Read Online Dangerous in Love - Dangerous Davies 02 by Leslie Thomas - Free Book Online
Authors: Leslie Thomas
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quietly. 'Life's full of people who need help.'
From behind he put his arm around her waist. 'I'm one of them ’ he said. He eased his chin forward, touched her neck with it and then kissed her on the cheek. She eased her cheek more firmly against his mouth. 'You're a funny old-fashioned thing, Dangerous,' she said. There was a ring at the doorbell. Davies's face drooped. 'It's probably a few lepers ’ he sighed.
She went out and returned with Mod, who appeared pleased. 'Tracked you down,' he beamed.
Davies regarded him irritably. 'So you have ’ he agreed. 'Did you get lonely?'
Mod sat in the remaining armchair and agreed to join them for coffee. 'What's wrong with him?' he inquired, looking at the scratching man.
'He itches ’ sighed Davies. 'All over. What brings you here?'
'A splendid bit of deduction. I sometimes think I'm a better detective than you.' 'Who isn't?' shrugged Davies. 'I decided to come after you ’ said Mod. 'I thought you might be walking into one of your customary traps, be beaten up, maimed, killed. I just missed you at the church hall. I just missed the bus too.' He looked smug.
'All right,' said Davies. 'Tell us.'
'I had a phone call tonight. I've been making inquiries, as you say, and I've found Lofty Brock's old commanding officer from the prison camp. And his sergeant major.'
5
Both Davies and Mod were parochial men, rarely straying from their gritty patch of north-west London, and the long journey to Yorkshire was an adventure. There was, even before they embarked, the uncertainty of whether the Vauxhall Vanguard would get there. It was like an elderly elephant, large, ragged and impressive, but for many years untried over distance.
The garage mechanic was dubious. 'It could crumble,' he said. 'If I were you, Dangerous, I'd leave well alone.'
A further problem was Kitty. 'You'll have to come with us,' Davies informed the dog as he wiped its eyes. 'Yorkshire - where the terriers come from. You could do with a bit of fresh air.'
They set out at dawn, a measly sky moping on the house-tops. Early people, almost senseless at bus stops, eyed them as they drove off to the north.
Mod had armed himself with facts about their route, filleting through the library guidebooks and marking the information on cards. As they drove up the motorway, he read aloud: 'St Albans. Cathedral city. Hertfordshire. Population - 52,470. Early closing - Thursday. Named after Alban, the first English martyr.' Kitty had begun howling at the unaccustomed duration of the journey and the unfamiliar scenery, but he had now settled into a tangled pile and was snoring in the wrecked rear seat.
The car was coughing at intervals but otherwise behaving well. Davies kept it below forty miles an hour, steadfastly in the middle lane of the motorway, provoking a series of horn blasts and signs from antagonized drivers.
They stopped at a service area to let the car simmer down, have a cup of coffee and walk Kitty on his rope through the surrounding ornamental copse.
It took them all day and half the next to reach Topling-on-the-Moor. They stayed overnight at a bed-and-breakfast house in Derbyshire, with Kitty sleeping in the car.
As they journeyed, the dog began to take an increasing interest in the wide white flocks of moorland sheep. He pressed his massive head against the car window and sounded grunts which became growls and finally howls.
'Stop him for God's sake!' shouted Mod, covering his ears.
'How? I can't stop him,' bellowed Davies. 'He's never seen sheep.'
Kitty had to be released from the car at intervals and eventually, at a bleak and misty place, with no livestock in view, they stopped.
'Now don't go far,' warned Davies, getting out of his car and opening the dog's door. 'You'll be falling down a hole.'
Kitty projected his hairy bulk from the back seat and with a manic barking pounded over the nearest brown hill, disappearing from their view. 'Kitty! Kitty!' shouted Davies hopelessly.
To his
From behind he put his arm around her waist. 'I'm one of them ’ he said. He eased his chin forward, touched her neck with it and then kissed her on the cheek. She eased her cheek more firmly against his mouth. 'You're a funny old-fashioned thing, Dangerous,' she said. There was a ring at the doorbell. Davies's face drooped. 'It's probably a few lepers ’ he sighed.
She went out and returned with Mod, who appeared pleased. 'Tracked you down,' he beamed.
Davies regarded him irritably. 'So you have ’ he agreed. 'Did you get lonely?'
Mod sat in the remaining armchair and agreed to join them for coffee. 'What's wrong with him?' he inquired, looking at the scratching man.
'He itches ’ sighed Davies. 'All over. What brings you here?'
'A splendid bit of deduction. I sometimes think I'm a better detective than you.' 'Who isn't?' shrugged Davies. 'I decided to come after you ’ said Mod. 'I thought you might be walking into one of your customary traps, be beaten up, maimed, killed. I just missed you at the church hall. I just missed the bus too.' He looked smug.
'All right,' said Davies. 'Tell us.'
'I had a phone call tonight. I've been making inquiries, as you say, and I've found Lofty Brock's old commanding officer from the prison camp. And his sergeant major.'
5
Both Davies and Mod were parochial men, rarely straying from their gritty patch of north-west London, and the long journey to Yorkshire was an adventure. There was, even before they embarked, the uncertainty of whether the Vauxhall Vanguard would get there. It was like an elderly elephant, large, ragged and impressive, but for many years untried over distance.
The garage mechanic was dubious. 'It could crumble,' he said. 'If I were you, Dangerous, I'd leave well alone.'
A further problem was Kitty. 'You'll have to come with us,' Davies informed the dog as he wiped its eyes. 'Yorkshire - where the terriers come from. You could do with a bit of fresh air.'
They set out at dawn, a measly sky moping on the house-tops. Early people, almost senseless at bus stops, eyed them as they drove off to the north.
Mod had armed himself with facts about their route, filleting through the library guidebooks and marking the information on cards. As they drove up the motorway, he read aloud: 'St Albans. Cathedral city. Hertfordshire. Population - 52,470. Early closing - Thursday. Named after Alban, the first English martyr.' Kitty had begun howling at the unaccustomed duration of the journey and the unfamiliar scenery, but he had now settled into a tangled pile and was snoring in the wrecked rear seat.
The car was coughing at intervals but otherwise behaving well. Davies kept it below forty miles an hour, steadfastly in the middle lane of the motorway, provoking a series of horn blasts and signs from antagonized drivers.
They stopped at a service area to let the car simmer down, have a cup of coffee and walk Kitty on his rope through the surrounding ornamental copse.
It took them all day and half the next to reach Topling-on-the-Moor. They stayed overnight at a bed-and-breakfast house in Derbyshire, with Kitty sleeping in the car.
As they journeyed, the dog began to take an increasing interest in the wide white flocks of moorland sheep. He pressed his massive head against the car window and sounded grunts which became growls and finally howls.
'Stop him for God's sake!' shouted Mod, covering his ears.
'How? I can't stop him,' bellowed Davies. 'He's never seen sheep.'
Kitty had to be released from the car at intervals and eventually, at a bleak and misty place, with no livestock in view, they stopped.
'Now don't go far,' warned Davies, getting out of his car and opening the dog's door. 'You'll be falling down a hole.'
Kitty projected his hairy bulk from the back seat and with a manic barking pounded over the nearest brown hill, disappearing from their view. 'Kitty! Kitty!' shouted Davies hopelessly.
To his
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