Precious Time by Erica James Page A

least.
    She sat opposite
    him and offered the packet of biscuits. His distorted fingers poked clumsily at the plastic wrapping as he helped himself and she wondered just how good a shot he would have been if he had fired that wretched gun. Thinking of it now, she gave it a censorious glance. It was resting against the wardrobe at the far end of the van, along with its owner’s smelly old waxed jacket.
    ‘Stop worrying,’ he said, seeing her face. ‘It’s safe enough. I’ve taken the cartridges out. They’re in my coat pocket.’
    She made no comment, but thinking that she could take advantage of his local knowledge, she said, ‘We’re trying to find a campsite for the night. Perhaps you know where it is.’ She got to her feet to fetch the map.
    ‘I doubt that very much,’ he said, when she returned. ‘Camping’s hardly my scene.’
    ‘Heavens, are you always this helpful?’
    He swallowed the last of his tea. ‘You’ve got me on a good day.’
    ‘Lucky old us.’ She put the map down on the table between them and pointed to where Ron and Eileen had said the campsite was. ‘It’s called Hollow Edge View. I was told it was—’
    ‘It’s gone,’ he interrupted. ‘The owners beggared off down south last winter. Bankrupted themselves. Not an ounce of business sense.
    Softies from London who thought it would be an easy option playing Old Macdonald Had a Farm. I knew they’d never make a go of it. I told them so too.’
    ‘Wow, and to think they dida’t stick around to enjoy more of your warm neighbourliness. What were they thinking of?’
    He looked up sharply, nostrils flaring. ‘Nothing wrong in speaking one’s mind.’
    ‘Depends on the state of the mind. Can you recommend anywhere else for us to stay?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Well, then, and since we’ve clearly exhausted you of your charm, you can leave us to sort ourselves out. I wish I could say it was a pleasure meeting you. Close the door after you, won’t you, Mr Liberty?’
    Gabriel was smiling to himself as he trudged home across the fields in the late-afternoon sunshine. He hadn’t enjoyed himself so much in a long while. It wasn’t often he came up against somebody brave enough to cross words with him, but that spiky, sharp-tongued young woman had made more of a go of it than anyone else ever had. Dr Singh had tried it on, although he was too conscious of his professional status to take a real verbal swing. But that Costello girl hadn’t cared a jot for what his response would be. And fair play to her. Though he still maintained that she was a damned fool to go wandering about the countryside on her own with a young child.
    Asking for trouble in this day and age. One never knew who or what was around the corner.
    Back at Mermaid House he let himself in and went through to the gun room. It was only then, as he stood in front of the locked glass fronted cabinet, that he realised he didn’t have the gun with him.
    Damn and blast! He had left it behind with that girl and her son. A shiver of unease crept over him as he recalled the cartridges he had put into his coat pocket, which he had also stupidly left behind. He hoped to God that just as that little boy had been indoctrinated with the evils of sugar, he had been instilled with the belief that guns were a no-go area for children.
    He was about to retrace his steps across the fields, to see if the campervan was still there, when the telephone rang.
    To his surprise he heard Jonah’s voice at the other end of the line.
    Now what was this about? When was the last time any of his children had phoned him?
     
    It was Ned who spotted it. ‘Look, Mummy, Mr Liberty’s forgotten his coat and gun.’ He reached out to the twin barrels and Clara shouted, ‘Don’t touch!’
    Ned jumped. ‘I was only looking,’ he said, hurt.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but those things can kill, and it’s better that you never get within touching distance of something as dangerous.’
    ‘What shall we do