Only the Cat Knows

by Marian Babson

  ‘I … I don’t like to talk about it … and ordinarily, I wouldn’t …’ Oh, no, not much.

  ‘But?’ I encouraged.

  ‘But you ought to know. Well, you do know — you did — but you don’t any more. So … I mean …’ She faltered to a stop, frowning, having got so convoluted she wasn’t sure what she was trying to say any more.

  ‘So, perhaps you ought to tell me,’ I prompted. If you really think I ought to know. You do, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ She had no doubt about that and was relieved that I had seen it so clearly. ‘You need to know! Otherwise, you might … she might …’ She broke off again in confusion.

  ‘I see.’ Although I didn’t. I was beginning to suspect that confusion was her natural state.

  ‘Maybe you’re beginning to remember,’ she said hopefully. ‘Then it wouldn’t be so embarrassing.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that.’ Incompetent liars are always embarrassing. I waited for what would come next.

  She still hesitated and I could see the twisting of a devious brain behind her eyes.

  ‘Why don’t you start at the beginning?’ I encouraged. ‘When I first arrived. You were here then?’

  ‘Of course!’ She was indignant. ‘We all were. You only came just about a year ago. After Francesca ran off, leaving poor Everett in the lurch, with all the important projects he had pending. It was really rotten of her! Not that we weren’t happy to have you here,’ she added hastily.

  ‘Francesca?’

  ‘She came here from one of his Italian companies. Toffee-nosed little cow!’ The sudden explosion of spite was unnerving. Nina seemed to recognize it and gave me an unconvincing smile. ‘But her English was as good as her Italian. She must have been very useful — in business matters, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ I didn’t believe that any more than she did. I wondered which one of Everett Oversall’s harem had felt the most displaced by Francesca.

  ‘Not that Everett seems to miss her very much.’ There was a muted glee in her voice. ‘He’s mostly annoyed that she left without any notice. That’s why he was so delighted to find you to take her place so quickly’

  ‘I see.’ That implied I was doing a satisfactory job. I would have expected nothing less of Nessa.

  ‘Have another sandwich.’ Nina leaned forward, holding out the plate of tiny crustless triangles. ‘They’re not very big —’

  A sudden horrendous clatter drowned out her words and obliterated all thought.

  ‘What’s that?’ I shouted over the racket.

  ‘The helicopter.’ Nina’s voice rang out as the noise faded into the distance. ‘The landing pad is over behind the trees.’

  ‘Oh.’ I settled back in my chair. I should have known this place would have the means for instant access — and escape — for someone like Everett Oversall. Road transport would be too slow. And possibly too hazardous.

  ‘It really frightened you for a minute, didn’t it?’ Nina’s eyes gleamed speculatively. ‘Perhaps you’re beginning to remember. The last time you heard that was when the air ambulance took you away to hospital.’

  ‘I don’t think I was hearing much of anything then,’ I said bitterly. The image of Nessa’s motionless shattered form rose in my mind. She still wasn’t hearing anything.

  ‘Oh, well.’ Nina helped herself to another sandwich, since I wasn’t going to. ‘That means we’ll have dinner in our rooms tonight. Most of us. Everett likes to entertain his important guests in private.’

  ‘What guests?’

  ‘The ones who arrive by helicopter. Who knows who they are?’ She shrugged. ‘Oil sheikhs, industrial magnates, world leaders, or — perhaps —’ she gave me a sly smile — ‘just some pretty lady who’s caught his fancy. In any case, we aren’t wanted at the party. Most of us …’

  ‘Most of us?’ It was the second time she’d said that. I can recognize a cue — especially when I’m being beaten over the head with it.

  ‘Madame sits in on the business dinners. Later, Yvonne does her cabaret act.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Then maybe Amanda and Candy are there for the sophisticated conversation stuff, depends on who the guests are. If they were Italian —’ the way she said it brought the word Mafia to mind — ‘he wanted Francesca there. I think he got her to translate what they were saying between themselves for him later. And you filled in, too, recently.

  ‘But I don’t think you’ll be called on tonight.’ Her assessing gaze raked over me, from my bandage-turban to the shadowed bruises on my face and the wrist support bandage on my right wrist, which gave me an excuse if my handwriting wasn’t exactly the same as it had been before the accident. ‘You’re not looking very decorative at the moment.’

  I don’t suppose I am,’ I agreed. ‘I’m not feeling very sociable right now, either.’

  ‘Never mind, the food is great when we have it in our own rooms.’ She obviously thought she was cheering me. ‘Then we get simple stuff. Steak and chips or fish and chips for us, while the kitchen turns itself inside out on fancy stuff to impress the guests. They don’t want to bother with us. I like it better that way. Except for the times when they lock us in.’

  ‘Lock us in?’

  ‘Oh, it doesn’t happen all the time. Just when there are really important people — the kind who bring their own armed guard and all sorts of security men with them. Everett says it’s for our own safety, just in case any of them get trigger-happy. We’re better off out of their way.’

  Everett might be right. Presumably he knew the sort of people he was dealing with. There were a lot of paranoid dictators about and they usually surrounded themselves with fellow paranoics. The shoot-first-and-ask-questions-afterwards brigade.

  ‘As though any of us were assassins!’ Nina snorted. I’ll bet that’s not the only reason Everett keeps us locked up. The way some of those men stare at us when they think we aren’t looking gives me the shivers. I feel safer being locked in.’

  So did I, but it raised an interesting thought. If there were a master switch to lock us in from the outside, then doors we had locked from the inside could be opened by the same means. Perhaps there was more than one reason for the manual inner bolt on Nessa’s door.

  The clatter in the distance had died away and stopped. The deep throb of a powerful motor replaced it, heading towards us.

  ‘Here they come now,’ Nina said.

  ‘Are we allowed to look out the window?’ I asked. ‘Or will we be turned to stone?’

  ‘Oh, they won’t come this close.’ She sounded regretful. ‘They’ll go to the private entrance to Everett’s quarters. People come and go that way all the time without any of us seeing them.’

  Why did that not surprise me? Everett Oversall had transformed the Victorian fake monastery into a modern fortress; already remote and secluded, it was now heavily guarded and impregnable. He could entertain whom he liked, when he liked, without fear of observation.

  Presumably. There were, of course, persistent rumours that he was the object of constant surveillance by most of the intelligence services of the world. He had never actually been caught in anything illegal — yet — but they lived in hope, just waiting their chance to pounce.

  The telephone jangled sharply, startling me.

  ‘My, you are jumpy,’ Nina observed as she crossed the room to answer it. ‘That’ll only be Monica to ask whether we want steak or fish.’ She picked up the phone and nodded confirmation to me.

  ‘I’ll have the steak,’ she said into the phone. ‘Wait a minute, I’ll ask her.’ She raised her eyebrows at me. ‘Steak or fish?’

  I thought of my little Duchess watching hopefully as the food arrived and didn’t hesitate. ‘Fish, please.’

  ‘Did we have to ask?’ Nina laughed into the phone and I sensed the laughter was shared at the other end. ‘She’s eating for two!’

  There was a different — spiteful? — note in the gust of laughter following that remark.

  I snapped to attention.
Was it only the cat she meant? Or was there a double-double meaning? I tested the thought carefully: Nessa, pregnant? Me, an uncle?

  No, not Nessa, I decided, surprised at the faint sense of loss I felt. Anything like that would have shown up in the medical report. In any case, no foetus could have survived that devastating fall. A miscarriage would have been noted in the records.

  Unless the information had been suppressed.

  Because Everett Oversall had ordered it to be? Or because the baby was Anderson’s and he was covering his tracks?

  ‘You look worried.’ Nina’s concerned tone was belied by the malice sparkling in her eyes, betraying that she had deliberately provoked the train of thought I was following.

  Little bitch!

  ‘Not at all.’ I smiled serenely. ‘I was just wondering how much of the fish my little darling will leave for me. She can be a bit greedy at times —’

  The knock at the door was loud and demanding. We both jumped.

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’ Nina sounded disappointed as she opened the door. ‘I suppose you’re on escort duty.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Bud stepped into the room and checked that I was still there. ‘We’re letting the dogs loose early tonight. I’m to see her back to her quarters.’ He looked at the table and then at me. ‘You can finish your tea first.’

  ‘I’ve had enough.’ Of everything. I rose to my feet and thanked Nina for her hospitality before going with him.

  She sighed as she met my eyes and nodded glum confirmation. They weren’t wasting any time and that meant one thing:

  It was going to be another locked-in night.

  Chapter Eleven

  At least the cat was happy. Tummy distended by a massive inhalation of crisp-battered cod, she sprawled on the bed, providing her own background music of contented purring. Who needed any other music?

  Although I didn’t doubt Nina’s information, I tried the door and found it locked, despite my having unlocked it from my side. I turned my key again, relocking it as much as was in my power, although I knew now that that feeble power was easily overridden. I shot the bolt firmly, just in case the guests left before morning and we were released while we were sleeping. I didn’t want any unexpected visitors.

  So, an early night. Or, at least, a night when I could be sure of no interruptions. A good night to settle down with the depilatory creams, waxes and other tools of the trade and catch up with the maintenance routine.

  I was doing my nails when I became aware of distant sounds. At first, I thought the Duchess had developed an interesting vibrato, then realized that there was a definite undercurrent of melody, plus words that sounded fervent, but indistinct.

  The Duchess had also raised her head and was glaring towards the cloister walk, her tail twitching with irritation. They had disturbed her beauty sleep.

  But she had given me confirmation that it wasn’t just me who was hearing things.

  The music intensified, but not very much; it remained faint and ghostly. Ghostly, now there was a thought. I wondered if the Monk was parading the cloister, waiting for someone to become curious enough to step outside and follow him.

  Seized with sudden suspicion, I tiptoed over to the door and tried to open it. Nothing happened. I remained safely locked inside.

  Interesting … someone had their wires crossed. Either they didn’t know that the minions were kept out of the way at certain times … or else they were taking advantage of that fact to bring in a portable sound system, knowing that I could not get out to investigate the source of the music, hoping that it would make me curious enough to follow the beckoning monk the next time he appeared.

  Of course, there was another possibility. But … no. I couldn’t believe that it was a genuine haunting. It was too calculated, too targeted.

  A guard dog barked in the distance and was answered by another. The chanting cut off abruptly. It wasn’t the first time they had barked, and they seemed to be getting closer. The spectral monk was obviously folding up his choir and making a getaway before they got to him.

  I hoped the equipment was heavy and cumbersome and gave him a hernia.

  On the other hand, given the ratio of males to females around here, the culprit could equally well be a female. That long bulky monk’s robe could hide anything; it was almost as good as a kaftan.

  The only certainty was that it was someone who hadn’t been locked in. I thought immediately of Madame and amended the certainty: and someone who was mobile enough to get around swiftly.

  The telephone rang suddenly and the cat spoke back sharply. Was there no peace around this place? She glared at me. It was obviously my fault.

  I shrugged a disclaimer at her as I picked up the phone, wondering if this was my summons to join Everett Oversall and his important visitors. I didn’t think it could be. Nina was right: I wasn’t presentable enough right now — and I was determined to stay that way. Perhaps a heavier hand with the eyeshadow bruises?

  ‘Hello? … Hello?’ The only response was the soft click as the other end of the line hung up.

  I replaced my own receiver thoughtfully What was that all about? Someone ringing the wrong extension and too discourteous, or too unsure of his English, to apologize. Or someone checking to make sure I was still locked up in my quarters?

  The cat’s wary eyes and tensed attitude told me that the dogs, although silent, were closer now, perhaps sniffing along the perimeter of the cloister. I turned out the lights and moved over to the window, opening the inner shutter just far enough to allow me a narrow streak of vision. There was nothing to be seen within that limited range and to open the shutter wider would be to betray my presence. I closed it again and switched the dimmest lamp back on.

  The cat was still tensed. Light, or the absence of it, hadn’t affected her attitude: she was still suspicious, mistrustful and ready to disappear if the worst developed. She turned towards the cloister walk, ears pricked.

  I froze and listened, too. It seemed to me that I heard a faint ominous growl outside. Then I definitely heard a low gruff command. Brutus and Bud. I had moved away from the window just in time.

  ‘Everything all right in there?’ Bud’s voice called softly enough not to disturb me if I were already sleeping. Why wouldn’t it be all right? He had personally delivered me to the door and seen me inside. The automatic locks must have clicked into place as soon as the door closed behind me. The question was automatic, not expecting an answer. Of course, I must be all right and fast asleep for hours.

  As the footsteps retreated, the cat let her head fall back and returned to sleep. All clear now. I sat up for another half-hour before joining her.

  In the morning, the door was unlocked when I tried it. I heard the rain beating against the windows in a steady downpour and it seemed to me that sometime in the dark hours of the morning I had vaguely heard the clatter of a departing helicopter. Since we had now been released from our temporary imprisonment, it would seem that the visiting dignitaries had gone with it.

  The unfriendly maid brought breakfast and would not be drawn on anything other than how long the rain might continue. She was not an optimist, either.

  ‘All day, maybe all week,’ was her verdict. It was November, after all.

  Gloriana came to investigate the tray and turned away in disgust. The chef, perhaps exhausted by last night’s efforts, hadn’t bothered much this morning. A bowl of muesli and a pot of coffee. Or was he telling me something? Perhaps that it was time I recuperated enough to totter over to the breakfast buffet set up in the morning room. If so, the message wasn’t going to get through. I’d rather go hungry than face the others first thing in the morning.

  The cat had a different opinion. It wasn’t good enough, she let me know. All that disruption last night, and then the rain, and now — starvation! If she had anywhere else to go, she’d leave home.

  ‘I didn’t order this,’ I told her. I can’t help what they decide to send me.’

  She turned her nose up
and sniffed. Then, suddenly alert, sniffed again. She leapt up on the table and moved forward purposefully, zeroing in on the covered butter dish beside the croissant.

  I lifted the lid and there, nestling next to the curls of unsalted butter, were three cocktail sausages. Leftovers from last night’s festivities, obviously.

  Good old thoughtful Monica. I could grow quite fond of her — if she weren’t getting to be one of my prime suspects.

  Monica Chandler, who kept a watchful eye on every detail of the housekeeping. Monica, who knew everyone’s foibles and, possibly, secrets. Monica, who had hurriedly packed and swept away all of Francesca’s possessions before Nessa had arrived to take her place.

  A gust of wind hurled a waterfall against the windows. This was going to be a day to remain as sequestered in our cloister — locked in or out — as any medieval cleric.

  And possibly a good day to take closer stock of my surroundings and discover just how meticulous Monica had been in packing up the belongings of the previous occupant. To look for traces of Francesca.

  If Monica had been careless enough to leave any. If there was anything to find. Anything of any importance. Anything that might have been overlooked. Anything … at all.

  I sat down at the table and poured some milk over my muesli without enthusiasm. I inspected the first spoonful warily It might be safer for the future to express a sudden craving for boiled eggs — boring, but tamperproof, boiled eggs.

  Gloriana had no such qualms. She had helped herself to the cocktail sausages and, once she understood that I had no intention of disputing her right to them, was regarding me with approval. We were friends again.

  For whatever that was worth around this place. I already appeared to have more friends than I knew what to do with. I did know what not to do with them: trust them.

  Had they been such firm friends with the alien Francesca, too? Did she get together with Nina and Kiki for long girlish gossipy sessions? Was Ivor also her Beloved?

  Somehow I doubted it.

  Just as I doubted that Nessa had ever been so close to any of them, either.