The Cat Next Door (14 page)

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Authors: Marian Babson

BOOK: The Cat Next Door
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Lynette was sulking by the time Margot appeared in the doorway, having first settled Nan in her room.
‘I don't want
you
,' she announced pettishly. ‘Where's Aunt Emmeline?'
‘I don't know.'
‘Where's my grandmother?'
‘I don't know.'
‘Why don't you know?'
‘Because we just got in and I haven't had time to search the house, even if I had the inclination – which I haven't!' Margot did not bother to conceal her annoyance.
‘Where's Nan?' Lynette shrank back against the pillows, she was not accustomed to impatience. ‘I want Nan!'
‘Nan isn't feeling well. She's going to take a nap. I'm afraid you're stuck with me. What do you want?'
‘I want – ' Lynette took a deep breath. ‘I want to know what's going on. There's somebody in the garden. They were there last night and now again today. Who's there?'
‘Oh?' Margot regarded the bedridden child without favour. ‘How do you know someone's there?'
‘Tikki told me.' Lynette was on the defensive, she gestured towards the window. ‘Look at him. He's seeing someone … or something.'
Sure enough, Tikki was crouched on the window sill, looking down into the garden with alert interest. His
head turned slowly as though following the progress of someone below.
‘Paparazzi!' Margot crossed to the window to glare down at them. Emmeline had said they wormed their way in everywhere.
They were not immediately apparent, however. Even following the line of Tikki's laserlike stare revealed no intruders. Whatever was down there, he was the only one who could see it.
Margot shuddered involuntarily as a cold chill swept over her.
Someone walking over my
– She cut off the thought, feeling something of Nan's revulsion – and for the same reason. All of the old sayings took on a new and grimmer meaning in the light of what had happened.
‘What is it?' Lynette cried. ‘Who is it?' Did she imagine that her mother's ghost had come back to haunt the garden?
‘Nothing's there,' Margot said, adding soothingly, ‘Tikki must be watching mice or hedgehogs in the bushes.'
‘Ye-e-es …' Lynette did not sound convinced, her eyes were fearful. Too fearful. What was she afraid of?
Tikki lost interest in the scene below and rubbed his chin along Margot's hand, asking for affection. She indulged him briefly before turning back to Lynette.
‘Is there anything else bothering you?' She thought she had used quite a reasonable. tone, but Lynette flinched as though expecting a blow. For an instant, the child looked pinched and apprehensive beyond her years, a disturbing foreshadowing of the neurotic woman she might grow into if she could not find her way through this traumatic time.
And what of yourself?
Unbidden, the question loomed at the back of her mind; too urgent to be ignored, too much to face right now. The familiar exhaustion swept over her, the ever-present weakness asserted itself again. She leaned against the window frame for support.
Tikki, quick to sense a change of mood, shifted his position to stare up at her. He looked concerned.
‘Margot – ' It had even penetrated Lynette's self-absorption. ‘Are you all right?'
‘Just tired.' Margot forced a smile. ‘Very tired. I might just go to my room and lie down for a bit. If you're sure there's nothing more you want.'
‘No. No, thank you.' Lynette's voice was stronger at this comforting evidence of weakness in an adult. ‘You go and rest,' she added, in an unconscious imitation of Nan. ‘That jet lag is a beastly business.'
Tikki escorted Margot back to her room, waited until she had kicked off her shoes and stretched out on top of the covers, then leaped up and settled down beside her.
‘I suppose you think you're smart,' she murmured, gathering the warm friendly little form to her. ‘Taking advantage just because I'm too tired to get up and throw you out.'
 
 
He was still there when she awoke later. How much later? It was dark outside, the house was silent. How long had she slept? Through the afternoon and into the night again? She had intended to rest for half an hour or so and then return to court for the afternoon session. Would she ever grow accustomed to the way in which her own body was betraying her?
She was wide awake now and, ironically, felt a surge of energy. Now – when it was too late to harness it for any particular purpose.
Tikki raised his head and stared at her, then appeared to remember an urgent engagement elsewhere. He stretched, gave her a friendly headbutt and leaped to the floor and out of the door.
The bedside clock said 1.00. Given this darkness, that had to be a.m. and not p.m. She had literally slept the clock around and, she realised, she was hungry. If Nan
had looked in to leave a sandwich, she had obviously thought better of it upon seeing Tikki.
Probably she had left something waiting for Margot downstairs. If not, she knew that Margot was perfectly capable of scavenging in the fridge and larder for herself. If Uncle Wilfred had left anything in them.
And the sooner the better. Suddenly ravenous, Margot stepped out into the hallway, dark except for the pale nightlight marking the half-landing. Unusually, Lynette's door was closed, so she must be asleep. Rather a pity that, Margot would not have minded a game of cards or a chat after she ate.
As it was, her excuses about jet lag had caught up with her. 1 a.m. here meant that it was only 8 p.m. back in New York. No wonder she was so wide awake after a long sleep. The only person awake in this crowded household.
Or was she? She paused at the foot of the stairs and listened. Silence, bloody silence. Yes, she was the only one awake. She might as well be alone in the house. Even Tikki had deserted her – as was his wont. There were times when one sympathised with Wilfred's view of his traitorous cat.
All right, so be it. She headed for the kitchen and the siren call of the humming refrigerator. She'd have some sort of snack and then go back to her room and take a sleeping pill to help her finish out the night. It might be as well to set the alarm, too, to make sure she was up in time for the morning session.
She wondered if Kingsley would be there in the morning – or if he had really shown up for the afternoon session. He might genuinely have intended to, but she herself was proof of what could happen to the best of intentions.
‘Chicken soup in flask.' Nan had left a note for her. ‘Cheese sandwich to be toasted in gadget on counter. PS: Nothing happened this afternoon.'
Comfort food – just what she needed. Trust Nan.
Margot removed the clingfilm protecting the sandwich, lowered the lid and switched on the sandwich toaster. While waiting for it to toast, she unscrewed the cap of the thermos flask and poured out the steaming fragrant soup, chunks of chicken splashing into the cup along with beads of barley and diced carrots. Delicious!
She sipped it appreciatively, retrieved the hot melting cheese sandwich and nibbled it between sips. Just what she needed.
If a little too much. The other half of the sandwich and the second cup of soup seemed a bit excessive. She disposed of the sandwich half and drank the rest of the broth, leaving a good thick residue embedded with chicken chunks which she eyed thoughtfully.
Where was Tikki when you needed him? If he hadn't strayed too far, he was in luck.
She became aware of a chill draught around her ankles and looked across the kitchen to find the back door slightly ajar. Tikki had obviously passed that way.
But Tikki, clever though he was, could not have opened the door by himself. Someone must have closed it carelessly.
Very carelessly, considering that the paparazzi might be prowling outside. Only the silence of the house persuaded her that its defences had not been breached.
Not yet. She crossed to the door and stood listening to the soft night sounds outside. The wind rustled gently through the bushes, the night insects signalled softly to each other.
Was Tikki still nearby? He would enjoy the chicken soup so much. She opened the door wider and stepped outside.
Gradually, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Clouds scudded across the sky, veiling the moon sporadically. On the ground, shadows flickered silently, deceptively …
Was this what Sven had experienced – just before he had driven into the crossfire?
All the horrors she had been keeping at bay swept forward to engulf her, bringing bitterness and desolation in their wake. When she thought of the way Claudia had moved unscathed through uprisings and revolutions, her feelings intensified. Why should it have been Sven who had had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?
And yet Claudia's luck had run out right here in the garden of her childhood home. Home – the place of safety, of refuge – abruptly became an extension of the nightmare world outside. The wind seemed colder, there could be something lurking in the rustling bushes more sinister than the cat.
‘Tikki …' Margot called faintly, shrinking back against the wall of the house. ‘Tikki …' A name, a concept, of something warm and comforting that had vanished for ever.
‘Tikki …' Was that an answering movement in the shrubbery down by the pond?
She pushed herself away from the house, straining her eyes against the darkness, then blinking as the moon appeared abruptly, flooding the scene with light.
There was a shadowy dappled form down at the pond, taking a drink of the clear water.
‘Tikki -?' She stumbled forward, hoping he would not run away before she reached him. Surely, the rich succulent chicken would persuade him to stay by her side – at least until he finished it.
‘Tikki – ?' As she drew closer, the shadowy form grew larger, much larger than she had first thought. Too large to be a cat. Perhaps a fallen tree. Closer still, it looked an almost human shape. If she were superstitious, she might think she had somehow called the Centurion into being – or haunting – again. But it seemed more substantial than that ghostly presence. It was a solid shape, gaining definition as she advanced on it.
It
was
human! And female. Lying half-submerged at the edge of the water. Perhaps one of the paparazzi had stumbled in the darkness and fallen into the pond.
Stifling a scream, Margot flung aside the cup and dashed to help.
Help? Something about the motionless waterlogged form suggested that the woman was beyond help. Margot stooped for a closer inspection, trying to steel herself to pull the body out of the water or, at least, turn it over on its back.
As soon as she had done so, she realised her mistake. The woman was so obviously dead. Water drained away from the open eyes and parted lips, coursed off the front of the sodden suede jacket, the stiffening arms. There was no question of attempting any resuscitation technique. As for the kiss of life –
Retching, Margot backed away. She had seen enough to know that the woman was a stranger to her. What of the others in the house? Did one of them know her?
She had to tell someone. She backed farther away. She couldn't just leave the body lying here. She couldn't just turn and run, however much she wanted to.
The police! They would have to be called. A second dead woman found in the same garden! What would they make of that? They couldn't accuse Chloe this time; she was safely in their custody already. Perhaps she
was
innocent of the first murder, if a second had now been –
Murder?
Where had that thought come from?
Darkness swooped at her, her knees threatened to buckle under her before she reached the house. How peaceful it would be to surrender consciousness and leave all the problems and decisions to someone else.
Who? Milly could not face the problems she already had. There would not be enough in the fridge to sustain Wilfred through this new crisis. And Nan … Nan was dangerously close to breaking down, as it was.
Emmeline! Emmeline, the tower of strength, with not
enough calls on that strength these days. She would tell Emmeline and let her handle everything.
Not even to herself did Margot want to admit the reason she did not consider rousing her cousins: the younger, stronger males in the family.
Not Richard, not Henry, not even Justin. So far as she could tell, from a quick look at her, the dead woman was of the right age to have been involved with any of them.
‘But who is she?' Emmeline stared down at the body at her feet. ‘And what is she doing here?'
‘I thought you might recognise her,' Margot said. ‘I don't know her.'
‘I've never seen her before in my life.' Just to make sure, Emmeline bent down for a closer look. ‘I'm sure, if she had ever been one of my pupils, I'd recognise her, no matter what state she was in, or however many years have passed.'
Margot had never thought of that. But how could Emmeline identify anyone who looked like that? One of Emmeline's past pupils? Seeking her out at home? For what reason? And why should she end up dead?
The police were on their way. Leave it to them.
They arrived without sirens and with a minimum of flashing blue lights.
Margot realised, as they conversed quietly with Emmeline, that a working relationship had long since been established. This was the second time around and they all knew the routine.
Quietly, one by one, Emmeline roused the others and the police spoke with them briefly. No one had seen or heard anything; no one had the slightest idea who the dead woman could be – or why she had died in their garden.
Briefest of all was the initial interview with Margot. ‘She's ill and she's had a nasty shock,' Emmeline had warned the police, with more truth than she knew. Life
had been nothing but a series of nasty shocks for a long time now, but how much did Emmeline know, or suspect, about her illness? Perhaps she had been over-optimistic to think she could conceal it from both the sharp eyes of a professional and those of a trained educationalist accustomed to dealing with adolescent girls and their myriad problems and neuroses.
The police, however, were not surprised that someone who had discovered a body should appear dazed and slightly disoriented. They had listened with apparent interest to her suggestion that the deceased might have been one of the paparazzi and assured her that they would look into that possibility – among others.
Just as she thought she might be on the point of fainting, they had ended the interview and allowed her to go back to her room.
But the peace and quiet she had been hoping to find was not there. The whole house seemed to be creaking and grumbling, resentful at its disturbed routine. Footsteps came and went, doors opened and closed on the ground floor. Outside, hushed voices rose and fell and lights flickered as the police went about their grim business.
The bedside clock said 3 a.m., so perhaps she was entitled to the exhaustion dragging her down. So much had happened, so deeply shocking and disturbing, it was not surprising that her nerves were frayed and complaining.
Despite her exhaustion, sleep eluded her. In the darkness, images of the events of the preceding hours seemed to swirl around her: the unknown woman, lying like a fallen tree, her dark brown trousers the trunk, her green and tan patchwork jacket the small leafy branches.
Then family faces crowded forward to haunt her, at first blurred and distorted, then sharpening into focus, but still disquieting, as she had last seen them, blinking and half-awake under the artificial lights downstairs.
Looking drawn and furtive, eyes shifting and avoiding all other eyes, they had tugged uneasily at rumpled night attire, obviously at a disadvantage against the fully clothed wide-awake representatives of the law.
Bewildered and innocent. Yes, they
had
to be innocent. Stunned by the second death in a year on their premises, they had huddled disbelievingly around the dining-room table, watching the police marching once again through their home, into their garden, in a nightmarish replay of the original situation.
At least, this time, Chloe was not – could not be – involved.
But a woman lay dead – and it was clear from the police attitude that they did not believe she had met with an accident.
Who, then, had killed her?
Because the woman had been young and attractive – so far as could be judged, making allowances for the inevitable changes wrought by death – the men of the family were the obvious suspects.
But Emmeline's reaction had shown that the women could not be ruled out entirely. She had not been one of Emmeline's pupils, but was it significant that Emmeline had not denied that she had been one of her former colleagues?
Or had she been an actress or someone in theatre that Christabel might have encountered – and grown to hate - in the course of her distinguished but chequered career?
Perhaps she had been one of the procession of au pairs who had worked in the house? But it was hard to imagine Milly, or even Nan, harbouring a grudge strong enough to explode into such drastic action.
Lynette …? Little Lynnie …? The only member of the household the police had shrunk from waking and questioning. Protected by her age and, possibly, by her father's position. Not to mention Nan, who had looked
in on her and proclaimed that she was sleeping and should not be disturbed.
Lynette – there was that unthinkable thought again! But everything that had happened in this past terrible year was unthinkable.
The distorted images blurred again and retreated. The lights continued moving and flashing outside, the hum of voices went on relentlessly, but seemed to fade gradually into the distance.
Against the odds, she finally fell into an uneasy slumber.
 
 
Despite the fact that Aunt Milly was refusing to leave her room (‘Not another one!' Emmeline said grimly), there was a livelier, more buoyant atmosphere at breakfast.
‘They can't pin this one on Chloe!' Uncle Wilfred was close to something resembling his old jovial self. ‘She's got the best alibi of any of us. She was locked up in Holloway – with a full roster of prison guards for witnesses!'
‘It's sad about the poor dead girl,' Nan said. ‘Terrible, really. But it isn't as if any of us knew her.'
‘The police are going to need quite a lot of convincing on that score, I'm afraid.' Richard was taking a more sombre – or perhaps a more realistic – view. ‘She was found in our garden, after all.'
‘So much the better!' Wilfred speared another sausage and gnawed it thoughtfully. ‘I don't want to sound callous but, if she had to go, she picked the best place for it. Throws the whole case against Chloe into disarray. With another corpse on their hands, the police will have to give her the benefit of some doubt.'
Margot began to feel an overwhelming sympathy for Aunt Milly. She wondered if it were too late to retreat into her own room and close the door against the world.
‘Not really. It's just spreading the doubt around – ' An uneasy stirring around the table silenced Christa abruptly. They had all picked up her as yet unvoiced thought:
If Chloe hadn't killed Claudia, then who had?
Another corpse in the garden was reason enough to suspect that her killer might still be free – and still killing.
But who? And why?
Justin and Fenella were huddled as closely together as their chairs would allow. Their full attention appeared to be concentrated on their plates, but telltale side glances betrayed their discomfort. It was clear that they suspected everyone but each other. After all, they could prove they were out of the country at the time of the first murder.
And so could she. Margot crossed glances with Henry and looked away quickly. Where had he been then?
‘Will we be going to court this morning?' Nan wondered. ‘Will Chloe be there – after this?'
‘Not for long,' Wilfred said. ‘She'll have to appear, but it will just be a formality. I was on to Comfrey first thing this morning – '
‘Dragged him out of bed at the crack of dawn,' Richard translated, not without pride in the renewed forcefulness of his father.
‘Comfrey's certain they'll have to order an adjournment while the police investigate this new development – '
‘They'll have to try to determine whether the two murders have any connection with each other.' Richard finished his coffee and pushed back his chair. ‘Chloe is in with a fighting chance.'
‘But she still isn't free.' Nan spoke sadly. ‘Is she?'
‘Not yet.' Wilfred pushed back his own chair and snatched a piece of Emmeline's buttered toast to take with him. ‘But things are looking a lot better than they did yesterday.'
That depended on your point of view. Things certainly
hadn't improved for the poor woman in the patchwork suede jacket who had been found head down in the pond.
‘Mmmm …' Emmeline seemed to be thinking along the same line. ‘Just remember, we aren't out of the woods yet.' Her sharp glance reminded them of more than that.
Richard was not the only male to twitch uneasily. Each of them was due for a further interview with the police. More probing questions would be asked – and not just about last night's mystery woman. The police would want to hark back to last year's murder and the precise nature of everyone's relations with Claudia.
And they might be right. Claudia had had her moods and, in the wrong mood, could be a bit of an emotional bully. Living by her emotions herself, she had sometimes delighted in pushing other people to the limits of theirs. Had she pushed someone too far?
‘So exciting!'
Claudia was back, the later Claudia. The young matron, mother and slightly bored political wife, acquiring new animation as she recounted her big adventure.
‘Oh, that moment when they broke the door down and came storming into the room! Chills up and down my spine and goosebumps everywhere else! I'd never felt anything like it before. I thought I was going to die!'
Only she hadn't, not there, not then. Nor in any other of the close brushes with eternity her subsequent travels had led her into. She had had to come home for that. Had she felt one last terrible burst of excitement as her attacker lunged at her with the knife?
Probably not. One of the damning points in the case against Chloe was the fact that there had been no defence wounds on Claudia's hands. She had trusted her attacker completely and the sudden assault had caught her unaware.
But that wouldn't have applied only to Chloe. Claudia would have trusted anyone in the family …
‘ … Margot?' Nan stood beside her, repeating her name. ‘Margot, would you mind?'
‘I'm sorry.' Margot turned to look at her, wrenched back to the present. ‘I'm afraid I was miles away. Mind what?'
‘Driving me to court this morning. I know nothing much is going to happen today but – '
Margot's heart twisted as she saw that Nan's hands had developed a slight tremor and she looked older, more haggard.
‘But, if they adjourn the trial, it may be our last chance to see Chloe until … until heaven knows when.'
‘Of course.' Margot saw that Wilfred and Richard had already departed while she had been deep in her own thoughts. ‘Anyone else want to come along?'
‘I think not,' Christa said. ‘There's nothing we can do so – ' She broke off, shrugging, her bracelets jangling as she reached for her coffee cup.
There was a murmur of agreement, perhaps tinged with relief, from the others.
‘The fewer of us who show our faces today, the better.' Emmeline spoke with the voice of grim experience. ‘The media will be back to doorstepping in force after this new development. Wrap a scarf around your faces, keep your heads down, your hand on the horn and don't stop for anything. If you hit one or two of them – good!'
Justin and Fenella exchanged a horrified glance. Emmeline had sounded as though she meant it.

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