Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(67)

She opens the door. “Where have you . . . ,” she starts to say, but the words die on her lips. It’s not Jack at all, but Christopher Cooke, dressed in a biker kit, his helmet tucked under his arm, his prosthesis hidden by leather gloves.

“Been all your life?” He finishes her sentence for her with a cheeky grin. “I’ve asked myself that same question.”

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Holly says, unable to think of a snappy comeback. He’s caught her off guard—again. Even worse, she hears footsteps behind her. She prays fervently for Nan but knows her luck’s not that good.

“Holly? Is that Jack?” her mother calls before coming into view. “I’m heading out for a late lunch and wanted to make sure you’d found him before . . . Oh, hello.” Christopher gives her his most winning smile. Jane, no slouch in her ability to recognize an attractive male, returns it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was wondering if you’d need the car to look for Jack,” she says smoothly.

“You seem to have a distressing habit of losing people,” Christopher observes sotto voce to Holly.

Holly glares at him but bites her tongue. Around Christopher, silence is a virtue. She does, however, answer Jane.

“Jack is out with Ed,” she says. “He should be home soon, so I don’t need the car. Enjoy your lunch.”

“Well then, please tell me you aren’t going to keep your . . . friend . . . standing on the steps,” Jane says. She makes no move to leave.

“He’s not my friend,” Holly snaps back, as sullen as any teenager. She catches herself, in part because Christopher’s smile is so wide it threatens to split his face. “Mother, this is Mr. Cooke. He’s . . . he’s working on a project. A special one. For me.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Jane says, extending her hand, and for a moment Holly thinks Christopher is going to kiss it to annoy her further. But he shakes it gently. There’s no sign on Jane’s face that she notices anything unusual about his grip. “Christopher, please. The pleasure’s mine,” he says. Truly, he’s insufferable.

Jane turns to Holly. “Surely you don’t wish to discuss business out here,” she says. “Why don’t you bring Mr. Cooke . . . Christopher . . . into the library? I’ll have Nan make tea.”

Holly hesitates. She doesn’t want Christopher in the house. There’s too much that can go wrong. Including, she now realizes, the fact that she still has Jack’s injection clutched in her left hand. For now, it’s partially hidden behind the door, but once Christopher steps into the hall, it will be in plain sight. She doesn’t particularly want to leave him alone with Jane, either, but that seems the lesser of two evils.

“I’ll tell Nan,” she says quickly. “Would you mind showing him in?” And without waiting for her mother to respond, she dashes down the hall toward the kitchen.

“Please tell me you’re not leaving that in here,” Nan says as Holly stows the syringe in the back of the refrigerator.

“I need tea in the library,” Holly says, ignoring her. “Something quick.” She pauses to reflect. “And not too delicious. For two.”

And then she dashes out again.

Just before the library door, she slows her pace, brushes back her hair, and takes a deep breath. No matter what Christopher has said—or not said—to her mother, or what Jane may have revealed, there’s no advantage in looking worried. She makes herself count to ten, then ten again, and then she opens the door.

The scene that greets her is far too cozy for her liking. Jane and Christopher are bent over Jane’s prized first edition of Peter Pan, Jane pointing to an illustration.

“. . . utter nonsense,” she’s saying, frowning for emphasis. “Mr. Barrie—Sir James Barrie, of course, is the proper way to refer to him—certainly took his fair share of liberties, particularly with the descriptions of the Darling family.”

Before Jane can elaborate on what those liberties might be, or anything else, Holly interrupts.

“Mr. Cooke and I have quite a bit of business to discuss,” she says firmly. “Thank you for entertaining him, Mother, but I’d hate to keep you from your luncheon.”

“Oh, no trouble at all,” Jane says breezily. “It’s with the Worths, and you know how boring they can be. Mr. Cooke is much more interesting.”

“I’m sure. Well, I’ve asked Nan to bring tea. Perhaps you could see what’s keeping her?” Jane and Holly both know that Nan’s barely had enough time to put the kettle on, but still, Jane is gracious. She flashes a smile at Christopher. “Of course,” she says, and sails from the room.

As soon as the door is shut behind her, Holly rounds on Christopher.

“What are you doing here?” she demands. But she can guess. He’s discovered something and wants to see her face, gauge her reaction, when he tells her.

“I told you I like to know more about my clients.”

He moves about the room, picking up books and setting them down, flipping through pages, asking her random questions about photos and mementos on the walls as she tries to bring him to his point, whatever it may be. When he picks up the sketch of the Darling siblings, he’s thoughtful, turning it over in his hands.

“The famous Darling children,” he murmurs, a perplexed look in his eyes. “Amazing how familiar they seem.” He looks as if he’s going to say more, but there’s a knock at the door. Holly turns away, grateful for the interruption, as Jane enters with the tea tray.