Closer Still Read Online Free Page B
Author: Jo Bannister
though.â
âCharlie?â Brodieâs eyebrows betrayed her surprise. DS Voss was in many ways an old-fashioned policeman. Polite. Considerate. If Joe Loomis asked him the time he might very well tell him.
âOh yes,â said Deacon with conviction. âStill waters run deep. That nice, quiet, thoughtful, intelligent exterior â thatâs just a guise. Underneath heâs a mad dog.â
âOK,â said Brodie carefully. âWell, you hang on tight to that leash. Itâll stop Charlie Voss rushing off and doing something stupid.â She half-turned and planted a casual kiss on his cheek. âItâll also stop you.â
Chapter Four
From the day of his birth, when he was the wrong sex for a mother desperate for a daughter, to the present day when he wasnât the lover sought by the woman he loved, Daniel Hoodâs life had always strayed down unexplored paths. Though some of them should have been gated, wired up and marked with a sign saying Beware of the Alligator , overall he hadnât many complaints. If the great passion of his life was destined to be unrequited, at least he knew what it was like to care that much. If getting drawn into Brodie Farrellâs orbit meant that sometimes he got hurt, it also meant he never got bored. For a secondary school maths teacher, thatâs an achievement in itself.
And if he had no children of his own, he took a lot of pleasure in Brodieâs. He counted her seven-year-old daughter Paddy among his best friends. And he pushed her peaceable, strange-eyed baby in his Grand Prix buggy along the Promenade with a sense of contentment surprising in a single man of twenty-nine.
Then fate stepped in again.
As they ambled along the front he was pointing out the sights to Jonathan, blithely ignoring the facts that (a) Jonathan couldnât see any sights, and (b) at six months
old he probably didnât care that Scandinavian pine is the correct wood to weatherboard a netting shed. But he liked listening to Danielâs voice â pleasant and light grey like his eyes â and Daniel was a born teacher, he liked talking, so the short walk from Shack Lane to the odd little house beside the ruined pier passed happily enough.
Right up to the point that their way was blocked by a man and a woman engaged in heated argument. At least, the woman was heated â red in the face and shouting. The man seemed mostly to be laughing at her. Once, when she leant angrily into his face, he pushed her away â not violently, but also without much regard.
It was none of Danielâs business. He didnât know either party. No one was getting hurt, and the road was quiet enough now the summer season had ended that it was no hazard to drop the buggy down the kerb for a few paces to pass them. He kept his eyes carefully averted and kept telling Jonathan about the problems of finding a builder who was interested in using traditional materials.
He almost made it. He was back on the pavement, with the argument behind him and his odd little home ahead, and all he had to do was keep walking. Then the woman yelled, âI donât care who knows I slept with a Pakistani! Itâs you I feel the need to keep quiet about!â And the man hit her.
It wasnât exactly a haymaker. The woman staggered back but didnât fall. If it had been two young men â or even two young women â arguing on the footpath and one of them had slapped the other across the face like that, probably even Daniel would have managed to stay out of
it. Probably. After all, he was pushing a buggy with a baby in it; and the woman was free to walk away and go to the police; and if she needed help there were other people around better equipped to offer it.
But Daniel Hood was raised by his grandfather and had old-fashioned views on a number of things. One was that men donât hit women. Not in public, not in private; not at all. And none of the other
âCharlie?â Brodieâs eyebrows betrayed her surprise. DS Voss was in many ways an old-fashioned policeman. Polite. Considerate. If Joe Loomis asked him the time he might very well tell him.
âOh yes,â said Deacon with conviction. âStill waters run deep. That nice, quiet, thoughtful, intelligent exterior â thatâs just a guise. Underneath heâs a mad dog.â
âOK,â said Brodie carefully. âWell, you hang on tight to that leash. Itâll stop Charlie Voss rushing off and doing something stupid.â She half-turned and planted a casual kiss on his cheek. âItâll also stop you.â
Chapter Four
From the day of his birth, when he was the wrong sex for a mother desperate for a daughter, to the present day when he wasnât the lover sought by the woman he loved, Daniel Hoodâs life had always strayed down unexplored paths. Though some of them should have been gated, wired up and marked with a sign saying Beware of the Alligator , overall he hadnât many complaints. If the great passion of his life was destined to be unrequited, at least he knew what it was like to care that much. If getting drawn into Brodie Farrellâs orbit meant that sometimes he got hurt, it also meant he never got bored. For a secondary school maths teacher, thatâs an achievement in itself.
And if he had no children of his own, he took a lot of pleasure in Brodieâs. He counted her seven-year-old daughter Paddy among his best friends. And he pushed her peaceable, strange-eyed baby in his Grand Prix buggy along the Promenade with a sense of contentment surprising in a single man of twenty-nine.
Then fate stepped in again.
As they ambled along the front he was pointing out the sights to Jonathan, blithely ignoring the facts that (a) Jonathan couldnât see any sights, and (b) at six months
old he probably didnât care that Scandinavian pine is the correct wood to weatherboard a netting shed. But he liked listening to Danielâs voice â pleasant and light grey like his eyes â and Daniel was a born teacher, he liked talking, so the short walk from Shack Lane to the odd little house beside the ruined pier passed happily enough.
Right up to the point that their way was blocked by a man and a woman engaged in heated argument. At least, the woman was heated â red in the face and shouting. The man seemed mostly to be laughing at her. Once, when she leant angrily into his face, he pushed her away â not violently, but also without much regard.
It was none of Danielâs business. He didnât know either party. No one was getting hurt, and the road was quiet enough now the summer season had ended that it was no hazard to drop the buggy down the kerb for a few paces to pass them. He kept his eyes carefully averted and kept telling Jonathan about the problems of finding a builder who was interested in using traditional materials.
He almost made it. He was back on the pavement, with the argument behind him and his odd little home ahead, and all he had to do was keep walking. Then the woman yelled, âI donât care who knows I slept with a Pakistani! Itâs you I feel the need to keep quiet about!â And the man hit her.
It wasnât exactly a haymaker. The woman staggered back but didnât fall. If it had been two young men â or even two young women â arguing on the footpath and one of them had slapped the other across the face like that, probably even Daniel would have managed to stay out of
it. Probably. After all, he was pushing a buggy with a baby in it; and the woman was free to walk away and go to the police; and if she needed help there were other people around better equipped to offer it.
But Daniel Hood was raised by his grandfather and had old-fashioned views on a number of things. One was that men donât hit women. Not in public, not in private; not at all. And none of the other
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