‘Yes, and I was already thinking about him, because we had an argument last night. He says now he wants me to spend most of my time in London again, because my living down here and associating with you was changing me into a different person.’
‘Yes – great, isn’t it?’
‘I told him you weren’t doing anything except making me see things in perspective, and that I loved running Fantasy Flowers and hated living in London. He was really angry, and I got very upset and went to bed . . . and when I woke up early this morning he’d already left for London without a word, or a message, or anything. He starts recording the Crackers programme today.’
‘Well, you surely don’t think that Mr Chris “Cute Buns” Cotter was chucking himself off the cliffs first thing this morning in a fit of pique, with the immortal word “Geronimo!” on his lips?’
‘N-no, but—’
‘Phone him up if you’re worried.’
‘I h-have, but there’s no answer – and it’s not him I’m worried about: it’s Spike. There was no sign of him this morning. I haven’t seen him since I went to bed last night.’
‘He’s vanished?’ I said, amazed. That a dog so elderly, obese and smelly could vanish was a trick worthy of Houdini.
She nodded, her huge blue eyes anxious. ‘I think he must have got out when Chris left, but I searched and searched for hours this morning and there’s no trace of him.’
‘You should have told me at once, so I could help you,’ I said severely. ‘Never mind those flowers – Spike is much more important. Let’s go and plan a campaign.’
‘There was only one order, and I’ve done it now. I’ll drop it off at the post office on the way to pick up the posters,’ she said distractedly.
‘Posters?’
‘Yes. When I couldn’t find him I took his photo into Swansea and arranged for a hundred posters to be printed, with a reward.’
It’s amazing how the power of love can stiffen the spine of even the limpest lettuce, isn’t it?
‘Right,’ I said, battening down my astonishment. ‘First, let’s try phoning Chris again – what’s the number?’
I dialled, and a familiar voice said dulcetly, ‘Hello, this is Chris Cotter speaking.’
‘Good. This is Sappho—’
‘Sappho? What do you want? Haven’t you interfered enough, with—’
‘Shut up and listen,’ I broke in. ‘When you left here this morning did you let Spike out?’
There was a small silence. ‘Spike?’
‘The dog, remember? Where was he when you left this morning?’
‘No idea: in his basket, presumably. Did you phone me up just to grill me about the dog? Why don’t you ask Miranda?’
‘You didn’t see him at all this morning?’
He gave a theatrically long-suffering sigh. ‘I didn’t give him a moment’s thought.’
‘He’s missing and he must have got out when you left – or something.’
‘Then I hope you aren’t accusing me of kidnapping the smelly old creature – and by the same token I think I would have noticed if he’d tried to sneak past me. I expect Miranda forgot to let him in again last night and he’s wandered off.’
Miranda, whose head was next to the phone so she could hear every word, paled and looked aghast.
‘Of course she didn’t.’
‘She might have done, what with all these funny things she’s been doing since she moved down to Bedd.’
‘Oh, come off it! We know you organized those, and you’re the one who’s always been a bit funny, only not ha ha!’ I put the phone down, not entirely convinced that he hadn’t done something with Spike to get back at Miranda, but we had to eliminate the obvious first.
‘Come on, Miranda,’ I said bracingly. ‘Of course you let Spike in last night, and my gut feeling is that Chris let him out this morning and doesn’t want to say, so now he can’t be found. He’ll be around somewhere.’
Her lovely face crumpled and a tear slowly slid down her cheek. ‘But I called and searched everywhere. You . . . don’t think he’s dead, do you?’
‘I hope not, Miranda, but let’s not jump the gun.’
‘If he was hurt he always came to me, and he never ever strayed.’
Too fat, poor creature.
She got up, clutching the bouquet box to her bosom with an air of resolution. ‘I’m going home to see if he’s come back, then I’ll go into Swansea and get the posters, then—’
‘Hold it!’ I said. ‘Give me the name of the print shop and I’ll get them delivered.’
‘I don’t think they’ll do that – but it was Quicksilver Print.’
‘They will if I cross their palm with Visa cards, and they can send them out in a taxi. Meanwhile we’ll carry out a systematic search of the village. You go home and I’ll join you as soon as I’ve changed my clothes.’
Quicksilver did indeed obligingly say they would plastic-wrap the posters and someone would drop them off within the hour, after I promised large amounts of money. Then I assumed dog-searching clothes and set out with only a small mental sigh for my almost finished chapter.
Outside, the fickle day had turned to raining cats, but unfortunately not dogs. Bedd is normally quite a pretty village, but it looked dark and dismal, as did the mentally challenged sheep hanging around Llyn’s mini mart awaiting sandwich-bearing tourists.
They made a half-hearted rush for me as I went past, but then sheered off, bleating.
Miranda, not having found a repentant Spike in the porch, was showing a tendency to run round in circles like a headless chicken until I took charge.
‘Right, we’ll do this methodically. There are three roads out of Bedd, one of them mine, which is so steep that I think you’ll agree Spike could never have got much further up it than my house. Now, how far would you say he was capable of walking?’
‘About a mile?’ she ventured.
Love is blind. Miranda’s certainly was, or she’d never have married a scheming little git like Chris in the first place.
‘A mile. Right.’ I would have been astounded to discover that either of them could walk a quarter of that, though Miranda did seem to have perfected the art of moving twenty stone about effortlessly, like so much billowing cloud.
‘So: we’ll take a side each, and go along looking and calling for about a mile along both main roads, and then if there’s still no sign of him, the posters will have arrived and we can put some up around the village while we search that.’
‘I put a reward of a hundred pounds on the poster. I thought someone might have taken him because he’s such a nice dog, but if they see the reward . . . Do you think it’s enough?’
‘I think you’ll be deluged with ancient Labradors,’ I said wryly.
As to someone taking a fancy to the gross, smelly old beast: who am I to scoff? I spend my life in Fantasy land.
So we beat the boundaries as I suggested, shouting, ‘Spike! Spike!’ like a couple of vampire hunters, with me at least expecting to find a dead dog in a ditch at any moment. But all to no avail. I even went up my own steep lane shouting, and searched the Aces Acre graveyard.
By then the posters had arrived, and with the assistance of some local children we scoured the village itself, putting posters up as we went.
Everyone knew Spike by sight, but no one had seen him that day.
Yes, Spike had become the Invisible Dog.
Chapter 14
Shabby Tigers
The cat flu having been a false alarm, Mu decided to come back for a long weekend – but by train this time.
‘But not for another go at the you-know-what,’ she explained. ‘I’ll only find out this weekend whether it worked or not – but I’m sure it hasn’t.’
‘Can you find out for sure so early?’
‘Pregnancy tests show you’re pregnant from the first day of a missed period – only I’m not going to miss one because I feel just the same. I’ll have to try again in a couple of weeks, if Simo
n is agreeable.’
‘Simon is very agreeable. But I’m glad you’re coming over this weekend.’
‘Why, has that barmy git caught up with you at last?’
I had no trouble identifying Dave from this description. ‘No, funnily enough there’s been no sign of him. And anyway, he isn’t a problem: he’s all mouth and trousers. I can take care of him. No, it’s just that I may have witnessed a suicide – sort of – and Spike, Miranda’s dog, has disappeared. He was too old and fat to get far, and I’m worried Chris may have done something with him in a fit of pique over Miranda’s rebellion. He’s such a control freak, and she’s really getting the bit between her teeth now.’
‘I thought it was strange you’d been there a couple of months without a revolution breaking out,’ she said. ‘You can fill me in when we meet. I’ll stay till Monday, if that’s OK? I’m sure Ambler can manage to feed the cats until then, if I leave him simple written instructions.’
There was an aggrieved rumbling sound that told me Ambler had come into the room – and just as well he was out of earshot when she was going on about Simon!
‘Oh, by the way, I’m bringing you a house-warming present,’ she added, and giggled.
‘I’ve already had a—’ I began, but she’d rung off.
God knows what the present will be, I thought. With Mu it could be almost anything.
Mu’s cropped ash-blonde head was visible in the door of the train as it pulled into the station, and by the time I’d walked down to the carriage she’d kicked two elegant tapestry cases on to the platform with thumps that would have set off an earthquake had we been in a volcanic area.
She followed them carrying a large wicker hamper, which she thrust into my arms: ‘Here we are, your present – the ultimate Dave Deterrent.’
‘He doesn’t seem to need deterring any more—’ I began, then broke off suddenly as the basket began to vibrate to the sound of unearthly yowls. ‘What the hell is this? Banshee in a Box?’
‘Not exactly.’
I staggered, regained my balance and turned an accusing glare on her. ‘Tell me you haven’t brought me a cat!’
‘What else?’ she said blithely and, commandeering a trolley, dumped both cases on it. I hastily added the basket, which moved about with a life of its own like a jumping bean, as the sound of rending claws began to draw nervous attention from passers-by.
It was noticeable that no one had got out of the same carriage as Mu: evidently they had had the sense to vacate it in case whatever was in the basket got out.
‘She’s been working on that basket on and off all the way down, the little rascal,’ she said affectionately. ‘Perhaps we’d better get her into the car?’
The look I gave her spoke volumes, but there was nothing for it but to lead the way.
Mu put the basket on the back seat and weighted down the lid with one of the suitcases. A wicked set of claws appeared through the little wicker portcullis and scored a direct hit on its tapestried surface.
‘There, that should hold it until we get to Bedd,’ she said unperturbed, then giggled. ‘I’m sorry, it’s that name: it brings out the schoolgirl in me.’
‘It did with me too, but I’ve got used to it – and anyway, it just means “grave” in Welsh, which is definitely not humorous. Now, about that tiger in the back—’
She clapped her hands. ‘Oh, the sea! Wonderful! Can we go round by Mumbles? I know it’s a bit of a detour, but I just love it. I’d like to live in Mumbles. I found a village in Yorkshire once called Slack Top, which was tempting – and there was a Slack Bottom too, but I think that would be going a bit too far.’
‘You know, you fell in love with Ambler’s house in Pembrokeshire before you fell in love with him.’
‘It was a close-run thing. But he did sweep me off my feet, didn’t he?’
‘Action Man personified: he saw, he fell in love, he didn’t hang about. And you and that house fit together. Ambler’s just the bun round the cheese: a bit of substance.’
‘He’s that, all right, and time hasn’t staled his infinite variety, because he never had any – always boldly going where few have gone before.’
‘But always coming back,’ I pointed out. ‘How did the Nile trip go, by the way? I never asked last time. Oh, and thanks for that picture you sent of Ambler in his canoe wearing a Vengeane: Dark Planet T-shirt.’
‘Fine, except for a crocodile that took a very Hook-like fancy to him or his canoe and followed them for miles. His task while I’m away is to sort out his notebooks for me, so I can type it up into the usual Boy’s Own Adventure yarn.’
‘How is that scary cat you brought back from Egypt? Ankaret, was it? Did you ever decide which of the others fathered the kittens?’
‘Oh, yes, it’s definitely Coochie.’
I racked my brains. ‘Coochie? Is that the big, daft hairy creature someone sent you from America? The one that hadn’t . . . er . . . developed properly?’
‘The Maine Coon, that’s right. I think they gave up on him too soon, or he had a surge of hormones when he saw Ankaret!’
Something between guilt and amusement in her voice suddenly warned me what the much-abused basket contained.
‘Mu!’ I beseeched, taking my eyes off the road for one horror-struck second. ‘Tell me you haven’t brought me the bastard offspring of a wild Egyptian village cat and a retarded Maine Coon!’
‘Of course,’ she said simply. ‘I saved the best for you, and you’ll absolutely adore her – she has such character!’
‘That’s just what you said about the last man you tried to fix me up with,’ I said bitterly, ‘and it sounds as if she might adore me – to eat.’
‘I picked her very carefully. And just think, Dave has an absolute phobia about cats – probably why I didn’t fall for his charms like most other women – so he’s never going to darken your door again, is he?’
‘He’s lost interest anyway,’ I said. ‘There’s been no sight or sound of him. Maybe he’s met a Significant Other. Or Others. Anyway, his phobia didn’t stop him coming to your house that time to try to see me.’
‘I think he’d just forgotten about the cats. He never came again, did he?’
‘No, but that might be something to do with Ambler throwing him out.’
‘You know, somehow I find it more worrying that he hasn’t contacted you since you moved here than if you’d found him salivating on your doorstep. He’s definitely severely warped where you’re concerned.’
‘I know. I was so braced to repel boarders, it was a bit of an anticlimax when there was no sign of him.’
‘Perhaps he’s just playing hard to get?’ she suggested.
‘Suits me – I don’t want him.’
By now we were running down off the moors into the village, with the glint of the sea beyond, then I was pulling round the barn into the still-overgrown courtyard.
I hefted her luggage, leaving the cat basket for her, for there was already a bloody rend in my jeans and thigh. Those claws were razor sharp.
She followed, holding it at arm’s length. ‘You know, being right at the edge of the village you need a guard like this.’
‘I intend to get a dog,’ I said pointedly.
‘Dogs have no dignity.’
‘There’s precious little dignity about whatever you’ve got in that basket!’
‘You’ll see,’ she said, stepping through the conservatory. ‘Fantasy Flowers is still here?’
‘Yes, though Miranda is arranging to share a workshop at the craft centre with Lavender Duke, one of my next-door neighbours. She’s a flower painter, and only uses it in the afternoon, so it will all fit together nicely. We’re going to move it all down there soon, and then Miranda’s going to advertise a bit more, and she’s having an extra phone line put in The Hacienda, just for orders.’
‘Sounds organized. You’ve really turned her into a revolutionary then? I can’t imagine Chris giving his blessing to all of this independence.’
>
‘He’s not only not happy about it, he’s been trying to frighten her back into line with all those pranks,’ I said. ‘And now Spike – I’m feeling more and more sure that he must know something about that. Come into the sitting room and I’ll tell you all about it.’
Mu followed, carrying the basket. ‘We’d better let the cat out first.’
‘Fine, I’ll get the chair and a whip, shall I?’
She gave me a withering look.
Chapter 15
Cat Flap
The half-grown kitten was big, and I mean: BIG. Also impressively stately once released from what she clearly considered sordid bondage – and the most peculiar cat I’d ever seen, resembling a big, shaggy, brindled leopard.
Mu had brought emergency cat rations, which accounted for at least some of the weight in her luggage, and proceeded to provide me, unasked, with a crash course in feline keeping for beginners.
The cat listened carefully – she looked smart enough to open her own tins – but I didn’t bother, since my intention was to ensure she got back on the train with Mu when she left. It was probably the cat’s intention, too, since she was giving me the impression that the accommodation wasn’t quite up to the usual standards.
‘You know,’ I confided when we settled down later with a bottle of red, and a plate of (Miranda’s) macaroons, ‘I still can’t quite believe the house is mine and I can afford to live here. I keep expecting my books to suddenly fall out of favour, or something.’
‘Well, they aren’t going to,’ Mu said firmly. ‘Fantasy is more popular now than it ever was, and anyway all these spin-offs – the T-shirts and the cartoon series and all that – mean that you can amass a little nest egg and sit on it even if it should somehow stop paying so well.’
‘Any nest egg seems to be snatched away by the tax man. I still don’t see why I have to give him so much of the money I worked hard for. Why can’t my accountant haggle a bit?’
‘Poor Mr Grace is tearing his hair out over your last accounts,’ she replied, sticking a leather cushion behind her back and arranging herself gracefully on the sofa. ‘All those carrier bags full of scribbled-on bits of old envelope and foreign receipts. I really don’t think I’d suggest souk methods to him. You can’t buck the tax system – Ambler pays even more than you.’
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