‘I hope he doesn’t want his boa back!’ A stray giggle escaped Evangeline.
‘Yoo-hoo … Mother …’ Martha yodelled through the letter slot in the door. ‘It’s me. Are you there?’
‘I’ll get it!’ I rushed down the hallway as Evangeline slumped back in her chair. Cho-Cho shook herself, sat down and began to wash her face, quite as though all the surrounding mess and the half-denuded boa had nothing to do with her.
Martha wasn’t alone. Startled, I stepped back a pace. I had never seen the woman with her before.
‘Mother – ’ Martha kissed me absently, beaming, lost in some dream of her own. ‘Mother, I can tell you now. It’s happened! The contracts are all signed!’
‘Darling, I’m so happy for you …’ Wait a minute – what had she said? Wasn’t this going to be what I had been hoping to hear? ‘What do you mean – contracts?’
‘For the book, Mother.’ Martha was absolutely glowing, but for the wrong reason. ‘The cookbook I’m going to do.’
‘You mean you’re not – I’m not going to be a – ’ I managed to stop short of the fatal words. Fortunately, Martha did not notice.
‘And this is Jocasta Purley – from the publishers. She’s going to help me with it.’
‘I’m so delighted to meet you, Ms Dolan.’ The young woman stepped forward and grasped my hand. ‘I’ve enjoyed so many of your films – on television, of course.’
‘Thank you.’ I freed my hand with the firm conviction that we were not about to become the best of friends, Martha notwithstanding. ‘We’re in the kitchen, come and have some coffee.’
Martha led the way and I lingered to make sure the door was properly closed, sometimes the latch sticks. When I reached the kitchen, Jocasta was regaling Evangeline with the information that she truly adored all those really, really old films on TV and how Evangeline’s early performances never failed to enthral her. I took a quick look to make sure that the sharpest knife on the table was the butter knife and began a fresh pot of coffee.
‘Sit down, Jocasta,’ Martha tried to signal her nervously. ‘Would you like a Danish or a muffin?’ But there was no stopping the woman.
‘Perhaps you’ll appreciate what a thrill this is for me, Miss Sinclair,’ she gushed on, ‘if I tell you that my grandmother was one of your greatest fans. She used to tell me bedtime stories made up from your films – well, censored, of course. And she did a terrific imitation of you. Why, you’re positively a tradition in our family!’
I snatched away the pepper pot just as Evangeline’s fingers closed around it.
‘Have you seen the view?’ Martha burbled, getting a firm grip on Jocasta’s arm and pulling her along. ‘Come into the drawing room – it’s quite sensational from there.’
‘Try to be polite.’ I blocked Evangeline’s path as Martha led Jocasta away ‘A fan is a fan – especially if it runs in the family. And stop grinding your teeth like that – you’ll break your caps and we don’t have a dentist in this country.’
Evangeline’s nostrils flared as she took several deep breaths. ‘Get that woman out of here before I kill her!’
‘Take it easy,’ I soothed. ‘She’s just a bit overcome – you know how it goes. Now that she’s made her little speech, she’ll settle down.’ Martha would see to that.
I hadn’t realized Cho-Cho-San had slipped out of sight until she reappeared, looking quite pleased with herself. It’s a clever cat who knows when it’s wise to disappear. But, if she was so clever, how had she wound up in a taxidermist’s shop? Perhaps because she had trusted the wrong person?
‘Where have you been’? I asked.
‘Wherever it was, she can go right back!’ Evangeline, having lost one battle, rushed into another. ‘You can’t keep her here.’
‘She’s going back to her owner in a couple of days.’ Or to one of them. She seemed to have two claimants, at least. I would have to pin Matilda down.
‘Oh, how perfect! I always feel that a place isn’t a real home without a cat!’ Jocasta was back. The glories of the riverscape were obviously no match for the attraction of a Family Tradition in the kitchen. ‘And I might have known you’d have an exotic cat.’ She gazed at Evangeline adoringly.
Evangeline smiled stiffly, but I noticed that she stopped shifting her legs and allowed Cho-Cho to encircle her ankles.
‘And this kitchen! It’s fantastic!’ Even though she was a cookery expert and presumably accustomed to all sorts of kitchens, Jocasta seemed awe-stricken. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it! It’s so – so – ultra-modern!’
‘Twenty-second century, at least,’ I agreed, resisting the temptation to challenge her to identify the built-in oven. It had taken me two days and I was living here.
‘I’m sure you must make the most wonderful dishes here,’ Jocasta continued swiftly, as though subliminally aware of a certain chill in the atmosphere. ‘Martha told me you were wonderful cooks.’
I doubted that Martha had included Evangeline in her endorsement, but smiled blandly. Evangeline preened herself, ready to accept any accolade, however unlikely.
Still gazing at Evangeline with sickening adoration, Jocasta opened her mouth again, but I got in first.
‘Darling,’ I said to Martha, ‘you haven’t told me yet what this is all about. How did you get into this? What kind of cookbook are you doing? Is there a theme to it?’
‘How clever of you, Mother. Of course there is. There has to be these days, doesn’t there? We were talking about the idea at the Lady Lemmings’ meeting when we were considering different ways of earning money. You know how they’re always trying to raise funds for their charitable works.’
I nodded. The Lady Lemmings were a long-standing show business organization comprising the distaff side of the profession. It began with the wives, whose ranks had soon been swollen by working or resting actresses, designers, assistant stage managers, dressers and anyone else on the female side of the business. Their charities were many; their disagreements legendary. As the wife of one of the West End’s most distinguished producers, Martha had been co-opted into their ranks before the petals of her bridal bouquet had had time to wilt. When the present incumbent had been beaten away from the star position in the organization, Martha was a certainty to be voted into that position – unless (God forbid!) something dire had happened to Hugh in the meantime.
‘We decided on a cookbook with everyone from stars to beginners providing their favourite recipes – ’ She ignored Evangeline’s snort and went on. ‘Most of the members voted for smaller portion recipes, for one or two people. Or one person with something left over for a snack the next day. They pointed out that so many of the theatrical lodgings of their early days – where the landlady supplied breakfast and supper – had disappeared and now been replaced by hotel rooms or self-service apartments, there should be a good market for that – ’
‘We’re calling it One for the Road,’ Jocasta cut in smoothly. ‘And all proceeds will go to the Lady Lemmings for their charities.’
‘I see.’ I made a mental bet that those proceeds didn’t include Jocasta’s fees and expenses. ‘It sounds really wonderful, darling.’ Now I was the one ignoring Evangeline’s snort.
‘And I’m sure – ’ Jocasta was looking at Evangeline again – ‘you’ll both have some wonderful contributions to make.’
‘I’ll certainly think about it.’ I would, if only for Martha’s sake. ‘I just wish all my recipes weren’t on the other side of the Atlantic.’
‘Oh, it isn’t just recipes we want,’ Jocasta said quickly. ‘We want useful tips, short cuts, all the sorts of things to make life easier for actors on tour who have to fend for themselves, perhaps late at night in the provinces, after the last show, when the pubs are closed and they can’t face one more curry house or Chinese takeaway – even if any were still open.’
A wave of nostalgia swept over me as I remembered my early days in New York, one of the struggling chorus kids they called ‘gypsies’, where
, no matter how many others we shared a cold water walk-up apartment with, we were still outnumbered at least fifty-to-one by the cockroaches. Back when every penny counted and the big worry about weight was not keeping it down, but scraping together enough calories to sustain us through the long and punishing dance routines when we were lucky enough to get a place in the chorus. Sometimes it was hard to realize that, give or take a few variations, the new kids coming along today were faced with the same problems.
‘I thought I’d call the first chapter “The Collapsible Cupboard”,’ Martha said. ‘You know, giving a list of lots of spices and dried herbs that come in – or can be decanted into – little envelopes and add so much pep to basic meals. And then there are the packet soups, like onion, that can be used as a base for more ambitious dishes.’
‘And don’t forget all the little single portion packs you can pick up in cafeterias,’ I prompted, seldom in those days having left such an establishment without unused sugar packets and anything else out on free display crammed into my pockets. ‘All those sachets of mustard, mayonnaise, Worcestershire sauce, vinegar, tartare sauce – oh! and tomato ketchup, lots and lots of ketchup. How I remember tomato ketchup soup!’ I sighed reminiscently, then became aware of Jocasta eyeing me coldly.
‘Actually,’ she said, ice dripping from her tones, ‘we were planning something rather more upmarket than that!’
‘Beyond the Pot Noodle …’ Evangeline said dreamily.
‘That’s wonderful!’ Jocasta whirled to face her, all enthusiasm now. ‘Martha, did you hear that? We have a title for another chapter. If you don’t mind, that is?’ She gave Evangeline a servile smile.
‘Of course you may use it,’ Evangeline said graciously. ‘I’m always happy to help a good cause. In fact, as for tips …’ She hesitated. ‘No, it’s probably silly …’
‘Oh, no, no!’ Jocasta clasped her hands together earnestly. ‘We’d love to hear it!’
Martha and I exchanged glances. Evangeline was doing well to find her way into a kitchen, never mind have any tips for doing anything once she was there. Apart from eating everything that someone else had cooked, of course.
‘It’s just one of my little ways . . ’ Evangeline paused for the encouragement which was immediately forthcoming.
‘Yes?’ Jocasta breathed, leaning forward so as not to miss a syllable of the great revelation. ‘Yes …?’
‘I don’t know of anyone else who does it. I’ve never seen it mentioned in any cookbook …’
‘Yes? Yes?’
‘But, whenever I’m going to do any cooking, I always wash my hands with oatmeal soap.’
Well, that explained why I’d never seen any oatmeal soap in the house.
‘Oh, yes!’ Jocasta was buying it unreservedly. ‘Oh, I knew I could depend on you for real gourmet secrets! What a splendid idea!’
Martha closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. I felt a little dizzy myself.
‘Oh, please, don’t stop there!’ Jocasta produced a small notebook from her handbag and began scribbling rapidly. ‘Go on. What other wonderful tips have you?’
‘Oh, I don’t know …’ Evangeline demurred, trying to look modest, while her eyes shifted uneasily. She’d shot her bolt and she knew it and she knew I knew it. ‘I’ll have to think.’
‘Actually – ’ Martha deflected Jocasta’s attention – ‘Mother is the real cook around here. She’ll have dozens of good tips.’
‘One I’ve found really useful – ’ I picked up on my cue – ‘is knowing that in almost all savoury and spicy dishes, curries and the like, when the recipe calls for an apple, you can substitute a carrot instead. You’re often more likely to have carrots around than apples.’
‘Mmm, yes.’ Jocasta entered the note unenthusiastically. It obviously wasn’t gourmet and glamorous enough for her. I got the feeling I was being downmarket again. Perhaps I should have suggested kiwi fruit.
‘And you …?’ She turned back to Evangeline expectantly, hoping for more priceless words of wisdom.
‘My head …’ Evangeline brushed a hand across her forehead and swayed weakly. ‘I’m sorry …’ She rose, still swaying. ‘I’m so afraid I have one of my headaches coming on. I must go and lie down.’
A cellphone burbled suddenly and Evangeline nearly gave the game away by the alacrity with which she dived for a handbag she had forgotten she’d left in her room.
‘Hello? Oh, yes, darling.’ It was Martha’s phone. ‘Yes, yes, I see. Of course, right away … . Yes, I’ll tell them.’ She looked up. ‘Hugh sends his love.’
‘And ours to him,’ I responded. Evangeline snorted.
‘I’m sorry, but we’ll have to leave now.’ Martha turned to Jocasta. ‘My husband has had overseas friends arrive unexpectedly. We’ll have to entertain them.’ She stood and pecked at my cheek. ‘I’ll get back to you later on this.’
‘Don’t forget, we’ll be going down to Brighton for Dame Cecile’s opening,’ I reminded her. ‘We’ll be there overnight. Matilda has invited us to stay with her.’
‘Dame Cecile Savoy and Matilda Jordan?’ Jocasta was revitalized. ‘They go back to the great days of touring companies and theatrical digs. Oh, I’ll bet they’d have some marvellous recipes for the book!’
‘Mmm.’ I thought of Matilda’s neglected fridge and declined to commit myself. Not so Evangeline.
‘Yes, indeed!’ She paused in the doorway and turned back to Jocasta with the radiant smile she displays when selling someone down the river.
‘Oh, you’ll find Dame Cecile a positive gold mine of culinary wisdom!’
Chapter Six
‘Look at that!’ It wasn’t long after they had left when Eddie arrived. ‘Look at that!’ He stormed past me as I opened the door and rushed into the drawing room, flinging down a newspaper on to the coffee table in front of the sofa where Evangeline was lounging. ‘Just look at that!’
‘Oh?’ Evangeline looked at the copy of the Argus he had hurled on to the table. ‘Have you been down to Brighton again?’
‘No – and I’m not going again! Will you look at that!’
She wouldn’t. Evangeline had gone into one of her maddening moods. ‘I don’t understand. What are you doing with the Brighton paper then? Did someone leave it in your cab?’
‘I bought it at London Bridge station.’ Eddie took a deep breath and forestalled her next question. ‘You can buy it at Victoria station late afternoons, too. Same as you can buy the out-of-town newspapers at any station where you catch the train to that place. Commuters like it that way They can read the local paper on their way ’ome and be up to speed on what’s ‘appening in their town by the time they get there.’
‘If they like their town that much, why don’t they stay in it?’
‘Because the best-paying jobs are in London! Now will you – ?’
‘Oh, no!’ While they were bickering, I had taken possession of the paper. No wonder Eddie was so upset. There it was – in front page headlines: MAN DEAD IN ARSON ATTACK. POLICE SEARCH FOR SUSPECTS SEEN FLEEING BLAZE.
‘What is it?’ Now that I had the paper, Evangeline wanted it. She wrenched it away from me, leaving me with a strip of white margin and a few fragmented bits of print.
‘Someone must have seen us!’ How could we have imagined otherwise? That narrow cul-de-sac, with all the ramshackle eighteenth-century houses leaning together higgledy-piggledy and doubtless crammed with low-rent tenants, either retired or unemployed, with plenty of time on their hands to mind everybody else’s business. The first hint of smoke drifting through the cracks of those tinderbox dwellings would have brought anxious faces to windows, checking that the danger was outside and not within.
‘Good job no one recognized you. Unless …’ Eddie’s brow furrowed. ‘Unless they did recognize you and the cops are keeping it up their sleeves so you can be identified when you’re caught.’
‘You were there, too!’ All those yous were clearly getting on Evangeline’s nerves.
‘That’s why I’m not going back there again. And, if you’re smart, you won’t, either.’
‘We’ve promised Cecile we’ll attend the opening.’ Evangeline drew herself up proudly, quite as though she had never broken a promise in her life. ‘We can’t let her down.’
And I could do with less of the we stuff. I’d never met Dame Cecile before in my life – not until Evangeline introduced her to me a few months ago. She was Evangeline’s old friend.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Eddie has a point.’
‘Too bloody right, I ’ave!’ At his feet, Cho-Cho-San gave a friendly chirrup and rubbed against his ankles. He looked down and his expression softened. ‘They’re nasty people down there. Look what they tried to do to Little Sweet’eart, ’ere.’ She nuzzled him contentedly as he picked her up and cuddled her in his arms. ‘You want to stay away from bleeders like that!’
Score another point for Eddie. A point I hadn’t forgotten. I hadn’t decided what I could do about the situation, but I did know that I was reluctant to take her back to Brighton where she might be in danger again.
‘Out of the question!’ Evangeline set her jaw stubbornly. ‘We’re going. And, if you’re not willing to take us, we’ll hire another cab!’
‘’Ere now, you needn’t be like that!’ Eddie hated to miss anything. ‘Let me ’ave a think and maybe we can sort something out. I’ve got a cousin – ’
‘We’ll all have another think.’ I gave Eddie a Leave it to me nod. I had a few more days to work on Evangeline and to bring her around to our way of thinking.
At least, I thought I had.
I spent the rest of the day in a Fool’s Paradise. Before he left, Eddie drove us over to the supermarket to pick up supplies and back again. Evangeline sniffed when she saw me putting kitty litter and cat food into my trolley, but I noticed that she absently slipped a catnip mouse into her own basket.
After Eddie had dumped all the shopping bags on the kitchen table and departed, I began unpacking them. With Martha’s new project in mind, I had picked up an assortment of sauces and spices. I’d try to remember some of the recipes I’d relied on in my early solo days.
The Cat Who Wasn't a Dog Page 5
