A Purrfect Romance (12 page)

“What do you mean, babies?” Gerry said.

“Her litter,” Afton said. “That there one’s carrying a litter. Can’t you tell?”

All eyes came to rest on Silk. For the first time, they noticed the swelling in Silk’s underbelly, the soft fur poking out all fluffy beneath her. The significance of Afton’s words sank in slowly, as they realized he was right.

“Omigod!” said Bridey. “She’s pregnant! How did that happen?”

“City folks!” Afton shook his head as he headed for the door. “Don’t know a damn thing. Plain as the nose on your face.”

Without another word, he was out into the hall, with Mulie trailing behind him, and Gerry, too, after giving Silk a long, thoughtful look, leaving Bridey and Mack alone, staring foolishly at Silk, who had settled comfortably into her bed, licking her paws and rubbing them over her nose.

Omigod,
Bridey repeated silently to herself.
How did that happen?

But she already knew.

The night with Charlie Wu, buying fish.

Mack was grinning at her. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to put it all together. Did she think he’d forgotten that early morning he’d caught her coming into the building, trying so awkwardly to conceal whatever it was that was bouncing around in her tote bag?

“Looks like you’ll have to ’fess up, Bridey,” he said.

His amusement only made her embarrassment more painful.

“You could at least stop laughing at me,” she said sharply. She was genuinely angry. “It’s not funny. And anyway, I think you’ve got some problems of your own. Now you’re going to have to deal with that dreadful man, and he may be in no mood to sell. How will you like having him and Mulie for neighbors? Maybe you’ll find that funny.”

Mack’s face clouded over. She was right. There was nothing funny about the whole situation.

“I’d rather eat dirt,” he said.

“Well,” Bridey said, “you may get to try out Mulie’s ambrosia salad. With chocolate chips.”

He shuddered.

“So what are you going to do?”

“Well, right now the thing I must do is get back to my office. I’ve got a desk full of work waiting for me, enough to keep me up late tonight.” He headed for the door. Then he paused and looked back at her.
I shouldn’t have teased her. This must be awful for her.

“Maybe we could try dinner again?” he suggested. “We got interrupted the last time, and we still have things to talk about.”

“No!” She hadn’t forgotten their last dinner.

“Are you sure? Tomorrow night? At my place? I make a mean hamburger.”

“No way! I’ve got too much to think about.”

“Maybe I can help.”

She hesitated. In a way, they were on the same side now.

“Well . . .”

“Good! Seven o’clock. I’ll see you then.”

And he was gone, leaving Bridey with her mouth open, her thoughts spinning and the beginning of a bad headache adding to her woes.

A
s soon as she was alone, Bridey plopped down right there on the floor next to Silk’s bed and scooped her up onto her lap.

“Oh, Silk, you really went and did it, didn’t you?”

Gently, she probed the soft fur under Silk’s belly and confirmed what her eyes had already told her. There was no doubt; there was a plumpness there that could mean only one thing.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to just say no?”

Bridey’s headache was getting worse. She knew she was in trouble with Gerry Kinski. And she was humiliated that Mack Brewster, of all people, had been there when Afton Morley, that smug, pompous know-it-all, showed them all up as blind fools by—oh dear, Bridey groaned in advance at her own bad pun—letting the cat out of the bag.

She let Silk jump down from her lap and sat back on her heels, watching disconsolately as she circled around the room as though she was hunting for something.

“And now I am definitely in the soup. You silly thing, don’t you understand? It’s bad enough I’m losing this apartment; now because of you, I’m going to lose it in disgrace.”

She couldn’t bring herself to add, aloud, what else was in her thoughts: that her embarrassment was that much greater because she’d been shown up in front of Mack. She felt like a bubbling pot of anxiety, as events moved inexorably against her. And floating over it all, like the Cheshire cat’s smile, was Mack’s smirk of knowing superiority. What did he have to feel superior about? He was about to be dumped, too. And why had she agreed to have dinner with him? What could she have been thinking?

Silk came back to her and pawed at her knees, but Bridey was too miserable to pay any more attention to her. She had calculated how long it would take Gerald Kinski to return to his office and, sure enough, right on the dot, the phone rang.

“I think we ought to have a little talk, Bridey.” He sounded very serious.

“I know, Mr. Kinski. I know. I’ve been expecting you to call.”

“So . . . do you have something to tell me?” His tone was cool and her heart dropped another couple of notches toward her stomach.

“Maybe first I should take Silk to a veterinarian,” she said hopefully, “and have her examined. To make sure Mr. Morley is right.”

She didn’t want to face up to the question she knew was really on Gerry’s mind. It wasn’t a matter of whether Silk was pregnant; it was a question of how she got that way.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he’s right. As soon as he pointed it out, I could see it. But take her to a vet, by all means. Be sure to get it confirmed.”

The usual friendliness was gone from his voice, but Bridey understood. He was bound to be pretty cool to the idea that she’d let Silk get out unsupervised.

“Maybe Satin is the daddy.” She offered this up hopefully.

“Not possible. As soon as I got back to the office I checked his papers. He’d been fixed before Mrs. Willey agreed to take the cats. She didn’t want a lot of little kittens running around the place. No, Bridey. Somehow Silk got out of that apartment, and it must have happened while you were there. So why don’t you just tell me about it?”

She wished she could die.

“This isn’t easy, Mr. Kinski. I’m really embarrassed.”

He remained silent, and there was nothing for her to do but continue.

“She must have slipped into my tote bag one night without my knowing it. I went to the fish market and she came along for the ride, I guess.” She told him the whole dumb story. “I would never have deliberately let her out of the apartment, and I didn’t tell you because I got her home safely and I didn’t think any harm had been done. And because I was so embarrassed. I had no idea she’d gotten herself pregnant. If I’d known, honestly, I would have told you. I swear it; I’d have told you. Honestly! I know how valuable she is, of course, and that you trusted me, and I didn’t want you to think you’d hired an irresponsible jerk to take care of Mrs. Willey’s cats.” She could hear herself racing along, trying to explain and apologize and be reassuring all at the same time. “I’m not irresponsible, Mr. Kinski. Really, I’m not. And this job is so important to me . . .”

“Okay, Bridey. Okay.”

Mr. Kinski’s voice relented a bit; he couldn’t help being fond of Bridey, whose appealing nature was a bright spot in his busy life, and he was touched by her obvious remorse. A bit of his customary cordiality returned. What’s more, he was thinking he was hardly in a position to point accusing fingers; he knew he’d been severely remiss himself in allowing the entire situation to have come about in the first place.

“It’s okay, Bridey,” he said again. “I guess it could have happened to anyone. I’ll have to explain it to my partners, but there’s no legal harm done, I think. But take good care of those pussycats from here on. After listening to Afton Morley, I wouldn’t put it past him to try to do them in. What a creep!”

“I didn’t dare say it myself,” she said a little timidly, “but I hate to think of someone like that taking over this beautiful place. Mack Brewster would have been bad enough, but Afton Morley is a thousand times worse. He has absolutely no appreciation of what he’s getting. And he is getting it, isn’t he?”

If Mack was the frying pan, she was thinking, Afton was surely the fire, and between them both, her own concerns were turning into a sizzling crisp.

“You never know,” Gerry was saying. “The documents seem to be in order, but . . . well, you never know. You just never know. I’m going to go over every word in his papers with a fine-tooth comb. Something might turn up. In the meantime, you just hang in there, Bridey, and whatever you do, keep an eye on those cats. After all, we’re going to have a little family soon.”

Bridey hung up and took a long, slow breath.

So she wasn’t in trouble with Mr. Kinski after all. Thank God! At least one fire had been put out.

Her racing heart was slowing down to normal speed and she could feel the blood returning to her face. She turned to Silk, who was again circling the room, looking for something.

“Do you think you might manage to behave yourself from now on?”

Silk ignored her. She was busy with her own concerns.

“Now I understand why you’ve been so peculiar lately. And why you keep prowling around like that. Little mother! You’re looking for a place to make a nest for your babies.”

Silk continued prowling.

Satin came into the room, watched Silk’s nervous peregrinations for a moment and then walked out again.
Women
, he seemed to be saying. Bridey thought he’d be glad when this was over and she was back to normal.

Bridey knew only one remedy for trouble; she forced herself back to work, and the rest of the afternoon passed quietly. The cats went about their own affairs, the skies stayed gray and leaden and the whole city seemed to recede into a distant, thoughtful self-preoccupation. The traffic noises that floated up from the streets below were muffled by the heavy air, and by dinner time Bridey’s work on her fast-food chapter,
Salad Bars and Other Lifesavers
, was completed.

She stowed her notes, closed the computer down and prepared to make the cats’ dinner. Satin stayed close to her while she got their evening meal ready, rubbing hungrily against her ankles, but Silk was nowhere in sight.

“Where’s Silk?” she asked him as she set the bowls on the floor. “Doesn’t she want her dinner?”

Satin couldn’t care less. He was interested only in scarfing down the ground liver that filled his bowl.

“Silk?” she called. “Silk, your dinner’s ready. Where are you, sweetie?” But no little Silk came running into the room. “Am I going to have to go hunting for you?” she called.

There was no response.

Bridey poured some milk into a bowl and set that down, too.

“Come on, little mother. Milk’s good for you. You’ve got your babies to think of now.”

Still no sign of Silk.

“Well, if that’s how you feel, don’t come crying to me when your teeth fall out and your bones melt.”

Bridey felt confident that nature would take its course and Silk would show up for her dinner soon enough. She carried a bowl of veggies, a raisin-ginger scone and a Diet Coke into the family room, set a Netflix movie into the DVD player and settled down, determined to spend a couple of relaxing couch-potato hours with Audrey Hepburn and an entranced Humphrey Bogart to settle her disturbed spirits. In a little while, Satin came in to join her, curling up by her side to sleep while she watched her movie.

Maybe the film was too trivial to hold her interest. Or perhaps she had too much to think about. Her mind kept being drawn to the apartment across the hall, and she found herself wondering if Mack was at home. Or still at his office? Was his Burberry hanging in the closet, too warm for this spring day? Did he have a plan for dealing with Henrietta’s long-lost relative?

Afton Morley’s boorish presence still hung heavily over the apartment, as though his uncaring touch and unappreciative eye had set everything awry. Bridey found herself seeing his ham-handed intrusiveness through Henrietta’s disapproving gaze, and a wave of protectiveness swept through her.

She knew Mack would do whatever he could to keep the Morleys from becoming his neighbors. But what good would that do her? In any case, she’d be the loser.

The dreadful prospect of either of them—Mack or Afton—dismantling the careful design and order of these rooms, selling off all the carefully acquired pieces of silver and crystal, the works of art, the fine fabrics that filled these rooms, was unbearable. More than ever, Bridey was identifying with Henrietta’s wishes, wanting to keep this lovely place intact, wanting to preserve it in accordance with the woman’s plan.

By now, she’d totally forgotten the video.

What would Henrietta have done if she could have anticipated the appearance of Afton Morley and his pumpkin of a wife? Surely she would have written her will in a way that would have blocked him from succeeding to the property, just as she had tried to block Mack.

Bridey could imagine Henrietta’s fury. She could picture those green eyes flashing, the outraged toss of that elegant head, the imperious voice issuing her commands to her lawyers. If Henrietta Willey had been willing and able to intimidate so worldly and forceful a man as Llewellyn Brewster, what would she have done to Afton Morley? She’d have chopped him up for cat food!

And speaking of cat food, had Silk come out of her hiding place and eaten her dinner?

A twinge of guilt shot through Bridey’s curled-up, comfortable body. After her confession to Gerald Kinski of her failure to protect Silk from her own waywardness, she felt an invisible finger poking at her conscience. She ought to be especially watchful to be sure the adventurous cat wasn’t getting into any more trouble. She’d better go check on her.

She picked up the remote and turned off the movie. Satin shifted his sleek form as she got out of her chair and rearranged himself into its deep cushion. He hadn’t found the movie terribly amusing and had settled himself into a pleasant postprandial nap. He was just as glad that Bridey had removed the distraction.

Bridey went into the cats’ dining room. Silk’s bowls of liver, milk and water were untouched.

“Silk?” she called. “Where are you?”

There was no answer. No newly plump form came running into the room.

“What are you up to now?” she said to the empty air. A chill of apprehension caught at her, running a thin, cold trail up her back. “Are you getting me into more trouble?”

She went into the living room, looked around, saw no sign of Silk. She went to the window and looked out onto the balcony to see if the cat had taken up her outpost there, from which she so often observed the passing scene, indulging her own exotic fantasies. But there was no Silk there either.

She went into the library, she went into Neville’s bedroom she checked her own bedroom, where Silk sometimes curled up against the mass of pillows that rested against the rosewood headboard. But there wasn’t any evidence that the cat had been there, not so much as a warm dent in the down-filled comforter. She walked through the dressing room, pushing hangers aside and peering in among the shoes, opening drawers and poking around in them, as though she might find Silk snuggled in among her panties and bras. Still no Silk.

“Oh, come on now. This is getting spooky, Silk. Stop playing games. I know you’re here somewhere.”

She reviewed the day. Silk had definitely been there earlier, when everyone had left. And the door to the apartment hadn’t been open since then.

“You’ve got to be around.” But still it was quiet, as quiet as it had been all afternoon.

Bridey went into Henrietta’s sitting room and turned on the light. More than any other room in the apartment, this must surely have been Mrs. Willey’s favorite. It was here that she wrote her letters, at a small leather-topped, Georgian writing table whose shallow drawers were filled with her engraved notepaper and formal letterhead. A brass desk lamp cast a warm glow over the chintz-covered chairs and the low, book-filled cases. It was here, with Silk and Satin at her feet, that Henrietta must have entertained her closest friends, back in the days when she still had close friends, and it was here that she must have enjoyed the knitting and sewing she did, unbeknownst to the rest of the world, which relaxed and amused her. In front of a small upholstered armchair—a Victorian piece covered in a William Morris print—a footstool rested, its fabric needlepointed, and at the chair’s side was a large covered basket filled with knitting yarn, patterns, scraps and remnants of fabric. The basket’s cover lay slightly askew, tipped over, perhaps, when the maid was cleaning, and Bridey bent to replace it.

Her eye was caught by the tiniest of movements inside the basket, as though a piece of velvet had shifted its position, perhaps stirred by Bridey’s move to put the cover back in place. As though, but not quite. She was sure she hadn’t moved the basket, and the fabric couldn’t have moved by itself. Bridey stared at it and it shifted again, ever so slightly.

She pushed the piece of fabric to one side. And sure enough, a soft face looked up at her, the points of two gray-blue ears poking up from the layers of cloth. Silk shook her head and sneezed.