The Cat Who Wasn't a Dog Read online

  ‘Why not? What do you care? You’ve got your damned cat!’

  ‘I thought you liked Cho-Cho. You never said anything – ’

  ‘I kept hoping Soroya would get her and take her out of the country and keep her out!’

  ‘But she never did. And so you took my little Cho-Cho to a – ’ Horror filled his voice, his eyes. ‘To a taxidermist!’

  ‘That’s right! Without her, I had a chance of getting some of your attention! But I didn’t kill anyone – I swear to you, Teddy. And I didn’t set any fires either!’

  This time her declaration rang true. She might be a monster, sick with jealousy to the point of destroying an innocent cat, but she drew the line at killing a human being. And she hadn’t committed arson, either.

  ‘So what are you going to do about it?’ Frella faced Teddy defiantly.

  ‘I … I don’t know. I can never trust you again.’

  ‘Not with that cat, no. It’s crunch time, Teddy. You have to choose between us. Which is it going to be? Her? Or me?’

  Cho-Cho mewled plaintively as his arms tightened. He look down at her, then looked at Frella. More expression than he had ever used on stage flickered across his face. He loved that cat dearly but, sweet and willing though Cho-Cho might be, she couldn’t support him financially in his declining years – which were fast approaching – while Frella was firmly on track for growing success in the theatre and lots of lucrative jobs.

  To be fair, perhaps he loved Frella, too – difficult though that might be to imagine. He kept looking from one to the other, his eyes filled with tears.

  ‘I won’t give her to Soroya,’ he said weakly.

  ‘You don’t have to.’ I put in my bid quickly. ‘She’s a little darling – anyone would be glad to have her.’

  ‘To let her go away … never to see her again …’ His voice shook. Frella waited.

  ‘You can have visiting privileges,’ I bargained recklessly. ‘Drop in any time.’ I moved forward eagerly.

  ‘Well …’ He was giving Cho-Cho a few final loving parting strokes. She purred unheedingly.

  ‘That’s settled then!’ Dame Cecile reached him before I did and swept Cho-Cho into her arms. ‘You must feel absolutely free to come and visit her any time you like.’

  ‘Now, just a min – ’ Evangeline’s hand closed on my arm, pulling me back.

  ‘The revelation came to me when I held her on my lap a few minutes ago.’ Dame Cecile faced us raptly. ‘I remembered the story of Sir Henry Irving and his faithful dog. Like Fleur, the dog always sat in its favourite chair in his dressing room, watching him make up for the performance, greeting him when he came offstage. When the dog died, Sir Henry was distraught and heartbroken. When next he went to his dressing room in the Lyceum, it was with a sad and aching heart, dreading to face that empty chair.

  ‘But it wasn’t empty. The theatre cat, who had never gone near the dressing room while the dog was alive, strolled in and leaped up on the empty cushion, taking over the dog’s guardian angelship. Sir Henry promptly sent his dresser out for fish for the cat and it became his pampered pet, watching over him as the dog had done. And when Sir Henry retired from the stage, he took the cat home with him.

  ‘And I know, I just know – ’ Dame Cecile looked around at our stunned faces, defying any of us to gainsay her – ‘that my dear little Fleur, wherever she may be, has arranged for this cat to come to me in her place and solace me in my grief!’

  ‘But – ’ I tried again. Evangeline’s grasp tightened.

  ‘We’re all tired,’ Evangeline said smoothly. ‘I think it’s time we were all on our way.’

  ‘I’ll see you to the door.’ Frella moved forward eagerly to speed the parting guests, ready for the big reconciliation scene as soon as we were out of the way. Teddy looked ready to collapse.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I could only consider it poetic justice. As Matilda turned the key in the lock and swung the front door open, Soroya swooped on us.

  ‘There you are at last!’ she accused. ‘I’ve been waiting up for you!’

  ‘That makes a change,’ Matilda said wearily. She walked past Soroya and up the stairs. ‘Then you can lock up for the night, too.’

  ‘And you!’ Soroya whirled on Cecile. ‘What are you doing with my cat? I’ve been looking for her everywhere!’ She snatched Cho-Cho from Cecile and followed Matilda up the stairs.

  ‘But that’s my – ’ It was Dame Cecile’s turn for a futile protest. She started after Soroya indignantly, but Evangeline stopped her.

  ‘She’s got a good case for ownership,’ Evangeline warned. ‘Let it be for tonight.’

  ‘I shall complain to Teddy in the morning!’

  ‘You do that,’ I said. I locked the door myself and turned out the lights. They took the hint and let me lead them up the stairs.

  The only good thing about it, I consoled myself, was that at least Cho-Cho was under the same roof with me. Furthermore, she had escaped from Soroya before – and she knew where my room was. I went to bed feeling rather more cheerful than I had been earlier in the evening.

  I couldn’t believe it when I got up in the morning. Evangeline was already up and had gone out. Where? And why?

  ‘An errand of some importance, I believe.’ Dame Cecile was seated at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and some toast. ‘It must be – to get her out of the house at this hour!’

  ‘Right.’ I poured my own coffee and slumped into a chair. I’d think about something to eat with the second cup. ‘I don’t suppose you have any idea when she might be back?’ I feared the worst: if Nigel was involved, it was going to be the worst possible start to the day.

  ‘She didn’t say – ’ Something in the doorway caught Cecile’s attention and I turned to see what it was.

  ‘Cho-Cho!’ I cried joyously. ‘You got away!’

  ‘She knows where she belongs,’ Dame Cecile said complacently. ‘Here, Cho-Cho! Over here!’

  Cho-Cho stopped and looked around.

  ‘She needs a bit of training.’ Dame Cecile stood and went over to her. ‘One must be firm. Kind, but firm. Come, Cho-Cho, heel!’

  ‘I don’t think it works like that with cats, Cecile.’ She was the one who needed training. I made affectionate noises. ‘Come over here, Cho-Cho. Come to Trixie.’

  ‘Heel, Cho-Cho!’ Dame Cecile ordered, striding back to the table. ‘Heel!’

  Cho-Cho gave her a contemptuous look, sent me a friendly one, and made her choice. She marched straight to the fridge and pawed at the door.

  ‘Give her some fish!’ Dame Cecile ordered, obviously with the example of Sir Henry Irving in mind.

  ‘We don’t have any.’

  ‘What do we have?’

  Cho-Cho gave an impatient meow, the matter was obviously one of some urgency.

  ‘I don’t know. Look for yourself.’

  ‘Faaugh!’ Disgusted at my non-cooperation, Dame Cecile went to the fridge and opened it. ‘There doesn’t seem to be much here,’ she complained. ‘Not for man nor beast.’ She rootled farther into its depths and surfaced with a small bowl. ‘Do you think she’d eat green beans?’

  ‘Depends on how hungry she is. Try her and see.’

  ‘All right.’ Dame Cecile selected a large bean and held it above Cho-Cho’s head. ‘Sit up!’ she ordered. ‘Sit! Beg!’

  ‘Cats are different, Cecile. It doesn’t work that way, either.’ I was cheering up by the minute. It wasn’t going to take Dame Cecile long to discover that she and Cho-Cho were incompatible, no matter what her dear Fleur had decided.

  Cho-Cho looked unbelievingly at the limp vegetable being held over her head and stalked away. She leaped to the table and sniffed at my coffee.

  ‘You won’t like that,’ I warned her, ‘but have your own drink.’ I emptied the cream jug into my saucer and pushed it towards her. ‘It will keep you going until we find something else.’

  ‘She’s very fussy.’ Dame Cecile resumed her seat and regarded
us both with dissatisfaction. ‘Fleur would have eaten those beans happily.’

  ‘Cats have a palate,’ I explained, ‘dogs haven’t. It’s the difference between a gourmet and a glutton.’

  ‘Fleur was not a glutton!’

  ‘I didn’t say she was.’

  ‘You implied it!’ The choked sob was back in her voice. ‘My poor, dear little …’

  ‘Where’s Eddie?’ It was time to distract her. ‘He’s usually here by now.’

  ‘Evangeline intercepted him. He’s driving her somewhere. You didn’t think she was going to catch a bus, did you?’

  ‘No, I’d never think that.’ I had thought her destination might be within walking distance. If she’d commandeered the taxi, she could be going anywhere.

  The telephone rang and I waited a few more rings until it became clear that Matilda was not going to answer it herself. I picked up the kitchen extension. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Oh, Mother, I’m so glad I’ve got you. I tried your other number but – ’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t, dear. That’s Evangeline’s mobile. It upsets her to have my calls – ’

  ‘So she informed me. At least, I think that’s what she was saying. There was so much background noise it was hard to hear.’

  ‘Background noise? Where was she?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Martha’s tone was bitter. ‘But, wherever she was, she sounded right at home!’

  ‘Didn’t she – ?’

  ‘Never mind her, Mother. I called you for a consultation. We’ve had a rather weird recipe submitted and I wanted to run it past you.’

  ‘All right, dear.’ I carried the phone back to the table and made myself comfortable. As usual, Martha’s voice was so loud and clear that Dame Cecile was able to eavesdrop effortlessly. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s called “When You Bet Your Hat and Lose” and it’s a recipe for eating your hat.’

  ‘It must be an old one,’ Dame Cecile said. ‘No one has worn a hat for decades.’

  ‘You mean a recipe for a hat-shaped cake or cookie, dear?’

  ‘No, an actual hat. For when someone says they’ll eat their hat if they’re not right – and they’re wrong.’

  ‘I can’t remember when I last heard that expression.’ Dame Cecile was making it a three-way conversation.

  ‘Probably because no one wears hats any more.’ I agreed with her on that. ‘At least, not that sort of hat. Does it specify any particular sort of hat, dear? Fedora? Bowler? Pork pie? Straw hat? Top hat?’

  ‘Baseball caps are all you see these days,’ Dame Cecile put in. ‘And the idiots wear those backwards. They’d be better off eating them.’

  ‘Any kind of hat. It doesn’t matter. The point is, you burn it down to ashes and then stir the ashes into some food. The recipe recommends oatmeal mixed with maple syrup, but Jocasta thinks – ’

  ‘Don’t do it, Martha!’ Dame Cecile grabbed the phone from me. ‘You don’t know what they’re making hats out of these days. All sorts of synthetic materials are around. Even the fumes might be deadly if you burn them, never mind eating them!’

  ‘And old-fashioned hats probably weren’t any better.’ I reclaimed the phone to add my caveat. ‘They used something terribly nasty to block them. That’s where the terms Mad Hatter and Mad as a Hatter originated. The fumes they inhaled all day at their job literally made them insane.’

  ‘Don’t even think of using that recipe, Martha!’ Dame Cecile took the phone again. ‘Not even as a joke. Some fool would be bound to try it – just to show off – and the consequences could be disastrous!’

  ‘She’s right, dear.’ The tug-of-war with the phone was exasperating, but it had distracted Cecile’s attention from her own problems. ‘Much safer to leave it out.’

  ‘Yes, I will. I’m so glad I talked this over with you – and Jocasta will be, too. To tell the truth – ’ a little giggle escaped her – ‘neither of us wanted to be the one to test that recipe!’

  ‘One has to be so careful,’ Dame Cecile said as I returned the phone to its shelf. ‘I always remember my mother telling me about the World War I cookbook one of the Ministries issued. Naturally, they got some Civil Service type who didn’t know anything about cooking to compile it. The emphasis was on not wasting food, so he advised everyone not to waste the leftover rhubarb leaves when they made their pies and desserts from the stalks, but to boil up the leaves and serve them like cabbage.’

  ‘But they’re deadly poison!’ I gasped.

  ‘Fortunately, someone realized that before the book was distributed too widely. It had to be called back and pulped.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that!’

  ‘Yes.’ There was a far-away look in her eyes. ‘But I always thought how very useful it might be to know that one could get one’s hands on a deadly poison so easily. Just think of it … no lies to the doctor to get the right prescription … no poison book to sign at the chemist’s. Just a quiet stroll down the garden path …’

  For a blinding instant, I wondered if giving Cecile the role of an eccentric poisoner had been type-casting.

  No, no, it couldn’t be. She had been with us when Eddie discovered Mr Stuff Yours’ body and she could have had no reason to want to dispose of Matilda’s new housekeeper. Besides, neither of them had been poisoned. Just the same, I found myself eyeing her warily.

  It was with relief that I heard the back door open and turned to see Evangeline and Eddie entering. Evangeline was carrying what looked like a large cardboard cake box – except that it had holes in it and she was struggling to keep a jouncing lid in place. Strange little noises were coming from it.

  Cho-Cho pricked up her ears and stalked forward stiff-legged to investigate, almost as suspicious as I was.

  ‘There!’ Evangeline set the box down on the table, keeping one hand firmly on the lid.

  ‘What have you got there?’ Dame Cecile was also suspicious. ‘I don’t like the look of that.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ The box was beginning to rock from side to side now. Evangeline used her other hand to steady it. ‘That’s too bad, it’s for you. I mean, what’s inside it is.’

  There was a distinct yelp from inside the box.

  ‘No!’ Dame Cecile froze. ‘You didn’t! I can’t bear it! No other Peke could possibly replace Fleur!’

  ‘That’s just what I thought!’ Evangeline upended the box over Cecile’s lap, the lid flew off and the contents tumbled out. It looked like several small black balls of knitting wool … wriggling knitting wool.

  ‘What on earth … ?’ Dame Cecile flinched and stared down at it incredulously. ‘What is it?’

  It shook itself out and pushed itself up on spindly pompommed legs, waving the pom-pom on the end of its tail. Cho-Cho, who had retreated to the safety of my lap, stretched her neck for a closer look, obviously unable to believe her eyes. She turned to blink up at me, twitching her ears.

  ‘She,’ Evangeline said, ‘is a miniature French poodle, with a lineage better than your own. I have her Kennel Club papers in my bag.’

  ‘And you can keep them there!’ Dame Cecile fended off the boisterous puppy, who had decided it wanted to lick her nose. ‘I’ll have nothing to do with this – this travesty of a noble animal!

  ‘They said the fur will grow back out,’ Eddie told Cecile. ‘You can give ’er a different clip then, maybe one of them lion ones. Might make ‘er look more reasonable.’

  ‘So that’s where you were this morning,’ I said. ‘At the kennels.’ Suddenly, Martha’s comment was explained.

  ‘I spent hours choosing the right puppy for Cecile.’ Evangeline sighed as Cecile repulsed yet another advance from the pup. ‘I thought it was right. Perhaps I should have gone for a Scottish terrier, it might have looked more like a Peke.’

  ‘Oh!’ Matilda came into the kitchen. ‘Am I the last one up?’

  ‘Probably not,’ I told her. ‘There’s been no sign of Soroya yet.’

  ‘Good!’ She moved slowly and unsteadil
y to a chair. Eddie took one look at her haggard face and rushed to bring her a cup of coffee.

  ‘Matilda, are you all right?’ I was concerned.

  ‘I didn’t sleep much last night,’ she admitted. ‘Thank you, Eddie.’

  ‘Toast?’ he inquired anxiously. ‘Cereal?’

  ‘Nothing, thanks – oh!’ The puppy had frisked over to check her out. ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘Need you ask?’ Dame Cecile gave Evangeline a disdainful look. Hearing her voice, the puppy pranced back to her and tried to kiss her.

  ‘She likes you best,’ Evangeline said persuasively.

  ‘Hmmmph!’

  ‘I’ve spoken to the police.’ Matilda was still caught up in her own problems. ‘They’re sending someone over to collect the things we found. I don’t know why they want them but – ’ she shrugged – ‘I certainly don’t.’

  Spurned again, but undaunted, the puppy scurried over to the box it had arrived in and, with a roguish look inviting Dame Cecile to come and play, jumped inside.

  ‘There!’ Cecile wasn’t playing. In one quick movement, she stood and snapped the lid back on. ‘Now get that thing out of here!’ She glared at Evangeline.

  Cho-Cho quivered in my lap. The ancient call of boxes and bags to felines was exerting its pull. Especially when a small paw groped out of one of the holes before being stopped by its pom-pom. Cho-Cho put one forepaw on the table and watched intently.

  The lid popped open and, like a jack-in-the-box, the puppy leaped out, this time carrying something in its mouth. It advanced on Cecile, dangling its prize before her.

  ‘My glove! Where did you get that?’ She reached for it and the puppy danced away, delighted at enticing her into a game.

  I looked at Evangeline. It was an old trick, but it still worked. She had taken the glove, well-impregnated with Cecile’s scent, and shut it in the box with the pup so that it would learn the scent and go to Cecile when it was released.

  Cecile managed to catch one finger of the glove and pulled. The puppy hunched down and tugged against her with little growls of excitement.

  ‘Oh, all right!’ Cecile let go abruptly and the puppy sat down with a thump. ‘Keep it!’ She waved a dismissive hand.