Bolt - By Dick Francis Page 0,37

near the door, the whole of the rest of the space packed to the ceiling with provisions smelling subtly of spices. Two customers were choosing hot food, a third further down the shop looking at tins, but there was no sign of Danielle.

The Asian man serving, smoothly round of face, plump of body and drugged as to eye, gave me a brief glance as I hurried in, and went back methodically to picking out the customers’ chosen chapatis and samosas with tongs.

‘The young lady,’ I said.

He behaved as if he hadn’t heard, wrapping the purchases, adding up the cost.

‘Where is she?’ I insisted, and might as well as not have spoken. The Asian talked to his customers in a language I’d never heard; took their money, gave them change, waited until they had left.

‘Where is she?’ I said forcefully, growing anxious.

‘Give me the money.’ His eyes spoke eloquently of his need for cash. ‘She is safe.’

‘Where?’

‘At the back of the shop, behind the door. Give me the money.’

I gave him what he’d asked, left him counting it, and fairly sprinted where he’d pointed. I reached a back wall stocked from floor to ceiling like the rest, and began to feel acutely angry before I saw that the door, too, was covered with racks.

In a small space surrounded by packets of coffee I spotted the door knob; grasped it, turned it, pushed the door inwards. It led into a room piled with more stock in brown cardboard boxes, leaving only a small space for a desk, a chair and a single bar electric fire.

Danielle was sitting on the chair, huddled into a big dark masculine overcoat, trying to keep warm by the inadequate heater and staring blindly into space.

‘Hi,’ I said.

The look of unplumbable relief on her face was as good, I supposed, as a passionate kiss, which actually I didn’t get. She stood though, and slid into my arms as if coming home, and I held her tight, not feeling her much through the thick coat, smelling the musky eastern fragrance of the dark material, smoothing Danielle’s hair and breathing deeply with content.

She slowly disengaged herself after a while, though I could have stood there for hours.

‘You must think I’m stupid,’ she said shakily, sniffing and wiping her eyes on her knuckles. ‘A real fool.’

‘Far from it.’

‘I’m so glad to see you.’ It was heartfelt: true.

‘Come on, then,’ I said, much comforted. ‘We’d best be going.’

She slid out of the oversize overcoat and laid it on the chair, shivering a little in her shirt, sweater and trousers. The chill of shock, I thought, because neither the shop nor store-room was actively cold.

‘There’s a rug in my car,’ I said. ‘And then we’ll go and fetch your coat.’

She nodded, and we went up through the shop towards the street door.

‘Thank you,’ I said to the Asian.

‘Did you switch the fire off?’ he demanded.

I shook my head. He looked displeased.

‘Goodnight,’ I said, and Danielle said, ‘Thank you.’

He looked at us with the drugged eyes and didn’t answer, and after a few seconds we left him and crossed the pavement to the car.

‘He wasn’t bad, really,’ Danielle said, as I draped the rug round her shoulders. ‘He gave me some coffee from that hot counter, and offered me some food, but I couldn’t eat it.’

I closed her into the passenger seat, went round and slid behind the wheel, beside her.

‘Where’s your car?’ I said.

She had difficulty in remembering, which wasn’t surprising considering the panic of her flight.

‘I’d gone only two miles, I guess, when I realised I had a flat. I pulled in off the highway. If we go back towards the studio … but I can’t remember …’

‘We’ll find it,’ I said. ‘You can’t have run far.’ And we found it in fact quite easily, its rear pointing towards us down a seedy side-turning as we coasted along.

I left her in my car while I took a look. Her coat and handbag had vanished, also the windscreen wipers and the radio. Remarkable, I thought, that the car itself was still there, despite the two flat tyres, as the keys were still in the ignition. I took them out, locked the doors and went back to Danielle with the bad news and the good.

‘You still have a car,’ I said, ‘but it could be stripped or gone by morning if we don’t get it towed.’

She nodded numbly and stayed in the car again when I found an all-night garage with a tow-truck, and