Free The Far Side of the Sun by Kate Furnivall Page A

asked.

‘No, sir, I surely don’t.’

‘Do you have any idea where she went?’

‘I wish I did. She left real early this mornin’.’

‘Have you seen Miss Wyatt today?’

‘That young girl who came here before? No, sir, I ain’t.’ She clutched at the flimsy straw of hope. ‘You think they just out havin’ fun together somewhere, is that it?’

‘No,’ he said, as the image of Hector Latcham’s cold eyes rose in his mind. ‘I don’t think they’re having fun.’

Ella wasn’t good. There was a tightness to her face, and her hand was clenched in distress as if only just holding on by a thin thread of willpower. Her eyes looked bruised and had sunk deep in her thin face. Dodie tried to keep her talking but Ella had succumbed to the sounds in her own head and had no room for any voices except Dan Calder’s.

All during the long hot hours of the day spent in the belly of the boat Dodie had worked to escape, but it was hopeless. Their wrists were bloodied and pestered by fat hungry flies. The handcuffs were looped around the brass rail that bordered a shelf behind them and however hard she pulled and pushed, twisted and tugged, it refused to come adrift from the teak wall. Her efforts were tearing their wrists to shreds, though Ella never uttered a whimper.

Only once did she murmur, ‘Give up, Dodie. There’s no point.’

‘There is, Ella. It’s our only way out of here.’

Ella had let a faint smile spill out of her. ‘They are Dan’s handcuffs. They were in his pocket. It’s ironic that he died trying to save me but his own handcuffs will kill me.’ She was rocking back and forth on the bench. ‘Don’t you think?’

But Dodie was stern with her. ‘Concentrate on getting out.’

‘I’m frightened of living, Dodie. Not of dying. I’ve never had to live with this kind of loss because I’ve never felt this kind of love before. I am not strong like you.’ She brushed her fingers regretfully over Dodie’s bloody wrist. ‘I’m sorry, Dodie.’

‘Don’t, Ella. You are stronger than you think. We have to get out of here. I am not going to die here. Not in a stinking boat. Not while Flynn is still drawing breath.’

‘Dodie,’ Ella murmured, as she lay her head down on the table, ‘you deserve better.’
     
    There was the sound of footsteps on deck. Dodie jerked awake. How long had she slept?

Minutes only. It was still light enough to see. The boat was rolling more under a rising wind and she could feel it pulling on its anchor. She nudged Ella.

‘He’s back.’

Ella blinked but her eyes were dull, as a figure clattered noisily down the ladder rungs and stumbled into the gloomy room with an oath.

‘Tilly!’ Ella exclaimed.

Dodie stared in disbelief. Relief swept through her and her fingers jittered with the sudden release of nerves.

‘Thank God,’ Ella whispered.

Dodie stood, her right arm in a spasm of fatigue. ‘Mrs Latcham, your husband has imprisoned us here and —’

Only then did she realise Tilly was drunk. She was weaving sideways as she walked, holding on to the wall.

‘Darlings,’ Tilly said as she eased herself on to the bench opposite them, ‘how absolutely vile. You look terrible.’

Dodie sat down again to be on the same level as Tilly, but she could sense this was not right. Tilly was too brittle, too accepting of their plight. She should have screamed in horror and rushed to the toolbox.

‘Mrs Latcham,’ Dodie spoke clearly and slowly, ‘please fetch a chisel or a hammer from —’

‘I’ve come to tell you something.’

Now Ella was aware of the oddness about her. ‘Tilly, please, this is serious.’

‘So is this.’

‘What is it, Mrs Latcham? Tell us quickly. Mrs Sanford needs attention.’

‘I came to tell you, Dodie,’ Tilly’s words were thick but her eyes were focused hard on Dodie’s, ‘that your friend, Mr Morrell, should not have been so damn stupid that night in our car. If he hadn’t refused to tell me where he’d