Devil's Food (24 page)

‘More or less,’ I said, still shaken.

‘Them cars,’ he said, starting the engine with less than his usual finesse and roaring backwards down the gravel drive, ‘them cars …’

‘What about them?’

‘They been killed,’ he said. ‘Wires ripped out, steering rods smashed, broken radiators — on purpose,’ he added, eyes wide with horror. ‘What kind of people are they?’

‘Not nice people,’ I said, wishing I had a drink. ‘Not nice people at all, Timbo.’

I felt like vomiting all the way home. Timbo let me out of the car outside Insula. He actually stopped the car in Flinders Lane and helped me down as gently as if I had been a geriatric aunt. He leaned me on the door while he rang my doorbell and summoned Daniel to come down and get me. Then he glared into the face of an outraged parking officer and said, ‘Can’t you see the lady’s sick?’ so menacingly in his usually soft voice that the grey ghost backed off, possibly for the first time in history.

Timbo surrendered me to Daniel, bestowed a shattering pat on my back, and drove off. Daniel put his arms around me.

‘What on earth has happened, ketschele?’ he asked, drawing me into the atrium and shutting the street door on the screams of the disappointed parking inspector. ‘Here, sit down on the edge and say hello to the nice fishies. If my mother could only get her hands on you, fish, you would be gefilte. Or maybe not. Perhaps they don’t make gefilte fish out of carp. Could be a lucky escape. Though Horatio will get you if you don’t watch out. And one day Lucifer might find his water wings. Or learn to scuba dive. I can see him doing that.’

He kept talking and his voice was very soothing. I found my tongue. It was just where I had left it, in my mouth.

‘Daniel, that monk hated me,’ I exclaimed, not very coherently. ‘He actually hated me. I made the little monk sick just by existing. I’ve never heard of such a thing. I’ll never be able to eat again.’

‘It’s early,’ said Daniel judiciously, listening to this nonsense. ‘But not too early for a snack and a drink. Several drinks, perhaps. Come along,’ he said, and after a blurry interval I found myself inside my own apartment, sitting on the sofa. There was a blue mohair rug over my legs, my shoes had been removed, my jacket hung up, my severe hairdo loosened and my lap weighted down with a large tabby cat. In my left hand I held a gin and tonic and in my right a small plate of tiny smoked salmon sandwiches, in which Horatio was showing a refined interest.

‘Eat up,’ said Daniel, taking a sandwich. ‘I am just going to sit here for about ten minutes and listen to the music.’

The sandwiches, on rye bread, had cream cheese and capers in them. They were lovely. I sipped my drink, trying to shed the feeling of dreadful blubbery loathing which had washed over me — for my own body.

Start somewhere and examine it, Corinna. I wriggled my toes. They were nice toes. An admirable fringe to the foot, stopping it from fraying. The ankles held the feet on well. Knees were essential for flexibility. Thighs and hips for solidity. In between the parts which gave Daniel and me delight. I had always liked my breasts and in the black dress they had floated like waterlilies. I did have a double chin, but what of it? What if I had three chins? They were all mine and I had paid for them. My arms and shoulders were strong enough to knead dough all day if I had to. My admirable tastebuds were informing me that the smoked salmon was probably Spring’s and the cream cheese Meroe’s homemade, with extra cream. I had created the bread which even now was giving me pleasure. How could I hate myself in the way which I certainly had, all the way home? I had been in a fury of passionate self-loathing. I had only come out of it when some imbecile started wittering on about gefilte fish. Oh yes, that was Daniel, my beloved, and the music was ‘Weep O Mine Eyes’ and other madrigals and I was home and sane again.

Then Horatio, despairing of my courtesy, took the last little sandwich gently but firmly out of my grasp and ate it in a very pointed fashion, reproving me for my lack of generosity to beautiful cats who charitably sat on the laps of the afflicted. And I laughed.

Daniel turned the music down. He raised his eyebrows.

‘I’ll explain,’ I said, and did, to the best of my ability. He was shaking his head by the end of the recital.

‘Something gave Timbo a serious turn, too,’ he commented. ‘He’s got a lot of courage, that Timbo, and so have you. This is clearly black magic of some sort, strong enough to unnerve both of you. I’ll just ring and make sure that he got home to his mum all right. If Horatio would like another sandwich, I’ll fetch some more. I thought we might invite the Prof and Meroe to drinks, so I started making cocktail snacks and after a while you can’t stop, have you noticed that? You got back just in time to prevent me from making celery curls and tomato roses, ketschele But they can all go in the freezer for another day if you’d rather.’

‘Ten more minutes,’ I said, and leaned back, sipping my drink and stroking the affronted Horatio. Eventually he elevated his chin for a seriously intimate scratch and I believed that he had forgiven me. I felt as I had when, as a child unused to electricity, I experimentally stuck my little finger into the lamp socket above my bed. I managed to drag back the finger, but the after-effects had been like this: lassitude and a strong sense of astonishment.

What would it be like to be thin? Had I ever seriously envisaged it? I closed my eyes and tried to see her: Corinna the slim, in high heels which accentuated her racehorse ankles, in short skirts which showed her straight thighs, in tight belts which showed off her slim waist, her … sagging throat, her wrinkled face, her scrawny arms, her fried-egg breasts, her limp wrists, her strengthless body? A Corinna who couldn’t haul a sack of flour across the floor? A Corinna who bruised her lover with her hip bones? A Corinna whom nobody knew — not even me? Erk.

I took a gulp of my drink and resumed caressing Horatio. No, I did not want to be thin. And this Discarnate Brotherhood’s spell was, as Daniel had said, evil. And had to be stopped.

By the time Horatio and I had eaten the rest of the smoked salmon sandwiches I was better. I got up to admire the array of cocktail snacks which Daniel had constructed. They were lovely. Little piped cheesy things. Tiny little quiches. Little meatballs on toothpicks. Pinwheel sandwiches. They could not be wasted.

‘Instead of dinner,’ he said, waving a dismissive hand. ‘Sometimes it’s good to sample a lot of different tastes.’

‘You knew this might happen,’ I accused, dipping a meatball into sweet chili sauce. ‘Mmm, very nice. You suspected that contact with the Fleshless Ones might freak me out.’

Daniel disclaimed second sight and smiled. ‘No, I just had an urge to make a few little sandwiches, and then I got carried away. I found that book on mezes. Nothing like truffling around someone else’s kitchen to give an old party caterer ideas.’

‘Were you really a party caterer?’ I might never get to the end of the fascinating professions of the amazing Daniel. And he had lied about the celery curls. There they were, chilling in their bowl of iced water.

‘An old friend of mine started a business and one weekend all her staff got food poisoning,’ he said. ‘So I came along to help and it was quite amusing, really. Though I soon got sick of stoning olives. Not a pastime for an impatient man. We used to do tea parties. And drinks parties. It was fun for a while. But I came home and I found you. And you are beautiful and I love you and I want to make that perfectly clear, all right?’

‘Right,’ I said. Then I sniffed. Something was burning.

‘My curry puffs!’ and Daniel dragged open the oven. They were only a touch singed. He slid in a tray of little pizzas.

‘Did Timbo get home okay?’ I asked.

‘His mum said that he was real upset but she’d make him a nice dinner. She’s settled him down in front of
Cannonball Run
, his favourite movie, with a couple of bags of crisps and a beer. He’ll be all right.’

‘She’ll roast him a nice sheep,’ I commented. ‘Couple of gallons of ale and a few gateaux for dessert. Poor old Timbo, he was really shocked.’

‘He’ll recover,’ said Daniel. ‘What about people? Or do you feel like barring the door and watching
Babylon 5
?’

‘People,’ I decided. ‘Just Meroe and Professor Dion, I think. And Jon and Kepler. It’s Sunday. I have to go to bed early.’

‘And I can’t stay,’ he said ruefully. ‘Got a surveillance job.’

‘No matter,’ I said airily. ‘Horatio will accompany me to bed. And without you, I do get more sleep.’

‘But it’s not anything like as much fun,’ he grinned, and kissed me. ‘Why does
Babylon 5
ring a bell?’ asked Daniel, getting down the company vodka in case Meroe was feeling like drinking.

‘That kid said that the dude who tempted him into indiscretion was called Londo Mollari.’

‘And we don’t think that the Centauri really have landed at last?’

‘No, we don’t.’

I stole a little pizza as he took them out. They were fantastic. How could I ever have thought that I could not eat again? Ridiculous.

I rang around and found that I could indeed have Meroe and the delightful Professor, who brought Mrs Dawson, who had called on him to enquire about a Latin quotation and had been beguiled into playing string games with Nox. Jon came alone. Kepler was working on an antidote to a vicious computer virus.

‘He’s only got twelve hours to find it and kill it,’ said Jon, accepting a glass of red. ‘It might be anywhere and he doesn’t know what it looks like. And if he doesn’t find it, every major airport is going to lose its air traffic control. He’s got nerves of steel. I’m a wreck and he just suggested I find someone else to worry about.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Come and worry about me.’ He gave me a hug.

‘You must have been cooking for hours, Daniel,’ said Mrs Dawson, looking at the array of treats. ‘Remarkable how scent flows around these old buildings. I could smell crisping bacon on the stairs.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’ve been smelling caramel all week, and when I made onion rolls once, the whole of Insula woke up ravenous and started frying.’

‘Yes, Mrs Pemberthy complained,’ said the Professor.

‘But then, it makes her happy,’ said Meroe, taking a glass of vodka and orange juice. We wandered into the parlour. Rain was falling outside. I switched off the TV and with it the news that was showing someone shooting someone — somewhere.

‘The world has certainly changed,’ commented Mrs Dawson, a picture in a dark terracotta shawl thrown over her chocolate leisure suit. ‘But in most respects it remains sadly familiar.’

‘Too true.’ Professor Dion had a line of small scratches across his neck, which he was dabbing with a very clean handkerchief. I took over. ‘Thank you, m’dear. I’m afraid that Nox becomes rather overenthusiastic when she is playing with string.’

‘She got you,’ I said, patting the little beads dry.

‘She did,’ he sighed.

We sat down. Meroe, who had been unpacking magical apparatus all day, was freshly rinsed and hungry. She was delighted by the celery curls, which she had not seen for years. ‘Nice!’ she crowed, crunching a third. ‘Thank you, Daniel. This is a civilised idea. Corinna, you’re looking pale. Have you had a shock?’

Not much gets past those bright gypsy eyes. I explained as best I could, though now the spell had faded my reaction appeared foolish to me. To my surprise, the rest of the company appeared to understand.

‘You aren’t used to being hated,’ said the Professor gravely. ‘Daniel understood it, didn’t you, my dear fellow?’

Daniel nodded. ‘Because I’m a Jew,’ he said to me. ‘I can be hated for existing. I know what that’s like.’

‘And I recall very well being in Petra, with my first husband,’ said Mrs Dawson, putting a little pizza and a quiche on her plate with great care. ‘I left the party to look at some carvings, and when I turned around I stared straight into the eyes of an outraged Bedouin man. There I was, a woman, a foreign woman, unveiled, alone, a horrible thing, a monster. I felt that identical shock to the solar plexus, as though someone had punched me.’

‘I’ve been in places in China where my skin and my eyes made me a demon,’ said Jon and drank some more wine.

‘I was an Englishman in some very anti-English places,’ said the Professor.

‘And I’m a gypsy,’ said Meroe simply. ‘Everyone hates gypsies. It’s a natural reaction, Corinna. We know how you feel.’

‘But that these people are deliberately fostering such hatred,’ objected Mrs Dawson, ‘that is wicked.’

‘So it is. Let’s see who they are,’ I said, unfolding the second pamphlet the little monk had given me. It was nicely printed — desktop publication, I would have said. The screamer was the same: ‘FAT? HATE IT?’ But it was followed by the startling statement, ‘SO DOES GOD’.

Mrs Dawson fanned herself with the end of her shawl. ‘My goodness!’ she exclaimed.

‘One rather hopes for a large hairy foot from above, does one not?’ asked the Professor, patting his lips with his handkerchief. ‘Or a good old-fashioned lightning bolt. That would do just as well.’

‘God has a plan for you,’ the pamphlet told me. ‘Book your place in a seminar on the subject and God will reveal, through his minister, his plan to make you thin. The love of food comes from the Devil! No more sweating, no more blubber, no more disgust! You will be forgiven your state of sin, and you will be delivered from the foul prison of your flesh.’

‘I wish I knew a bishop,’ said Mrs Dawson, as silence fell.

‘You want them exorcised?’ asked Meroe, interested.

‘No, I want them put under an interdict. Or simonised. That always sounded painful. But surely this ‘minister’ can’t have any followers,’ she said.

‘That I don’t know. I’ve only seen three. I need to find out if my father is there. I’m just not sure how to go about it. Anyone got any ideas?’

‘Start with a tenancy search, that sort of thing,’ Daniel suggested. ‘That will tell us who owns the building, who rents it. Talk to delivery people, neighbours. Tell you one thing, anyone who could make the owners break up their precious cars has a lot of sway. I never thought I’d see the middle class destroy a car.’