips.
He was anxious and confused and again stricken by the uncertainty that this child brought him. He knew he should get a doctor, but equally he knew she would not have it. At least not right away. He pushed the coffee table aside and pulled the settee nearer the fire. ‘I’ll heat your milk.’
In the hall he found the bag where he had dropped it by the door, and took it into the kitchen. He found a saucepan in a cupboard, poured in some milk from the carton and placed the pan on a high gas. Perhaps she should have a hot bath. The worst was not knowing the right thing to do. When it was yourself you didn’t care too much. You mistreated yourself. You did the wrong things, you drank, you defied your doctor’s orders. But when it was someone else, you felt somehow a responsibility that you never felt for yourself.
He found the switch for the water heater on the wall by the kitchen door and switched it on. Then he remembered the suitcases in Slater’s bedroom. She should change into fresh, warm clothes. Her coat and dress had been cold and damp to the touch. He found the suitcases and began to go through the child’s things. There was a heavy woollen dressing gown and a pair of pyjamas. He found a small pair of slippers and took out a pair of Slater’s socks.
Tania felt the warmth only superficially. It was on her skin, but inside the cold was still there. It dulled her thinking, misted the window through which she looked out on the world. Only a tiny corner of it was clear and through it she saw Bannerman, smelled him, felt him.
She had never really had any contact with the world outside herself, always the observer. Somehow Bannerman bridged that gap, or at least she felt that he might. They were just a touch away. She had wanted it so much from her father, but he had never tried. He had never wanted to. Wisps of thought drifted in her mind. When she reached for them they dispersed like smoke and she gave up trying. She heard Bannerman in the kitchen and was aware of him going through the room and into her father’s bedroom. Presently he came out again and returned to the kitchen, then he was there beside her helping her up into a sitting position.
She tried very hard to bring herself up out of the mist. The glass was in her hand and he was bringing it up gently to her lips. The milky hotness of it washed away the badness in her mouth and she felt it going down, down, warm, almost sensuous. Its warmth was spreading and she felt the cold receding before it. For the first time in many hours she shivered. There was a soothing of the gnawing in her stomach and she became acutely aware of her hunger. The mist was at least clearing. She looked up to find Bannerman watching her with concern.
‘That better?’ His voice came close and soft. She nodded. He held up a bundle of clothes and she recognized her dressing gown. ‘I’ve had these warming in front of the fire for you. If you feel able you should change out of the clothes you’re wearing. They’re pretty damp.’ He paused, waiting for a reaction. She managed a weak smile and nodded. ‘I’ve put the water heater on. The water should be ready in about fifteen minutes. I think probably a hot bath would do you good. Then we can eat.’
They sat eating in silence in front of the fire. The bread and cheese was dry, but the wine was good. Tania had never been allowed to drink wine before and she found its taste a little bitter. But it filled her with a feeling of sleepy well-being and warmth, like the warmth that had spread so deliciously through her body in the bath. He had had to help her change and she had sensed his embarrassment.
He had been uncomfortably aware of the beginnings of puberty in the child, the slight swellings that would become her breasts, the fine down between her legs. There was nothing sexual in his discomfort, but it had been disconcerting. Now his own fatigue was catching up with him again. In all his concern for the child, he had forgotten his own weariness, his own desperate need for food and sleep. His bath would have to wait until tomorrow.
He finished eating and drank some more wine, watching her over the rim of his glass. Suddenly she got onto her knees and leaned forward, drawing a handkerchief from the pocket of her dressing gown. He felt its coolness on his forehead as she mopped away the fine beads of perspiration.
He caught her hand. ‘I’ll have to tell them you’re here.’ Almost immediately there was fear in her eyes and she shook her head vigorously. He said, ‘It’s all right. It’s just so they can stop searching. It’s only fair. No-one’s going to take you away tonight.’ He did not wait for a reaction, but turned and lifted the phone down beside him and began dialling.
‘Police Judicial.’ A woman’s voice.
‘Inspecteur du Maurier.’
‘Ne quittez pas.’ A phone lifted. ‘Du Maurier.’
‘You’re still there. I didn’t really expect to get you at this time. Have you no home to go to?’
‘What do you want?’ Du Maurier sounded irritable.
‘The child is here, God knows why. We’ll probably never know. She was waiting on the landing when I got back.’
Tania watched Bannerman darkly. She would not let anyone take her away again. She wanted to be with Bannerman always. She examined him closely while he spoke. She saw his weariness, the perspiration that had broken out again across his forehead, the cuts across his right-hand cheek. There was a hardness about his face, something a little frightening. But she knew, too, that he was capable of great gentleness. ‘And this time I want one of your men at the clinic night and day till she leaves,’ she heard him saying, and became aware of her heart pounding.
He hung up and smiled at her, ‘It’s all right,’ he said, and he got up from the floor to slump into the softness of the settee. She detected his hesitation in saying what was on his mind. Then he came out with it. ‘Tomorrow. Sometime tomorrow you... you’ll have to go back to the clinic. But it’ll only be for a day or so and then we can go back to Scotland.’