‘Perhaps that you should have given me some warning of what time you were arriving?’ Miranda suggested coldly.
His jaw dropped despite the interested audience, and he looked more Mr Weasel than jolly TV cook.
‘We’re just about to have another drink,’ I said. ‘Hadn’t you better get back to your guest?’
Pop goes the weasel: for an interesting moment I thought he might try to commit violence against my person, a definite mistake since I’m bigger than he is. All his enticing little freckles ran together into one red blur of fury, but after an internal struggle he managed to regain control of everything except the twitching muscle in his cheek.
‘Certainly,’ he said, straightening up and unclenching his hands and teeth (and probably his buttocks). ‘But naturally I was worried about Miranda when she wasn’t home – she doesn’t usually go out at night, and in her present mental state—’
‘Apart from natural grief over Spike, I’d say her mental state was more normal than yours,’ Mu said.
This time he actually looked at her, smiling more confidently. ‘Ah, yes, but you don’t know all the funny little things she gets up to, does she, darling?’
‘Yes, she does. We all know you’ve been doing those,’ I said contemptuously.
‘Yes,’ added Miranda, who had whitened but not dissolved (like coffee creamer), ‘and speaking of funny things, Spike has been found washed up on a b-beach near Rhossili. Now, how on earth d-do you think that happened?’
‘I – er – I’ve no idea. Rhossili? Extraordinary!’ He’d gone pale and the façade was definitely cracking.
‘It’s raining tonight,’ Miranda added with seeming inconsequence. ‘Where’s your raincoat?’
‘My-my raincoat? I left it in L-London,’ he stammered, backing off. ‘Look, Miranda, I’d better go back to the house and see how – I’ll see to things.’ And he practically ran out of the pub leaving us all staring after him, Miranda with a very unloving expression.
‘D-did you see his face? I’m not living with a murderer!’ she declared.
Mu and I exchanged looks. ‘There isn’t any hard evidence that he had anything to do with Spike’s disappearance,’ I said. ‘It’s all circumstantial.’
‘You saw his expression – he d-did it. I expect he was so angry when he left for London, just b-because I’d stood up to him for once, that he took it out on my poor old d-dog like Mr B-Barrett would have done to Flush if Elizabeth hadn’t taken him off to Italy with her.’
‘Elizabeth who?’ demanded Mu, who had lost the thread. ‘Flush?’
‘B-Barrett – when she eloped with Robert B-Browning. She insisted she take her spaniel, Flush, with them b-because she thought her father would d-do something horrible to it when he found out about the elopement.’
‘Right. But somehow I can’t see Chris actually murdering poor Spike – he’s so mimsy,’ Mu said. ‘It’s more likely he just found Spike dead when he went down that morning, and decided to dispose of the body.’
I could see that Miranda wanted to believe in Spike’s natural demise, but was not totally convinced (and neither was I, actually), and when we’d had another round of cream-topped Irish coffees, she said she was going to get the truth out of Chris, but whatever happened he would be moving into the spare bedroom tonight and then, after the weekend, out of her life, too.
It might be the drink talking, but I’d never seen her quite like that.
We didn’t leave until throwing-out time, and parted on the village green from where we could see Miranda’s house. She set off like a juggernaut in search of something to squash – or someone.
But I expected her sense of propriety would keep the lid on things until their guest had departed, though Mu thought she’d simply buckle down again from sheer force of habit. Still, if Chris hadn’t come up with an explanation to put his actions in the best possible light by now, he was not the sneaky, devious little weasel I thought him.
We’d see the next evening, for Miranda insisted we both go to the party to support her. We anticipated it would be interesting in a Chinese curse ‘may you live in interesting times’ sort of way.
We walked companionably up the narrow winding lane into the darkness beyond the Dukes, who always left a small mock lamppost lit up outside. Then I felt the back of my neck prickle.
‘Someone’s watching us, Mu.’
She scanned the darkness dubiously. ‘I can’t see anyone.’
‘It’s just a feeling . . . but it’s going, so perhaps I imagined it.’
‘Or maybe Dave’s found you again?’
‘He’d have walked straight into the pub as if he expected me to be pleased to see him. He doesn’t try any of that stalking business since that time I thought he was a mugger and half-killed him.’
‘Probably just your neighbours looking out, then,’ she said. ‘After all, you’ve been here for weeks, within easy reach of Dave – he could have found you if he wanted to. Perhaps he simply got bored with it all. We’re none of us spring chickens any more.’
‘Speak for yourself: I intend springing for as long as I can.’
I switched on my torch as we went round the dark barn into the even blacker depths of the courtyard. I vowed to remember to leave a light on in the kitchen if I went out in the evening.
‘You need a new gate, the fence mending, an outside light or two . . .’ Mu said, thinking along the same lines. ‘Smoke alarm, burglar catches on the window. Burglar alarm.’
‘Razor wire, shotgun, guard dog?’ I put in.
‘That’s going a bit too far, and now you’ve got the cat you don’t need a dog.’
When we went in, the guard-cat blinked at us in the sudden light and made noises that I hoped indicated welcome, before resuming her game of batting a piece of paper round the floor.
To her vociferous disgust, I captured her toy and smoothed it out: none of the paper in my house is blue.
The only legible bit said ‘pho’. My name? ‘I will phone’? ‘Speak phonetically’? The bit of handwriting was too badly defaced for me to be sure – or for it to be recognizable.
Maybe it was Dave lurking out there after all?
If it was, I hoped the cat ate him next time. By then she would probably be big enough to play with him first.
Chapter 20
Breaking Up Is Hard to Do
Fortunately I never suffer from hangovers (I may sometimes drink a lot, but I always know when to stop), so my early morning writing session went just as well as usual.
Raarg, having seemingly been transformed, was now showing signs of slipping back into his evil ways, although Nala hadn’t found out yet. Dragonslayer was getting up her nose, but she was also attracted to him.
I hadn’t got the faintest idea what was going to happen. They’d just have to fight it out among themselves – like Miranda and Chris, if she didn’t bottle out of a confrontation at the last minute. Mu and I would find out that evening.
Since Mu was also up and about bright and early we made an impulse decision to have a day out to Laugharne on the Dylan Thomas tourist trail, leaving an indignant cat alone with the new litter tray.
Laugharne is a magical, peaceful place, surprisingly unspoiled by its claim to fame. The boathouse where they lived is a museum now, and tiny, so what with the warring Thomases, the children, and the dog, it’s no wonder Dylan went off to his little wooden hut to write.
We had lunch at a pub, and then spent much longer walking around than we’d intended, making us quite late back home. The phone was ringing as we got in and Mu answered it while I fed the cat and did vile things with litter trays, which is definitely not a fun part of cat keeping.
‘Either you learn to use the toilet, or you go,’ I advised her as she watched me clean up the mess. ‘And another thing – stay off my kitchen work surfaces, or else!’
I could tell how impressed she was by the quality of her yawns.
‘That was Ambler,’ Mu told me, coming back in. ‘He wanted to know how many cats h
e was supposed to be feeding this time, because there are six more than on his list.’
‘He’s being taken for a ride by the local moggies again, then?’
‘He certainly is. They must put the word out as soon as they see me leave with luggage. If I don’t get back soon we’ll be bankrupt and all the local cats will have died of obesity.’
‘It’s a pity we’ve got to go to the party tonight.’ I propped a print of the Laugharne boathouse in front of me. ‘My feet are tired – yesterday was pretty hectic.’
‘Miranda’s counting on us, and if she’s had things out with Chris she’ll need our support even more,’ said Mu. ‘But we could always arrive late and leave early.’
‘It’s getting late now and we’re not even ready,’ I pointed out.
‘You’ve got nine messages on your answering machine. Aren’t you going to listen to them?’
‘No, there isn’t time and they won’t be anything interesting. I’ll run through them later. Look, here’s a spare door key in case you want to slope off from the party earlier or later than me.’
‘Thanks: I might at that, since I’m not going to know anyone much, am I? Except Gil, if finding a dead dog in someone’s company counts as acquaintance.’
‘Lili will probably be there.’
‘Will she bring that dishy blond man we saw in the pub? I wouldn’t mind a closer look at him.’
‘I don’t know, and I wouldn’t call him dishy. He’s bad-tempered, too.’
I sighed. ‘I’ve never really seen the point of parties. I usually spend them trying to escape some small man who’s measuring me up like Everest for future ascent.’
‘You always manage to shake them off. And think positive, you might enjoy it. I’m going to change.’
I suppose I might just spot my Dark Donor at the party, but then again, pigs might fly.
When Mu came down she was wearing a jade-green silk shift dress that reflected her eyes, set off her ash-blonde hair and roused my envy, for it’s not the sort of dress that suits me at all. And it was a change from her usual black outfits.
My dress was a vaguely Victorian garment of amber lace over satin, which I’d recently discovered in an antique shop. Most vintage clothes are midget-sized: whoever owned this one must have been a giantess among her peers, maybe even an ancestress of mine.
My hair had been quietly growing away as usual (it has a secret plan to take over the world), and had once more reached hazard lengths, besides being a constant temptation to the cat. Mu cut a foot off the end with the kitchen scissors and offered to do it in a French plait, but there wasn’t time so I just let it hang.
We left lights on and the radio on low to keep the cat company, then stepped out into the rain under a big umbrella. It wasn’t far enough to justify taking the car, but I was wearing silly sandals, for once, with slithery soles and high heels, so my part was more of a soft-shoe shuffle when we did our ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ impersonation.
We deduced from Chris’s expression that he’d seen us dance up the drive, but at least he didn’t slam the door in our faces, which would not have surprised me.
On Mu he bestowed a look of acute dislike and said how nice it was to see her, and was she still married to Ambler? To which she replied that unless you could get a divorce in two hours she supposed she was, and passed in smiling blandly.
It sounded like feeding time at the zoo in there.
Chris was regarding me like the cat who had not only got the canary, but was having it for tea later, lightly warmed up on toast. He said he was so glad I’d come because he had an old friend of mine staying with him whom I would just love to see again.
I was certain who it was then, but I resisted my first impulse to turn round and go away, although when Chris took my arm and attempted to propel me into the room I shook him off.
I removed my rain cape and gave him custody of that instead, then followed Mu down the hall and into the living room, which was solid with bodies and noise.
As we paused on the threshold Chris called shrilly from behind me, ‘Here she is!’
A man, taller than the rest, turned to look at me, raising mobile eyebrows in a dark, handsome face. A very Byronic, masculine face, brown eyes glistening under long lashes and crisp black hair that was trying to curl at the ends.
It was, of course, Dave Devlyn – and better to meet him here and get it done with. Since he hadn’t contacted me for months, I even wondered if perhaps this was a coincidence and he wasn’t interested any more.
But no, he began to forge towards me, shedding adoring women as he came.
Miranda bobbed up beside me, covered in glistening ice-blue fabric like a small iceberg and with an expression in her eyes to match. ‘I phoned you earlier – d-didn’t you get my messages?’ she hissed. ‘I d-didn’t realize who it was until I got b-back from the craft centre at lunch time – he’d gone to b-bed when I got home yesterday.’
‘We’ve been out, but it doesn’t matter, I might as well get it over with. Why are we whispering?’ I added.
‘I d-don’t know.’
‘Have you had things out with Chris?’ I asked.
‘Yes – I’ll tell you all about it later and D-Dave’s staying on the Gower, b-by the way. He’s going to photograph everyone for a b-book.’
‘Everyone?’
‘Everyone arty,’ she qualified. ‘It’s all this New Cornwall stuff again.’
‘Oh shit!’ I said. Then: ‘Look, Mu’s intercepting Dave!’
Mu is five foot three and Dave might have gone straight over her like a juggernaut had she not said something that clearly stopped him in his tracks. His eyes never left me as he bent his dark head and replied.
Whatever he said, she didn’t like it. There was a yelp, and Dave resumed his progress, limping.
Like me, Mu was wearing high heels, for a change: it doesn’t do to become a creature of habit.
She gave me a grin and headed off towards the dining room while Dave loomed up and attempted to sweep me into his arms. He smelled rather delicious, and there was nothing wrong with his muscles, because it was quite a tussle holding him off. I had to use my elbows for leverage.
‘Sapphie darling – here you are at last! Aren’t you going to kiss me?’
‘Hello, Dave,’ I said unenthusiastically. ‘Still crazy after all these years?’
‘Crazy for you,’ he said, smiling disturbingly down at me. ‘You look like a barbaric queen in that dress, with your hair loose and all that chunky amber – that’s the way I’m going to photograph you for the book. There’s no one like you.’
‘There doesn’t seem to be anyone else like you either, thank God,’ I rejoined, trying to ease back a bit before his body heat singed anything. When I haven’t actually seen him for a while I tend to forget just what he’s like – sexy, attractive, successful, devious . . . fixated. It’s that certain mildly insane glint in the eye whenever he looks at me that gives it away every time. It was still there.
‘You know you’ve always loved me,’ he said confidently. ‘So now you’ve finally got the wanderlust out of your system—’
‘What do you mean, I love you?’ I demanded. ‘I don’t love you – I don’t even like you!’
‘You don’t mean it: the attraction’s still there, I can feel it. Why try to deny it?’
‘Oh, yes, and I suppose you’ve devoted yourself to a life of celibacy for my sake?’
‘No, but you seem to have for mine, darling.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself: the whole experience with you was such a disappointment I decided not to bother any more.’
He was unruffled. ‘I know you’re not the frigid spinster you like to pretend.’
‘Lukewarm, these days, and not even tepid where you’re concerned. Face it, Dave: I’m just not interested.’
He frowned and moved closer (if possible). ‘Sapphie, don’t jerk me around – it’s time we got back together. When Chris told me you’d settled here I knew it. I’m go
ing to be down here for quite a while, so you’d better get used to the idea fast.’
‘Dave, I’m not jerking you around: I really am not interested in exchanging anything with you except a wave and a hello in passing.’ If I didn’t see him coming first.
‘I’m going to be staying at the village pub from tomorrow – unless you will have me, Sapphie. Will you have me?’ he said throatily.
‘No I won’t!’ I exclaimed impatiently. ‘Why don’t you listen to what I’m saying?’
‘I walked round and put a note through your door last night,’ he said obliviously. ‘Didn’t you get it?’
‘No, the cat ate it.’
‘Cat?’ A frown marred his brow. ‘Oh – Mu’s staying with you, isn’t she? Has she brought one of her damned cats with her?’
‘No, it’s mine: a big, beautiful, half-wild cat,’ I added with relish.
‘You know I can’t stand cats! Get rid of it.’
‘Why the hell should I? The only thing I want to get rid of is you! If you don’t come to the house it won’t bother you, will it? So just leave me alone, Dave. I won’t even say “let’s be friends” because we were never that, just lovers. Stay away.’
I pushed past him, intent just on getting away, though I could feel his eyes boring holes in my shoulder blades until I moved into the dining room.
I didn’t think it would be too long before he followed me and made a scene, and the thought of escaping back to the cottage and my guardian kitten was very tempting.
I looked round for Mu, who’d managed to insinuate herself on to a sofa next to Lili’s potter, while Lili herself hung off a little, scowling and outmanoeuvred.
Nye Thomas’s white-gold hair was bent near to Mu’s ash-blonde bob like a pair of conversing angels, and the muted light shadowed the dark hollows beneath his high cheekbones, and the small cleft in his chin. He had the sort of lips that made you want to touch them.
Repulsive: I’d had enough of vain, handsome men.
Turning away in disgust I helped myself to a full glass of red wine and some of Miranda’s delicious nibbles: then, more slowly, another glass of wine, and finally I began to relax a bit.
A Leap of Faith Page 16
