The Diamond Cat Page 12

  She shuddered and turned away from the window, back into the warm domesticity of the kitchen where the cats had now finished their treats and were watching her hopefully for more.

  “Not right now,” she said. Adolf screamed a protest, but the others accepted the decision philosophically.

  “BETTINA!” her mother called. “There’s someone at the door.” To prove it, the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it.”

  “It’s that nosey woman again,” her mother reported from behind the living room curtain. “What does she want now?”

  “I’m most dreadfully sorry to disturb you.” Vivien Smythe gave a nervous smile as Bettina opened the door. “I feel so silly. Really, I do apologize but—I do hope you can help me. Er, do you mind if I come in?”

  “Oh, sorry.” Bettina backed away, suddenly aware that she had been blocking the doorway.

  “Thanks awfully.” Vivien stepped into the hallway, her voice rising with a nervous quaver. “You see, when I was here the other day … When I was somewhere—I can’t be sure it was here—I’m afraid I lost one of the charms from my bracelet. It has a deeply sentimental value for me. So, I’m having to retrace my steps to every place I’ve visited during the past few days.” She swept a hand across her forehead distractedly. “I feel such an idiot.”

  “What a shame.” Bettina followed Vivien, who was striding into the living room as she spoke. “But I’m afraid I haven’t seen—”

  “Oh, but you haven’t been looking for it, have you? You wouldn’t have noticed something that had rolled under a chair or fallen into a corner.”

  “No,” Bettina admitted, “perhaps not.” Heaven knew she had had far greater things to worry about than what might be lurking under the furniture.

  “Humph!” Mrs. Bilby said.

  “Oh!” Vivien shied back, then took a deep breath and stood her ground.. “Hello. I was just explaining to your daughter—”

  “I heard you.” Mrs, Bilby’s severe gaze implied that she didn’t believe a word of it.

  “Yes … well … I’m sorry to be such a nuisance, but if I could just have a look around, I’d he most eternally grateful.” She bared her teeth in what was meant to be a conciliatory smile. “Honestly, I would.”

  “Look all you please,” Mrs. Bilby said. “You won’t find anything here.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Vivien began stalking around the room at a half-crouch, stooping lower as she passed items of furniture. “Of course, it might have been kicked into another room. You wouldn’t have noticed it, it’s so small. Or the cats might have found it and begun playing with it and carried it off to anywhere in the house—”

  “Humph!”

  “Yes, well …” Vivien looked desperately unhappy. “Stranger things have happened. You never can tell.”

  They couldn’t, indeed. Bettina was beginning to feel that she was becoming an expert on the strange byways Life could suddenly lurch down. Not the least of which was to find a designer-clad alleged market researcher practically demanding to be allowed to search her house.

  “Nonsense!” Fortunately, her mother was more than a match for the interloper. “I never heard such nonsense in my life!”

  “It’s got to be somewhere,” Vivien said. “I’m sure I had it when I came to this house.”

  “And you had it with you when you left this house,” Mrs. Bilby declared. “You were roaming up and down the streets around here all day; it probably dropped off and fell in the gutter.” The thought seemed to please her. “With all this rain, it was probably sluiced down a drain and carried away. You’ll never find it now.”

  “But I’ve got to!” Vivien seemed on the point of bursting into tears. “It means everything to me. It’s an artist’s palette, complete with little brushes—my father gave it to me when I graduated from the Slade.”

  “Oh, Mother!” It was too much if she was going to begin scolding strangers. Bettina turned to Vivien apologetically, at the same time realizing that the woman was more believable as an artist than as a market researcher. “I’m sorry—”

  “Oh!” Vivien was paying no attention, she had been distracted by something on the far side of the room. “It’s that beautiful cat again! I’ve been thinking about him.”

  Pasha had appeared in the kitchen doorway with Adolf and Enza. Drawn by the sound of a new voice, they had come to see what they might be missing.

  Pasha lifted his head, catching the note of admiration in the cooing voice, so like the one he knew. He strutted forward, sure of his welcome as Vivien stooped to greet him.

  “Who’s a beautiful baby?” she crooned. “Who’s a great big gorgeous boy? Do you remember me?”

  Pasha hurled himself against the outstretched hand. He closed his eyes, inhaling the rich heady perfume, he stroked his whiskers against the hem of the cashmere cape and burst into loud impassioned purrs.

  “I think he does know me!” Vivien looked up with shining eyes. “I think he likes me!”

  “That cat is a snob,” Mrs. Bilby said. “He never acts like that with me”

  And she never treated him as Vivien was treating him: talking softly and admiringly, praising him, smoothing the long silken fur. Pasha was in his element. He surged up on his hind legs, planting his forepaws on her knees and cried to be picked up and cuddled.

  Vivien responded instantly, sweeping him into her arms, burying her face in his fur. “Oh, he’s so lovely!”

  “Pity he’s useless,” Mrs. Bilby said.

  “What use does he have to be?” Vivien sprang to his defence. “He’s like a work of art—it would be enough just to be able to look at him. But he’s a living work of art that can respond, give back the love one wants simply to shower on him …” There was a pause while she and Pasha rubbed faces enthusiastically.

  “Humph!” Mrs. Bilby eyed them both without favour. “That’s what you’d be like, if I let you,” she accused Bettina. “Making a fool of yourself over a cat.”

  Adolf had been watching jealously. Now he head-butted Bettina’s ankles, demanding to be picked up and given his share of affection. Bettina stooped and complied.

  That left Enza odd cat out. She gave Mrs. Bilby a measuring look and obviously didn’t rate her chances. She sat down and began a leisurely and thorough bath.

  “Where’s the other beautiful cat?” Vivien asked. “The other longhair?”

  “Bluebell went home, thank God,” Mrs. Bilby said. “Her owners came back early and collected her. That’s one less nuisance around the place.”

  “Oh?” Vivien was suddenly, elaborately casual. “Took her back where? Do they live around here?”

  “Next door,” Mrs. Bilby said. “And that’s too close. Bluebell’s around here half the time as it is.”

  “Yes, yes, that is close.” Vivien looked thoughtful. “I think I ought to talk to them.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Mrs. Bilby said. “Your charm couldn’t possibly be over there. You were never there in the first place.”

  “That’s what I meant.” Vivien began speaking rapidly. “My brief was to interview every family in the area. They weren’t here before, so I couldn’t. Now that they’re back, I ought to fill in a form for them.”

  “But you’ve already filled out their form,” Bettina said. “Don’t you remember? Zoe came back while you were here and you said you could kill two birds with—” She broke off. Suddenly she felt it unwise to mention birds.

  “You said ‘they’.” Vivien had a calculating glint in her eyes that had not been there before. “I didn’t interview both of them, did I?”

  “No,” Bettina admitted. “Only Zoe. Mrs. Rome didn’t come over then.”

  “I thought not. I’m sure I ought to speak to the other occupant of the house. I’ll just—” Vivien bent to deposit Pasha on the floor. “Oh!”

  Pasha had extended his claws and hooked them firmly in her cape. He was not ready to end this happy encounter. He gazed at her reproachfully.

  “Here, let me help.�
� Bettina set Adolf down and gently unhooked Pasha’s claws and smoothed the material. “I don’t think he’s pulled any threads.”

  Pasha gave an agonized wail.

  “Oh, poor baby.” Vivien bent and stroked him. “I don’t want to leave you, but I really must.” She gave Bettina a small apologetic smile. “Duty calls.”

  “It might be a good idea to wait until later,” Bettina told her. “Zoe will be back from the library then. If you have any more questions, she can answer them better than her mother can.”

  “Her mother will read you the answers from the tea leaves,” Mrs. Bilby prophesied grimly. “Or perhaps the cards. They’re both about as reliable.”

  “Oh, er.” Vivien hesitated, irresolute. “When will … Zoe … be back from work?”

  “About six o’clock, I think. Unless it’s one of her late nights, then it will be closer to nine.”

  “Oh, that’s no good at all,” Vivien said. “I mean, I finish work at five.”

  “I see,” Bettina said. She saw that Vivien seemed to have forgotten how badly she needed overtime.

  “I’ll just have to interview the person who is at home,” Vivien said.

  “Well, don’t blame us if you get some silly answers,” Mrs. Bilby said.

  “I won’t.” Vivien started for the door, Pasha trailing her. “But, if they’re too unsatisfactory, perhaps I could make an appointment and come back another day.”

  “You do that,” Mrs. Bilby said drily.

  “I hope you find your charm,” Bettina said.

  “Yes, well, thank you. It’s been most kind of you. If you do happen to find my charm, perhaps you could let me know.” She pulled a piece of paper from her handbag and scrawled a telephone number on one corner, tore it off carefully and handed it to Bettina.

  “We will.” Bettina accepted the scrap of paper and shut the front door behind Vivien. She glanced down at it as she returned to the living room and was not surprised to see that it was a central London number.

  Reflectively, she straightened a chair, then paused and looked behind it.

  “What are you looking for?” her mother asked.

  “Vivien’s charm—” She broke off.

  “Don’t tell me you believed a word of that!”

  “No,” Bettina said thoughtfully. “No, I don’t believe I did.”

  Pasha leaped onto the windowsill and stared wistfully after the departing figure.

  Chapter 12

  Just after two o’clock, the telephone rang and Bettina answered.

  “Hello?” She waited, but there was no response. “Hello?”

  After a long moment, the receiver at the other end was replaced.

  “Who is it?” her mother called.

  “Wrong number,” she replied, hoping she was right.

  She hurried back to the kitchen just in time to see Adolf raise himself up in the litter box and delicately begin to bury something. She rushed over and lifted Adolf out of the way to inspect what he had done. There was just a wet patch on the kitty litter. Nothing else.

  Adolf squirmed and demanded to be put down. Once down, he stalked a good distance away before turning and regarding her with the jaundiced look of a cat who was beginning to decide that there was such a thing as too much attention.

  “Good Adolf,” she cooed. “Nice Adolf. Why don’t we give you a bit more cod-liver oil, Adolf?”

  It was going to be a long day.

  “Bettina!” her mother called. “Those men are back again—and they’re coming here.”

  Bettina abandoned the teapot she had been filling and returned to the living room to join her mother behind the curtains. Sure enough, there were the men they had last seen splashing about in the flooded area down the street. They were somewhat more suitably dressed today, but the suits were still of an expensive cut and the patrician air of the silver haired, older man suggested indisputably that he was in charge.

  “What do they want?” Mrs. Bilby frowned at them. The younger man looked around uneasily, perhaps sensing he was being observed. The older man rang the bell.

  “Good afternoon.” The senior partner beamed down at Bettina as she opened the door. He brandished his clipboard ostentatiously, as though it were a badge of office. The younger man had one too.

  “We aren’t buying anything!” Mrs. Bilby called from the front room.

  “No, no, you misunderstand.” The elder’s wince was a masterpiece of thinly veiled distaste. “We are not selling anything.”

  No, Bettina thought, it would have been a long time since either of these exquisite gentlemen had done any door-to-door selling; if, indeed, they ever had.

  “Quite the contrary,” he continued, stepping forward. “If we could speak to you for a few minutes, you might find it greatly to your advantage. I daresay you’re far from satisfied with the state of your roof.”

  “You could say that,” Bettina agreed, finding herself forced to move back as he advanced smoothly and relentlessly into the hall.

  “What do they want then?” Mrs. Bilby loomed in the doorway of the living room, her gaze raking them up and down; it stopped at the clipboards and she gave a dismissive sniff. “You’re never from the council!”

  “Shall we say affiliated?” The younger man gave her a radiant smile.

  “Say what you like.” Her disbelief was palpable; she was impervious to his charm.

  “If we might sit down,” the older man suggested.

  “We have something to show you that I think might interest you.”

  “We’re not buying anything,” Mrs. Bilby reiterated, but she allowed them into the living room. “Whoever you are.”

  “Forgive me.” He dipped his hand into his pocket and brought out a small stiff square. “My card.” He gave one to each of them.

  “Huntley Forrest,” Mrs. Bilby read out. “Architect and surveyor.” She glared at him. “We’re not selling this place, either.”

  “Of course not. That isn’t the point at all.” Huntley Forrest sat in one of the chairs and, after a commanding glance, the younger man sank down on another.

  “My colleague, Darren Ames,” he introduced him. Apparently Ames didn’t rate a card of his own.

  And there was something strange about the card in her hand; it didn’t quite match up to the rest of the man’s outfit. Surely, a man who dressed in Savile Row suits, up-to-the-minute shirts and solid gold cuff links ought to have an engraved business card and not this rather tatty square of pasteboard. It was the sort one could buy at quick-photo speed printing shops anywhere around town. Unlike everything else about Huntley Forrest—if that was his name—it was not designed to impress or to underline his position in life. It was simply there to convey basic information—the information he wanted one to know. Whether it was true or not was an interesting speculation.

  “And you”—he consulted the papers on his clipboard briefly—“are the Bilbys, mother and daughter.”

  “Ye-es.” Mrs. Bilby hated admitting it, hated even more the idea that such information was written down and in the possession of people she never knew existed. “What have you got there?”

  The inspection squad marched in from the kitchen and took up observation posts along the wall, staring at the strangers. Adolf did not appear to like what he saw, Enza was indifferent.

  Pasha reflected quietly for a few moments, then edged forward cautiously, nose lifted on the scent of something meaningless to the others. Ignoring the underling, he made straight for the man in charge, sniffing at the highly polished handmade shoes.

  “Handsome creature.” Huntley Forrest looked down at Pasha and leaned forward, bestowing an affable pat.

  Pasha gathered himself and sprang for the man’s lap, from whence he earnestly investigated the hand-stitched lapels, the crisp collar and cuffs, before settling down to scratch the side of his nose on the gold cuff links.

  “Snob,” Mrs. Bilby said.

  “I beg your pardon?” Forrest looked startled.

  “You
mentioned the roof.” Bettina, thought it time to bring the meeting back to its point. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Oh. Yes.” He frowned at the clipboard in one hand while the other hand absently stroked Pasha. “My firm is engaged in some experimental work with a new company pioneering a new sort of roof covering. We’ve consulted with your local council and we have obtained their permission—”

  Mrs. Bilby’s snort told him what she thought of the council. “This is our freehold property,” she said. “The council has nothing to do with it.”

  “Of course.” He smiled charmingly. “I was referring to planning permission, of course. It was necessary to ascertain that we wouldn’t be infringing any bylaws, that sort of thing.”

  “Why?” Mrs. Bilby’s gimlet eyes bored into him.

  “Because we’d like to reroof this house as a sort of demonstration model for—”

  “I’ve heard that one before.” Mrs. Bilby looked at him with increased contempt “We aren’t buying. We aren’t contributing anything towards the cost of the materials. We aren’t—”

  “No, no, of course not. There’s no financial obligation of any sort on your part.” The reassuring smile was fraying at the edges. “If my colleague here could just do a quick inspection of your loft to make sure conditions are—”

  “No!” Fortunately, Mrs. Bilby was again in a thwarting mood, but Bettina didn’t like the idea any better than she did.

  The Water Board men had been anxious to get into their loft, too. Why was the loft so sought after? Could it be because lofts were where the pigeons congregated?

  These men weren’t the sort one usually thought of as pigeon fanciers. Diamonds, yes; pigeons, no. Carefully, she kept her hands out of her pockets, afraid of betraying something to those eyes, which, she now realized, were exceptionally watchful.

  How could they know? They didn’t, of course. They merely suspected. All they knew, somehow, was that the bird had last been seen in this general area.