No Cooperation from the Cat (5 page)

“Ah!” Isolde dived into the voluminous folds of her costume. “My mobile.” She fished out a preposterously minute plastic toy and activated it.

“Yes?” She listened. We all did, but she was the only one who could hear anything. She nodded in satisfaction. “You’re outside the building now. Good. Yes, she’s here. Come straight up. It’s the penthouse.”

“Pay no attention to us—” Evangeline was quivering like a volcano about to erupt. “We only live here!”

“Quite.” It had obviously never occurred to Isolde to consider us at all.

“What Miss Sinclair is saying”—Martha hissed like a snake—a spitting cobra—“is: you are not welcome. Your friends are not welcome. In fact, we’d like you to leave. Now! Before we call the police!”

“Isolde—” Valeria seemed to have a slightly firmer grasp on reality. “Perhaps we ought to go. We can continue our discussion in the car. Come along, Jocasta. They don’t want us here.”

Nope, she was as flaky as Isolde. Or perhaps she hadn’t looked at poor Jocasta recently.

“No!” Jocasta was galvanised into rebellion. “I’m staying here! Go away!” Her voice rose in a modified shriek. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

“Nonsense!” Isolde said. “Tom and Mick are in the car waiting for us. We have to have a consultation and decide the best way for you to break the news to Banquo. Come along now!”

“I won’t! You can’t make me!” Jocasta looked around for support. She needn’t have worried—we were all on her side.

“She’s staying here!” Martha moved to stand in front of her, defying anyone to touch her. “We have work to do—and you’re interfering with it. If you’re not out of here in thirty seconds, I’m calling the police!”

“I have Ron on speed dial.” Evangeline flourished her own cell phone. “He can be here in just a few minutes. With plenty of reinforcements. Especially when I tell him this is an attempted kidnapping.”

“Good,” I said. We had met Ron—sometimes unkindly referred to as our Tame Policeman—at the time of an unfortunate murder case we had been involved in, and we had proved helpful to each other. Evangeline had added him to our roster of useful contacts. I felt that he occasionally deplored us but he had never failed us.

“And the next calls,” I chimed in, “will be to the media. You may not know who we are, but they do. They’ll be here for an impromptu press conference before I’ve had time to ring off. That will take care of your breaking any news to Banquo—he’ll get it from the headlines in the morning.”

“You can’t do that!” Isolde gasped. “The shock might kill the poor boy.”

I shrugged. That was her opinion. From what I had seen of their precious Banquo, I felt he belonged in the ranks of those who, as the old expression went, “you couldn’t kill with a meat axe.”

“Come, Isolde.” Valeria’s hand closed on her upper arm and drew her inexorably towards the door. “We obviously are not welcome here. Let us retreat and consider the situation.”

“But—” Isolde didn’t want to surrender without a struggle.

“The boys are waiting downstairs,” Valeria said, moving them forward. Dame Cecile proved her worth by sweeping in front of them and opening the door. Their exit wasn’t a patch on the one she would have made. She closed the door behind them, not quite slamming it, then leaned against it, closing her eyes and breathing a great sigh of relief, which the rest of us echoed.

“Now—” Martha said grimly. “Can we get back to the matter in hand? We have recipes to test.”

“Not right now, dear,” I said. “I don’t think any of us are quite in the mood. Let’s give our unwanted guests ten or fifteen minutes to get clear of the vicinity, then I’ll ring Eddie and treat us all to lunch at the Harpo.”

Chapter Five

Everything looked better the next morning. Even Jocasta was considerably perked up by an afternoon and evening surrounded by friends and allies, out of reach of Banquo and his cohorts.

We had encountered old friends of Evangeline and Dame Cecile at the Harpo. They had recently become involved in experimental productions and had no trouble in persuading us to come and see their latest at a suburban fringe theatre. Except for Martha who, still in a bad mood, made her excuses and retreated. The rest of us, with a handful of free tickets, had piled into Eddie’s taxi for the six thirty matinee. There had been a ticket for Eddie, too, and he obligingly joined us, although he kept shaking his head all the way back to Docklands.

But today the sun was shining and Jocasta was humming as she produced delicious walnut waffles smothered with maple syrup and topped with whipped cream, which had us humming, too.

Nigel, who had been roused out of a deep sleep last night and recruited to go out and circle the block to make sure no unwelcome would-be intruders were lurking, seemed especially blissed out, reaping his reward as Jocasta gave him a generous second helping. No one seemed to notice that Cho-Cho, perched on his lap, was helping herself to the whipped cream. I decided not to point this out. We were all happy—why spoil it?

Classical music throbbed softly in the background. In perhaps an hour or so, the up-to-date news bulletin would be allowed to interrupt, but not for long, and it would be followed immediately by something soothing and timeless. Just what we needed to brace ourselves for the day ahead.

It was all so pleasant and civilised—what a pity Martha had to arrive and shatter the mood. She had her own key, so we’d had no warning of her presence until she stormed down the hallway and slammed her shopping bag onto the unoccupied end of the table.

“Good morning, darling.” I tried to defuse the situation, even though I knew the effort would be useless. Sleeping on her grievance had not done any good. It had only made it worse.

“
Good
morning,” Martha snarled, making it clear that it was anything but. She underlined this with an especially venomous glare at Cho-Cho.

Oh, dear. As I’d feared, the recent revelation was still rankling. I cast around for something I could say or do to—

“Good morning, everyone.” The tone was placating, the manner diffident, but there he was, Teddy. He must have come in with Martha and accompanied her up in the elevator. No wonder she was so annoyed with Cho-Cho.

“Don’t mind me—” He smiled at us uncertainly, perhaps noticing that he wasn’t exactly getting a rapturous reception. “I’ve just come to visit Cho-Cho. We didn’t— That is, our visit was cut short yesterday with all the— Anyway, I’ve brought her a present.” He fumbled in his briefcase and pulled out a large and odiferous kipper which he waved in her direction.

Cho-Cho, replete with sweet maple-flavoured whipped cream and comfortably ensconced in the midst of her new family, gazed at him with as little enthusiasm as the rest of us.

“Oh.” He was crestfallen. “I—I thought she’d be pleased.” He flourished the kipper at her again, sending waves of stomach-churning odour over everyone at the table. Kipper definitely did not go with sweet waffles and cream.

He waved it again hopefully. I began to feel quite ill.

“I don’t understand it,” he complained. “She usually loves kippers. Look, Cho-Cho—” He flapped it in her direction again. “Daddy’s brought you a kipper.”

Daddy, indeed! Cho-Cho and I both looked at him coldly. Cho-Cho even more coldly than I, if possible. I didn’t blame her. That fish didn’t smell exactly, well,
fresh
.

“I’ll put it in the fridge.” Jocasta advanced on him with a plastic bag and deftly tweaked the kipper from his hand. “She can have it later. She isn’t hungry right now.”

“That’s it,” Nigel agreed. “We’ve been tucking into breakfast. She can’t have any room left.” He rubbed her tummy gently and she rewarded him with a loud purr.

“Breakfast…” Teddy looked longingly at the bounty on our plates. He swallowed and looked away again.

I moved out of range of Evangeline’s sharp elbows before asking: “Have you had breakfast yourself, Teddy?”

“Uh, no, not really.” He swallowed again. “Frella had … already left for the theatre and there was nothing in the fridge. That is, only the kipper—and I wanted that for Cho-Cho.” He looked at me hopefully, obviously starving. “And they don’t have a proper dining car on the Brighton train anymore.”

Martha made that growling sound again and I could feel a faint breeze as Evangeline’s elbow just missed my ribs. But what choice did I have? I was not only sorry for the poor man, but I wanted to keep him well-disposed. Apart from which, it must have been an unrealistically early hour for even the most dedicated of directors to be off to the theatre. I suspect that particular bit of information could be translated as: Frella didn’t come home last night.

“There’s plenty,” Jocasta murmured to me before fixing Teddy with a stern gaze and asking: “Just how long has that kipper been in your fridge?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Teddy shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps a day or two … or three.”

“I see.” Jocasta nodded grimly, her worst suspicions confirmed. Our eyes met and I knew Cho-Cho was safe; that dubious offering was going to disappear just as soon as Teddy’s back was turned.

“Sit down, Teddy.” I gestured him to a chair. “We have waffles on the menu this morning.”

“Well, if you’re sure it’s no trouble.” He had leapt into the chair before he spoke. “Of course, you were going to have me help test recipes yesterday, before … before … That is, I’m quite happy to work my passage, as it were.”

Some work! Eating the delicious food Martha and Jocasta produced. I smiled at him blandly as Jocasta poured a fresh batch of the mixture into the waffle iron and helped myself to another cup of strong black coffee.

*   *   *

Even though the quiet wasn’t great, I should have known it was too good to last. True, Martha was slamming the utensils around with unnecessary force, but that was only to be expected. She had a lot of resentment to work off before she settled down to being her own sweet self again. I just hoped I had the patience to wait it out.

Jocasta had reverted to her subdued mood and was keeping a low profile, rushing to anticipate Martha’s every wish, thrusting the desired ingredient or implement at her, then retreating into the background, avoiding eye contact at all costs. She had learned quickly, I thought. It was the only way to deal with Martha in one of her monumental snits.

Nigel, also sensitive to atmosphere, had removed Cho-Cho from his lap to Teddy’s where she slept peacefully, too replete to do any socialising. Teddy dabbed tentative caresses at her, obviously disappointed with his reception.

“Off to dancing attendance.” Nigel gave me a meaningful nod as he left. “All going well, should be good news soon.”

Since Evangeline had retreated to her room, I wondered who he intended dancing attendance on. I supposed it was too much to hope that he had found someone who might be willing to take on sixteen ostriches.

In the distance, we heard the door close behind Nigel. The silence lengthened.

“Um, er…” Teddy stirred restlessly. “It looks as though Cho-Cho is going to sleep for a while.”

“Cats do,” Martha said crisply. “She could be out of it for hours now. Jocasta—the big kettle. We’ll do the overnight marinade and then the preparations for the forty-eight-hour renewable stew.”

Teddy flinched. She couldn’t have made it plainer. The short-order kitchen was closed. “Er, perhaps I ought to be getting along. I can come back another time. When Cho-Cho is awake.”

“That sounds like a very good idea,” I said. The way Martha slammed a large mixing bowl on the table made me aware that, anxious to be rid of Teddy at any cost, I had recklessly committed us to welcome him at another time. Of his own choosing.

“It might be a good idea if you telephoned first,” I amended hastily. “Then we could tell you if Cho-Cho—” I broke off. “Was receiving visitors” seemed rather pompous, as well as being pointed.

“Anyway,” Jocasta said soothingly. “Shouldn’t you be getting along to rehearsals?”

Uh-oh! Major gaffe. We were going to have to teach that girl to read
The Stage
as soon as it was published every week.

“Not really.” He scooped up Cho-Cho awkwardly, stood and replaced her on the empty chair, and straightened, attempting dignity. “I’ve been replaced in the role. Frella felt they needed a stronger actor for the West End opening.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Jocasta’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

“No, no.” He smiled weakly. “She’s probably right. She usually is.” He turned and left the room, managing to keep his shoulders back until he thought he was out of sight and then they slumped. A man on his way out—in more ways than one—and who was beginning to know it.

“Oh, no!” Jocasta looked at me in dismay. “I had no idea. I wouldn’t for the world have—” We heard the door close firmly.

Cho-Cho opened one wary eye, looked around, then sat up and yawned before stretching, leaping to the floor, and heading for the living room where there were soft cushions on which to finish her beauty sleep.

Evangeline had refilled her coffee cup and retreated to her room. I was contemplating a strategic withdrawal myself, back to the peace and quiet of my own room and the mystery novel I was reading. Let Martha and Jocasta get on with their work.

I had nearly reached the safety of my room when the doorbell rang. I heard Martha’s exasperated, “
Now
what?” from the kitchen behind me and a crash as something hit the floor, obviously falling from Jocasta’s nerveless hand.

The bell rang again and I was nearest, so I opened the door. I was annoyed, but not surprised, to find Teddy standing there. An echo of Martha’s
Now what?
Surged into my mind, but I simply asked:

“Did you forget something?” hoping the answer wasn’t going to be Cho-Cho.

“I’m sorry.” Teddy lurched forward suddenly and stumbled into me. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he babbled. “I couldn’t help it. They … they were waiting downstairs. When I opened the front door, they—they pushed me back and forced me—”

“Right. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Someone plucked Teddy off me and gave him a push through the still-open door. “You can run along now. We’ll take care of the rest of it ourselves.”

There were two of them. They loomed over me. At first blink, I thought they must be brothers or, at least, cousins. After a second blink, I realised they weren’t all that large, nor did they look that much alike. The reason they appeared to was because of the curiously mismatched skin on their faces. The lower halves were several shades paler than their foreheads and cheeks. It was a familiar phenomenon in the profession, given that so many “resting” actors tended to give their overburdened complexions a rest from theatrical makeup by growing beards in the intervals between jobs. When work beckoned again, they shaved, and the resulting mismatch—depending on how much outdoor activity they’d indulged in—necessitated some pretty close attention from the makeup person.