Tug of War djs-6
Page 25
‘Yes, of course, Maman.’
Wearily Georges rang the bell.
‘Tell me — did Charles-Auguste remember to bring up a couple of bottles of the ’13 vintage?’
‘He did, Maman.’
Her eyes had been drawn back to the gate and the road to Reims beyond. ‘And what are we to have for supper tonight, do you know?. . Calves’ liver? Are you sure of that? No! No! That will not do! He simply detests liver! You must go and speak to Cook and ask what on earth she thinks she’s about.’
‘Are you quite certain he doesn’t like liver, Maman? I thought he did?’
‘He hates it. But he adores game. It’s the hunting season. Surely a fine shot like you, Georges, can keep the kitchen supplied? You must hurry off and see what you can find. A rabbit will do if you can get nothing else.’
‘Maman,’ said Georges tentatively, ‘you can’t go on sitting here, waiting and watching. You’re making yourself ill. You’re making us ill! Uncle Charles is worried witless.’
‘Of course I shall wait! What else can I do? He’s on his way! He’s coming!’
‘I’m not quite certain, Maman. .’ Georges spoke hesitantly, anxious to avoid bringing down one of her increasingly frequent screaming tirades on his head, ‘who exactly you are expecting to come up the drive?’
He hastily moved the hot teapot out of her reach and drew back. She did not scream and stamp at the mild challenge and hurl a cup at him as he’d come to expect over the weeks but turned to him, eyes wide with astonishment at the question, and smiled one of her old, loving smiles.
‘But — Edward, of course! Georges, darling, you haven’t forgotten Edward?’
Whiskers twitching with anger, the cat shot out of the kitchen the moment the door opened to release him, making clear his displeasure at being shut up in there for a whole morning. A morning when things had been happening in the house. Things he ought to have been a party to. Comings and goings, strange smells and sounds and currents of air. A disruption of his routine.
Holding his tail stiffly to indicate an extreme degree of pique, he stalked down the corridor and went into the parlour, heading for his chair.
He caught sight and smell of the interloper from the doorway and went to stand, fur on end, directly in front of the man lolling at ease in the armchair which had been empty for nine years.
He waited for a very long moment, assessing the situation, and then decided on his action. He leapt up on to the man’s knee, eyes narrowed, demanding and holding his gaze, hissing with rage, and one paw lashed out, claws exposed, to tear at the man’s flesh. The sudden pain and the trickle of blood down the back of his hand drew a startled cry. The cat paused briefly, then, judging the reaction he’d provoked adequate, he turned around several times, kneading the man’s thighs with unsheathed claws, and finally settled down on his lap. He began a rasping and unpractised purring.
‘There! That’ll teach you to stay away for years on end! What you’ve just undergone is the traditional feline punishment for going absent without leave. And well deserved too! I do believe Louis has missed you more than I have. . Oh. .!’
The light voice from the doorway, determinedly cheerful, even matronly, was cut short, stopped by emotion. A tray of tea things slid to the floor.
His hand had gone out to ruffle the cat’s fur in a familiar gesture. The other reached out to the table at his side to pick up his pipe. Thibaud looked up, focused on the anxious face in the doorway and smiled a smile worth waiting for.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-d8bda3-5928-6443-2d8b-ceda-2657-7b4b2f
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 07.10.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.36, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Barbara Cleverly
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