Free Walking in Darkness by Charlotte Lamb Page B

came back wearing a raincoat, carrying a purse into which she was pushing a blue plastic folder. ‘The hospital admin people want proof that Sophie has Medicare,’ she said. ‘Sorry, but I’ll have to rush.’
    ‘I’m coming with you,’ Steve said roughly. ‘We should pick up a cab easily enough at this hour.’
    Lilli gave him a sharp but unsurprised look. ‘OK.’ She opened the front door, then stopped, groaning. ‘Oh, my stew, I nearly forgot, it would be ruined.’ She hurried into the kitchen to switch it off, and Steve waited impatiently, so tense he felt as if he might come apart at the seams if he didn’t get to Sophie soon. He had to know what had happened to her.
    And why, he thought. Oh, yes, and why. The old joke came into his head . . . did she fall or was she pushed? Accident, suicide or . . . He shivered. My God, what was he thinking? That was crazy. Gowrie had been shaken to see her at the press conference, yes – but she couldn’t possibly be that much of a threat. Could she?
    Don Gowrie was dressing for a very grand dinner which would be held downstairs in his hotel, in a private dining-room glittering with crystal and silver under enormous chandeliers. Among the guests would be his father-in-law, Eddie Ramsey, who had flown in by helicopter from his Easton estate and was now resting in another suite. There would also be a whole host of other East Coast politicians, good old boys from way back who as far as the general public were concerned had apparently retired from public life yet still managed to manipulate and grease the handles of power without ever being caught doing it. Don Gowrie needed their support, their money and their influence, if he was to get his campaign bandwagon rolling fast. He had other backers; industrialists with even more money, people who wanted to be on the inside track if he did manage to get the presidential nomination – but these old men tonight were still vital to him. He needed to balance the different forces backing him; he didn’t want to be in the power of any one lobby.
    He stood back to look at himself in the dressing-table mirror, noting with satisfaction how good he still looked in evening dress. It suited him, the dark material, the smooth fit of that excellent tailoring. He really didn’t look his age, did he? He had to work at it, of course: diet and constant exercise kept his weight down and he had inherited a good constitution. Good genes, he thought, and his eyes darkened. A pity that . . .
    No, he wouldn’t think about that. It was a talent he had worked on all his life – the ability to push aside what he did not find convenient to dwell upon. He shifted his feet, sighing. That tie simply didn’t look right. Why the hell did he find it so difficult to tie a bowtie after all these years of doing it so often? He pulled the tie loose again just as a phone began to ring in the room behind him.
    His nerves jumped. At last! He had been waiting on tenterhooks for this call.
    He let go of the ends of the tie, sprinted over to the bedside table and picked up the phone, the white tie hanging loose around his neck.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Dad?’ The voice was not the one he had been expecting to hear. For a second he was still, shaken, then his face lit with warmth.
    ‘Cathy. Hi, darling.’ Then anxiety came into his eyes, the old, familiar fear of one day losing her, the sense of a threat always hanging over this precious child. ‘Is anything wrong?’
    She was quick to reassure him, Cathy had had years of hearing that note in his voice. ‘No, of course not, Dad – I’m fine. We’re both fine, and looking forward to seeing you soon. I just wanted to send my love to Grandee. You’re having dinner with him tonight, aren’t you?’
    ‘Yes.’ Relaxing, he smiled. ‘I was just trying to tie my tie when you rang.’
    ‘Haven’t you learnt how to tie a bowtie yet, Dad?’
    Her laughter sounded so clearly in his ear that it was like having her in the