The Girl in the Polka Dot Dress Read Online Free

he’d left on the table. He pushed her aside and, snatching it up, ran from the room. Stuffing it inside the pillowcase he’d prepared, he stowed it on the roof beneath the army blankets. When he’d fixed the tarpaulin in place he went back inside to make his peace with Rose. He reckoned she would be feeling pretty awkward, possibly tearful. He told her he was sorry for his roughness and meant it.
    She said, ‘Don’t mention it. I should have remembered that curiosity killed the cat.’
    He was thrown by her tone of voice, the defiant way she met his gaze, and heard himself giving reasons for his behaviour. ‘At night,’ he said, ‘when we make camp, there could be snakes, certainly poisonous insects . . . not to mention flies. We need powerful repellents.’
    â€˜I don’t mind flies,’ she said. ‘All through my childhood we had sticky paper hanging from the light bulb.’
    Flustered, he told her they were almost ready to leave. When he knew her better he might confide that he preferred snakes to flies.
    He went into the bathroom to check he’d packed his tablets, and saw her toothbrush still in its wrapper. Taking it through, he was about to ask if she intended to use it, but stopped himself. It wouldn’t do to boss her around, not until he’d gained her confidence. All the same, it was important to keep her in her place. He said, mildly, ‘You were pretty out of it this morning. I’d run you a bath.’
    â€˜I don’t need a bath. I had one before I left London.’
    â€˜You swore at me. If I hadn’t stepped back you might have busted my nose.’
    â€˜I thought you were my dad. He was always shaking me awake to get me off to school.’
    â€˜I just wanted to give you time to get ready,’ he said. ‘We should get going. I’ve business to do at the bank, and with my broker.’
    She was smiling at him now, face flushed with anticipation, eager to know how many days it would take them to get to Washington.
    â€˜Not days,’ he said. ‘It’s a matter of hours . . . two or three at the most. It depends on how bad the disturbances were last night.’
    Bewildered, she asked him why they needed the van if they were so near.
    â€˜Because,’ he said, ‘I doubt if Wheeler will still be at the address he gave you. I reckon he’s on the move.’
    Looking at her he was surprised at the sudden shadow of fear in her eyes. The pink had fled her cheeks. It occurred to him that she was not as bold as she liked to pretend and he felt protective; fear was something he understood.
    He didn’t tell her that he had got hold of a forwarding address for Wheeler when visiting Chicago, nor that the Stan­fords, occupants of the apartment outside Washington, were in possession of a letter which they refused to hand over to him, insisting they’d been told it should only be given to the girl from England. He would have offered them money but they weren’t that sort of folk.
    He asked Rose if she was ready to leave. She was wearing slacks and a creased blouse under a raincoat; she hadn’t brushed her hair. Perhaps he should have told her they were having dinner that night with the Shaefers.
    Artie Brune was lounging against the hood of the camper when they went outside. ‘I heard a lot about you, girl,’ he said, looking Rose up and down. It was obvious from the twist of his mouth that she was not the beddable woman he’d pictured.
    Rose climbed into the front seat and stared straight ahead. When Harold started the engine, she asked, ‘That man, is he a friend of yours?’
    â€˜Yes,’ he said, though it was an exaggeration; only Artie’s cat came under that heading.
    She didn’t utter another word as they drove into central Baltimore. He kept up a commentary of where they were, but when he glanced sideways she was looking down at her lap, twisting her top lip