Authors: Marian Babson
The Cat Next Door (4 page)
Frozen with indecision, Margot tightened her arms around Tikki. He gave a small protesting mew, so soft as to be almost inaudible, as though he, too, recognised the need for secrecy. He twisted around so that he was looking over her shoulder and his whole body tensed.
Margot swung around, but there was no one behind her. Or nothing. Gravity suddenly tugged at her knees, her back, her arms, every ligament in her face and body. The old enemy, more overpowering and debilitating than jet lag, fought for control once more.
There was no question now of hunting down the broken-hearted or even carrying the cat down the stairs to put him out. She had all she could do to remain upright.
She was suddenly afraid that, if she didn't get back to her room and lie down, she would fall down. It would be too humiliating to be found lying in the hallway by the first member of the family to be up and heading for the bathroom in the morning. They had enough to
worry about right now without worrying about her, too.
worry about right now without worrying about her, too.
She turned and, leaning against the wall, slowly began making her way back to her room. Tikki stared up at her with sudden concern.
âIt's all right, Tikki,' she whispered. âI'll put you out of the window instead. You can make your own way down, can't you?'
A fresh paroxysm of slightly louder sobs was torn from the anguished throat somewhere in the darkness. Margot halted, guilt-ridden at her inability to help, repelled by her inability to throw off the exhaustion. Perhaps, if she hadn't had jet lag to contend with as well as the other weakness â¦
Still, it seemed as though she ought to be able to do something. She closed her eyes, swaying, her grip on Tikki loosened.
His cold wet nose touched the tip of her chin. She opened her eyes to find him looking at her reassuringly.
Leave it to me,
he seemed to say, just before he leaped to the floor and darted off down the hallway. She started after him, but he was too fast for her. He turned a corner and she heard him bound down the three steps to the lower level of the bedroom floor. She almost thought she heard the faint creak of a protesting door hinge.
he seemed to say, just before he leaped to the floor and darted off down the hallway. She started after him, but he was too fast for her. He turned a corner and she heard him bound down the three steps to the lower level of the bedroom floor. She almost thought she heard the faint creak of a protesting door hinge.
The dizziness tried to claim her again and she stopped and turned back towards her own room.
As she closed the door behind her, she was aware of silence. The crying had stopped â¦
Margot awoke in the morning with a deceptive feeling of well-being. After the restless beginning to the night, she had slept deeply and dreamlessly. Her energy, such as it was, was restored. If she guarded it carefully, it might see her through the day. When she glanced at her watch, she saw that the day wasn't going to be such a long one. It was eleven thirty already. Jet lag strikes again!
She wasn't the only one. Christa was seated at the dining-room table. The cup of coffee was obviously not her first, a used plate had been pushed aside and she was working on something in her sketchpad with a charcoal stick and pastels.
âBrunch â¦' She waved a careless hand towards the array of covered chafing dishes on the sideboard as Margot entered. âHelp yourself to plenty, there won't be another meal until dinner. Nan thought this would be easiest, with everyone keeping different hours. The twins aren't down yet.'
âOh â¦' Margot winced before realising that Christa was referring to her own twins, Justin and Fenella.
âYes, I see. Good idea.' Margot moved along the line of chafing dishes, lifting silver domes to reveal kedgeree, scrambled eggs, devilled kidneys, sausages, grilled mushrooms and tomatoes, hash-brown potatoes and slices of cold ham and chicken. Coffee bubbled in the glass coffee pot and a toaster waited to receive slices from the brown and white loaves beside it.
Margot filled her plate, decided she was probably not up to slicing the uncut loaves, especially as the bread knife looked rather dull, and took a poppyseed roll instead. She carried it to the table, went back for coffee, then sat down and wondered whether she could eat anything at all. Suddenly, her appetite had deserted her.
Fortunately, Christa was too absorbed to notice. Her charcoal stick raced over the sketchpad, a dab with the red and then the silver pastel chalk highlighted a fold, emphasised a seam, suggested a curve. What had been a vague outline was beginning to take shape, turning into a costume to die for. Obviously, Christa had a contract for a new theatrical production.
âAny more coffee?' It was more of an order than a request. Christa was lost in her own world, not noticing that there wasn't a gofer or assistant within miles.
Oh, well, why not? Margot took Christa's empty cup and refilled it. No milk or sugar, she noticed, Christa operated on straight caffeine.
She was just setting the cup down at Christa's elbow when the handbell pealed out an urgent summons from upstairs, causing her to jump and slosh coffee into the saucer.
Christa swore as the sudden noise tore at her reflexes, constricting her fingers and sending a streak of red chalk off the end of the page in an erratic line.
âThey're ruining that child!' Christa snapped. âSympathy is all very well, but they're going too far!' Her hand was still shaking, setting her charm bracelet rattling, as she lifted the dripping cup unsteadily to her lips.
There was the sound of footsteps hurrying up the stairs to answer the summons. Not fast enough, obviously, for the bell rang impatiently again.
Christa was right. Sympathy for a bereaved, traumatised child was one thing, but âspoiled brat' was the
phrase that came to mind. Then one thought again of why she was being so spoiled.
phrase that came to mind. Then one thought again of why she was being so spoiled.
âShe
has
been through a terrible experience,' Margot said.
has
been through a terrible experience,' Margot said.
âSo have we all.' Christa was unforgiving. âIt's still going on and she isn't making it any easier for us.'
âI suppose not.' Margot slumped into her chair and picked at the kedgeree. Unexpectedly, her appetite returned. She had forgotten how good kedgeree could be, made with the proper spices, unlike the bland commercial varieties she had encountered where the hard-boiled egg was often the tastiest component.
âDelicious,' Margot said. âI see Nan is still working her magic in the kitchen. She was wasted in the nursery all those years.'
âHmmm?' Christa looked up from her work absently and seemed to have difficulty in recognising her niece.
âNothing.' What it was to be so absorbed in one's work. Margot felt a small pang of envy. It wasn't so long ago that she, too, had been able to slip into that cocoon and be oblivious to the world. âJust a pleasantry.'
âOh â¦' Christa shrugged and went back to her sketch.
âPleasantries, I remember those,' a voice said behind Margot. âAt least, I think I do. It's been so long since I heard one. There hasn't been much heart for them lately.'
âKingsley!' It wasn't fair! Someone should have warned her. She hadn't expected to see him here. Not so soon, so unexpectedly.
And yet, when she thought about it, where else should he be? Lynette was his daughter, as well as Claudia's.
âGood to see you again, Margot.' He stooped to brush her cheek with his lips. âYou're looking very well.'
âSo are â ' The lie froze in her throat. He looked terrible. His face was gaunt and lined, his eyes sunken, deep shadows surrounding them, unbearable pain in
their depths, too many silver threads in what had been a thick brown-gold mane. She caught her breath, hoping her face did not reveal her thoughts.
their depths, too many silver threads in what had been a thick brown-gold mane. She caught her breath, hoping her face did not reveal her thoughts.
âWhen did you arrive?' She changed tack abruptly. âI didn't see you last night.'
âOh, I'm not staying here.' There was veiled reproof in his tone. âBit too awkward, in the circumstances. We're putting up at the Roman Arms, but I'll join the family for the occasional meal and, of course, in court.'
We? Her momentary confusion was dispelled by another voice.
âHello, Margot. You're looking a bit jet-lagged. It takes a few days to wear off, I know. How wise of you to arrive early.'
She might have known it. If Kingsley were here, could Verity be far behind?
In their teenage years, a crush on Kingsley had been part of growing up. Once he had chosen Claudia, everyone had bowed to reality and moved on. Except for Verity.
âShe's got a job as his secretary, my dears!'
Claudia had screamed with laughter.
âShe lives in hope! She's read too many stories about MPs and their secretaries. She hasn't a chance. Not while I'm around. But if anything ever happens to me, just watch how fast she moves in.'
Claudia had screamed with laughter.
âShe lives in hope! She's read too many stories about MPs and their secretaries. She hasn't a chance. Not while I'm around. But if anything ever happens to me, just watch how fast she moves in.'
âAnyone for a refill before we finish the pot?' Kingsley asked.
âNone for me, thanks,' Verity said quickly. âI've had enough caffeine for one morning â¦'
And so have you,
her tone implied. âI'll have an orange juice, though.' She joined him at the sideboard and helped herself.
And so have you,
her tone implied. âI'll have an orange juice, though.' She joined him at the sideboard and helped herself.
From upstairs, the sound of the handbell pealed out vigorously, urgently. They both looked upwards involuntarily and exchanged a glance.
âYou'd better go up.' Christa frowned at another line run off the page. âShe knows you're here.'
âSit down and finish your coffee first,' Verity said sharply. âThere's no rush. She isn't going anywhere.'
âYes, well, I'll take it with me.' He gave them all a perfunctory smile and left the room.
Verity's lips tightened, then she shrugged and moved over to sit opposite Margot at the table, regarding her with a cool assessing stare. Margot stared back, not quite so impolitely, she hoped, noting with interest that Verity was several shades blonder than when last sighted. Also, she appeared to have received some professional guidance with her make-up and dress sense; she was altogether sleeker and more stylish than Margot remembered her. She was just as complacent, though. How far had the moving-in process gone?
âAre you here to cover the trial for your rag?' Verity was wasting no time in opening hostilities. âOr as a member of the family? Or a little bit of both?'
âI'm not a journalist,' Margot said patiently. âI never have been. I do commercial photographic work, freelance. Advertising, fashion, portraits. I've just finished the illustrations for a cookery book and the job before that was a travel brochure for a local Chamber of Commerce. Nothing to do with news, that's another field entirely.' One she might have liked to try her hand at once, but out of the question now.
âOh?' Verity shrugged disbelievingly. âThat's not the way I pictured your career going. Still, it's nice to know that you won't be feeding the tabloid frenzy with intimate photographs from inside the family circle. Although I understand they pay quite well for that sort of thing.'
Margot envied Christa's detachment. âI'm off-duty for the duration,' she answered softly, although what she had done to incur such enmity she could not imagine. âI haven't even brought my equipment with me.' No need to go into the real reason for that now.
âOh, yes?' Verity looked at Margot's hands pointedly. âNow that you mention it, I think this is the first time I've ever seen you without a camera in your hands. Did you have to have it surgically removed?'
âAll right, Verity, that's quite enough!' Christa wasn't so oblivious, after all, although the voice could have been her sister Emmeline's. Margot realised that, for all her artistic airs and graces Christa would have had no trouble in controlling a schoolful of unruly students. The icy glare she levelled at Verity could have quelled a riot.
âSorry,' Verity muttered, as though she had been ordered to apologise and resented it.
Christa kept her cold gaze on Verity for another long moment before dismissing her with a twitch of the eyebrows and returning to her sketch.
âI must see if Kingsley needs me.' Released, Verity pushed back her chair and darted from the room.
âWhat's the matter with her?' Margot asked herself softly. âWhat did I ever do to her? Why does she hate me so?'
âJealousy.' Surprisingly, Christa answered, although she did not look up from her sketchpad. âIt's not just you. She hates all of us.'
âBut why?'
âBecause we're Claudia's family. And Claudia had what she could never have and never will have. Jealous little cow!'
Kingsley â¦
âThat's why she's here now, not just because Kingsley is here. It's because she's gloating over us. She's glorying in watching us laid low, brought down a peg, the mighty fallen, or however she describes it to herself in her grubby little mind. She's enjoying our pain â and she wouldn't miss it for the world!' Christa tore the page off her pad and tucked it behind the other completed sketches at the back of the pad.
âThat's that!' Emmeline swept into the room and slammed a textbook and notebook down on the table. âThere'll be no more work out of her today. She's too excited at seeing her father and, after he's left, she'll be
too upset.' Emmeline went over to the sideboard and looked at the empty coffeepot. âNo coffee?'
too upset.' Emmeline went over to the sideboard and looked at the empty coffeepot. âNo coffee?'
âKingsley finished it,' Christa told her.
âTypical! And he couldn't be bothered to refill it ⦠or ask Verity to.'
âI don't think Verity would consider that one of her duties.' Christa exchanged a long meaningful look with Emmeline before returning her attention to her pad and beginning a new sketch.
âI'm glad they had the decency not to stay here,' Emmeline sniffed and took the coffee pot off to the kitchen to start a fresh pot.
Margot found, to her surprise, that she had eaten almost all of her kedgeree and was actually looking forward to a second cup of coffee. Perhaps this was truly going to be one of her better days.
âWhat are your plans for the day?' Emmeline, returning, had her own little ways of letting someone know that they weren't expected to mope around the house all day.
âI thought I might go downtown and stroll around, revisit some of my favourite places, see what changes there've been since I've been gone â¦'
âWallowing in nostalgia,' Emmeline summed up. âYou might just as well. Once the trial starts, we won't be able to call our lives our own. There'll always be some grubby little journo lurking around, hoping to catch us off-guard.'
That would be some hope, with Emmeline. Generations of schoolgirls had tried their best to do that. Without success, of course. Emmeline had enlivened countless holiday breaks at home with stories of their attempts. From garter snakes slipped into her bed, to the more serious misdemeanours, such as placing an overloaded waste basket outside her room and setting fire to it, every disrupting trick an overexcited juvenile mind could dream up had been played to try to shatter her equanimity. Emmeline had coped with it all in her time
and her methods of swift and strict retaliation had ensured that no one tried the same trick twice â or any tricks at all, once she had achieved the post of headmistress.
and her methods of swift and strict retaliation had ensured that no one tried the same trick twice â or any tricks at all, once she had achieved the post of headmistress.
What a pity that the media could not be so easily dealt with and brought to heel.
Even more of a pity that this family tragedy was such a high-profile case with such sensational aspects. The murder of the beautiful and popular wife of a prominent Member of Parliament by her own twin sister was guaranteed to have the media slavering. Especially as the rest of the family was also well known, each in their own particular field. Only Chloe had not been any kind of high-flyer, content to remain at home, helping out around the house, filling in when another member of the family needed help with some project, working two or three days a week at a local charity shop. In general, living the traditional, if now rather outdated, life of the unmarried daughter of a well-to-do county family.
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