No Cooperation from the Cat (3 page)

BOOK: No Cooperation from the Cat
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“Sounds good to me.” I settled opposite her at the table. “Any other news?”

“We’ll have a good gossip then, he promises. And he says Garrick sends his best regards to Madame Cho-Cho-San.”

“And she’ll send hers to Garrick when we meet on Wednesday.” Garrick was the theatre cat at the Royal Empire, Brighton, where Jem, who had been a child star in one of Evangeline’s early plays in the West End, was now stage manager, power behind the scenes—and Garrick’s preferred companion.

“One egg or two?” Jocasta asked me. I glanced down to see bright trusting eyes gazing up at me.

“Two,” I answered. One and a half would be quite enough for me and Cho-Cho did like a bit of egg with her breakfast bacon.

Because I was more than halfway listening for it, I caught the scrape of the key in the lock of our door at the far end of the hallway and braced myself.

Jocasta was caught unawares when the door slammed violently. She jumped and another rasher of bacon dropped from her tongs to the floor.

Cho-Cho’s possessive paw stretched over it immediately and she gave a loud purr of appreciation.

Sharp staccato footsteps charged down the hallway, about to storm the castle and take no prisoners. Oh dear. Martha was still in a foul mood from yesterday. I had been afraid of that.

“Oh!” Jocasta gasped with relief as Martha appeared in the doorway. “It’s only you.”

Martha’s eyes narrowed dangerously. That “only” had been a mistake.

“I mean—” Jocasta apparently realised this and tried to retrieve her blunder. “I was afraid it was Banquo.”

“Why should it be? I thought we saw him off yesterday.”

Leave it to Evangeline to stick her oar in and muddy the waters even more.

“Why should we ever see him again?”

We all looked at her incredulously. Surely she couldn’t really believe we’d seen the last of him. That would be too good to be true. The best we could hope for was a long respite.

“Because it’s the weekend,” Jocasta explained.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Martha was as puzzled as the rest of us.

“Don’t you see? Banquo won’t be able to reach anyone else. The publishing offices are closed. He’s come back here because Martha has taken over Melisande’s cookbook—”

There was an explosive indignant snort from Martha.

“I mean, I mean—” Jocasta temporised swiftly. “That’s the way he’ll see it. It’s Martha’s book now, of course. We’re hardly even using any of Melisande’s reci—”

“I think we’ll leave it there.” It was not like Evangeline to act as peacemaker, but Martha’s expression was obviously unnerving her.

“Darling.” It was terrifying me. “Darling, be calm. I know this has come as a shock to you. To all of us but—”

“But Banquo doesn’t know what’s happened to his wife. He’ll be back because he thinks
she
”—Martha sent a venomous look at Jocasta—“knows where Melisande is.”

“Ridiculous!” Evangeline said. “Doesn’t the creature have any relatives or friends he can go to for information?”

“He’s not a creature!” Jocasta flared. “He’s a brilliant inventive courageous adventurer who risks his life to—to—” She floundered for a moment, then recovered. “To bring knowledge to the world!”

Oh, dear. Why do some of the sweetest young girls fall for the cads and poseurs?

“I didn’t ask for a character reference!” Evangeline snapped. “I asked whether he had any family. Or friends.” She sounded insultingly doubtful about the latter.

“Of course he has!” Jocasta was on the defensive. “Lots of them! Too many. Banquo’s Baggage, we called them around the office.”

“The other part of the question was,” Evangeline went on relentlessly, “why can’t
they
break the news to him?”

“Well…” Jocasta considered the question. “Tom and Mick, his old school friends, don’t know any more than he does. They were on the expedition with him.”

“Really?” I could feel my eyebrows moving up to meet my hairline. “I had the distinct impression that he said he was on a solo expedition.”

“Well, yes, of course he was.” Jocasta tried to stand her ground. “But there’s solo—and solo. I mean everyone needs a backup team. Both on-the-spot backup and … and back-at-home-base backup, here in London. Tom and Mick helped with the dog sledges with supplies and all that. And there had to be a photographer, that’s Tom, for the illustrations for the book. But Banquo was always in the lead—at least half a mile in front of them. So, you see, he was solo really.”

“Mmm…” Evangeline was no more convinced than I was. “So they didn’t know anything had happened to Melisande. But what about those back at the London base?”

“Oh, those are his three cousins: Edytha, Isolde, and Valeria.” Jocasta was racked by an involuntary shudder and closed her eyes briefly. “They’re very protective of him, possessive, even. Melisande used to say it was like having three mothers-in-law, all hostile. She swore they’d have found some way of stopping Banquo from marrying her, if she hadn’t had all that money.”

“Money?” Evangeline snapped to attention. “All
what
money?”

The doorbell pealed suddenly and Jocasta’s look changed to one of sheer terror.

“I’m not here!” She bolted for the bathroom. “You don’t know where I am. You don’t even know me!”

Chapter Three

“You can come out now,” Martha called with barely veiled exasperation. “It’s only Nigel.”

“Oh…” The door opened slowly and Jocasta emerged. “Hello, Nigel.”

“Hello, hello, hello,” he said affably, turning to include all of us in his greeting.

With a happy chirrup, Cho-Cho pranced forward to hurl herself at his ankles. For some reason best known to herself, Nigel had become one of her favourite people.

“And hello to you, too.” He scooped her into his arms and they had themselves a nuzzling session.

All right, Nigel might be a pain in the neck at times, but his heart and instincts were in the right places.

I noticed that, even as he fussed over Cho-Cho, his eyes brightened hopefully when Jocasta returned to the cooker and tossed a few more rashers under the grill. His nostrils flared and he swallowed convulsively. I wondered when he had had his last meal.

“Sit down, Nigel.” I couldn’t help myself. “You’re just in time to join us for brunch.”

“Oh, no, no. Really? You’re sure it’s no trouble?” Even as he demurred politely, he swung out a chair and stumbled into it eagerly. Cho-Cho touched her nose to his, then swept her cheek across his, both assuring him that he was welcome and marking him with her little scent glands as one of her belongings.

“It’s nothing special, I’m afraid.” Jocasta did her own demurring. “Just the usual full English.”

I noticed that she had produced, from seemingly nowhere, halves of tomatoes and mushrooms, which she popped under the grill, then trimmed the crusts off slices of white bread to fry with more eggs.

“We’ll be doing something more interesting later,” she apologised. “We haven’t decided what we’re testing today.”

“Oh, this is fine, great, wonderful!” Nigel was salivating, he swallowed again. “Couldn’t ask for better!”

Cho-Cho met my eyes with an intense, meaningful look, then began dotting kisses all over Nigel’s face. I got the feeling that she understood his situation better than we did. Nigel needed all the love and support we could give him. Was he in some sort of trouble? Again?

“Actually—” He pulled himself away from Cho-Cho’s ministrations and beamed at Evangeline. “I dropped by to tell you that I think there may be some very good news on the way.”

“You’ve managed to unload those ghastly ostriches!” Evangeline’s face lit up. “I knew you would … eventually.”

“Er, no.” Nigel winced. “Not yet. I’m still working on that. It’s looking hopeful, but…”

But he couldn’t find another sucker. Not like Evangeline. Perhaps everybody else had a better idea of what they would be getting into.

“Oh.” Evangeline’s face fell. “I’m not ‘investing’ any more money,” she warned.

“No, no, nothing like that. Ah, thank you—” Jocasta had placed a laden plate in front of him. He plunged towards it so eagerly that Cho-Cho was briefly squeezed between his chest and the table. She mewed a ladylike protest and squirmed free, dropping to the floor.

“Sorry, love,” Nigel said perfunctorily as he snatched up his knife and fork and concentrated on the food.

“Tea—or coffee?” Martha was drawn into the circle of his need. Mouth full, he waved a hand, which we all interpreted as
anything will do
. When had the poor boy last had a decent meal? Perhaps not since he had been one of our guests when we were staying in Brighton.

I cast an anxious glance towards Evangeline and saw by her frown that she was taking the measure of the situation, too. We had all done our time in the hinterlands of near-starvation.

Jocasta was looking gratified as she watched Nigel devouring the food she had cooked. Then the telephone rang abruptly and she gave a small shriek of terror and dropped the fork she was holding.

Unfortunately, there had been a small sausage impaled on the tines and Cho-Cho dived for it. Anything that hit the floor around here was hers and—oh, joy!—the cooks were butter-fingered and careless.

“You don’t need that!” I scooped her up and she struggled, protesting loudly.

“You aren’t hungry,” I assured her. “It’s sheer hunting instinct, that’s all.”

The phone went on ringing. Jocasta stared at it, uttering incoherent little sounds of distress.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Evangeline was nearest the phone and she snatched it up, demanding, “Now, what?” She listened a moment, then said, “No, no, Cecile. Just the usual madhouse.”

“Oh! It’s just Dame Cecile.” Jocasta was just beginning to relax when the doorbell rang again. She shrieked.

“Pull yourself together!” It was Martha who spoke, although she sounded exactly like Evangeline in that moment. I hoped rogue genes weren’t coming through. “You can’t carry on like this. We have work to do!”

“Yes, yes, I know. I’m sorry.” Jocasta apologised automatically, but I could feel her watching me nervously as I went down the hall to answer the door.

I was still trying to decide whether I should slam the door in his face when I realised that it wasn’t Banquo who stood there looking down at me as though uncertain of his welcome.

“Teddy!” I said, loudly enough to reassure Jocasta. “I thought you were in Brighton.”

“I was, I am, but—” He smiled imploringly. “You did
say
I could have visiting privileges.”

“Oh yes, of course. Come in.” I stepped back and he rushed in so quickly that I looked beyond him to see if he was being pursued. I wouldn’t put it past that awful wife of his.

“Where is she?” He looked around eagerly. “Where’s my little darling?”

I told myself that that pang in my heart wasn’t jealousy as Cho-Cho surged forward with a chirrup of delight to be swept up into his arms.

Cho-Cho was simply an exceptionally loving and friendly little cat, I lectured myself further. Naturally, she was happy to see Teddy again—he was her former owner.

But he had given her to me. He couldn’t change his mind, could he?

No, no, of course not. His wife still hated the cat and would always hate her. Nothing would change that. It wasn’t safe for Cho-Cho to be anywhere near Frella ever again.

Surely Teddy would never forget Frella’s deadly hatred—that was why he had let Cho-Cho go. Besides, I
had
given him visiting privileges. Wouldn’t that be enough for him? Or…?

Evangeline’s poisonous glare made me aware that I was wringing my hands as I followed Teddy and Cho-Cho into the kitchen.

“Teddy, old man!” Nigel greeted him as a friend and, possibly, ally. Was Nigel feeling a bit outnumbered being the only male amongst all these females?

“Teddy!” Jocasta smiled wanly, but welcomingly. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Some,” Teddy admitted, sniffing the fragrant air. “Rather a long time ago. Before I caught the early train from Brighton.”

“Sit down,” I urged. “There’s plenty for everyone.” It wasn’t a bribe, but I did want to keep on his good side.

“Coffee.” Martha sighed resignedly, pouring out a cup. “Perhaps toast. Since you’ve already had something, perhaps you won’t mind waiting a bit for more. We’re going to test a kedgeree recipe. I thought it would do all of us for lunch.”

“Splendid, splendid!” Teddy agreed, settling himself next to Nigel, who had raised his head alertly.

“Perhaps Nigel would join the testing panel, too—” Jocasta had noticed. “If he isn’t too full—”

“I’ll force myself.” Nigel beamed. “Anything to be of help.”

Evangeline snorted as she replaced the phone. “Cecile will be joining us for lunch, brunch, whatever,” she reported. “Throw another potato into the pot.”

“It’s rice, actually,” Martha said coldly, as Jocasta scurried to unearth a chunk of smoked haddock from the freezer and access the rice canister.

I knew the eggs were already waiting. Martha was incapable of getting her hands on a dozen eggs without immediately hard-boiling at least half a dozen of them to stand ready for future use in salads, dressing, or, in this case, it seemed, kedgeree.

Teddy was devoting most of his attention to Cho-Cho, but the aroma of the haddock gently defrosting and poaching was beginning to perfume the air and she stirred restively in his arms. She still loved him. Of course she did. But he didn’t loom as large in her life as he once had. She loved us, too, now. And, oh, how she loved the glorious realm of the kitchen! Something new and delicious was being magically produced every time she turned around. She had never had smoked haddock before; she couldn’t wait to get at it.

With an apologetic chirrup, she twisted away from Teddy and slid to the floor, racing over to the stove where she hurled herself impartially against Jocasta’s ankles and then Martha’s. They were both queens of the cuisine on offer. Teddy couldn’t compete against them.

“Perhaps I should have brought her a little something,” Teddy recognised with a rueful shrug.

“Nonsense!” Martha said briskly. “She has everything she could ever want right here.”

BOOK: No Cooperation from the Cat
5.89Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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