âWho'd do a thing like that?'
âPresumably, Mr Stuff Yours â if the money was right.'
âThen I 'ope 'e was the geezer I found with 'is 'ead bashed in. âE 'ad it coming to 'im!'
I nodded agreement. Eddie began scratching Cho-Cho's ears and making little soothing sounds. “Ow could anybody want to âurt you, sweet'eart?'
âMaybe he didn't want to.' It was a good question and a possible answer presented itself. âMaybe he refused to do it â and that was why he was killed.'
âThen there's a madman runnin' loose!' Eddie looked around uneasily. âSomebody's dead crazy!'
âThat's very possible.' Surely, no normal person could be so cold-hearted and vicious. What twisted mind would want to consign an innocent cat to such a horrible fate? Could it be someone who hated her owner, who wanted revenge?
âDeliver to:'
had been the last line below the mounting instructions, the name and address had been torn away.
Deliver to Soroya Jordan?
I could understand someone hating her that much, but did she care enough about Cho-Cho to be properly devastated by such a delivery? She seemed to spend most of her time in Bollywood, leaving the cat behind. In whose care? Anyway, Matilda said that she had lied about the cat being hers. Presumably, there was someone with a greater claim to Cho-Cho-San, someone who cared more about her.
I needed to have a talk with Matilda. Privately. The low murmur of voices from the kitchen told me there was no hope of that right now.
âGone a bit quiet out there.' Eddie looked in that direction. âThink you might roust out your chum? We ought to be getting back to civilization.'
âThat's not a bad idea.' I started forward, then turned back. âHere, hold Cho-Cho for me. I don't want to start Dame Cecile off again.'
âThat's it, you come to your Uncle Eddie,' he crooned, as Cho-Cho settled trustingly in his arms. âDon't you worry about a thing. We'll see you right.'
There was a sudden eruption of hysterics from the kitchen and I nearly collided in the doorway with Matilda, who was trying to escape just as I was trying to enter.
âYou're still here!' she gasped. âThat cat's still here! Get it out of here before Cecile sees it again!'
âBut ⦠Soroya will be looking for â '
âSoroya doesn't have to go onstage with Cecile next week!' She caught me by the shoulders and pushed me back. âI'll take care of Soroya â you hold on to the cat until after the opening.'
I tried to hide my delight. âI suppose we could take her back to London with us â¦'
We slept late in the morning. At least, I did. I wasn't sure about Cho-Cho's usual sleeping habits. She had begun the night stretched out at my feet but, when I awoke, I found her curled in the crook of my arm. She chirruped a happy âGood morning' as I opened my eyes.
âAh, well,' I said. âLet's go see what we can find for breakfast.'
We found Evangeline and Nigel huddled together like conspirators at the kitchen table. They leapt apart guiltily when they realized I was in the doorway.
âAh!' Nigel said. âAh! There you are!' Quite as though he had been looking for me, although I got the distinct impression that I was the last person in the world he really wanted to see. He eyed me warily as I advanced into the room.
But not half as warily as Cho-Cho-San eyed him. She sank lower to the floor and crept up on him, sniffing at his shoes and looking increasingly suspicious and puzzled. She moved a bit closer and investigated his trouser cuffs.
âWhat's that?' Nigel became aware of her and swung his legs out of range.
âTrixie has rescued a cat!' Evangeline proclaimed in martyred tones. âBut we can't keep it here,' she added nastily. âWe're just putting up with it â I mean, putting it up â for a couple of days.'
âAh!' Nigel regarded Cho-Cho uneasily. âIt doesn't need
walking, does it?' He had not appreciated his tours of duty with an Irish wolfhound.
âCats can take care of themselves,' I reassured him, shooting Evangeline a dirty look. âShe won't be any trouble at all.' I made a mental note to get to a pet shop that afternoon and pick up a litter tray and a few accessories. A toy or two might not go amiss.
Cho-Cho took a final sniff at Nigel's socks and strolled away to inspect the kitchen. I went to see what I could find in the fridge to feed her. As I thought, there was plenty.
I have always prided myself on maintaining a wellstocked fridge. Compared to Matilda Jordan's, it was a cornucopia of riches. I hoped her new housekeeper would turn up and take over soon. I'd never met anyone more in need of a housekeeper.
I wrenched a few chunks of chicken off the carcass of yesterday's supper and took a raspberry Danish from the freezer compartment for myself.
I was crossing to zap it in the microwave when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a surreptitious movement at the table. I turned to see Evangeline slide a small oblong piece of paper towards Nigel.
A cheque-sized piece of paper.
He palmed it expertly and transferred it to an inside pocket.
Well, if she was fool enough to have any financial dealings with Nigel, it was her funeral.
I immediately wished I hadn't had that thought. It brought back the memory of the taxidermist's shop that had turned into a funeral pyre â for man and beasts.
On the way back to London yesterday, I had tried tactfully to persuade Eddie that it was his civic duty to tell the police that there had been a dead body in the back of the shop. Even if he had to relay the information via another anonymous phone call.
Shades of de Mille, Preminger, Selznick and Zanuck â the way that man carried on! I certainly won't make a suggestion like that again. For a nasty moment, I'd thought
he was going to turn us out of the cab and make us walk back to London.
We had placated him and assured him that we had no intention of telling the police anything ourselves. How could we? We hadn't seen the body. Eddie was the only eyewitness who could describe it â and he didn't want to get involved. I couldn't really say that I blamed him.
âAh, well!' Nigel pushed back his chair as I set the saucer of chicken on the floor for an eager Cho-Cho and retrieved my now thawed raspberry Danish from the microwave. âMustn't keep you any longer. Know you have things to do. I'll be on my way, see myself out.' He left at a brisk trot and we heard the front door slam behind him.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and took the chair he had just vacated.
âDon't look at me in that tone of voice,' Evangeline said. âI know what I'm doing.'
âHmmm â¦'
Cho-Cho had gulped down her chicken already â can cats get indigestion? â and sauntered back to me hopefully.
âNice kitty â¦' Ever one to latch on to a distraction when she was in trouble, Evangeline leaned over to stroke her.
Cho-Cho accepted the caress, but was far more interested in the plastic carrier bag with the exclusive logo resting beside Evangeline's chair. She pawed at it delicately and it toppled over. She promptly wriggled into it.
âHere, now, stop that! What are you doing?' Evangeline snatched at the disappearing cat. âCome out of there!'
The bag shimmied and rocked, feathers suddenly flew out of the opening.
âDon't ruin it!' Evangeline caught the bottom of the squirming bag and upended it, tumbling out the cat entangled in a nest of feathers.
Cho-Cho shook herself and pranced away, trailing a long banner of feathers on either side of her, clearly delighted with the plaything she had discovered.
As well she might be. I hadn't seen an ostrich feather boa like that since
Darling of the Bowery.
âWhere on earth did you get that?' I gasped.
âDear Nigel brought it for me. He says it's the latest thing.'
âPerhaps it is â¦' We both watched as Cho-Cho rolled over on her back and kicked out wildly at the boa, sending multicoloured fronds flying through the air. âBut do you think it's really you?'
âPossibly not,' she admitted. âIt looks far more like her. And â ' a crafty expression brightened her face â âif she tears it to pieces, it won't be my fault if I can't wear it when Nigel takes me out to dinner.'
âHow true!' I caught up one end of the long boa and trailed it enticingly across Cho-Cho's nose. She sneezed, then arched and twisted, doing a manic somersault to land on her feet and attack this new menace. A storm of feathers eddied upwards.
âGood girl! Catch it! Kill it!' Evangeline egged her on. She took the other end of the boa and looped it around Cho-Cho's powderpuff of a tail. Cho-Cho twisted madly to capture it.
Evangeline gave a sudden schoolgirl giggle and I found myself matching it. Cho-Cho's antics were irresistible. We stood in a snowstorm of feathers, giggling wildly, egging the cat on to ever wilder excesses. I swear Cho-Cho was giggling, too. We were all having a wonderful time.
The sudden peal of the doorbell stopped us all dead in our tracks. We looked at each other in silent agreement: we weren't expecting company.
âPerhaps Nigel forgot something?' I looked guiltily at the carpet of feathers. Where was the broom?
âI hope he doesn't want his boa back!' A stray giggle escaped Evangeline.
âYoo-hoo ⦠Mother â¦' Martha yodelled through the letter slot in the door. âIt's me. Are you there?'
âI'll get it!' I rushed down the hallway as Evangeline slumped back in her chair. Cho-Cho shook herself, sat
down and began to wash her face, quite as though all the surrounding mess and the half-denuded boa had nothing to do with her.
Martha wasn't alone. Startled, I stepped back a pace. I had never seen the woman with her before.
âMother â ' Martha kissed me absently, beaming, lost in some dream of her own. âMother, I can tell you now. It's happened! The contracts are all signed!'
âDarling, I'm so happy for you â¦' Wait a minute â what had she said? Wasn't this going to be what I had been hoping to hear? âWhat do you mean â contracts?'
âFor the book, Mother.' Martha was absolutely glowing, but for the wrong reason. âThe cookbook I'm going to do.'
âYou mean you're not â I'm not going to be a â ' I managed to stop short of the fatal words. Fortunately, Martha did not notice.
âAnd this is Jocasta Purley â from the publishers. She's going to help me with it.'
âI'm so delighted to meet you, Ms Dolan.' The young woman stepped forward and grasped my hand. âI've enjoyed so many of your films â on television, of course.'
âThank you.' I freed my hand with the firm conviction that we were not about to become the best of friends, Martha notwithstanding. âWe're in the kitchen, come and have some coffee.'
Martha led the way and I lingered to make sure the door was properly closed, sometimes the latch sticks. When I reached the kitchen, Jocasta was regaling Evangeline with the information that she truly adored all those really, really old films on TV and how Evangeline's early performances never failed to enthral her. I took a quick look to make sure that the sharpest knife on the table was the butter knife and began a fresh pot of coffee.
âSit down, Jocasta,' Martha tried to signal her nervously. âWould you like a Danish or a muffin?' But there was no stopping the woman.
âPerhaps you'll appreciate what a thrill this is for me, Miss Sinclair,' she gushed on, âif I tell you that my grandmother was one of your greatest fans. She used to tell me bedtime stories made up from your films â well, censored, of course. And she did a terrific imitation of you. Why, you're positively a tradition in our family!'
I snatched away the pepper pot just as Evangeline's fingers closed around it.
âHave you seen the view?' Martha burbled, getting a firm grip on Jocasta's arm and pulling her along. âCome into the drawing room â it's quite sensational from there.'
âTry to be polite.' I blocked Evangeline's path as Martha led Jocasta away âA fan is a fan â especially if it runs in the family. And stop grinding your teeth like that â you'll break your caps and we don't have a dentist in this country.'
Evangeline's nostrils flared as she took several deep breaths. âGet that woman out of here before I kill her!'
âTake it easy,' I soothed. âShe's just a bit overcome â you know how it goes. Now that she's made her little speech, she'll settle down.' Martha would see to that.
I hadn't realized Cho-Cho-San had slipped out of sight until she reappeared, looking quite pleased with herself. It's a clever cat who knows when it's wise to disappear. But, if she was so clever, how had she wound up in a taxidermist's shop? Perhaps because she had trusted the wrong person?
âWhere have you been'? I asked.
âWherever it was, she can go right back!' Evangeline, having lost one battle, rushed into another. âYou can't keep her here.'
âShe's going back to her owner in a couple of days.' Or to one of them. She seemed to have two claimants, at least. I would have to pin Matilda down.
âOh, how perfect! I always feel that a place isn't a real home without a cat!' Jocasta was back. The glories of the riverscape were obviously no match for the attraction of a
Family Tradition in the kitchen. âAnd I might have known you'd have an exotic cat.' She gazed at Evangeline adoringly.
Evangeline smiled stiffly, but I noticed that she stopped shifting her legs and allowed Cho-Cho to encircle her ankles.
âAnd this kitchen! It's fantastic!' Even though she was a cookery expert and presumably accustomed to all sorts of kitchens, Jocasta seemed awe-stricken. âI've never seen anything like it! It's so â so â ultra-modern!'
âTwenty-second century, at least,' I agreed, resisting the temptation to challenge her to identify the built-in oven. It had taken me two days and I was living here.
âI'm sure you must make the most wonderful dishes here,' Jocasta continued swiftly, as though subliminally aware of a certain chill in the atmosphere. âMartha told me you were wonderful cooks.'
I doubted that Martha had included Evangeline in her endorsement, but smiled blandly. Evangeline preened herself, ready to accept any accolade, however unlikely.
Still gazing at Evangeline with sickening adoration, Jocasta opened her mouth again, but I got in first.
âDarling,' I said to Martha, âyou haven't told me yet what this is all about. How did you get into this? What kind of cookbook are you doing? Is there a theme to it?'
âHow clever of you, Mother. Of course there is. There has to be these days, doesn't there? We were talking about the idea at the Lady Lemmings' meeting when we were considering different ways of earning money. You know how they're always trying to raise funds for their charitable works.'
I nodded. The Lady Lemmings were a long-standing show business organization comprising the distaff side of the profession. It began with the wives, whose ranks had soon been swollen by working or resting actresses, designers, assistant stage managers, dressers and anyone else on the female side of the business. Their charities were many; their disagreements legendary. As the wife of one of
the West End's most distinguished producers, Martha had been co-opted into their ranks before the petals of her bridal bouquet had had time to wilt. When the present incumbent had been beaten away from the star position in the organization, Martha was a certainty to be voted into that position â unless (God forbid!) something dire had happened to Hugh in the meantime.