The Cat Next Door

by Marian Babson

  Chloe’s trial would resume and, later, there would be another, separate, trial – for her.

  She was aware of Emmeline and Nan watching her silently. Had they come to the same conclusion?

  ‘There’s no reason for the police to question Lynette at all,’ Nan said firmly. ‘The woman was killed at the pond. On the other side of the house, at the far end of the garden. Lynette couldn’t possibly have seen anything from her window, even if she ever went near her window. And the police know the situation, they’ve known it all along. They know she never leaves her room,’

  Oh, doesn’t she? The rest of them knew different now, but it would be better if the police didn’t find out. Better for all of them.

  Especially since it was clear that last night was not the first time Lynette had left that room. Margot remembered the day she had found her ear-ring on the floor, her belongings disturbed. Had Lynette regarded the locked suitcase as a personal affront? Or a challenge. How long had Lynette been in the habit of prowling — sneaking — about the house, prying into other people’s belongings when she thought there was no one around to catch her?

  The house and … possibly … the grounds?

  ‘It might not be a bad idea,’ Emmeline said thoughtfully, ‘if Kingsley were to take Lynette back to London with him for a few days.’

  And wouldn’t Verity love that? And, now that she came to think of it, where was Verity? Verity had flounced out of the room some while ago, but there had been no slam of the front door to denote that she had left the house.

  ‘Yes,’ Nan sighed. ‘That might be best. If she’ll go … If he’ll take her …’

  ‘Where did Verity go?’ Margot asked abruptly.

  ‘Ah, yes, Verity.’ They both nodded, as though she had scored a major point.

  ‘Verity will still be around here somewhere,’ Nan said. ‘She always is when there’s trouble.’

  ‘Holding a watching brief for Kingsley,’ Emmeline confirmed.

  Again there was a long exchange of glances.

  ‘She won’t have gone far.’ Nan started for the door. ‘Perhaps I ought to go and see …’

  ‘Bloody woman!’ Richard appeared in the doorway, blocking her exit. ‘I nearly knocked her over. She was outside the door, listening! She scuttled off before I could grab her! Who does she think she is? Who let her in, anyway?’ It was not difficult to know who he meant.

  ‘We didn’t let her in.’ Emmeline looked as though she had just realised that. ‘Of course, Kingsley had Claudia’s key. He must have had a duplicate made for Verity.’

  Or Verity had taken care of that little matter for herself.

  ‘Then it’s high time we changed the locks!’ Richard fumed. That, too, was not a bad idea.

  ‘How did the interview go, dear?’ Nan tried to be soothing, but it was the wrong question.

  ‘Go? Go? How should it go? They hammered away at me endlessly, obviously hoping I’d break down and confess, despite the fact that I have nothing to confess. I’d never seen the bloody woman in my life.’

  ‘None of us had,’ Emmeline said.

  ‘I suppose the only thing to be grateful for is that the autopsy proved that the damned creature wasn’t pregnant! If she had been, they’d really have had an excuse to pull out all the stops. DNA tests all around, I shouldn’t wonder – and leaks to the media, for good measure.’

  ‘But she wasn’t,’ Emmeline said, with more certainty than was actually reassuring. She sounded as though she might have been able to tell the police that before the autopsy.

  ‘No, no …’ Richard’s indignation began to abate, replaced by a puzzled expression. ‘In fact, they didn’t seem terribly interested in the possibility. What they really want to know is why she was wearing a Kevlar vest under her jacket.’

  ‘What kind of vest?’ Nan’s brow wrinkled. That was a new trade name to her.

  ‘Kevlar.’ Richard elucidated: ‘The police want to know why someone visiting this house should have felt it necessary to wear a bulletproof vest.’ He frowned.

  ‘For that matter, I’d rather like to know the answer to that myself.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘Whoever she was, she must have been expecting trouble,’ Emmeline said.

  ‘Which proves she must have been on her way to, or from, somewhere else,’ Richard insisted. ‘No one in this house has ever owned a gun.’

  ‘She wasn’t to know that, was she?’ Henry countered. ‘In any case, she wasn’t shot, she was drowned.’

  In deference to Aunt Milly’s presence, the conversation had been suspended during lunch. Now that Milly had gone back to the morning room, the others had returned to their speculation with renewed zest.

  ‘I suppose it couldn’t have been a mugging in the town that went wrong?’ Even Nan was joining in. ‘And they decided to dispose of the body in our grounds?’

  ‘Hell of a long way to cart a body!’ Christa disposed of that theory briskly. ‘And she was drowned, remember. In our pond.’

  ‘I should have had that pond filled in long ago.’ Uncle Wilfred was in breast-beating mood. ‘It was never safe with all the children around.’ He began searching frantically through his pockets.

  ‘But none of them ever came to any harm,’ Nan reminded him. ‘Only this … stranger.’

  ‘A stranger — does that make it any better? The woman is still dead.’ Belated guilt was catching up with Uncle Wilfred. He was no longer thinking only of the advantage to Chloe. He found a stray mint, fuzzy with lint, and popped it into his mouth. ‘Dead – in our garden. How could it have happened?’

  Only too easily. Obviously. The real question was why it had happened. And also, to whom?

  ‘There must be some way to speed up the police procedures,’ Margot said tentatively. ‘Can’t Mr Comfrey chivvy them along? With all the computers and internet connections they have access to these days …’ She trailed off. The others were looking at her incredulously.

  ‘Are you mad?’ Christa was plainly speaking for them all. ‘We want as little to do with the police as possible. And don’t think they’ll jump to attention just because the Great Comfrey snaps his fingers. Quite the contrary, it would only antagonise them.’

  ‘Let them get on with it in their own way,’ Richard agreed.

  ‘And without us!’ Christa was determined about that.

  ‘It was just a thought.’ Thoroughly squelched, Margot withdrew from the conversation. Perhaps she was mad. Little side glances aimed at her when they thought she wasn’t looking betrayed uncertainty.

  But then, Justin and Fenella were always darting little side glances at everyone. They would be glad to get back to the clean and honest cut-throat world of show business and away from the dangers inherent in family life.

  In this family, anyway. Margot closed her eyes, too tired to think. Or too afraid? Another thought she did not have the energy to explore. Or the courage?

  The doorbell chimed, an unexpected — and unfamiliar - sound. They didn’t have many visitors these days.

  ‘The police are back?’ Nan looked dismayed.

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Richard said. ‘I had the distinct impression that they were through with us for the day when they finished questioning me this morning. I saw them out myself.’

  The doorbell chimed again.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Margot said, since everyone else seemed so reluctant.

  ‘Margot!’ Kingsley stood there. And Verity, of course. ‘How well you look.’ He stepped in and brushed her cheek with his lips. Verity sniffed.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get here earlier,’ Kingsley said, ‘but I talked to Lynette on the telephone and she understands.’

  Margot nodded, half-listening for the imperious summons of the handbell from upstairs, but there was only silence. That must have been quite some talk Emmeline had had with Lynette this morning. Or perhaps Nan had administered another pill or two, strictly in the interests of keeping the peace – especially with the police pre
sent. It would not have done to call Lynette to their attention.

  ‘I think she might be asleep – ’ Margot broke off. Kingsley was already heading for the stairs, Verity trailing reluctantly after him.

  ‘Who is it?’ The doorbell chimes had done what all other commotion could not and drawn Milly out of her refuge. She looked around eagerly — who did she hope to see? – and her face fell when she saw it was only Kingsley.

  ‘Milly!’ He strode forward and bestowed a double kiss, once on each cheek. ‘How are you?’

  ‘All right.’ Milly seemed to brace herself against further onslaughts, her gaze still turned hopefully towards the front door. ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘I’m with him.’ Verity issued the words like a challenge.

  ‘Oh … yes.’ Aunt Milly averted her gaze and began to retreat.

  ‘Wait!’ Kingsley said. ‘Don’t go! I’ve brought you a present.’ He fumbled with the latch on his briefcase and wrenched it open, pulling out a large book. ‘A biography!’ he announced triumphantly. ‘Of a real Regency character —’

  ‘Real? Oh, no!’ Aunt Milly pressed the book back into his hands. ‘Oh, no, dear. Thank you, but no. I never read biographies. Emmeline tried to give me some, but I had to make her understand. You see, you read them and you get so fond of the people and then … they die …’

  ‘They die …’ Milly took one final step and closed the door behind her, her words echoing forlornly through the hall.

  ‘I — I thought – ’ Kingsley stared after her blankly, clutching his disdained offering. ‘I thought she’d be pleased.’

  ‘She isn’t herself,’ Verity said quickly. ‘You know that.’

  ‘I brought a present for Lynette, too.’ He turned uncertainly to Margot. ‘That’s why I wasn’t here earlier. I stopped to do some shopping along the way.’

  ‘You should have let me do the shopping,’ Verity said. ‘I told you that.’

  ‘A jigsaw puzzle. Do you think she’ll like it?’ Ignoring Verity, he was still seeking Margot’s approval.

  ‘I think she’d like to go back to London with you,’ Margot said. ‘At least, for a few days.’

  ‘That’s out of the question!’ Verity answered for him. ‘We have far too much to do to be able to cope with an invalid, as well. There’s nobody there to wait on her all day.’

  ‘Actually, Verity’s right.’ Kingsley was apologetic. ‘Lynette is much better off here. She’d find London too upsetting.’

  More upsetting than a place where they kept finding dead bodies in the garden? Margot doubted that.

  ‘I know,’ Kingsley said, as though she had spoken the thought. ‘But she’d be bored and lonely. Very lonely, with no one around all day. It suits her here.’

  Or, more accurately, it suited Kingsley. As it had suited Claudia. Why had they bothered to have a child at all? Was it just to complete the picture of the perfect political family? To please the voters? To provide good picture fodder?

  ‘She is all right?’ Kingsley’s anxious eyes met Margot’s. ‘At least, she’s no worse?’

  He did care. And probably Claudia had, too. It was just that a child had cramped their style and it was so convenient, when Milly maintained what amounted to a family nursery, to simply leave the child there and go off about their more exciting concerns. They knew Lynette would have the best of care, Milly was ever-welcoming, so where was the harm?

  ‘I think Lynette is … very disturbed,’ Margot said. No need to tell him why.

  He nodded and started again for the stairs, then hesitated. ‘Are you coming up?’

  ‘I’d better not.’ The sight of her might start Lynette off again. ‘You’re the one she wants to see.’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked as though he had been summoned to a particularly unpleasant interview with the Prime Minister.

  ‘Alone,’ Margot added, as Verity started after him.

  ‘She’s right.’ Kingsley dismissed Verity. ‘You stay down here. I won’t be long.’

  Verity’s eyes flashed, but she turned meekly and followed Margot into the library. The others looked up, regarding Margot as they might have regarded Tikki dragging in something especially unsavoury. Even Verity seemed to notice a certain lack of warmth and feel that she had to overcome it.

  ‘Kingsley has gone up to Lynette!’ Verity announced, as triumphantly as though she had personally engineered it.

  ‘I should hope so.’ Nan gave her an old-fashioned look.

  ‘Well, he’s frightfully busy right now,’ Verity defended. ‘He has all that lost time to make up. It’s lucky the trial was adjourned, it was throwing him way off schedule.’

  Another one with a curiously skewed definition of lucky. Margot closed her eyes and found that she didn’t feel quite so tired when she didn’t have to look at Verity - it was bad enough to have to listen to her.

  ‘ … and, perhaps I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you are family – ’ Even more triumph throbbed in Verity’s voice. ‘This is not for general information yet but – it’s pretty certain that Kingsley is going to be offered a Cabinet post in the next reshuffle!’

  The murmur of approval managed to sound interested, if not wildly enthusiastic.

  ‘That’s good news.’ Richard sounded as though he might be calculating how this information could be used to best advantage.

  How thrilled Claudia would have been. The culmination of all her ambitions for Kingsley. Well, perhaps not the absolute culmination: only the position of Prime Minister would have sufficed for that. But it was a giant step in the right direction.

  ‘Are we boring you?’ Verity demanded sharply.

  ‘Sorry —’ Margot had no doubt that the question was aimed at her. ‘I’m afraid jet lag strikes again.’

  ‘Does it?’ Verity jeered. ‘You have the longest case I’ve ever heard of. Perhaps you should try for the Guinness Book of Records.’

  The atmosphere, as everyone avoided looking directly at Margot, told her that Verity was not the only person who had had that thought.

  ‘That’s enough, Verity.’ Emmeline called her to order. ‘Margot has been ill.’

  How did she know that?

  ‘Very ill,’ Nan confirmed.

  Had no one been deceived?

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ The gloating look Verity turned on Margot said that it couldn’t have happened to a better person. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘There’s no reason why you should.’ Even Christa had known. ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Oh, but, if she’s here with Lynette – helping take care of her …’

  ‘It’s nothing contagious,’ Margot assured her. ‘I’m just very, very tired. And sometimes very weak.’ That was as specific as she cared to get. The others were way ahead of her.

  ‘ME!’ Verity cried, with barely subdued glee. ‘Myalgic encephalomyelitis! People with that can’t do anything at all. No wonder you’re not running around with your camera, photographing everything in sight, the way you used to!’

  ‘That’s right, you haven’t really been your old self since you got here.’ Nan spoke as though a lot of things were becoming clear to her.

  ‘Chronic Fatigue Syndrome,’ Christa said. ‘A lot of people in the theatre have it — and are doing some of their finest acting trying to prove that they haven’t.’

  ‘I think …’ Uncle Wilfred had begun to twitch and, after searching frantically through every pocket, lurched to his feet. ‘I think there was some lemon curd tart left over …’ With obvious relief, he left the women to their discussion of ailments and headed for the fridge.

  ‘Post Viral Fatigue,’ Emmeline diagnosed. ‘I should have spotted it myself. Heaven knows I’ve seen enough of it at school.’

  Margot leaned back and closed her eyes again. A faint ringing in her ears and a feeling of dizziness warned her that it would not be wise to stand up now, however much she wanted to escape the room.

  ‘TATT!’ Nan declared. “‘Tired All The Time”, that’s what t
he doctors call it. There’s so much of it around that it has its own acronym.’

  ‘Yuppie flu — there’s a positive epidemic,’ Richard confirmed. ‘Especially in the City after a heavy weekend.’ This levity brought him disapproving looks from the others.

  In the distance, a telephone began ringing. They listened as Uncle Wilfred’s footsteps diverted from the direction of the kitchen as he went to answer it.

  ‘Oooh … but should we be keeping you up like this?’ Verity oozed false sympathy. ‘Wouldn’t you rather go upstairs and lie down -?’ Then she seemed to recollect who else was upstairs and changed tack abruptly. ‘Or perhaps you could stretch out on the chaise-longue in the morning room. I’m sure Aunt Milly wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘I’m quite all right, thank you.’ Margot opened her eyes and forced herself upright, fighting a fresh surge of dizziness. She would not show weakness in front of Verity.

  ‘Oh, but you don’t look it. Are you -?’

  ‘That was Henry. He’ll be home soon,’ Uncle Wilfred reported from the doorway, looking puzzled. ‘He stopped off at the police station for his interview on the way. He says they’ve identified that woman now. Someone called Polly Parsons. Never heard of her.’

  Blank looks and shaking heads affirmed that no one else had, either.

  ‘Some sort of travel agent, it seems. Ran her own company. Pop Tours. Never heard of them, either.’

  ‘Pop Tours? You mean raves and rock concerts and that sort of thing?’ Emmeline looked down her nose.

  ‘It doesn’t sound like anything any of us would know about,’ Nan said.

  ‘Polly Parsons of Pop?’ Christa was openly incredulous. ‘The police had better get back to the old drawing board and find out her real name. That one’s a phoney, if I ever heard one.’

  There was a choking gasp from somewhere in the room and the thud of a body hitting the carpet. They all turned to stare down at it in amazement.

  Margot might have been feeling excessively weak – but it was Verity who had fainted.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘What’s the matter with her?’ Uncle Wilfred demanded, stepping back nervously. ‘She’s not …?’ He couldn’t bring himself to say the word.