The Cat Next Door

by Marian Babson

  ‘Don’t touch the lemon meringue pies,’ Emmeline called after him. ‘They’re for dessert.’

  ‘Never crossed my mind,’ he said indignantly, emerging with two bananas. ‘I’ll be in my study, if anyone wants me. Christa has taken over the library,’ he added, with an air of grievance. ‘She’s got all sorts of odd bods in there with her. Tell her we want to have pre-luncheon drinks in there in an hour.’ He wandered off, peeling the first banana.

  Emmeline, looking after him, restrained herself to a faint sigh, picked up the two bare chicken bones and dropped them into the waste bin. A dark brooding melancholy seemed to creep into the atmosphere.

  ‘I’ll tell Christa.’ Margot made her escape thankfully, hurrying down the hallway towards the library. She was diverted by a nostalgic melody pulsing enticingly behind the closed door of the small ballroom, once so in constant use for parties. How long since it had been used – and who was using it now? She opened the door cautiously.

  The twins – the other twins – intent, completely absorbed, moving in perfect unison, glided across the floor, rehearsing the cabaret dance act that had been such a success in London and Tokyo and was heading for Las Vegas next month, come what may.

  Oh, shades of Fred and Adele, eat your hearts out. Without a doubt, Justin and Fenella were heading for the very top. A murder in the family would not jeopardise their careers. If anything, the hint of scandal and intrigue might even enhance their reputations. They were just far enough removed from it for it to become merely an interesting sidelight in their professional biographies.

  Margot closed the door silently – they were not aware that it had even ever opened – and continued on her way.

  The scene in the library was quite different, but no less impressive. The library table in the centre of the room was almost buried under a great swathe of sketches, samples of trimmings and swatches of materials. Three of the most famous individuals in the modern British theatre were solemnly circling the table, fingering the materials, nodding at the sketches, frowning thoughtfully at the trimmings. As one, they halted in their tracks and stared at the doorway.

  ‘My niece, Margot.’ Christa introduced her. ‘Brilliant photographer. She’s been working in the States, had the top magazines fighting over her. They’re dying to get her back but, if you make the right offer, she might consent to stay on a while and do the publicity shots for the show.’

  They snapped to attention, ingratiating smiles spreading across their faces. Christa gave her a meaningful look before she returned to adjusting the details of a sketch.

  She was on her own. And thoroughly bemused by Christa’s version of her career thus far.

  ‘Margot!’ Sir Reginald Wharton, the producer, advanced with hand outstretched. ‘An honour to meet you at last. We’ve all long admired your splendid work, of course.’

  Oh, really? And what did you like best? The breakfast cereal so quiet it won’t disturb your thoughts – or your hangover? The eighth-grade graduation in a freak snowstorm? Possibly the kittens and ducklings crossing a major highway, shepherded by mother cat and mother duck, one on each side, protecting their combined brood? Or what about the disposable diaper advert? That was a seminal shot, indeed.

  She smiled wanly as her hand was captured and shaken by the producer, the director and the star, each murmuring compliments she was too stunned to return. She looked for guidance to Christabel, who was frowning down at the sketches, as absorbed in her own work as the twins were in theirs. No prizes for guessing whose genes were dominant in their blood. Poor Henry, it must have been daunting to grow up normal in the midst of such egomaniacs.

  Except that he hadn’t. Christabel had deposited her cuckoos in her sister’s nest and flown off to new adventures, new husbands and undoubtedly lovers. By her lights, she had done her best for her progeny by thus assuring them the solid family background they would not have known had she been compelled to drag them in her wake as she worked around the world.

  ‘Good, good,’ Sir Reginald said. ‘You won’t regret it. I realise you won’t be able to start immediately but – ’

  What had she agreed to? Smiling and nodding, immersed in her own thoughts, she must have nodded at the wrong moment. She saw Christa looking at her with the rather surprised approval one bestows on a slightly backward child who has unexpectedly given the right answer. Yes, she had definitely committed herself to something.

  The loud clamour of the handbell rang out suddenly, startling them all.

  ‘What’s that?’ the actor asked.

  ‘The town crier!’ Christa answered caustically. ‘Someone is going to have to take that bell away from her before we all go stark staring mad! I don’t know why Nan ever gave it to her, to begin with.’

  Christa’s guests, sensitive to atmosphere as they had to be in their profession, exchanged uneasy glances. Sir Reginald looked at his watch.

  ‘Is that the time?’ He managed to sound amazed. ‘We mustn’t keep you any longer.’ He smiled to Christa. ‘I think we’ve settled everything, haven’t we? More than we expected – ’ He transferred the smile to Margot. ‘As soon as the costumes are ready, I’ll let you know and you can get started on the souvenir programme, then publicity as we go into rehearsal. Meanwhile – ’ back to Christa – ‘I hope everything goes well with – I mean, there’s a satisfactory reso – I mean – ’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Christa soothed, ‘I know what you mean.’ Her smile was rueful as she saw them out.

  ‘Wilfred wants to have drinks in here in an hour.’ Margot belatedly delivered her message, relieved that it had not been needed in order to speed the parting guests.

  ‘Right.’ Christa’s bracelet jangled as she swept the sketches into a tidy pile and turned to the rest of the clutter. ‘Help me take this stuff back to the sewing room.’

  Margot picked up a length of velvet and cooed with appreciation. ‘How soft!’ She stroked it gently.

  ‘Oh, it’s a no-expense-spared production.’ Christa shot her a sharp look. ‘Mind you charge them enough for your services. They’ll hardly notice a few thousand more quid.’

  ‘Thousand?’ Margot choked. ‘Few?’

  ‘It’s your name. Our name. They’re paying for reflected glory.’ Christa grimaced. ‘Or perhaps notoriety. In either case, they’ll cash in on it at the box office, so see that you make them pay for it.’

  ‘I’m not sure …’

  ‘That’s obvious.’ Suddenly she had Christa’s full attention and it was unsettling. ‘Yes. We should have noticed it earlier. We’ve all been caught up in our own problems, but you’ve been having a rough ride yourself, haven’t you? For how long?’

  ‘I … I’m just tired, that’s all.’ Margot raised her armload of materials, defensively, hiding behind them. She had not expected the assault on her privacy to come from this quarter. Nan, yes. Emmeline, possibly. But Christa? And yet, behind the casual offhand façade, Christa was one of the aunts, the same blood, the same acuity. She might conceal it better, but Christa was as sharp as any of them. It was no accident that she was such a success in her field.

  ‘The jet lag just seems to have hit me harder this trip.’ Margot’s voice firmed, daring Christa to disagree with her.

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Christa piled ribbons, tassels, buttons, strings of diamante, samples of lace and bits of costume jewellery into plush-lined boxes and stacked them on top of each other for easier carrying. ‘Terrible thing, jet lag. What are you taking for it?’

  Margot had never thought she would be so glad to hear the imperious summons of the handbell ring out again, reinforced by Lynette’s plaintive cry. ‘Margot …? Nan …? Is anybody there?’

  ‘Come and find out!’ But Christa only muttered it. Everyone was only too conscious of what Lynette had discovered the last time she had gone looking for anyone.

  ‘I’ll go.’ Margot picked up the last swatch and followed Christa up the stairs. ‘I was supposed to be looking for Kingsley for her.’

  ‘He’
s here?’ Christa was disbelieving. ‘Today?’

  ‘She thought she heard his voice downstairs.’ But Lynette must have heard one of the voices of Christa’s visitors and thought it was her father’s. An easy mistake to make; the timbre of political and theatrical voices was much the same.

  ‘Wishful thinking. You’re not going to find Kingsley anywhere near this house until it’s all over and the dust has settled. She may have to leave that room if she ever wants to see her father again.’

  ‘Who’s there?’ They had been keeping their voices low, but not low enough. Lynette’s voice rose in panic. ‘Who’s out there?’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Christa charged towards the doorway. ‘Who do you think is out here? What’s the matter now? What do you want?’

  It was only because she was so close behind Christa that Margot saw Lynette recoil. For an instant, blind instinctive terror flashed across the child’s face.

  ‘N-n-nothing … n-n-no one,’ she stuttered. ‘Wh-wh – ’ She took a deep steadying breath. ‘Where’s Nan?’

  ‘She isn’t back from church yet,’ Margot said. ‘Is there something I can do?’

  ‘You were going to find my father.’ Lynette looked at her accusingly. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He isn’t here,’ Christa said briskly. ‘He hasn’t been here. He won’t be here.’

  Lynette flinched, then rallied. ‘How do you know?’ Her glance was hostile with, yes, still a trace of fear.

  Why should anyone be afraid of Christa? Of all the aunts, she was the least formidable. Emmeline was an absolute dragon – but the headmistress of an academy for teenaged girls almost had to be – when crossed. Even Milly could be fearsome at times, especially when she suspected someone of lying to her. But Christa? Christa, with her easy-going theatrical ways? On the other hand, how likely was it that one could rise to the heights in that profession without the occasional show of temperament? Had Lynette had a taste of it before?

  ‘He said he’d be here.’ Fearful or not, Lynette was still arguing. ‘He promised!’

  ‘He’s a politician,’ Christa said flatly. ‘They’ll promise anything.’

  Had Christa always disliked Kingsley?

  Lynette suddenly squirmed down under the covers. ‘I don’t feel well,’ she announced. ‘I’m going to sleep now.’ She pulled the covers over her head and turned her back to them.

  ‘Best thing for her,’ Christa muttered, leading Margot out of the room. ‘Pity she can’t sleep through the next few weeks.’

  ‘Does she know the trial starts tomorrow?’ Margot asked.

  ‘Of course she does.’ Christa threw open the door to the sewing room with unnecessary force. ‘There’s nothing wrong with her intellect, you know. Only her nerves.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘You might as well sleep late in the morning, there’ll be nothing you can do,’ Nan had said as she went to her room last night. Keep out of the way, she meant.

  ‘There won’t be much happening until after lunch. Wilfred and Richard will go along to the Crown Court first thing, but Chloe will have to be driven down from Holloway and she’s unlikely to get there until ten, or later, depending on the traffic. I understand the first thing they do is select the jury. That may take a while, too. The family is so well known locally and Chloe did so much charity work that it may take longer than usual to empanel a jury. A lot of prospective jurors may have to disqualify themselves because they know her.’

  Margot had not thought of that complication. Stifling a yawn, she tried to nod sympathetically.

  ‘Go to bed or you’ll be fit for nothing in the morning. When we see how things are going, we’ll be able to work out a roster, so there’ll always be someone there to support Chloe … whether she acknowledges us or not.’

  ‘Will Aunt Milly – ?’

  ‘The best thing she can do is sleep late, too. Wilfred wants to keep her out of it as much as possible. He … we … all of us … are afraid she wouldn’t be able to handle it.’

  Nan suddenly looked her age – and then some. How well was she going to handle it herself?

  ‘You’d better get some rest, too,’ Margot said impulsively.

  ‘I’m all right.’ Nan gave her a wry look. ‘What about you? Are you going to be able to sleep?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll sleep, all right.’ No fear of that. It was staying awake that was the problem.

  Well, it was the dreaded morning now. Margot dragged herself up reluctantly from the depths of sleep, knowing, from her very reluctance, that her dreams had been happy. The nightmares began when she awoke.

  Even now, fresh ones hovered, spawned by the memory of Christa’s ridiculous trumped-up praise for her imaginary achievements in the States. Her career there, her ambitions, had just been ticking over. Until she met Sven and they became a team, their dreams meshing, no future glory too impossible for them. Only Sven had accepted one last overseas assignment – and hadn’t come back. Now all she had left of him was hidden in her suitcase, pushed to the back of her closet, the back of her mind, until she could decide what to do with it.

  A low dull throbbing pulsed against her left temple, yet there was no pain. Not yet. Cautiously, she opened her eyes. Still no pain, but she became conscious of unusual warmth and a strange furry –

  ‘Tikki!’ The amber eyes blinked at her, the tawny paws brushed across her forehead as he stretched.

  ‘Oh, Tikki!’ Her spirits rose minimally, the hovering nightmare receded as she ruffled the soft thick fur. His loud answering purr vibrated under her fingers.

  ‘Come on, Tikki – ’ She slid out of bed and gathered him into her arms. ‘Let’s go downstairs and see what we can find for breakfast.’

  Aunt Milly was walking along the lower hallway, reading as she went, immersed in the total oblivion of her book. Emmeline trailed uneasily in her wake, watching her with an agonised earnestness, occasionally putting out a hand to steer her away from collision with a wall. Margot halted at the top of the stairs, watching their slow progress until Emmeline had shepherded Milly into the dining-room, no more aware of anyone around them than her sister.

  Margot waited a few moments until they had had time to settle themselves, then went down, Tikki wriggling eagerly in her arms as the scent of kippers reached his delicate nose. He gave an anticipatory little mewl.

  ‘Good morning, Tikki.’ Milly looked up and smiled, the first smile in ages, Margot realised. ‘Come and have a kipper.’

  ‘So you’ve got the little reprobate,’ Emmeline said. ‘Where did you find him?’

  ‘On my pillow, having a cat nap.’ She could hold on to him no longer. He hit the floor and in one bounce was at Milly’s chair, pawing at her.

  ‘Who’s a little greedy guts?’ Milly smiled fondly, putting a kipper into a saucer and deftly boning it. ‘Don’t be so impatient. It’s coming.’

  ‘But the beast is going – ’ Uncle Wilfred charged through the doorway like a maddened bull, caught up Tikki and plunged towards the window with the struggling cat.

  She hadn’t slept long enough, Margot thought. Uncle Wilfred hadn’t left yet.

  ‘Fred – no!’ Milly knocked her chair over in the rush to rescue Tikki. ‘Leave him alone!’

  ‘Sneaking the thing into the house behind my back!’ Wilfred fulminated, struggling one-handed with the cat as he tried to swing open the casement window with the other hand.

  ‘It was my fault,’ Margot said. ‘I mean, I didn’t let him in, I don’t know how he got in. I found him when I woke up and I brought him downstairs.’

  ‘Fred – stop!’ Milly’s voice rose in a shriek. ‘You’ll hurt him!’

  ‘Hurt him? I’ll kill – ’

  He broke off and deflated slowly, arms dropping to his side, Tikki dangling limply. There was a momentary horrified silence.

  The shutters came down over Milly’s face. She had heard nothing, noticed nothing. She turned away to right her chair and pick up her book. They had all ceased to exist.

/>   In one quick squirming movement, Tikki twisted free and dropped to the floor. He dashed over to the saucer Milly had set down for him and, with a defiant glare at Wilfred, began gulping down his kipper.

  Wilfred took a step forward, but the fight had gone out of him. ‘What’s the use?’ He looked from Margot to Emmeline and shrugged. ‘What’s the point of anything?’

  ‘What are you doing here at this hour?’ Emmeline watched coldly as he took a slice of toast and buttered it lavishly. ‘I thought you’d be – ’ She broke off, glancing at Milly.

  ‘The QC rang to say there’d be a delay.’ Wilfred’s mouth twisted wryly. ‘It seems there was some sort of big do at the Law Society last night, so they’re all making a late start.’ He crammed the toast into his mouth viciously.

  Of course. To the Law, this was just one more trial in a long procession of such cases. Another day, another job. Outside the court, life went on. For them.

  ‘All right for some,’ Emmeline said tartly. The ensuing silence was broken only by the slight clatter of the saucer clicking against the table leg as Tikki vigorously pursued every last crumb of kipper.

  There was a faint rustle of paper as Milly turned a page. Wilfred reached for another slice of toast.

  Giving up on the empty saucer, Tikki looked around hopefully, avoiding Wilfred’s eye. Margot avoided Tikki’s eye, afraid of setting Wilfred off again if she did anything to encourage the cat. Emmeline poured another cup of coffee.

  The urgent summons of the bell came as a welcome distraction.

  ‘I’ll go!’ Both Margot and Emmeline started for the door. They stopped just short of colliding in the doorway and Margot retreated a step to allow Emmeline to precede her.

  ‘She’s been awfully quiet, so far,’ Margot murmured.

  ‘I think Nan gave her a sleeping pill to keep her out of the way,’ Emmeline replied. ‘I can’t really blame her. I’d have done the same myself, if I’d thought of it. There are times when that child tries one too far.’

  Margot could not argue with that. She, too, would have done it herself. Since her arrival, Lynette had been preying on her already-frayed nerves. What must it have been like to have been living with her all these months, dancing attendance every time she chose to ring her bell?