Authors: Marian Babson
The Cat Next Door (10 page)
âIs that all you're going to eat?'
âHmmm?' Margot looked up to find Emmeline frowning at the mound of scrambled egg remaining on her plate. It seemed that Emmeline was going to extend her concern to other members of the family, as well.
âYou haven't had very much.'
âYou gave me too much. It's nearly lunchti â ' Abruptly, Margot realised what her aunt was implying. âDon't worry. I don't have anorexia.'
âSorry,' Emmeline acknowledged with a wry smile. âToo many years of dealing with teenaged girls. One always looks for the worst.'
And usually finds it,
her tone suggested.
And usually finds it,
her tone suggested.
âTruly â ' Margot pushed the plate away. âI've had enough.'
âWe all have,' Emmeline said, taking the plate. She scraped the egg on to a saucer. As Margot watched, she opened the back door and stepped outside; when she stepped back in, the saucer was gone.
âDon't tell Wilfred,' she said. âHe says we shouldn't have anything to do with the cat â it chose to desert us, so let it stay away. The rest of us don't consider it such a personal betrayal, however. We think Tikki should be encouraged to return.' She looked away and her voice wavered. âIt would be so good for Milly, if he did. It might help her to â ' She broke off and left the room abruptly.
Margot rinsed her dishes and put them in the dishwasher. She had an unpleasant foreboding that the day was not going to improve. How could it, when the trial started tomorrow morning?
The hours stretched ahead of her interminably. Another good day to get away from the house and everyone in it. Perhaps she could take her camera and get some more pictures of local antiquities and beauty spots.
The thought had just occurred to her when the rain began. The first heavy drops splashing down turned almost immediately into a torrent, veiling the windows with solid sheets of water. Outside, puddles formed around the paving stones and flooded the path. If it kept up like this, the pond would be in danger of overflowing. The rain showed no signs of abating; if anything, the downpour got worse.
So much for getting out of the house. She was trapped. There was no escape.
Escape ⦠Chloe could not escape, either. What was she feeling, sitting there in her cell, waiting for tomorrow? She must dread the thought of being put on public display, of having no place to hide from the staring eyes, the flashing cameras. Would she speak at last, or retreat farther into that trancelike state she had taken refuge in?
Exhaustion dragged at Margot â and yet she had hardly been out of bed for two hours. Perhaps she could slip back to her room and have a little nap. How much longer could she plead, the excuse of jet lag? Already Nan was regarding her suspiciously.
But Nan was still at church, Emmeline had disappeared and no one else was around to see her. She had a good chance of making it before anyone else appeared.
Except ⦠she had promised Lynette to see whether Kingsley was here and send him up to see her. For that matter, she was slightly curious herself as to whether
Kingsley was going to stand beside his wife's family ⦠or distance himself from them. She was beginning to have little doubt about the answer, but surely Kingsley would not keep away from his only child just because she lived in the maternal family home.
Kingsley was going to stand beside his wife's family ⦠or distance himself from them. She was beginning to have little doubt about the answer, but surely Kingsley would not keep away from his only child just because she lived in the maternal family home.
If Kingsley were here this morning, it was probably for the last time until the trial was well under way and he had a chance to see which way public sympathy was veering.
With a faint sigh for the lost illusions of youth, Margot turned away from the staircase and went in search.
Milly was alone in the morning room, reading, of course. She looked up reluctantly from her book. It was a sub-Georgette Heyer today. It often was, Margot realised. Safe, reliable, happy ending guaranteed and an absence of any genuine pain along the way.
âWas there something you wanted, dear?' Milly broke the silence, clearly anxious to get back to her book.
âI was just looking â wondering â I thought Kingsley might be here. Have you seen him?'
âNo, dear.' Milly was indifferent. Kingsley might have been the name of a stranger. She had no interest in him, in what he might be doing, in where he was. She glanced down impatiently at her book. âWas that all?'
It wasn't, but it would do for now. Margot had no wish to continue a conversation with her aunt â with this shell of her aunt. Wherever the real Milly had hidden herself away, she was no more in the room than Kingsley was.
Milly come back!
The cry was silent. Her aunt was gazing at her with polite blankness, as though she were some remote acquaintance who had unexpectedly appeared at the door. There was no indication of shared laughter and memories, no trace of the warm loving woman who had welcomed a suddenly orphaned child into the bosom of her family and helped her to rebuild her life.
Aunt Milly, where are you?
The cry was silent. Her aunt was gazing at her with polite blankness, as though she were some remote acquaintance who had unexpectedly appeared at the door. There was no indication of shared laughter and memories, no trace of the warm loving woman who had welcomed a suddenly orphaned child into the bosom of her family and helped her to rebuild her life.
Aunt Milly, where are you?
âIf there's nothing else,' her aunt returned to her book, âplease close the door behind you. I'm at quite an exciting
bit and I'd rather not be disturbed. Lady Clarice is about to take on Sir Rupert at Faro, he little knowing that she was the cleverest cardsharp ever to be released from Newgate â but he richly deserves his comeuppance â¦' Her voice trailed off as her gaze fell to the open page.
bit and I'd rather not be disturbed. Lady Clarice is about to take on Sir Rupert at Faro, he little knowing that she was the cleverest cardsharp ever to be released from Newgate â but he richly deserves his comeuppance â¦' Her voice trailed off as her gaze fell to the open page.
Dismissed, reproved and made to feel like an intruder in what had been her own home, Margot pulled the door shut with a decisive click, then leaned against the wall beside it, her vision blurred by tears.
All centuries but this â if not every country but her own â that's where Aunt Milly was. Far away from the new century that had already treated her so badly and quite possibly had worse in store.
It would not be kind to force her back into the present, with all its attendant horrors â but, oh, how she missed her! Margot dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled paper handkerchief and straightened up.
There were faint sounds coming from the kitchen. Perhaps Nan had returned. Margot turned in that direction; it was time she began trying to pull her weight around here. Helping Nan prepare lunch would be a good start.
But it was Uncle Wilfred standing beside the fridge, gnawing on a chicken leg, half of a cold boiled potato, liberally buttered and sprinkled with pepper, in his other hand.
âBeen a long time since breakfast, eh?'
Not for her, but it was sad that Uncle Wilfred should feel defensive about raiding his own refrigerator.
âAnd it looks like a long time until lunch.' Wilfred gulped down the last shred of chicken and bite of potato, then glanced wistfully at the fridge. Obviously, the other leg and remaining half of the potato were still in there.
âNan should be back soon, she just went to church. I'd help, but I don't quite know where to start â '
âThere's a leg of lamb thawing in the larder.'
Emmeline appeared in the doorway, calm and quite composed again. âIt should be ready to go into the oven now. We can do that. I'm sure Nan has everything else under control.' She advanced purposefully towards the larder.
Emmeline appeared in the doorway, calm and quite composed again. âIt should be ready to go into the oven now. We can do that. I'm sure Nan has everything else under control.' She advanced purposefully towards the larder.
âGood, good! I'm glad someone has something under control.' Wilfred made a sudden despairing lunge to open the fridge door and wrench the last leg from the chicken carcass. âMmmmmf, frmmm, urrrm,' he said, ramming it into his mouth.
Margot stood aghast but Emmeline was made of sterner stuff, or else inured to such bizarre behaviour. How long had it been going on? Quite a while, judging from Wilfred's expanding waistline.
âSorry.' He swallowed and his voice was clear and distinct again. âI said: that will take hours to cook.' His sidelong glance at the fridge bordered on the panicked.
âNot a bit of it.' Emmeline was firm and reassuring. âAn hour and a half at the most, if we put it in now, without waiting for Nan.'
âNo, no,' Wilfred said urgently. âDon't wait for Nan. The sooner you get it into the oven, the better.' He glanced at the fridge again, then, with an abstracted air, sauntered into the larder.
âDon't touch the lemon meringue pies,' Emmeline called after him. âThey're for dessert.'
âNever crossed my mind,' he said indignantly, emerging with two bananas. âI'll be in my study, if anyone wants me. Christa has taken over the library,' he added, with an air of grievance. âShe's got all sorts of odd bods in there with her. Tell her we want to have pre-luncheon drinks in there in an hour.' He wandered off, peeling the first banana.
Emmeline, looking after him, restrained herself to a faint sigh, picked up the two bare chicken bones and dropped them into the waste bin. A dark brooding melancholy seemed to creep into the atmosphere.
âI'll tell Christa.' Margot made her escape thankfully,
hurrying down the hallway towards the library. She was diverted by a nostalgic melody pulsing enticingly behind the closed door of the small ballroom, once so in constant use for parties. How long since it had been used â and who was using it now? She opened the door cautiously.
hurrying down the hallway towards the library. She was diverted by a nostalgic melody pulsing enticingly behind the closed door of the small ballroom, once so in constant use for parties. How long since it had been used â and who was using it now? She opened the door cautiously.
The twins â the other twins â intent, completely absorbed, moving in perfect unison, glided across the floor, rehearsing the cabaret dance act that had been such a success in London and Tokyo and was heading for Las Vegas next month, come what may.
Oh, shades of Fred and Adele, eat your hearts out. Without a doubt, Justin and Fenella were heading for the very top. A murder in the family would not jeopardise their careers. If anything, the hint of scandal and intrigue might even enhance their reputations. They were just far enough removed from it for it to become merely an interesting sidelight in their professional biographies.
Margot closed the door silently â they were not aware that it had even ever opened â and continued on her way.
The scene in the library was quite different, but no less impressive. The library table in the centre of the room was almost buried under a great swathe of sketches, samples of trimmings and swatches of materials. Three of the most famous individuals in the modern British theatre were solemnly circling the table, fingering the materials, nodding at the sketches, frowning thoughtfully at the trimmings. As one, they halted in their tracks and stared at the doorway.
âMy niece, Margot.' Christa introduced her. âBrilliant photographer. She's been working in the States, had the top magazines fighting over her. They're dying to get her back but, if you make the right offer, she might consent to stay on a while and do the publicity shots for the show.'
They snapped to attention, ingratiating smiles spreading
across their faces. Christa gave her a meaningful look before she returned to adjusting the details of a sketch.
across their faces. Christa gave her a meaningful look before she returned to adjusting the details of a sketch.
She was on her own. And thoroughly bemused by Christa's version of her career thus far.
âMargot!' Sir Reginald Wharton, the producer, advanced with hand outstretched. âAn honour to meet you at last. We've all long admired your splendid work, of course.'
Oh, really?
And what did you like best? The breakfast cereal so quiet it won't disturb your thoughts â or your hangover? The eighth-grade graduation in a freak snowstorm? Possibly the kittens and ducklings crossing a major highway, shepherded by mother cat and mother duck, one on each side, protecting their combined brood? Or what about the disposable diaper advert? That was a seminal shot, indeed.
And what did you like best? The breakfast cereal so quiet it won't disturb your thoughts â or your hangover? The eighth-grade graduation in a freak snowstorm? Possibly the kittens and ducklings crossing a major highway, shepherded by mother cat and mother duck, one on each side, protecting their combined brood? Or what about the disposable diaper advert? That was a seminal shot, indeed.
She smiled wanly as her hand was captured and shaken by the producer, the director and the star, each murmuring compliments she was too stunned to return. She looked for guidance to Christabel, who was frowning down at the sketches, as absorbed in her own work as the twins were in theirs. No prizes for guessing whose genes were dominant in their blood. Poor Henry, it must have been daunting to grow up normal in the midst of such egomaniacs.
Except that he hadn't. Christabel had deposited her cuckoos in her sister's nest and flown off to new adventures, new husbands and undoubtedly lovers. By her lights, she had done her best for her progeny by thus assuring them the solid family background they would not have known had she been compelled to drag them in her wake as she worked around the world.
âGood, good,' Sir Reginald said. âYou won't regret it. I realise you won't be able to start immediately but â '
What had she agreed to? Smiling and nodding, immersed in her own thoughts, she must have nodded at the wrong moment. She saw Christa looking at her
with the rather surprised approval one bestows on a slightly backward child who has unexpectedly given the right answer. Yes, she had definitely committed herself to something.
with the rather surprised approval one bestows on a slightly backward child who has unexpectedly given the right answer. Yes, she had definitely committed herself to something.
The loud clamour of the handbell rang out suddenly, startling them all.
âWhat's that?' the actor asked.
âThe town crier!' Christa answered caustically. âSomeone is going to have to take that bell away from her before we all go stark staring mad! I don't know why Nan ever gave it to her, to begin with.'
Christa's guests, sensitive to atmosphere as they had to be in their profession, exchanged uneasy glances. Sir Reginald looked at his watch.
âIs that the time?' He managed to sound amazed. âWe mustn't keep you any longer.' He smiled to Christa. âI think we've settled everything, haven't we? More than we expected â ' He transferred the smile to Margot. âAs soon as the costumes are ready, I'll let you know and you can get started on the souvenir programme, then publicity as we go into rehearsal. Meanwhile â ' back to Christa â âI hope everything goes well with â I mean, there's a satisfactory reso â I mean â '
âDon't worry,' Christa soothed, âI know what you mean.' Her smile was rueful as she saw them out.
âWilfred wants to have drinks in here in an hour.' Margot belatedly delivered her message, relieved that it had not been needed in order to speed the parting guests.
âRight.' Christa's bracelet jangled as she swept the sketches into a tidy pile and turned to the rest of the clutter. âHelp me take this stuff back to the sewing room.'
Margot picked up a length of velvet and cooed with appreciation. âHow soft!' She stroked it gently.
âOh, it's a no-expense-spared production.' Christa shot her a sharp look. âMind you charge them enough
for your services. They'll hardly notice a few thousand more quid.'
for your services. They'll hardly notice a few thousand more quid.'
âThousand?' Margot choked. âFew?'
âIt's your name. Our name. They're paying for reflected glory.' Christa grimaced. âOr perhaps notoriety. In either case, they'll cash in on it at the box office, so see that you make them pay for it.'
âI'm not sure â¦'
âThat's obvious.' Suddenly she had Christa's full attention and it was unsettling. âYes. We should have noticed it earlier. We've all been caught up in our own problems, but you've been having a rough ride yourself, haven't you? For how long?'
âI ⦠I'm just tired, that's all.' Margot raised her armload of materials, defensively, hiding behind them. She had not expected the assault on her privacy to come from this quarter. Nan, yes. Emmeline, possibly. But Christa? And yet, behind the casual offhand façade, Christa was one of the aunts, the same blood, the same acuity. She might conceal it better, but Christa was as sharp as any of them. It was no accident that she was such a success in her field.
âThe jet lag just seems to have hit me harder this trip.' Margot's voice firmed, daring Christa to disagree with her.
âOh, yes?' Christa piled ribbons, tassels, buttons, strings of diamante, samples of lace and bits of costume jewellery into plush-lined boxes and stacked them on top of each other for easier carrying. âTerrible thing, jet lag. What are you taking for it?'
Margot had never thought she would be so glad to hear the imperious summons of the handbell ring out again, reinforced by Lynette's plaintive cry. âMargot â¦? Nan â¦? Is anybody there?'
âCome and find out!' But Christa only muttered it. Everyone was only too conscious of what Lynette had discovered the last time she had gone looking for anyone.
âI'll go.' Margot picked up the last swatch and followed Christa up the stairs. âI was supposed to be looking for Kingsley for her.'
âHe's here?' Christa was disbelieving. âToday?'
âShe thought she heard his voice downstairs.' But Lynette must have heard one of the voices of Christa's visitors and thought it was her father's. An easy mistake to make; the timbre of political and theatrical voices was much the same.
âWishful thinking. You're not going to find Kingsley anywhere near this house until it's all over and the dust has settled. She may have to leave that room if she ever wants to see her father again.'
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