In The Presence Of The Enemy by Elizabeth George Page B

shrank from its burning. She got far enough from it to make out that its fire wore a hat and was mounted on a stand. Lantern, she realised.
    Not the Trinity at all. Which must mean that she still wasn’t dead.
    A figure moved into the pool of radiance, black-garbed and distorted in her vision, like a carnival mirror. Lottie said through a very dry mouth, “Where’s my specs? I don’t have my specs. I must have my specs. I can’t see prop’ly without them.”
    He said, “You don’t need them in the dark.”
    “I’m not in the dark. You’ve brought a light.
    So you give me my specs. I want my specs. If you don’t give me my specs, I’ll tell. I will.”
    “You’ll get your specs back in due time.” A clink as he set something on the fl oor. Tall and tubular. Red. Thermos, Lottie thought.
    He uncapped it and poured liquid into the bowl. Fragrant. Hot. L ottie’s stomach growled.
    “Where’s my mum?” she demanded. “You said she was in a safe house. You said you were taking me to her. You
said
. But this isn’t a safe house. So where is she? Where is she?”
    “Quiet down,” he said.
    “I’ll yell if I want. Mummy! Mummy!
    Mum!” She began to get to her feet.
    A hand shot forward and clamped over her mouth, fingers digging like tiger claws into her cheeks. The hand yanked her across the fl oor.
    She fell to her knees and the rough edge of something that felt like a stone cut into her.
    “Mummy!” she shouted when the hand released her. “Mu—” The hand shut off her voice, doused her head in the soup. The soup was hot. It burned. She squeezed her eyes closed. She coughed. Her legs kicked. Her hands scrabbled against his arms.
    He said into her ear, “Are you quiet now, Lottie?”
    She nodded. He raised her up. Soup dripped from her face down the front of her school uniform. She coughed. She wiped her face against the arm of her cardigan.
    It was cold where he’d brought her, wherever it was. The wind was coming inside from somewhere, but when she peered about she found she couldn’t see beyond the circle of radiance provided by the lantern. Even of him she could see only a boot, a bent knee, and his hands. She shrank from these. They reached for the Thermos and poured more soup into the bowl.
    “No one’ll hear you if you shout.”
    “Then why’d you stop me?”
    “Because I don’t like little-girl noises.” He used his toe to push the bowl in her direction.
    “Got to go to the loo.”
    “After. Eat that.”
    “Is it poison?”
    “Right. I need you dead like I need a bullet in my foot. Eat.”
    She looked about. “I haven’t got a spoon.”
    “You didn’t need a spoon a moment ago, did you? Now eat it.”
    He moved farther out of the light. Lottie heard a
svit
and saw the flaring of a match. He was hunched over it and when he turned back to her, she saw the fi refly tip of his cigarette.
    “Where’s my mum?” She lifted the bowl as she asked the question. The soup was vegetable, like Mrs. Maguire made. She was hungrier than she’d ever remembered being, and she drank it down and used her fi ngers to help the vegetables into her mouth. “Where’s my mum?” she asked again.
    “Eat.”
    She watched him as she raised the bowl. He was just a shadow and without her specs he was a very blurry shadow as well.
    “What’re you gawping at, then? Can’t you look somewhere else?”
    She lowered her eyes. It was no use, really, trying to see him. All she could manage was his outline. A head, two shoulders, two arms, two legs. He was careful to keep out of the light.
    It came to her then that she had been kidnapped. A shiver went over her, so strong a shiver that she slopped vegetable soup out of the bowl. It dribbled across her hand and onto the skirt of her uniform’s pinafore dress. What happened when people were kidnapped? she wondered. She tried to remember. It was all about money, wasn’t it? And being hidden somewhere until someone paid money. Except Mummy didn’t have very