The Cat Who Wasn't a Dog Page 17

  ‘She might have concussion.’ Dame Cecile was as ready as Evangeline with ever the encouraging word. ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’

  ‘I’m not going to answer that.’ My head was settling down to a steady throbbing ache. ‘Why doesn’t somebody get me some aspirin?’

  ‘They might not be the best thing for you,’ Matilda worried. ‘I’ll call the doctor. That shelf could have done serious damage.’

  ‘I don’t need a doctor – ’

  ‘It wasn’t the shelf.’ Eddie had roamed over to inspect the closet. ‘That’s still ‘anging in there. Only just, mind you, but …’ Eddie moved deeper into the closet, then we heard a clatter, as though he had stepped into a nest of wire hangers, and a muffled oath.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Matilda called.

  ‘Just about.’ He reappeared in the doorway, a cluster of coat hangers in one hand, a largish suitcase in the other. ‘It’s dangerous in there.’

  ‘So Trixie discovered,’ Evangeline said.

  ‘They say most accidents happen in the home,’ Dame Cecile said, ‘and this home is well on the way to proving it.’

  ‘I’m going to need room to work in there.’ Eddie turned to me. ‘Where do you want me to put your suitcase?’

  ‘That isn’t mine,’ I said. ‘Mine’s over there.’

  He turned to Matilda.

  ‘It’s certainly not mine,’ Matilda said. ‘I’ve never seen it before in my life.’

  ‘Oh …?’ He stood there, holding the old-fashioned, slightly battered case, then revolved it slowly, inspecting it.

  ‘Stop!’ Evangeline shouted. ‘Hold it right there!’

  He did and suddenly we all saw it: a Qantas Airways label stuck on one end of the case.

  ‘Where did you say that housekeeper was from?’ Evangeline asked.

  ‘Australia,’ Matilda said faintly, staring at the label. ‘You think it was hers?’

  ‘We can open it and find out. Set it down on the chair, Eddie, and let’s take a look at it.’ Evangeline moved forward purposefully. ‘I don’t suppose you saw any sign of a key?’

  ‘Probably ’ave to bust it open.’ Eddie poked at the lock.

  ‘We can’t do that,’ Matilda protested.

  ‘Why not?’ Eddie wanted to know. ‘Who’s going to complain?’

  ‘He’s right.’ Evangeline was stabbing at the lock with a nail file. ‘Until we look inside, we won’t know who has any right to complain – not that they would. If we hadn’t opened it they’d never have known what happened to her.’

  ‘I’ll get my toolkit.’ Eddie hurried off. ‘You’ll never do it that way.’

  ‘I suppose we must.’ Matilda surrendered. ‘The police were asking about her next-of-kin and I wasn’t able to tell them. I’d like to know myself. I should write to them, see what arrangements …’

  ‘If there’s any information inside.’ I tried to sound a warning before they got too hopeful about it.

  ‘There’s bound to be some clue.’ Evangeline would not be discouraged. ‘Eddie – ‘He was back. ‘Have a go!’

  ‘Right!’ He attacked the lock with a hammer and chisel.

  I sank back on the bed and this time succeeded in folding the pillow around my ears, not that it did much good in blocking out the noise. Vaguely, it occurred to me that, if the shelf was still in place, it must have been the suitcase that hit me, sliding off the shelf when it tilted. That meant someone had pushed it as far back on the shelf as it could go. Trying to hide it? Or just tidying it out of sight, as a good housekeeper would have done?

  The hammering stopped abruptly. I heard Evangeline’s satisfied exclamation and sat up again, struggling off the bed and over to join the others around the case.

  ‘There!’ Eddie wrenched back the lid and we looked down at the neat piles of clothing.

  There were the usual bulging pockets along all sides of the case, the most logical places to look for any papers. Still, something held us back. I was sure I was not the only one to have a lump in my throat. She hadn’t even had time to unpack.

  ‘It’s got to be done!’ Evangeline’s rallying call seemed to be for herself as much as for us. She plunged her hands into the most bulging of the pockets.

  We looked with sad dismay at the dubious trophies she pulled out: a half-used jar of foundation cream, a couple of lipsticks, an eyebrow pencil, an eyeliner – cosmetics for a face that would never need them again.

  Shaken, Evangeline dropped the pathetic hoard on top of a folded blouse and slid her hand into another side pocket with less enthusiasm. This time, she felt cautiously along the pocket making sure that what she found might have some relevance to our quest. The heavy-duty manilla envelope she surfaced with looked distinctly more promising.

  It wasn’t sealed, it just had one of those little metal clasps. Evangeline bent the wings back and slid the flap open. The contents seemed promisingly bulky. Surely there must be something in there.

  ‘Why don’t we take it downstairs – ?’ Matilda began, but Evangeline was already pulling out the papers.

  A few letters in yellowing envelopes looked a likely source of information, but would take time to read. Evangeline was after more immediate results. She let the letters slide back into the big envelope and flipped through the remaining documents until – paydirt!

  ‘A passport!’ Evangeline said. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere!’

  She opened it eagerly. A strange expression came over her face as she read it. Wordlessly, she handed it to Matilda.

  ‘Alison Temple-Jordan,’ Matilda read out. ‘But what – ’

  ‘Wait …’ Evangeline had found an official-looking document. ‘Here’s a birth certificate.’ She read it before holding it out to Matilda, who took it gingerly.

  ‘Mother … Margaret Temple. Father …’ Matilda’s voice trembled. ‘Gervaise Jordan.’

  ‘The old bastard!’ Evangeline said. ‘Sorry, Matilda, but – ’

  Matilda hadn’t heard her. She stood frozen in time and space. I crowded forward to look at the documents and my heart twisted with pity for the poor woman who had reached out for that spurious hyphen to give her baby the illusion of legitimacy, so desperately important in those days.

  ‘She … she was my half-sister,’ Matilda whispered, ‘and .. I never knew.’

  ‘She wanted you to get to know her before she told you.’ Dame Cecile patted her shoulder comfortingly, but she was oblivious.

  ‘I liked her … I liked her the minute I saw her. That was why I hired her. I thought we could be friends – ’ Matilda’s voice broke.

  ‘Downstairs!’ Evangeline ordered briskly. ‘Downstairs – and drinks all round. We need them!’

  ‘At least we now know who her next-of-kin is.’ Matilda’s mouth twisted wryly. ‘I am.’

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Of course she’ll go on tonight,’ Evangeline reassured Dame Cecile. ‘Best thing for her. Keep to the routine, keep her mind off … things.’

  ‘But you’ll come along?’ Dame Cecile had a death grip on Evangeline’s arm. ‘You know the part – at least, you can fake it.’

  ‘Faking won’t be necessary,’ Evangeline said coldly, while I contemplated the understudy’s probable reaction to that turn of events. She wouldn’t like it. A complaint to Equity might even ensue.

  ‘Evangeline,’ I said cautiously, ‘I’m not sure – ’

  ‘Both of you!’ Now I found my own arm caught in that iron grip. ‘She’s stunned, horrified, in a state of shock. Anything could happen.’

  ‘We’ll be there,’ Evangeline promised. ‘But not because we’re worried about Matilda. You got Teddy up to the mark for the opening. I’m concerned to see that he stays there.’

  First night nerves over and success assured, the cast were clearly enjoying themselves almost as much as the audience. Teddy seemed to have learned his lesson, delivering his lines robustly, although with an occasional nervous sidelong glance at Cecile. Matilda worked smoothly, giving no hin
t of her private troubles.

  Even better, Frella didn’t hate me any more. She smiled pleasantly when introduced and gave no sign of ever having seen me before – offstage, that is.

  If I hadn’t been so shaken by her earlier hostility, I might have convinced myself I had imagined it. Especially when she included me in the invitation to return home with her and the others for an after-the-show supper.

  She and Teddy had rented a pleasant, nondescriptly furnished flat within walking distance of the theatre. I looked around it with more than passing interest. The decor didn’t bother me, I was looking for Cho-Cho.

  ‘Nothing elaborate, I’m afraid,’ Frella said briskly – and how right she was. She decanted a couple of cartons of the kind of commercial soup that claims it’s home-made into a large saucepan and, opening the fridge, pulled out two containers of store-bought sandwiches packaged in rows of neat triangles.

  ‘Not much time for domesticity lately.’ Teddy herded us into the living room before we could discover any more culinary short cuts and began opening the wine.

  At the sound of his voice, a small head poked around the corner and surveyed the room cautiously. Unusually, she hadn’t rushed into the kitchen immediately upon hearing the snick of the fridge door opening and closing. Perhaps she had been asleep

  ‘There’s my little darling!’ Teddy boomed, catching sight of her.

  Now she advanced into the room with increasing boldness, sure of her welcome. I snapped my fingers at her and cooed but, for some reason, she chose to go over to Cecile, who hadn’t even noticed her.

  ‘Won’t be long …’ Frella called from the kitchen over the rattle of crockery.

  ‘No hurry,’ Teddy called back. ‘We’re quite comfortable. I’ll bring you your drink.’ He poured ours and carried Frella’s into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh!’ Dame Cecile gave a muffled exclamation. Cho-Cho had suddenly crouched and leaped into her lap. She started to push her away but, as her fingers touched the soft fur, the push turned into a tentative stroke, then another. Cecile was missing Fleur so much that any fur was comforting. Cho-Cho settled down in her lap and I tried to control a certain amount of jealousy. Why hadn’t Cho-Cho come to me?

  ‘Soup’s on its way.’ Teddy carried in a large chipped-edge platter on to which the sandwich triangles had been transferred and garnished with tiny gherkins, cherry tomatoes and some indefinable greenish bits which might have been mustard cress, parsley, or possibly beansprouts. I did not intend to find out.

  Matilda had gone very quiet; the adrenalin rush which had carried her through the performance had dissipated and sent her into a low. I wondered if she had realized yet that she was going to have to talk to the police in the morning and tell them what we had discovered. Even though it might start Superintendent Thursby wondering if they ought to look more closely into the housekeeper’s death, now that her identity made her someone Matilda might have a motive for disposing of. Thursby was uncomfortably eager to suspect everyone – hitherto Matilda had been the only one he hadn’t considered.

  For a moment, I allowed myself to explore the possibility. If the housekeeper had moved in and couldn’t wait to reveal herself to Matilda, might Matilda have reacted murderously? Already beset by a stepmother she couldn’t stand and now faced with an unexpected half-sibling – another unwanted legacy from her problem parent, another millstone around her neck – it would not be completely surprising if something had snapped.

  Matilda looked over at me and smiled wanly just then and I felt as guilty as though she could read my mind. But no – the trap had already been set and waiting. Perhaps for Matilda herself? No, I exonerated her to my own satisfaction. Besides, if she were going to start killing her encumbrances, she would have finished off Soroya years ago. But I was afraid Superintendent Thursby wouldn’t be so easily convinced.

  ‘Teddy, could you please – ?’ Frella appeared in the doorway and abruptly froze. An almost palpable wave of hatred emanated from her and swept across the room. I was stunned.

  This time, she hated Cecile. Was the woman some kind of schizoid?

  ‘The soup is ready.’ Frella lowered her eyelids and turned away, but the shock wave still reverberated through the room.

  ‘Right.’ Teddy hadn’t noticed, neither had anyone else. He followed her into the kitchen and returned carrying a heavy tray of mugs which he dealt out to us.

  Cho-Cho lifted her head to sniff as Dame Cecile took her mug of soup from the tray, but immediately lost interest. Carrot and coriander didn’t do anything for her.

  I wasn’t sure it did much for me, but I smiled at Teddy as I accepted my own mug.

  Evangeline shifted uneasily and looked around the room; the vibes were reaching her, but she couldn’t determine their source. She looked at me and raised an inquiring eyebrow. I nodded confirmation, but was not in a position to explain.

  Having distributed all the mugs, Teddy now began passing the platter of sandwiches. Cho-Cho abruptly deserted Dame Cecile and went to the man with the food, twining around his ankles.

  ‘No, no, dear heart, you’ll trip me,’ Teddy said fondly, managing to scratch her under the chin with the toe of his shoe without quite overbalancing. It was close, though, the sandwiches nearly landed in Matilda’s lap and a cherry tomato rolled off on to the carpet.

  ‘I’ll take that!’ The blast of hatred detonated again – this time, Teddy was the target. ‘Before you drop it!’ Frella snatched the platter from Teddy’s unresisting hands which, happily freed, stretched down to pick up Cho-Cho. She snuggled into his arms, accepting his caresses, although I noticed she kept one eye on the sandwiches.

  ‘Pay no attention to Teddy.’ Frella offered Dame Cecile the sandwiches with a practised smile and no sign of hostility. She hated Teddy now. ‘He thinks more of that cat than he does of me.’

  Hardly surprising, the cat had a much nicer personality. It couldn’t be easy to be married to a woman whose emotions were about as stable as an erupting volcano. Now she hates you, now she doesn’t – and you can never be sure when. How had she ever managed to direct a hit play? The woman wasn’t rational.

  ‘Than any of us,’ Frella amended smoothly, as Evangeline selected a couple of triangles.

  ‘Trixie?’ I was aware of little eyes watching as I made my selection. I took the prawn mayonnaise – and that settled it. Cho-Cho twisted from Teddy’s arms, leaped to the floor and trotted over to me.

  Teddy beamed forgivingly as he saw me slide a fat juicy prawn out of the sandwich to welcome her.

  Not so Frella. She drew in her breath with a hiss and I felt the full torrent of her hatred wash over me. Startled, I looked up at her. That Jekyll-and-Hyde transformation had happened again. She was back to hating me.

  How could Teddy live with it day after day? And yet, Soroya had been his initial choice – he sure could pick them. Or had they picked him? Perhaps only a doormat type like Teddy could survive in symbiosis with such overpowering personalities.

  Cho-Cho felt it, too. She gave Frella a wide berth as she skirted around her legs to reach me. Frella’s face was a cold mask, but she could not hide the expression in her eyes as she looked at Cho-Cho. She was jealous as a cat – of a cat. She would willingly – happily – do it harm. Teddy had better not turn his back or Cho-Cho would be in danger.

  But he had turned his back once before. And Cho-Cho had barely escaped a hideous fate. If we hadn’t come along –

  ‘You did it!’ I gasped, rising to my feet to confront Frella. ‘It was you!’

  ‘I believe you’re right,’ Evangeline said, glaring at Frella.

  ‘Did what?’ Teddy stared at us, blinking, unsure of what had happened to turn a polite and friendly gathering into an armed camp.

  ‘Don’t tell him!’ Frella rasped. It was half-plea, half-command. But, unlike some, I wasn’t hers to command.

  ‘What on earth …?’ Matilda was as nonplussed as Teddy. Cecile watched quietly, nodding understanding.

  ‘Tell me
what?’ Teddy was coming to grips with the situation. He looked at Frella suspiciously. ‘What don’t you want me to know?’

  ‘Nothing!’ Frella would not meet his eyes.

  Her prawn finished and recognizing that nothing else was likely to be immediately forthcoming, Cho-Cho strolled back to Teddy and nudged his ankle. Automatically, he stooped to pick her up.

  ‘You and that damned cat!’ Frella exploded.

  ‘I thought you liked her.’ Even Teddy couldn’t miss the animosity. It bewildered him.

  ‘Think again!’ Evangeline was right there with me. ‘She tried to kill her.’

  Frella made a choking sound.

  ‘What?’ Teddy clutched Cho-Cho to him protectively. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘She took that cat to Stuff Yours! It was going to be returned to you stuffed and mounted.’ Evangeline paused and, for good measure, added, ‘And for some reason, she then murdered Mr Stuff Yours.’

  ‘I didn’t!’ Frella cried. ‘I never touched him. He was all right when I left him!’

  Evangeline and I exchanged glances. How often had one or the other of us found that line in our scripts? At her hammiest, Evangeline had delivered it with more conviction than Frella.

  ‘Left him? Then you were there …’ Teddy was slow, but he was putting two and two together. ‘You admit it! You were going to – ’ He clutched Cho-Cho so tightly she emitted a protesting squeak.

  ‘And then she set the place on fire!’ Dame Cecile supplied.

  ‘I did not!’ Frella’s voice rose. She took a tentative step towards Teddy. ‘Teddy, I swear – ’

  Teddy backed away. Cho-Cho flattened her ears and spat at Frella. I don’t know where an innocent young cat learned language like that.

  ‘You – ’ Teddy took another step backwards. ‘You tried to kill Cho-Cho-San!’

  ‘You care more for that cat than you do for me!’ The bitter accusation was hurled at him with force and venom – just before Frella burst into tears.

  ‘Frella, don’t – ’ He broke off, visibly trying to harden his heart.