Ken Follett - Whiteout

The silence dragged out. He thought he heard her step into the bathroom. After a shorter pause, her boots crossed the dressing room and faded away. The bedroom door slammed.

"Oh, God, I'm so scared," Sophie said.

"Me, too," said Craig.

MIRANDA was in Olga's bedroom with Hugo.

When she left the kitchen she had not known what to do. She could not go outside-she was in her nightdress and bare feet. She had raced up the stairs with the thought of locking herself in the bathroom, but realized almost at once that that would be useless. She stood on the landing, dithering. She was so frightened that she wanted to vomit. She had to call the police, that was the priority.

Olga had her mobile in the pocket of her negligee-but Hugo probably had his own.

Frightened though she was, Miranda had hesitated for a split second outside the door. The last thing she wanted was to be in a bedroom with Hugo. Then she heard someone step out of the kitchen into the hall. Quickly, she opened Hugo's door, slid inside, and closed it quietly.

Hugo was standing at the window, looking out. He was naked, and had his back to the door. "Would you look at this bloody weather?" he said, obviously thinking his wife had come back.

Miranda was momentarily arrested by his casual tone. Obviously Olga and Hugo had made up their quarrel, after yelling at each other half the night. Had Olga already forgiven her husband for having sex with her sister? It seemed quick-but perhaps they had had this row before, about other women. Miranda had often wondered about Olga's deal with her flirtatious husband, but Olga had never spoken of it. Maybe they had a script: infidelity, discovery, quarrel, reconciliation, then back to infidelity.

"It's me," Miranda said.

He spun around, startled, then smiled. "And in deshabille- -what a lovely surprise! Let's get into bed, quick."

She heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, and at the same time noticed that Hugo's belly was much bigger than when she had gone to bed with him-he looked like a little round gnome-and she wondered how she could have found him attractive. "You have to phone the police right now," she said. "Where's your mobile?"

"Just here," he said, pointing to the bedside table. "What on earth is wrong?"

"People with guns in the kitchen-dial 999, quickly!"

"Who are they?"

"Never bloody mind!" She heard heavy footsteps on the landing. She stood frozen, terrified that the door would burst open, but the steps went by. Her voice became a kind of low scream. "They're probably looking for me, get on with it!"

Hugo came out of shock. He snatched up his phone, dropped it on the floor, picked it up, and jabbed at the "On" button. "Damn thing takes forever!" he said in frustration. "Did you say guns?"

"Yes!"

"How did the people get in?"

"Said they were stranded-what is the matter with that phone?"

"Searching," he said. "Come on, come on!"

Miranda heard the footsteps outside again. This time she was ready. She flung herself on the floor and slid sideways under the double bed just as the door flew open.

She closed her eyes and tried to make herself small. Feeling foolish, she opened her eyes again. She saw Hugo's bare feet, with hairy ankles, and a pair of black motorcycle boots with steel-tipped toes. She heard Hugo say, "Hello, gorgeous, who are you?"

His charm did not work on Daisy. She said, "Give me that phone."

"I was just-"

"Now, you fat fool."

"Here, take it."

"Now come with me."

"Let me put something on."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to bite your little cock off."

Miranda saw Hugo's feet step away from Daisy. She moved quickly toward him, then there was the sound of a blow, and he let out a cry. Both pairs of feet moved toward the door together. They passed out of Miranda's sight, and a moment later she heard them going down the stairs.

Miranda said to herself, "Oh, God, what do I do now?"

CRAIG and Sophie lay side by side on the floorboards of the attic, looking down through the hole into the kitchen, as Craig's father was dragged naked into the room by Daisy.

Craig was shocked and disturbed. It was a scene from a nightmare, or an old painting of sinners being dragged down into hell. He could hardly grasp that this humiliated, helpless figure was his father, the master of the house, the only person with the nerve to stand up to his domineering mother, the man who had ruled Craig for all fifteen years of his life. He felt disoriented and weightless, as if gravity had been switched off and he did not know which way was down.

Sophie began to cry softly. "This is awful," she whispered. "We're all going to be murdered."

The need to comfort her gave Craig strength. He put his arm around her narrow shoulders. She was trembling. "It is awful, but we're not dead yet," he said. "We can get help."

"How?"

"Where is your phone, exactly?"

"I left it in the barn, upstairs by the bed. I think I dropped it into my suitcase when I changed."

"We have to go there and use it to call the police."

"What if those terrible people see us?"

"We'll stay away from the kitchen windows."

"We can't-the barn door is right opposite!"

She was right, Craig knew, but they had to take the risk. "They probably won't look out."

"But what if they do?"

"You can hardly see across the backyard anyway, in this snow."

"They're bound to spot us!"

He did not know what else to tell her. "We have to try."

"I can't do it. Let's just stay here."

It was tempting, but Craig knew that if he hid himself and did nothing to help his family, he would feel ashamed. "You can stay, if you like, while I go to the barn."

"No-don't leave me alone!"

He had guessed she might say that. "Then you'll have to come with me."

"I don't want to."

He squeezed her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "Come on. Be

Have.

She wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I'll try."

He stood up and put on his boots and coat. Sophie sat motionless, watching him in the candlelight. Trying to walk softly, for fear of being heard below, he found her rubber boots, then knelt down and put them on her small feet. She cooperated passively, stunned by shock. He gently pulled her upright and helped her on with her anorak. He zipped it up at the front, pulled the hood over her head, then brushed her hair back with his hand. The hood gave her a gamine look, and for a fleeting moment he thought how pretty she was.

He opened the big loft door. A freezing wind blew a dense flurry of snow into the attic. The lamp over the back door spread a small half circle of light, showing the snow lying thicker than ever on the ground. The trash-can lid looked like Ali Baba's hat.

There were two windows at this end of the house, one from the pantry and the other from the boot lobby. The sinister strangers were in the kitchen. If he was very unlucky, one of them might step into the pantry or the boot lobby at just the wrong moment, and spot him-but he thought the odds were in his favor.

"Come on," he said.

Sophie stood beside him and looked down. "You go first."

He leaned out. There was a light in the boot lobby, but not in the pantry. Would anyone see him? On his own he might have been terrified, but Sophie's fear made him braver. He swept the snow off the ledge with his hand, then walked along it to the lean-to roof of the boot lobby. He swept a section of the roof clear, then stood upright and reached out to her. He held her hand as she inched along the edge. "You're doing fine," he said softly. It was not difficult-the ledge was a foot wide-but she was shaky. At last she stepped down to the lean-to roof. "Well done," Craig said.