Chapter 19: The Boathouse Again

In the dark the ballroom was all voices.

Glass broke, and somebody screamed for the lights.

I felt for Conroy's chair and found the cold arm of it.

"Go," he said. "He went through the service door. Take Poppy."

"Poppy's with the nurse."

"Then take a driver."

I did not wait for the driver.

I went along the wall, hand over hand, to the little door behind the head table.

The passage behind it was black and smelled of kitchen grease.

I took three steps.

A hand closed over my mouth, and a thick arm locked across my ribs.

"Easy, now," Howard said into my ear. "Easy."

I bit him.

He didn't let go.

He lifted me off my feet and carried me down the passage to the kitchen door.

The cold night hit my face.

A car stood in the yard with its engine running and a driver at the wheel.

I knew the driver.

He had taught me to ride a bicycle on the same hill.

He did not turn his head.

Howard pushed me into the back seat and got in after me, and the door locked.

"Phone," he said.

He took it out of my hand and put it in his pocket.

We drove down the hill and out of the city.

He held a handkerchief over my mouth, and the road went by black in the window.

I did not cry.

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