Only the Cat Knows

by Marian Babson

  Chapter Six

  The Duchess alerted me in the morning, jumping on the bed and ramming her cold wet nose into my ear just as the breakfast trolley was trundling into the cloister. I barely had time to jam on my turban and swirl my kaftan over me before opening the door to it.

  ‘Oh!’ Round eyes widened in a round little face staring up at me from atop a round little body. ‘I expected you to be still asleep. I was going to leave it outside the door.’

  ‘Not this morning.’ I smiled down at her reassuringly, almost as startled as she. Her presence reminded me that there was a whole sub-stratum of servants I had not yet encountered.

  ‘Oh, Miss Nessa!’ Recovering herself, she wheeled the trolley into the room. ‘I’m so glad you’re all right! We all are.’

  ‘Thank you …’ I hesitated. ‘But you’re going to have to help me out, I’m afraid I don’t remember your name.’

  ‘I’m Dilys, Miss Nessa.’ Her eyes welled with tears. I’m sorry, I should have said. Miss Monica told us —’

  ‘Yes, yes, all right.’ I gave her another reassuring smile. I didn’t want her blubbing all over me.

  ‘You looked so awful when they took you away,’ she wailed softly. ‘I was so afraid. We were all afraid —’

  ‘Thank you, Dilys, but I’m all right now.’ I heard my voice waver. Was I? How was Nessa this morning? ‘Except for my memory, that is.’

  ‘If I can help,’ she volunteered. ‘If you want to ask me anything, anything at all —’

  ‘Thank you, Dilys.’ I mentally filed that offer for possible future use. ‘I may take you up on that. When I can think of something I need to know.’ I edged her back towards the door. ‘And please thank everyone for their good wishes.’

  ‘My number is 23 on the house phone.’ She backed out slowly. ‘Just ring if you want anything.’

  ‘Thank you, Dilys, thank you so much.’ With a final smile, I closed the door behind her and let my face relax.

  Gloriana looked from me to the trolley and back again expectantly.

  ‘Yes, thank you, too. Good work!’ I praised her. Perhaps she had only been anxious to get her share of breakfast, but I was glad to have been alerted to its arrival. I no longer felt comfortable with the thought of the trolley being left to stand outside my door for any length of time. Food could be too easily tampered with.

  We settled down to our meal and I rewarded her with a kipper and most of the coffee cream, of which she was duly appreciative.

  We might not quite trust each other, but we were settling down into being a team.

  By mid-morning, I was feeling too restless to remain confined to quarters. Besides, it looked like a good day outside. For November, that is. Although overcast, it wasn’t actually raining — and an invalid ought to take a bit of fresh air, oughtn’t she? A turn around the grounds — the immediate grounds, obviously; the estate was too huge to be encompassed in a single stroll — might not go amiss.

  A voluminous navy blue pashmina shawl hung from a hook just inside the closet. It seemed more suitable than either of the coats or the cashmere blazer. I shook it out and wrapped it over my kaftan. Then, feeling rather like a Victorian waif, I stepped into the cloister and locked the door behind me.

  Had Nessa felt the same when she wore this shawl? Of course she had. Our tastes, thoughts and feelings were almost identical.

  Almost… aye, there’s the rub. There had been people over whom our opinions had diverged. Nessa was — is, is. She’s not in the past tense yet. Not now, not ever! Nessa is more easy-going than I. She might not suffer fools gladly, but she suffers them. I’m more impatient, perhaps too impatient.

  Surely, she would never have been as close to Ivor as he kept trying to insist. Beloved — like hell!

  I was less sure about Kiki. She and her friend — if friends they were, nothing seemed certain around this place — had obviously joined Oversall’s retinue after his retreat from the public scene, thus escaping the full glare of publicity. They were younger than the others, although still older than Nessa, but it was possible that one or both of them had been her friends.

  It was also possible that they hadn’t. What sort of friend goes searching through a mate’s belongings in their absence? And what were they searching for? What had Nessa got herself into?

  Somewhere in the distance, the plaintive cry of a seagull, or perhaps a stray cat, caught my attention. Could it really be a seagull? It seemed to come from ground level.

  I followed the cries through a rose garden where many bushes still bore blooms thanks to the mild English climate. In most places, they wouldn’t have stood a chance once winter was so near; here, there were still buds forming.

  A wide flagstone-paved path lay, rather curiously, on the other side of the garden, stretching as far as I could see. Beyond it, a greensward sloped gently down to an ornamental lake dotted with waterlilies. Another stretch of lawn and then a grove of birch trees gleamed white against the pine forest behind them.

  Not quite Capability Brown, but not bad. Not bad at all.

  As I stood there, two brown hens scuttled out from the holly hedge bordering the path. A moment later, they were followed by a larger oddly shaped bird who appeared to be dragging a pile of brushwood behind him. One of them uttered another of those plaintive haunting cries.

  The burdened bird stalked into the middle of the flag-stoned path and swung about to face me challengingly. I had the eerie feeling that he had recognized me as another male and was ready to fight to protect his females.

  He stared directly at me then, with a surge of effort and a faint rattling noise, the pile of brushwood rose up behind his head and fanned out into a shimmering display of gloriously improbable colour. A peacock in his full glory, he faced me proudly.

  ‘Fantastic!’ I applauded enviously What wouldn’t I give for a stage costume half so magnificent. That iridescent green, with the deep royal blue, surrounded by burnished gold, of the spectacular eye that tipped each feather, the —

  ‘Popinjay!’ The harsh croak from behind made me jump. ‘Just like all males. Popinjays — every one!’

  Turning cautiously, at first I saw no one until I lowered my gaze to wheelchair level. She was glaring up at me, as though daring me to contradict her.

  ‘Good morning, Madame.’ It was safe to acknowledge her, wasn’t it? After all, we had met last night.

  ‘Come in here!’ She wheeled back her chair and I realized why the path had been paved instead of gravelled. For her convenience.

  ‘Yes, Madame.’ I followed her through an opening in the hedge large enough to accommodate her chair and found myself in a raised garden. Greenery sprouted in profusion from deep earth-filled boxes mounted on trestle tables at wheelchair height. I recognized basil, rosemary, parsley and chives. I could smell sage and other familiar fragrances. A herb garden, then, especially arranged for Madame, although I doubted that she did much gardening herself these days.

  What Madame had done in the past was open to question. Rumours abounded: claims that she was the financial genius behind Oversall’s empire; that she was his first mistress, who knew too much about his early shady deals — and had proof hidden away somewhere, so that he was afraid to drop her. There was even a faction that claimed she was his mother.

  Whoever she was, she was here to stay. Till death did them part. And that was another story one heard: that, although much older, she had been his first wife — and still held the marriage certificate that would prove all his subsequent alliances were bigamous.

  A mystery woman, indeed. Of indeterminate antiquity, unknown origins, vaguely foreign accent — and a determined grip on life. And on Everett Oversall.

  Madame was still a force very much to be reckoned with.

  ‘So!’ She halted the chair abruptly and whirled it round to face me, with something of the same challenge the peacock had shown. ‘You are recovered, eh?’

  ‘Partly …’ I said hesitantly.

  ‘Ah, yes. The amnesia.�
� Her tone said she didn’t believe a word of that story. ‘How convenient. And clever … very clever.’

  ‘But true.’ I gave her a rueful smile, wondering what degree of intimacy she would proceed to claim.

  ‘And you recall nothing?’ She tipped her head back as far as it would go, her shrewd eyes assessing me.

  ‘I can read and write.’ I made a brave show of it. ‘And use the right fork. All the automatic motor responses are in place. It’s just the people who have slipped out of gear. And events, of course.’

  ‘Vanessa!’ She gave a small splutter of what might have been mirth in someone else. It was drowned out by the peacock’s strident cry from the other side of the hedge.

  Instinctively, I turned towards the sound in time to see a slight blonde figure dart through the opening into the herb garden.

  ‘Nina!’ Madame went white with fury. ‘You have been told to leave those peacocks alone!’

  ‘I didn’t do it!’ Too late, Nina tried to hide the glittering peacock feather behind her back. ‘I was just looking at Percy, admiring him — and he knew it. He sort of shook himself and dropped the feather right at my feet. He wanted me to have it!’

  Oh, yes? That story didn’t quite jibe with the outraged cry we had heard from Percy. As was becoming usual around this place, I found that I believed the fauna more than the humans. No surprise there.

  ‘Ah, yes?’ Madame was equally sceptical.

  ‘Anything the matter?’ Unseen, unheard, the man called Richie had appeared and was hovering protectively over Madame.

  ‘Nina is up to her tricks again,’ Madame complained.

  ‘I’m not!’ Nina defended hotly. ‘I don’t have any tricks. I’m an artist! An interior designer. Right now, I’m in my Art Nouveau phase. I’m going to have a tall blue vase filled with peacock feathers in one corner of my studio — just like the Victorians used to do.’

  ‘Forget that,’ Richie said flatly. ‘And stay away from the peacocks, Nina. You don’t want Mr Oversall to lose patience with you.’

  ‘He won’t!’ She sounded very sure of herself. ‘He understands. He appreciates talent. He’s going to set me up in my own design business in the West End in London soon.’

  ‘Mmm-hmmm …’ Richie had the bored expression of one who had heard that before. Perhaps often — and from a variety of ‘talents’. ‘Just leave the peacocks alone, see?’

  ‘I suppose I can pick up any feathers I find around the grounds? They drop off all over the place. No one else wants them — and my vase is almost full.’

  Madame snorted. Nina swung to face her and seemed to suddenly discover that I was there.

  ‘Vanessa!’ Almost visibly, you could see her deciding to use me to change the subject. ‘I didn’t notice you — I mean, I’m so glad to see you. You’re looking —’ She broke off in confusion.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I smiled wanly, trusting to my pale foundation and even paler face powder to speak of my condition. ‘I … I’m afraid I don’t … That is, I met the others at dinner last night. I didn’t see you.’

  ‘I wasn’t there. Inspiration called!’ She gave a virtuous sniff. ‘I was working in my studio.’

  ‘Vanessa —’ Madame picked up her cue. ‘This is Nina Santana.’ Her dry tone spoke eloquently of what she thought of that name. ‘She is our … resident artist. Everett always likes to have one or two around. Nina, you already know Vanessa.’

  ‘Of course I do.’ Nina spoke warmly. ‘Vanessa understands, too. She’s going to let me redecorate her quarters so that they truly reflect her personality.’

  Is she, indeed? I smiled vaguely. Another one staking her claim to a portion of Nessa’s life.

  ‘Now that you’re back, we can get started. I wanted to do it while you were away, so that it would be a wonderful surprise for you. But —’ she pouted — ‘they wouldn’t let me.’

  Well, good for them. Nessa’s quarters looked perfectly all right to me just the way they were — and I’m sure Nessa thought so, too.

  ‘Monica said it would have to wait until you returned. Now we can go ahead,’ she beamed.

  ‘Well, perhaps not right away,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’m quite strong enough yet to face any disruption.’

  ‘Of course she isn’t!’ Madame snapped.

  ‘Have some sense, Nina,’ Richie said. ‘She needs peace and quiet for a while, not someone prancing around underfoot, changing everything.’

  ‘Some stranger,’ Madame underlined with a touch of malice. ‘Poor Vanessa doesn’t know you. She certainly won’t know what your work is like.’

  ‘I don’t.’ I didn’t bother with the apologetic smile. Nina was beginning to get on my nerves.

  ‘Oh, but you must come over to my studio! I’ll show you what I’m doing. You loved it before —’

  Won’t you walk into my parlour? I’d rather not.

  ‘Not right now.’ I pulled my shawl more tightly around me and gave a visible shudder. ‘I’m getting chilled, I’m afraid. I think I ought to go and lie down.’

  ‘An excellent idea.’ Madame, too, was fading fast. It had obviously been a strain to keep her head so high, now it lowered slowly and inexorably.

  ‘I’ll take you inside.’ Richie moved forward quickly.

  ‘Not yet!’ Madame pushed his hands away. ‘See to Nina first. Escort her safely back to her studio.’

  ‘Oh, I’m perfectly safe,’ Nina assured her blithely.

  ‘It is not your safety I care about!’ Madame snapped. ‘It is Percy’s. Do not let her near the peacocks.’

  ‘Right, Madame.’ Richie grasped Nina’s arm firmly and led her away.

  ‘Vanessa —’ Madame hissed as her head slumped still further to rest her chin on her collarbone.

  I had to lean close to hear her.

  ‘Vanessa, you fool! Why did you come back?’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘No change,’ Dr Anderson reported tersely. ‘She’s no better.’

  ‘But no worse?’

  The flick of his eyebrow told me that the only worse left was — I refused to think of that.

  ‘She’s holding her own?’ I urged.

  ‘Such as it is.’ He shrugged uncomfortably. I still made him uneasy. The similarity — and the contrast — between the two ‘Nessas’ he was attending was almost more than he could cope with. I wondered how long he had been qualified and if this was his first post. If so, what a hornets’ nest he had been thrown into.

  ‘I think —’ he glanced at his watch — ‘I’ve spent a convincing length of time here now. I’d best be off on the rest of my rounds.’

  ‘Rounds?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I have some real patients, you know. Madame —’ He shook his head and sighed.

  ‘And Oversall himself?’ I guessed.

  ‘Not quite as sprightly as he used to be,’ Anderson admitted. ‘Doesn’t do any harm to keep a quiet check on him.’

  ‘Any others?’

  ‘Oh …’ He didn’t like the question. Any moment now, he was going to invoke medical ethics. ‘An ache here, a shooting pain there, a bit of general malaise. They’re all getting on, you know, even if they’d rather die before they admitted it.’

  But it was Nessa, the youngest of them all, who had come so close to death. Who might still —

  ‘Ooof!’ Gloriana, who had been strolling around the sitting room, had suddenly leaped into his lap, landing badly.

  ‘Here —’ He lifted her up and resettled her. ‘That’s better, but you can’t stay, you know. I’m on my way.’

  She responded by lifting her head so that he could stroke her throat. Thank you, Gloriana. That tells me he isn’t a stranger to you, you know him and trust him. He’s an accustomed visitor, probably dropping in for a cup of coffee and a chat with someone his own age after doing his rounds and treating the waxworks.

  ‘That’s enough.’ He lowered her gently to the floor, undisturbed by the huffy Duchess look she gave him as she stalked away. I was glad to see I w
asn’t the only one she could deepfreeze. Anderson continued on his way to the door.

  ‘When will I see you again?’ The innocent question stopped him dead in his tracks.

  He swerved around to face me with a look that combined disbelief, panic … and revulsion.

  Was it because the question had sounded too feminine — or had I? Perhaps he had heard it too often from some exgirlfriend. Or even from Nessa, And here was I, so much like her — yet not her.

  ‘Look —’ I dropped out of character, deepening my voice — ‘you’re my only contact, the only source of information about my sister, my twin. That’s the only reason I give a damn about ever seeing you again!’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. Sorry.’ He was struggling — whether to understand or to overcome his momentary revulsion, I couldn’t tell. ‘I — I try to call two days a week. Madame …’ He let the explanation trail off. ‘This is Tuesday. I’ll probably call again on Friday. Unless there’s an emergency’

  I nodded. Having seen Madame, I understood. She was the embodiment of the expression ‘on borrowed time’.

  ‘Oh, and …’ Hand on doorknob, he paused. ‘Perhaps I should warn you. I’d watch my step with Nina and Kiki, if I were you. They can be a bit … erratic.’

  I nodded again. Tell me something I don’t know.

  And I wasn’t going to huddle together and swap girlish secrets with any of the others, either.

  ‘Are you okay now? Are you really okay? Honestly?’ Candy Shaeffer had cornered me as I headed for the library and the preprandial drinks.

  ‘Well, mostly,’ I said demurely. ‘Except for … um … the amnesia …’

  ‘Oh, that!’ Her flick of the wrist dismissed the problem as something less than an attack of hay fever. ‘Memory is greatly overrated. After all, don’t we reinvent ourselves periodically as we move along?’

  Maybe you do in Public Relations, but most people take their lives more seriously. I shrugged and produced another of my wan non-committal smiles.

  ‘You always agreed with me.’ Here it came again, that insistence on an intimacy that might or might not have existed. ‘We thought alike in so many ways — but there’s something different about you now.’ She eyed me thoughtfully. ‘I wonder how much all this has changed you.’