No Cooperation from the Cat (10 page)

“Jasper has reason to remain here.” Ice dripped from Evangeline’s voice. “We have some unfinished business to discuss. Privately.”

Jasper quivered and paled.

“Actually—” In one convulsive movement, he was down the hall and reaching for the door. “You may be right. I can’t abandon you. I don’t know what I was thinking … momentary lapse … sorry…”

“I should think so!” Edytha was not quite mollified. “We want to get away from this place to somewhere—” She sent a nasty look at us, one that stopped at the door through which Jocasta had exited. “Somewhere healthier.”

The door slammed behind them to give emphasis to her parting shot.

Evangeline and I looked at each other.

“Do you think she hates poor Jocasta for herself alone?” I wondered.

“Or is she like that to any woman who shows an interest in Banquo?” Evangeline finished the thought.

“You can’t say that,” Martha objected. “She seemed very fond of Melisande—and Melisande was married to him.”

“And the obituary noted that Melisande had been the sole heiress to a large fortune,” Evangeline reflected.

“And Melisande is dead now,” I chimed in. “Which leaves Banquo a—”

“Wealthy Widower!”
we finished together, the title of, theme of, one of our early films.

“Now stop that! Both of you!” Martha snapped. “This isn’t the scenario of one of your stupid movies!”

“I will ignore your slur on our cherished profession.” Evangeline was at her most glacial. “And merely point out that it is an indisputable fact that Melisande is dead. And in circumstances no one seems too comfortable with.”

“The verdict was misadventure. An accident.” Martha was beginning to sound harassed. “A terrible, terrible mischance. Everyone agreed about that.”

“Edytha doesn’t seem too agreeable about it,” I said mildly.

“Oh, Mother!” Not mild enough. “Really!”

“Really,” I said. “And perhaps it escaped your notice that—even if she doesn’t believe it—Edytha is doing a great job of making Banquo distrust Jocasta.”

“Well…” Martha couldn’t deny it. “I still think you’re making too much of it. She’s just a thoroughly unpleasant woman, that’s all.”

“If only it were,” Evangeline said. “Can’t you see where this is leading?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Martha was puzzled. Nothing new. She hardly ever knew what either of us meant. The poor child was distressingly literal.

“She all but accused Jocasta of being responsible for Melisande’s death.” Evangeline spelled it out for Martha.

“Nonsense! She did no such thing!”

“She implied it—in several different variations.” I weighed in behind Evangeline. “But she didn’t say anything outright that she could be sued for. That was the beauty of it.”

“As neat a hatchet job as anything I’ve seen since the days when every studio had its own tame mobster or two,” Evangeline confirmed.

We met each other’s eyes and nodded.

“You’re both being melodramatic again! No one would ever believe a story like that!”

“Oh, I don’t know—” Evangeline pursed her lips. “Give Banquo a bit more time to brood over it. Depending on how much he’s prodded, he might come up with some interesting conclusions. Possibly even a murder charge.”

“And with a ready-made scapegoat in Jocasta,” I said. “It would certainly give his book that bestseller zing. Especially if they can fake some juicy pictures of Jocasta breaking the news. And then comforting him.”

“Have you given any thought to auditioning another assistant to help test your recipes?” Evangeline wondered. “It wouldn’t do any harm to have an understudy waiting in the wings.”

“Now that’s enough!” Martha slammed both hands down flat on the table, making an impressive noise. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a furry blur as Cho-Cho decided it wasn’t as safe to rejoin the party as she had thought.

“I won’t listen to another word!” Martha glared impartially at both of us. “So you might as well save your breath!”

A sudden gust of wind blasted against the building and it seemed to sway. But they were built to do that in high winds, weren’t they? Surely, it didn’t presage anything sinister. Abruptly, I found myself agreeing with Martha. I, too, had had as much drama as I could stand in one day. And the day wasn’t over yet—or was it?

The sky had darkened without our noticing it and now large raindrops splattered against the windows, gathering force and intensity as I watched. There went any idea of escaping into town. If this wasn’t a monsoon, it would do until the real thing came along. It was nothing to venture out in.

“Actually—” Evangeline turned away from the storm outside, obviously having reached the same conclusion. “I feel one of my headaches coming on. I shall retire to my room and lie down. Please see that I am not disturbed.”

“I’ll guarantee it,” Martha promised grimly, underlining that she had no intention of seeking any more of Evangeline’s company. She, too, had had enough of this day. And she still had her deadline to meet and a helper who was going to be no help at all. I felt for her but—

“Actually—” I echoed Evangeline. “I’m not feeling too well myself. And I didn’t sleep much last night.” Well, it might be true—I couldn’t remember. “And this weather—” Obligingly on cue, a howling gale hurled the rain—or possibly hail—against the windows. “This weather is getting me down.” I headed for the door.

“Oh, Mother,” Martha was prepared to worry slightly more about me than about Evangeline. “Can I get you anything? Aspirin? A bowl of soup? Tea and toast? A—?”

“No, no, thank you, dear. All I really need right now is a nice little nap.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Evangeline said. “We’ll be all right.”

Righter than Martha knew. Neither of us had wanted to tell her but, when we found our fridge full of strange ingredients and our kitchen taken over, we had provided ourselves with mini fridges and hot plates for our private quarters. I knew for a fact that Evangeline kept a supply of caviar, smoked salmon, and half bottles of champagne in hers. I wasn’t that fond of caviar, but I had a few tins of pâte and three-bean salad and red wine in mine. We were well stocked up for emergencies or unforeseen events.

I closed my door behind me and leaned against it thankfully. Peace. And quiet. At last. Outside, the storm continued to rage. In here, it was warm and cosy and the soft bed inviting. I flipped on the radio and picked up the mystery I was reading.

A faint mew of protest told me that I had nearly squashed my little chum as I stretched out on the bed.

“Push over, then,” I told her and she obliged. I began to feel drowsy as I settled down next to the warm little body with the comforting purr.

I had intended, I really had, to review the events of the day—with particular attention to everything that had been said or implied. But …

But … the room was warm, the bed was soft, the storm outside closed us into a sphere of comfort and contentment.

Then Classic FM began to play the “Rose Adagio” and the smooth melodic strains wafted me into another world. I stood on a stage I had never known, wearing a costume I had never worn, facing a partner I had never seen before …

Another moment
 … I promised myself. Just another moment and I’ll pull myself together, open my eyes, and do some serious thinking about the situation.

“Prrr
…”
a little voice throbbed in my ear.
“Prrr
 …
prrr
…”

Just another minute
. The music swirled and soared and I soared with it.

I’ll open my eyes in just another minute
 …

“Prrr
…”

Just another minute
 …

Chapter Ten

I awoke to discover that the rain had dwindled from a monsoon to a mere downpour. An improvement, but still nothing one would want to go out in. A quiet evening at home stretched out before me. At least, I hoped it did. Given my personal opinion that Banquo and his crew were all mad as hatters, they might even now be heading in this direction.

I yawned, stretched, and decided I wouldn’t bother to change for dinner. There would just be Evangeline and me and, judging from the finality with which Jocasta had disappeared earlier, I would be the one doing the cooking. Perhaps an omelette and crusty rolls and—

Something wasn’t right. I was awake enough now to notice this. But—what? I inhaled deeply: bacon, eggs, coffee, toast. Morning smells. And the murmur of voices. Jocasta, sounding slightly plaintive, but in a reasonable mood. And lower, soothing, a man’s voice I couldn’t immediately identify. But all the men had left earlier … or yesterday?

I couldn’t have slept all afternoon and all night!

The clock, though, said eight and the sky had lightened as much as the rain would allow. Cho-Cho was nowhere in sight, so the visitor must be friendly—and not Teddy. Not yet.

As I entered the kitchen, a sudden burst of laughter halted me in surprise. In fact, amazement. To be fair, Jocasta looked equally surprised at herself. I realised it was the first time I had ever heard her laugh. I looked around to see who the miracle man could be.

“Good morning, Trixie.” Nigel beamed at me—or, possibly, at his success in amusing Jocasta. “Ready for breakfast? We’re having bacon, but there are sausages, if you’d rather.”

Cho-Cho looked at me hopefully. She liked bacon, but she loved sausages.

“Split the difference,” I said. “A couple of each.”

“Coming up!” He seemed to have taken over at the grill.

“Oh, Trixie—” Jocasta greeted me. “There’s a message from Martha. She won’t be here today. I’m to just go ahead with the next recipes to be tested. Nigel has very kindly volunteered to help me.”

“Good! I mean—” Perhaps I had sounded too enthusiastic. “I mean, it’s a filthy day for her to trail all the way over here. I’m sure you and Nigel will manage splendidly.”

“Martha’s sulking again, I’ll be bound!” Evangeline appeared in the doorway, blinking as she took in the scene. It did not escape her notice that I was wearing yesterday’s outfit. So was she.

“I can’t believe I’ve slept the clock nearly round,” I greeted her brightly.

“You, too?” Her eyes narrowed. “Martha must have slipped something into our private supply.”

“Don’t be silly!”

“I wouldn’t put it past her!” Evangeline was spoiling for a fight, but not quite up to it. She yawned unwillingly.

“Here you are!” With a presence of mind that I wouldn’t have expected of him, Nigel slid my plate in front of Evangeline and pulled out a chair for her, giving me a nod to say I’d have mine in just another minute.

I nodded back. Cho-Cho sidled over and leaned against my ankles. She was no fool; she’d rather wait for my serving than try to cadge anything from Evangeline right now.

We hadn’t long to wait. Nigel was shaping up nicely as a short-order cook. Perhaps it had been one of the temporary jobs he had tangled with somewhere along the way.

Jocasta settled down at the other end of the table with a cup of coffee and several sheets of paper, presumably the recipes for today’s testing session. She seemed more relaxed than I had ever seen her. Was it because of Martha’s absence—or Banquo’s? Or Nigel’s presence?

My plate was slid in front of me—with an extra sausage, I saw. I cut it into slices, transferred it to a saucer, and set the saucer down at my feet. Cho-Cho pounced on it, in a ladylike way.

I did some pouncing myself. Now that I thought about it, no wonder I was starving. I’d missed dinner last night and—

The buzzer of the downstairs entrance jarred like a Klaxon. We all jumped.

“Not Banquo—” Jocasta whimpered, shrinking back. “Oh please, not Banquo.”

“Not Teddy!” I had my own preoccupation. “Not again!”

“I’ll take care of this!” Evangeline pushed back her chair and advanced grimly on the intercom. “I’ve had enough!”

“Evangeline, please—” I began. She mustn’t antagonise Teddy. He was a mild man—but they’re the worst when sufficiently aroused.

“Go away!” Too late. She was shouting into the intercom. “No one can come in! We’re quarantined! The doctor says it’s bubonic plague! Flee for your lives! It’s too late for us—save yourselves!”

“And good morning to you, too, Evangeline.” The deep amused male voice was too self-assured to be Teddy’s, too professionally trained to be Banquo’s. “In top form, as usual, I see. I was under the impression we had a date. Are you going to let me in? Or shall I take a rain check?”

“Good Lord—it’s Jem!” Evangeline stabbed at the lock release button. “Is it Wednesday already?”

*   *   *

The Grey Pound was out in full panoply at the matinee. They filled the orchestra pit and dress circle, chattering brightly, waving to friends, stowing walking sticks under seats, and adjusting hearing aids. The more thoughtful unwrapped their boxes of sweets immediately rather than waiting until the show had started and the actors were in the middle of a key scene.

Dotted here and there amongst the sleek coiffures in every shade of white, from silver to palest blue, were a few more vivid younger heads, obviously theatre students and resting actors taking advantage of the professional courtesy that allowed them to occupy the unsold seats.

The house lights dimmed and the old familiar expectant hush came over the audience as we gradually slipped into total darkness and the curtain rose.

Okay—so it wasn’t the greatest show I’d ever seen, but that didn’t matter. It was theatre, it was lights, costumes, music—magic.

From time to time, I could feel Jem’s eyes on me, so perhaps I overdid the enthusiasm a bit. He was our host, after all, and I wanted to show him we appreciated it.

I was subvocalising the chorus of the main song, which was sure to be a hit—or would have been once. Before the world went mad and accepted discordant notes and raucous shouting as the norm for what passed as music.

“Like to be up there yourself, would you, Trixie?” Jem smiled, aware that I had caught him watching me.

“Oh, boy! Would I!”

He nodded, as though I had confirmed a private suspicion, and turned to watch Evangeline as the non-singing heroine took centre stage for one of her big dramatic scenes.