‘Henry!’ She glared at the dog until he subsided on stiff back legs.
‘How old is he? Eleven? Twelve?’ The man judged the dog by his movement.
‘Thirteen.’ Her eyes shaded with sad thoughts; it was a brief lapse before she added, ‘His teeth are still sharp enough.’
‘I’m sure they are,’ he conceded, but there was a definite smile in his voice. He knew dogs and realised this one was as likely to bite him as he was to win a greyhound derby. ‘He looks very mean and hungry.’
Dee understood it as sarcasm but chose to take it literally. ‘He’s never hungry! He gets fed fine.’
She glared at him as if he were an RSPCA inspector.
‘I can see that.’ His eyes travelled over the dog’s rounded flank, then switched their scrutiny to her. ‘It’s you who looks like you could do with a meal or two.’
‘Thanks.’ Dee pulled a face, recognising an insult when she heard one.
Nonetheless he was right. She skipped meals—sometimes because she had no option—and it showed.
He upped the price. ‘Thirty pounds, and you and Henry, here, can dine like royalty tonight.’
Thirty pounds was hard to resist. But Dee wasn’t a fool.
‘You’re going to give me thirty quid just to sit in a café and talk…? Stroll on, mate.’ Her tone was hard with disbelief.
Baxter didn’t blame her. He was beginning to think it a crazy idea himself. But, now he’d come this far and actually approached a girl, he had nothing to lose.
‘As I said, I have a proposition…call it a job if you like,’ he went on. ‘Unusual rather than dangerous, and emphatically not of a sexual nature… I’m not interested in young girls,’ he added on an unequivocal note.
That figures, Dee thought, admitting to herself—now that it was safe—that she had found him passingly attractive.
‘I read you.’ She defrosted a little to a fellow underdog.
‘I doubt it,’ he replied dryly.
‘Makes no odds to me, mate,’ she assured him. ‘Live and let live is my motto.’
‘Look, that’s not…’ About to correct any wrong impressions, Baxter decided not to bother. Why not leave her thinking it, if it was to his advantage?
‘Right, I choose the café,’ she suddenly conceded as she began to collect up her earnings and box her flute.
‘Right,’ he echoed.
She stood before adding, ‘Money up front, of course.’
Baxter looked at her outstretched hand, his eyes narrowing in distrust. If he gave her the money now, what was to stop her making a run for it?
He hesitated too long.
‘Forget it, then.’ She made to walk away.
He caught her arm. Not roughly, just to stop her. ‘All right. Half now, and half when we’ve talked.’
‘Yeah, okay.’ Fifteen pounds was better than nothing if she decided to give him the slip, Dee considered.
Only he was thinking ahead of her. When he said half, he meant half. She watched him tear a twenty-and a ten-pound note down the middle and present her with the two halves.
Dee grimaced but took the money, and, shouldering her rucksack, picked up Henry’s lead.
Baxter noticed how laden she was. ‘I’ll take that.’ He relieved her of the flute case before she could protest. ‘And the rucksack if you like.’
‘Don’t bother.’ Dee could have read it as a gentlemanly gesture, but didn’t. ‘You have enough insurance with my flute.’
Insurance against her running away, she meant.
Baxter raised a brow. ‘Such scepticism in one so young… How young, by the way?’ For an awful moment he wondered if she might be too young. Who knew with these runaways? She talked as though she were thirty and her eyes were old with knowledge, but her skin was unlined.
‘How old do I have to be?’ she countered, suspicious again.
Baxter avoided a direct answer, and said, ‘Old enough to have a job.’
He could hardly say sixteen—the age of consent.
‘Yeah, well, I’m that all right.’ Only she couldn’t get one. The recession meant jobs were scarce for most young people—and non-existent for the homeless.
‘Good.’ Baxter nodded in relief and fell in step beside her as she took the steps down to the eastbound platform.
He considered making conversation with her, but her profile didn’t invite any. She was unusually self-contained for a young girl. Was that good or bad for his purpose? Good, maybe. Less likely to be indiscreet.
Dee, for her part, was quite aware of the stranger beside her. She could hardly not be. She had always been tall. It had caused her untold agonies as a child. At sixteen she’d been five feet eleven inches and had thought she might go on growing for ever, but then, thank God, she had suddenly stopped. Still, she towered over most people. But not this man.
She was glad when a blast of cold air heralded the arrival of the tube. They boarded together and went through five stops in silence until they reached Newhouse station.
It was only when they approached the ticket collector that she confessed, ‘By the way, I haven’t got a ticket.’
‘Great, a fare dodger,’ he said in exasperation. ‘I should have known.’
What should he have known? That girls like her had to be dishonest? Dee glared at him.
‘You know nothing,’ she responded. It was an accusation, and they exchanged hostile looks for a moment, before she thrust Henry’s lead at him. ‘Don’t worry about it. You take him. We’ll meet up outside.’
‘Hold on, wait a—’ He didn’t get the chance to finish.
He watched, with a mixture of horror and fascination, as she veered towards the closed booth next door and leapt over the metal barrier.
He thought she was home free, but the collector caught a glimpse of her flashing past and sent a shout up.
The dog shot forward, too. Baxter found himself making excuses as they queue-jumped, and emerged from the barriers in time to see two underground officials restraining the girl.
He could have walked away. He might have if he hadn’t still been attached to a dog who was suddenly barking with surprising ferocity at the guards holding his mistress’s arms. So much for discretion.
Quick at thinking on his feet, Baxter took the initiative. ‘I suppose you think that was funny?’ He addressed the scolding comment to the girl before speaking to the guards. ‘Kids these days, and their idea of fun! I’m awfully sorry about this—’
‘You know her?’ one of the men interrupted.
‘I wish I could deny it,’ Baxter ran on, ‘but, yes, believe it or not, this scruffy urchin is my niece, Morag.’
Both officials were silent for a moment, deciding whether they should believe it or not.
So was Dee. Morag? What kind of name was that?
‘She had a ticket but lost it.’ He seemed to lie with ease. ‘I was, of course, going to buy another at the exit, but the silly girl decided to leap the barriers instead. I believe it’s the latest craze among teenagers. Slightly safer, I suppose, than playing chicken on the motorway.’