âMother, I can't believe you let this happen!' Martha was not taking the news well. I was relieved that I did not have to face her. The telephone was so much more comfortable.
âI should have watched Evangeline more carefully,' I admitted. âBut how was I to know Jocasta was so unaccustomed to drink? It isn't very usual these days.'
âUnaccustomed?' Martha gave a sharp laugh. âShe's practically a teetotaller. She raises an eyebrow when a recipe calls for a tablespoon of Cointreau. I'm amazed you got her to drink anything at all.'
âShe was pretty shaken. And Evangeline just kept pouring. And, darling â¦' I might as well get the worst over with. âI don't think you should count on seeing her at all tomorrow. Not with the hangover she's going to wake up with.' In fact, it might be a couple of days before Jocasta felt anything close to normal, but one unpleasant fact at a time would be enough for Martha.
âOh, Mother!'
âLook on the bright side, darling. At least we've got Eddie out of jail. That bail bondsman Hugh recommended took care of everything in no time.'
âYes.' Martha's voice softened. âHugh is a marvel. Of course, he's had so much experience with unstable actors that he's built up a roster of specialists to handle any emergency.'
âHe's just wonderful, darling,' I assured her. âAnd Evangeline and I are very grateful to him. Eddie will be,
too, when he stops sulking. Poor lamb, it's been one shock after another for him. Especially when he came to find us and saw that the police were here. He went away until they'd gone, then he was in a mood when we wanted some help. He said he was spending his life driving us to supermarkets. But we
had
to go shopping. Talk about a cupboard being bare!'
âPoor Eddie.'
âHe's furious because he wants to get to London, but he'll be all right. The house is full, but Matilda has booked him into a small bed-and-breakfast nearby And Evangeline is going to foot the bill â whether she knows it or not!'
âGood! But, Mother, what can we do about Jocasta? We're on such a tight deadline, we don't have any time to spare. She was supposed to have tested six recipes by now â and she hasn't done one. I should have known better than to let her drive you and Miss Sinclair!' Would that bitterness never leave my poor darling's voice? Poor sweet, how she hated her heritage.
âDarling â '
âOh, don't worry. I know who to blame. I'm not blaming you.'
âNo, darling, and you can't blame Evangeline for something that happened before we arrived on the scene. It was an accident, that's all. Bad luck for everyone concerned.' Especially Mrs Temple, but I thought it better not to say that.
âThat's just it! If you weren't there, you wouldn't be concerned. And you've dragged Jocasta into it. And our working schedule calls for us to have Chapter One â “Breakfast Cheerâ³ â finished in twenty-four hours. And we need at least one more recipe â preferably for eggs.'
âOh, no!' I recoiled in empathy. âJocasta isn't going to be able to face an egg for a couple of days.'
âThat's what I was afraid of! What do we tell the publisher: Sorry, that editor you assigned to me is too hungover to do her job?'
âThat might not surprise them ⦠. No, darling, I didn't mean that. Look, for one recipe, why don't you give them my No-Pans-to-Wash-Poached-Egg?'
âOh, I haven't thought of that in years! But do you think you can really call it a Breakfast Cheer recipe?'
âI don't see why not. It sure cheers me not to have to scrub sticky egg white off a pan or egg poacher.'
âYes, you're right. It's just the thing for someone on their own in digs and in a hurry. If I can remember it â¦'
âIt's too simple to forget. You just tear off a good-sized piece of clingfilm, drape it over a cup and poke it down to make a well. Oil it lightly, break the egg into it, tie up the ends and lower it into your pan of boiling water. You can even watch it cooking. Just pull it out when it's poached the way you like it, snip off the knot with your kitchen scissors, roll the egg on to your slice of toast, fishcake, corned beef hash, or what have you and throw the clingfilm away. Voilà ! No fuss, no mess, no bother â and no washing up!'
âAnd it's a perfect shape, too.' Martha was right there with me down Memory Lane. âNone of those sprawling tentacles of dripping white you get when you try to poach it in a saucepan. Yes, we can use that.'
âOh â ' I remembered something else. âIt's also a good idea to put a knife over the cup and tie the knot over the knife. Then you can lower the egg into the pan, leaving the knife across the pan and you can lift it out more easily.'
âWonderful! Every little bit helps. We can give it a page to itself, perhaps with little sketches around it. You know, Mother, I'm not sure I should have started this. I expected Jocasta to be more help than she has been so far.'
âGive her time, darling. Even if she can't go back to London in the morning, perhaps she can do a bit of experimenting in the kitchen here. With everyone constantly in and out, this household is going to need odd meals at odd times. There'll be plenty of scope for one-dish cooking.'
If, that is, Jocasta felt able to face food again so soon. I tried to ignore the spectre of reality tugging at my sleeve.
More to the point, if she were able to face preparing it in that kitchen with the door to the cellar a constant reminder. No, perhaps better not mention such thoughts to Martha. She was happy now.
âTell Jocasta to ring me as soon as she surfaces,' Martha directed. âAt least we can have a telephone consultation before she gets back to town. And, Mother â look after yourself. I don't like the way things are going in Brighton.'
âAccidents will happen, that's all, darling, and we just have to live with it. You look after yourself, too, and give my love to Hugh and the children.'
âYes, well â¦' Obviously, she wanted to add more, but I heard a voice calling her in the distance. âYes, yes, I'm coming. Goodnight, Mother.'
I hung up the phone with a feeling of relief. It could have been worse. It might be yet. But, in the famous line from one of the roles I didn't get, âI'll worry about it tomorrow.'
As I turned out the light, I became uneasily aware of just how dark and silent the rest of house was. Unusually so, for a place full of theatre people. Of course, Matilda and Dame Cecile had had a tiring rehearsal to cap a busy and emotionally exhausting morning; it was not surprising that they had retired to their rooms early. Evangeline had last been seen heading towards her own room, clutching her cellphone and murmuring about a consultation with her financial adviser. If that meant Nigel, I didn't want to know about it. As for Soroya â who cared?
Actually, the house wasn't all that silent. It muttered to itself with the creaks and groans of an old building settling down for the night. All right if you were used to it, as Matilda was, but subtly unnerving, if you weren't. I told myself that Matilda would have had the courtesy to warn us if the place was haunted, but it was that time of darkness when anything seemed possible. And perhaps the ghost was so recent that no one was aware of it yet.
What about that new housekeeper, starting a new job,
looking forward to an interesting new life, suddenly finding herself plunging down a dark staircase into oblivion? Would her disgruntled shade still be hanging around to ⦠exact some sort of revenge?
That was the front door! I sat bolt upright. The muffled slam sounded as though a sudden gust of wind had snatched the door from someone's furtive grasp.
Someone going out ⦠or someone coming in?
I seemed to hold my breath for an endless time, straining to hear more, wondering if there were more to hear. Was that creak someone coming up the stairs, or just another complaint from the old house?
Silence ⦠silence ⦠I had to breathe. I took a great choking gasp. Then it was just a gasp as my doorknob rattled. Why hadn't I locked the door? Why had I been such a trusting fool? Had experience taught me nothing? A woman had died in this house â and recently. The broken top step was no guarantee that it had been an accident.
I saw the door move slowly, but there was no dark shadow visible against the outer darkness. I braced myself. Fight or flight? Or should I let out a few loud healthy screams? What if it was someone innocent and I roused the household?
âEvangeline â¦?' I whispered hopefully
Silence ⦠The door began to swing shut again. Was someone inside the room? Or had I frightened them away?
âEvangeline ⦠?' I whispered again, without hope. The bed shook abruptly â and it wasn't me.
âPrrrryaaah!'
The soft triumphant cry acted like a knife blade slicing through the strings that had held me taut. I fell back on the pillows limply.
âPrrr
â¦
prrrr
â¦' A throbbing furry bundle of delight rubbed against me, nuzzling my neck, my chin, my cheeks.
âYou clever little darling, you found me!' I hugged Cho-Cho to me. âOh, you
are
a clever girl!'
âPrrryaaah
â¦' She trilled agreement.
âBut ⦠how did you get away from Soroya?'
She wasn't telling. She snuggled close, purring her little head off, and settled down for the night.
That was fine with me. I curled my arms around her and, with that soft comforting purr drowning out any more creaks or groans, fell into a dreamless sleep.
âI'm dying,' Jocasta whimpered. âGo away and let me die in peace.'
âNonsense!' Evangeline wasn't usually up this early herself but, in this case, she had made an exception. âThey say the best thing is a full cooked breakfast â '
âAaaargh! I can never eat again!'
âThen the next best thing is the hair of the dog that bit you.'
âI will never drink again!'
âIf you don't eat and you don't drink,' Evangeline pointed out, âyou
will
die.'
âExactly. Go away and let me get on with it.'
âEvangeline, come away and leave her alone,' I said. âShe'll feel better after a few hours' more sleep.'
âSleep! I can't sleep! I've got to get back to London! What time is it?' Jocasta tried to sit up, but slumped back clutching her head and moaning. âI can't move.'
âHave you noticed how little stamina young people have these days?' Evangeline asked me. âThey can't do anything.'
Jocasta raised her head feebly and glared at Evangeline. I got the feeling that she had just resigned from the Evangeline Sinclair Fan Club.
âAnd â ' She transferred the glare to me and Cho-Cho, who was advancing daintily, nose twitching, to explore this new territory. âAnd make that cat stop stamping its feet!'
âCome on.' I stooped and swept Cho-Cho into my arms.
âLet's go downstairs. Evangeline, come along.' I moved aside to let her out of the room first. I didn't trust her not to slam the door. I closed it quietly.
âI suspect this is Jocasta's first hangover,' I said, as we entered the kitchen. âAnd it's a lulu!'
âDon't worry, I can take care of that.' Evangeline went to the cupboard and removed a couple of small items before crossing to the fridge and taking out one of the bottles of champagne we'd bought yesterday.
With a plaintive mew, Cho-Cho twisted free of my arms and plunged across the room to paw at the fridge.
âDo you suppose that wretched woman hasn't fed her?' Evangeline looked down at the frantic cat, now wrapping itself around her ankles.
âShe probably didn't. Poor Cho-Cho must be starving.' I started for the cupboard where I had stored the halfdozen little tins of gourmet cat food that I had picked up at the supermarket, but Evangeline was faster.
She opened the fridge again, took out the salmon and broccoli quiche I had earmarked for lunch, tore off a large chunk and, without bothering about such niceties as a bowl or saucer, tossed it to the floor.
Cho-Cho pounced on it, also untroubled by the informality. She really was starved, she was even eating the broccoli.
Evangeline returned to business. I watched with fascination as she took a cube of sugar and saturated it just short of disintegration point with Angostura bitters.
âWhat are you doing?' I gasped, as she poured a heap of cayenne pepper into a saucer and rolled the sugar cube in it, coating it liberally with cayenne. She then dropped it into a champagne flute, popped open the bottle and filled the flute with champagne.
âOne from the old days. Best hangover cure-cum-pick-me-up I know,' she said cheerfully, watching as the bubbles began to rise from the sugar cube.
âPick-me-up? It looks more like a scrape-me-off-the-ceiling to me!' Each bubble was carrying grains of cayenne
towards the surface, turning the golden liquid a light reddish brown.
âNow get that up to Jocasta and stand over her until she drinks every drop. That will put her back on her feet.'
âOr under the table permanently,' I muttered. Trust Evangeline to know the recipe for a hangover cure, if nothing else. Still, Martha might be able to use it and, since Jocasta had the hangover, she could test the recipe â which was what she was supposed to do, anyway.
Fortunately, Jocasta was in too weak a condition to put up any fight when I eased her upright and put the glass into her hand. She was at the thirsty stage and had gulped half the liquid before the cayenne kicked in and jolted her eyes wide open.
âWhat is this?' she choked.
âA little concoction of Evangeline's,' I said. âDrink up. She swears it will do you a world of good.'
âI'm not so sure.' Jocasta sipped gingerly. âWhat's in it?'
âEvangeline will give you the recipe for the book later. Right now, just consider that you're testing it.'
Jocasta took another sip and smiled wanly. âAnd I thought I wouldn't be able to do any work today.'
Â
Evangeline was studying the nearly full champagne bottle thoughtfully when I got back to the kitchen.
âI told you we ought to get some half bottles. Now you've got all that left over.'
âIt won't be wasted.' Evangeline gestured to the carton of orange juice on the table. âBuck's Fizzes all round, I think. Just right for a good start to the day.'
There were more champagne flutes on the table. She quarter-filled two of them with orange juice, topped them up to just below the rim with champagne and handed one to me.
âOh, well, why not?' I set Jocasta's empty glass, with its little sludge of undissolved sugar and cayenne at the bottom,
down on the table and accepted my own drink. Cho-Cho was drinking milk â from a saucer, I was relieved to note.
âAh, another customer.' Evangeline greeted Dame Cecile as she appeared in the doorway. âBuck's Fizz for lunch, Cecile?' She began pouring.
âYou know how to live, Evangeline.' Dame Cecile's eyes lit up. âI always did say that about you.'
âAlong with several other things, no doubt.'
âOnly when you were particularly insufferable.'
They exchanged small wry smiles. It looked as though a truce was being declared.
I removed the quiche from the fridge, along with the makings of a salad. âDo you like your quiche hot or cold, Cecile?' I asked.
It was a reasonable question, but she did not appear to think so. An arctic blast froze me as she swept her icy gaze over me and then Cho-Cho. The truce did not extend to us.
Â
After brunch, Evangeline went off to the theatre with Dame Cecile and Matilda. I stayed behind, still feeling vaguely responsible for Jocasta. Someone should be around when she surfaced again. I intended to make sure she ate something before she faced the long drive back to London. I also intended to try to persuade her to stay another night before she got behind the wheel of a car again.
Also, to tell the truth, I didn't want to leave Cho-Cho-San. We had little enough time left together before Evangeline and I went back to London, leaving her to whatever tender mercies Soroya might possess.
Come to think of it, we hadn't seen Soroya all morning. I'd gathered it was unusual for her to miss a meal, but there had been no sign that she had had an early breakfast â and no one was complaining because she hadn't joined us for brunch.
I wondered whether it had been Soroya I had heard closing the front door in the early hours of the morning. If she had left her room silently, not noticing Cho-Cho slipping out at her feet, it would explain how Cho-Cho had escaped to find me.
I wasn't going to worry about Soroya. Jocasta would feel better when she awoke and, for the moment, Cho-Cho was safe and happy with me.
If I put my mind to it, I could probably find quite a few other matters to worry about, but I wasn't in the mood. Outside, the sky was blue and beckoning, light breezes stirred the budding trees, the sun was warm. Spring was in the air and the old-fashioned teak deck chairs stretched out invitingly in a corner of the deck, just beyond the wrought-iron table and upright chairs. I eyed them thoughtfully
âIf I take you outside,' I said to Cho-Cho, âyou won't run away, will you? You'll stay with me?'
She seemed to understand. She hurled herself again at my ankles, purring enthusiastically, then danced over to the door and waited for me to open it.
We settled ourselves in a deck chair in the sun and closed our eyes. The fresh sea air reminded me of how much I had missed while living in town. Impressive and historic though the Thames might be, it didn't have the same tang to it.
I think I was almost asleep when Cho-Cho stirred suddenly in my lap and sat up. Then I heard the soft tread of feet on the steps leading up to the deck. I sat bolt upright and twisted around.
âEddie!' I hadn't realized how uptight I was until I went limp with relief. âI thought you were driving Evangeline and Dame Cecile to the theatre.'
âNaw ⦠âaven't seen âem. 'Aven't âeard a peep from anybody all day. Walked along the seafront. Walked out to the end of the pier and back.' He was bored and aggrieved. âThen decided I might as well make myself useful.' He swung a small toolkit he was carrying. âSo I picked up a few things at the DIY centre and thought I'd come over
âere and fix those cellar stairs for you lot. Can't leave âem the way they are, they're dangerous.'
âAre you allowed to?' I wondered. âI mean, don't the police want them left the way they are?'
âWhy should they? They say anything about that to you? They sealed the area off with those tapes?'
âWell, no â¦' I admitted. âI just thought â¦'
âNot in accident cases.' He frowned at me, then forgave me. âTrouble with you is, you've got mixed up in too much nasty business lately. You can't believe in ordinary accidents any more. You let your imagination run away with you and go looking for trouble.'
âThat fire at the taxidermist's wasn't my imagination,' I said. âWas the dead body your imagination?'
âThat was there, this is âere.' Eddie didn't want to talk about that. The police questioning had exhausted everything he had to say on that subject. He started for the kitchen door.
âSit down a minute,' I said. âJocasta is still asleep and she's in no condition to have anyone doing any hammering around the house.'
âLike that, is it?' Eddie sank into the other deck chair, nodding sagely. âShe'll have to toughen up if she's going to hang around with you lot.'
âShe's hanging around with Martha, actually. They're working on a cookbook together. We only have her with us now because ⦠well, because she's got a car and we needed to get down here quickly because you â¦'
âRight. An' I'm in this whole mess because of you two.' He stared glumly into the distance, then his eyes abruptly focused and sharpened. âOi! What's âe doing âere?'
I turned and saw Nigel coming up the steps.
âAh! I thought I heard voices,' he greeted us.
âDon't open your purse,' Eddie muttered to me.
âDon't worry,' I muttered back before I raised my voice to return the greeting. âThis is a surprise, Nigel. Having a day at the seaside?
âAh! Yes. I had business to transact nearby and I thought,
while I was here, I'd drop in on you and â¦' He looked around hopefully. âEvangeline?'
âNot here at the moment, I'm afraid. She and Dame Cecile went off to the theatre and I don't know where else.'
âAh! She'll be back soon?' He was losing hope, but still in there trying.
âShe didn't say â and I wouldn't even guess at a time. You know what they're like when they get together.'
âAh!' He squinted up at a passing cloud and spoke with elaborate casualness. âShe, ah, didn't happen to leave anything for me to pick up, did she?'
âNot that I know of.' So Nigel hadn't happened to drop in on the spur of the moment. I remembered Evangeline's telephone calls yesterday. Something had been arranged between them â or he thought it had. Evangeline had obviously not been so sure â or had changed her mind.
âAh!' He frowned and sank down on one of the wrought-iron chairs. âPerhaps I might wait a while? She might come back â¦'
âShe might.' More likely, she might not. âMake yourself at home.'
“E already âas,' Eddie muttered.
âHow's your uncle?' I decided to change to a safer subject. Or was it?
âUncle? Uncle?' Nigel might never have heard the word before. He looked around wildly.
âUncle,' I repeated firmly. âYou know, the one with the legendary lost theatre underneath the arches.'
âAh! Yes. That one.' He looked dismayed, then brightened. âNot well. Not too well at all. Rather poorly.' The thought seemed to cheer him. âQuite poorly, in fact.'
I had the sudden suspicion that he might soon be going to announce that his uncle had died and that the theatre had passed into the hands of a developer and was lost for ever. With even deeper suspicion, I wondered whether he had an uncle at all, or whether he had invented the whole story just to lure us into his financial schemes.