Sandstorm. Anne Mather

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       CHAPTER TWO

      HER father was in his study. He looked up rather myopically as she put her head round the door, removing the thick-lensed spectacles to blink at her in surprise.

      ‘You’re early aren’t you?’ he asked, trying to focus on the dial of his pocket watch. ‘I thought you were going to Liz’s party.’

      Abby tried to keep her tone light. ‘I was. I did. I just came home sooner than I expected, that’s all.’

      ‘Why?’ Professor Gillespie scratched his scalp through the thinning strands of grey hair. ‘Wasn’t it any good? I thought you usually enjoyed Liz’s company.’

      ‘I do, usually,’ agreed Abby, withdrawing her head again, in two minds whether to mention Rachid to her father or not. ‘I’m going to make some coffee,’ she called. ‘Do you want some?’

      ‘I’d rather have cocoa at this time of the night,’ replied her father absently. ‘It’s ten o’clock. I think I’ll have a sandwich.’

      ‘I’ll make it,’ Abby assured him, her voice drifting back to him as she walked into the kitchen.

      The Gillespie house was one of a terrace, matching its fellows on either side. Tall and narrow, it stretched up three floors, with the kitchen, the dining room, and her father’s study on the ground floor, and living rooms and bedrooms above. It was easier for Professor Gillespie to work at ground level, even though it would have been quieter on the upper floors, but since his retirement from the University, her father had taken private students, and it was less arduous for him not to have stairs to negotiate every time he had to answer the door.

      He came into the kitchen as Abby was spreading the bread with butter, filching a piece of cheese from the slices she had prepared. Although he was only in his early sixties, he looked older, and Abby knew he had aged considerably since her mother’s death a year ago. Nevertheless, he enjoyed his work, and it had become both a pleasure and a distraction, filling the empty spaces he would otherwise have found unbearable.

      Now he studied his daughter’s bent head with thoughtful eyes, before saying perceptively: ‘What’s happened? Have you and Liz had a row or something? You’re looking very flushed.’

      Abby sighed, turning to the kettle that was starting to boil and lifting out earthenware beakers from the cupboard above. ‘Oh, you know Liz,’ she said, trying to sound inconsequent. ‘She’s not the type to row over anything. She’s far too together for that.’

      Professor Gillespie grimaced. ‘Together!’ he repeated distastefully. ‘Where do young people find these words? Together means in company with someone else.’

      ‘Well, she’s usually that, too,’ remarked Abby, hoping to change the subject, but he was not to be diverted.

      ‘Did something go wrong at the party?’ he persisted, helping himself to a second wedge of cheese, and Abby was forced to accept that she was going to have to tell him the truth.

      ‘Did—er—did you see Rachid while I was working in New York?’ she asked carefully, and Professor Gillespie made a sound of resignation.

      ‘You know, I half guessed that’s what it might be,’ he exclaimed, shaking his head. ‘Come on, you might as well get it off your, chest. Was Rachid at the party?’

      Abby nodded. ‘Liz’s boss—Damon Hunter—he arranged it. I didn’t know anything about it until I saw him coming in.’ She moved her shoulders awkwardly. ‘I got out of there as soon as I possibly could.’

      ‘But not soon enough, obviously,’ observed her father dryly. ‘I gather you and Rachid had some conversation.’

      ‘You could say that.’ The kettle began to sing and she moved to make the cocoa. ‘But not at the party. Rachid brought me home.’

      ‘Did he?’ Her father looked surprised, and Abby hastened to explain.

      ‘He was waiting for me outside. He had two of his muscle men with him, so I couldn’t exactly argue.’

      Professor Gillespie sighed. ‘I suppose he told you, he came to see me just after your mother died?’

      Abby nodded. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

      Her father grimaced. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to worry you. I mean, living in New York, away from all your friends and family—I thought it was unnecessary to alarm you.’

      ‘I did make friends in New York, you know,’ she pointed out quietly. ‘But I know what you mean. If I’d known Rachid was looking for me, I’d probably have anticipated the worst.’

      Professor Gillespie looked troubled. ‘I thought about this for a long time before I asked you to come home,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I knew if you came back to England, Rachid was bound to find out sooner or later, but I felt, rightly СКАЧАТЬ