A Daughter’s Courage: A powerful, gritty new saga from the Sunday Times bestseller. Kitty Neale

the safe door sprang open. This all seemed so easy, almost too easy. He stuffed his pockets with the notes, taking a gleeful moment to hold a handful of money in the air and kiss it, grinning to himself as he thought of the flashy car he would soon own. He’d never seen this amount of money before, let alone touched it, and wished he had thought to bring a bag to put it in. His pockets were bulging and he even had money stuffed into his socks.

      When the safe was empty Robbie went to the door that led to the main shop. Why not, he thought? He was here now so he might as well get Dottie a ring. It would save him having to waste any of his newly acquired wealth on buying one. Robbie paused for a moment. This was going to be more risky. When he’d clocked the shop from outside he’d noted the windows were protected by pull-down metal grilles, but they didn’t completely obscure the interior. Sod it, he thought, he was dressed in black so hard to spot, and if he was stealthy enough he felt sure he could pull it off.

      Cautiously Robbie pulled down the handle and pushed the door slightly open. He peeped through the small gap, his wide eyes scanning the street in front. It looked clear. There wasn’t anyone visible so, feeling more confident, he pushed the door fully open.

      Alarm bells pierced the air. The clanging was so loud that it startled Robbie into a frozen stance. He panicked, looking all around him as his mind went into a frenzied state. Should he go to the street door and make a run for it out the front? No, the door would be locked. He would have to go back onto the roof and climb down the ladder, but the police might arrive before he was able to get away.

      Hide? He could hide. Wait for them to search the place then sneak out. Where could he hide though? In the attic? No, they would find him there. He had no choice. He would have to get out the way he’d come in.

      Robbie made a dash for the stairs and fell up them in his haste. The adrenalin pumping through his body stopped him feeling the pain in his shins, and, gathering himself together, with the alarm bells still piercing his ears, he reached the dark attic. Fear gripped him as he suddenly realised he couldn’t reach the skylight, yet he still jumped up in vain, trying again and again to grasp the window frame but failing each time. He searched for his matches as twenty, ten and five pound notes dropped from his pockets.

      Robbie wasn’t concerned about the money right now. He had to strike a match to light the room – had to find something to stand on so that he could reach the skylight and make his escape.

       Chapter 6

      On Wednesday, when her early shift finished, Dorothy collected her purse from her locker at the bakery and turned to her best friend, Nelly Jackson. They were completely different in looks, Nelly being short and stout with broad features and mousy brown hair, but they had been firm friends for many years.

      ‘Nelly, I won’t be walking home with you today,’ Dorothy said. ‘I haven’t heard from Robbie since the weekend and, as he was feeling poorly, I want to check that he’s OK.’

      Nelly scowled. ‘You know my thoughts on that man … you’re mad to chase him.’

      ‘I’m not chasing him, I’m worried about him,’ Dorothy replied curtly.

      ‘Well, I doubt he’d be so worried about you, but it’s your lookout. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

      Dorothy knew how Nelly felt about Robbie, and though it irritated her she chose to ignore her churlishness. She suspected that Nelly was jealous, but right now she was too worried about Robbie to care. There was an awful stomach bug going around, and, as he’d felt sick in the cinema last Saturday, she hoped he hadn’t succumbed to it. Robbie would normally have called round on Tuesday to see her, but he hadn’t shown up so she assumed he must still be unwell.

      Dorothy decided her first port of call would be the garage where he worked. She felt sure that now she was his unofficial fiancée he wouldn’t mind her popping in, especially as she had some fresh ginger biscuits for him and ginger was supposed to be good for an upset tummy. They were the broken ones from work that Mr Epstein had said were in too many bits to sell in the bakery. Though Mr Epstein allowed this small concession, in all other ways he was a mean, strict boss and a stickler for punctuality who was known for sacking girls at a moment’s notice. Still, the unsold or slightly stale bread and cakes had always been a godsend for Dorothy to take home, and in exchange her mother washed Bertie’s shirts and overalls for him. Dorothy smiled as she thought what a proud woman her mum was – never one to accept charity.

      The garage door was open when she arrived and, as Dorothy looked around the greasy workroom, she spied Robbie’s boss with his head under the bonnet of a very ostentatious-looking black car.

      ‘Hello, sorry to bother you, Mr Thomas,’ Dorothy called nervously.

      She made the man jump and he almost bumped his head on the bonnet. He walked towards her, wiping his hands on an oily rag. ‘What can I do for you, young lady?’

      ‘I’m Dorothy, Robbie’s girlfriend. I wondered if I could have a very quick word with him.’

      The smile disappeared from Mr Thomas’s face and was replaced with a scowl. ‘You could if he was here but he ain’t, and if you catch up with the lazy so-and-so, tell him from me that I’d like to have a word with him too.’

      Dorothy was convinced that Robbie must be really sick if he wasn’t at work. ‘Oh … I’m sorry, he must be ill at home. I’ll call round there.’

      ‘He hasn’t shown his face so far this week, nor has he sent word to me that he’s ill. You tell him he’ll be lucky if he’s still got a job when he can be bothered to turn up.’

      ‘But, Mr Thomas, there must be something dreadfully wrong if Robbie hasn’t shown up for work. Please, give him a chance to explain. He needs this job. We’re getting married, you know.’

      Roger Thomas shook his head and returned to the car he had been working on, muttering under his breath, ‘Good luck to you, you’re gonna need it.’

      Dorothy decided the man had only said that because he was angry with Robbie, and dismissed his rude comment as she made her way through the streets to the other side of Battersea and Robbie’s house.

      When she finally reached the impressive terraced house where Robbie lived with his brother, Dorothy knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Worried, she banged harder and then called through the letterbox, ‘Robbie! Robbie!’

      A short, rosy-faced woman appeared from the house next door. ‘Goodness, what’s all this noise? You won’t find the Fergusons in at this time of day. They’ll be at work.’

      ‘I know, thank you, but my fiancé Robbie Ferguson hasn’t been at work this week so I wondered if he was at home sick.’

      The woman cocked her head to one side and said, ‘Now I come to think about it, I haven’t seen Robbie this week either, or heard any of his music blaring on that gramophone of his.’

      Dorothy was becoming seriously concerned now. Robbie wasn’t at work or at home. Had something really awful happened? Was he in hospital?

      ‘Thank you,’ she called to the woman as she dashed along the street, heading for Adrian’s office, her anxiety reaching fever pitch. Please let Adrian be there, and please let my Robbie be OK, her mind chanted over and over again as she hoped for the best, yet feared the worst.

      When his office door flew open, Adrian wasn’t surprised to see Dorothy standing there. He had been half expecting this, though when he saw the ashen look on her face his heart sank as once again he knew he had been left to pick up the pieces of Robbie’s irresponsibility.

      ‘Adrian, I’m so sorry to barge in on you like this but it’s Robbie … I’m really worried about him. Is he OK?’

      Though he’d only met Dorothy a few times whilst she’d been seeing Robbie, Adrian’s impression was that she was a nice girl, and he dreaded what he had to say.

      ‘I