Only the Cat Knows Page 20

  ‘But why?’ I played for time. ‘Why me? Why this? You owe me some explanation.’

  ‘I owe you nothing!’ he snarled.

  ‘But I don’t understand.’ I spread my hands in a helpless gesture. ‘Why? I … I don’t want to die … without even knowing why …’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he sneered. ‘The famous amnesia, no?’

  ‘No — Yes —’ There was something off-key here — what? I cocked a professional ear: something wrong about the timbre of his voice. If I could keep him talking, I might be able to identify it.

  ‘It’s true. I remember nothing. Not even being up here before. Not you — not anything. Please —’ I gave a sniff as pathetic as I could make it. ‘I — I’ll beg — if you want.’

  ‘Yes — beg!’ It had been the right thing to say. There was an unpleasant relish in his voice — and … something else.

  But he had moved back from the parapet and the Duchess was no longer dangling over it. Her eyes met mine and her muscles tensed. I got the feeling we were both waiting our chance.

  ‘Please —’ I said. ‘Just tell me why —’

  ‘You are in the way!’ The hooded head turned towards me, face hidden deep within the dark folds. I could feel the enmity surging out at me.

  All that hatred. Shadow? Or someone else? The voice wasn’t quite right for Shadow. How many enemies had Nessa made?

  The moon was lost behind an increasing cloud cover and the wind was rising. It blew chill against my face and I could feel the hem of my kaftan stirring. The hem of the Monk’s robe was moving, too; it was of a heavier material than the kaftan. It might not actually trip him, but it might impede his progress if the wind kept strengthening.

  ‘Why?’ I had to keep his attention on me. ‘What ever happened? What drove you to this? I have no idea what I might have done, what I might have said.’ I repeated the argument that had incensed him earlier. ‘You owe me an explanation! ‘

  ‘I owe you nothing!’ It worked. The murderous rage returned, he shook with it. ‘You walked in here and took everything! You owe me! And now you will pay!’

  ‘Tell me!’ I demanded. As he moved towards me, I moved back, aware that he was edging me towards one of the openings.

  ‘I tell you nothing! You will die as ignorant as you have lived.’ He tensed to spring. ‘You stupid, stupid woman!’

  ‘Stupid — perhaps. Woman — no!’ I yanked off my turban and hurled it at him.

  There was a muffled shriek. The cat dropped to the stone floor as he instinctively raised both hands to fend off the unexpected missile.

  I tore off the kaftan, swirling it like a bullfighter’s cape at his ankles as he lunged forward.

  Shriek? My mind registered it belatedly. I caught at the outstretched arms and was not now surprised to find my hands closing around slender wrists.

  ‘Who are you?’ the creature gasped, writhing in my grip.

  ‘Who are you?’ I countered, forcing the creature back against the tower wall. Without the reinforcement of terror and the unknown, it was weaker than I had imagined.

  Then it gathered itself and made a desperate lunge against me, sending both of us stumbling towards the edge of the battlement.

  But I was stronger. I forced it — her — back against the tower again. Something fell from the folds of her robe and clattered as it hit the stones.

  She had begun gasping out little cries of distress. ‘You are hurting me,’ she sobbed.

  ‘You were going to kill me! You tried to kill Nessa!’ Fury swept over me, I pulled her away from the wall and shook her violently.

  The cat hadn’t run away. I was dimly aware of a white shape crouching by the door to the stairs, watching me with approval: that was the way to treat a rat!

  I kept on shaking her, too furious to stop. The folds of the cowl flapped back and forth across her face until, finally, it fell back completely. A sudden burst of weak moonlight illuminated a pale face and hair that shone gilt.

  ‘Yvonne!’ Once I’d discovered that the Monk was female, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Who else among them had the background to know about costumes, optical illusions, sound effects? I remembered the sound of her piano as I passed her quarters, leading me to assume she was inside — then finding her with Oversall. ‘Yvonne!’

  At our feet, the object that had dropped from her concealing robes gave a little preliminary cough and then the monks’ choir rang out, chanting their rejection of the world and the glory of the spiritual life.

  ‘You!’ Her face contorted. ‘You’re not Vanessa! Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Vance. Her twin. Her fraternal twin.’

  ‘Twin? Not Vanessa! Then she is dead!’ She gave a brief exultant laugh. ‘I won!’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Nessa won. She’s still alive, she’s getting better. And she’s got me to look after her. And Oversall. But you’re on your own — alone — and you’re caught!’ For a fleeting instant, I felt almost sorry for her.

  ‘Oversall! Everett Oversall!’ She spat the name out like a curse, beginning to struggle again. ‘It’s all his fault! I gave up everything for him! If it wasn’t for him, I’d be famous now! Films, hit records, awards — he took it all away from me!’

  Oh, yes. I’d heard it all before. From every tuppenny-ha’penny little no-hoper who’d ever managed to get a foot on the lowest rung of the ladder, but had abandoned all the effort of the long climb with relief the minute a wealthy meal ticket had come along. Of course, they then spent the rest of their lives berating the poor sucker for their lost careers.

  Except that Oversall had never married Yvonne. He had married Nessa.

  Jealousy! The place reeks of it, Madame had said. Writhes with it

  Yvonnee was writhing now, trying to twist free of my grasp.

  ‘Let me go!’ she ordered. ‘Vanessa is alive — you said so yourself. You have nothing to blame me for!’

  ‘No?’ I tightened my grip. ‘What about Kiki? What about Francesca?’

  ‘What about them? They were fools! They were in the way!’

  ‘Only in your way.’ But that was enough. She recognized no other.

  ‘Only!’ she shrieked. ‘Only me! You sound like Everett Oversall! He ignores me! Neglects me! He chases the newer ones now, the younger ones — I am just part of the wallpaper!’

  ‘So you wanted revenge.’ This was not the moment to correct her idiom. Those slender fingers were still curling and writhing dangerously — itching to claw my face off. Those strong clever fingers dancing over a piano keyboard would be equally adept tapping out instructions to a computer. Embezzling funds and transferring them to some secret account of her own; siphoning off vital information she could purvey to interested parties she had met while entertaining at Oversall’s private little soirées. Not just for the money — for the revenge.

  Yvonne — the enemy within. This was going to hit Oversall hard. Somehow, I didn’t think Madame would be so surprised. I didn’t think much of anything surprised Madame.

  ‘Revenge — yes! Of course! Even now — when he returns his attention and his money to the theatre again — he never thinks of me! He invests in a play — and brings Vanessa here! He backs a stupid Bollywood film! What next? What? Anything — anyone — but me!’

  ‘Easy —’ I tried to calm her. ‘Take it easy.’ She was thrashing about so much I was afraid she was going to collapse on me. At the same time, I could see that she had a valid point. If nothing else, my newly discovered brother-in-law was guilty of monumental tactlessness.

  ‘I could have starred in that film! I have records that should be reissued. I can make new ones. My voice is still good —’

  And loud. And getting louder by the minute. It was surprising that she hadn’t roused half the household. She might yet.

  ‘Damn Everett Oversall!’ she shrieked. ‘Damn him! He betrayed me! He betrayed you! He betrays everyone! Hell is too good for him!’

  The cat gave a sudden corroborative yowl. I looked to see her m
oving away from the stairwell, her hackles rising, her tail bushed out. She met my eyes for a moment and flashed a warning.

  She was right. I had been paying too much attention to what Yvonne was saying and not enough to what she was doing. Each fresh burst of abortive struggle had edged us closer to the parapet — and to one of the openings.

  No wonder Dear Yvonne had been so forthcoming with her hatred and contempt. No matter that she had confessed. She had no intention of leaving me alive — male or female — to bear witness.

  Male or female. The irony struck me and I laughed aloud.

  ‘What is so amusing?’ Offended and furious, she stopped struggling briefly and glared at me.

  ‘You. Me. Us.’ I swung her back towards the tower wall. ‘Me, dressed as a woman. You, dressed as a man — and a monk, at that.’

  ‘You are sick!’ She renewed her struggle, but now I was conscious that she was deliberately trying to force us to the parapet again. ‘Mad!’

  One of us was mad, but it wasn’t me.

  Perhaps it would be better if I was. We’d be more evenly matched. She was fighting with the manic strength of the insane, whereas I was beginning to tire. It was taking all my energy just to hold her to a standstill. I didn’t rate my chances of wrestling her down the narrow winding staircase and back to the main house.

  The cat yowled again and I saw that she was now on the other side of us, perilously close to underfoot. Was she trying to help? Trip her, Duchess, don’t trip me!

  Yvonne suddenly realized the cat was there and began lashing out with her feet, trying to drop kick her over the parapet.

  ‘No, you don’t!’ Fury gave me a surge of energy and I shook her violently again. Perhaps too violently. Her head snapped back and she went limp.

  ‘Yvonne!’ Instant guilt swept over me. Had I snapped her neck? Killed her? I relaxed my hold, and let go of one of her arms to have a hand free to turn her face towards me to assess the damage.

  It was the oldest trick in the world — and I had fallen for it!

  She sprang back into spitting snarling life. The arm I had foolishly released swung out, hand splayed, fingernails clawing for my eyes.

  I tried to recapture the arm — or at least fend it off. At the same time, I tried to swing her sideways to keep those lashing out feet away from the Duchess.

  Down beside our scuffling feet, the monks’ chorus chanted on, their massed melodic voices rising and falling in the Latin devotions of centuries gone by.

  The cat was backing away from the sound, looking from the recording to the tower door with equal distaste.

  Get out of here! I tried to beam a message to her — cats were supposed to be telepathic, weren’t they?

  Maybe not this cat. She gave me a jaundiced look. I was being stupid again.

  Yvonne was keeping me too busy to worry about it. I’d caught her arm, but she was kicking at me wildly, varied by an occasional knee thrust to the groin. I was beginning to tip off-balance.

  Leave! I tried to reach the cat. Now! I wished I could.

  I had my hands full — literally — with Yvonne and we were swaying too close to the edge again.

  The cat looked from me to the tower door. Perhaps I was beginning to get through to her. Then her tail bushed out afresh and she backed towards the parapet. Her eyes grew huge and round as she stared at the door to the stairwell.

  Over a sudden lull in the chanting, I heard a strange clicking scrabbling sound from the stairwell.

  Yvonne had begun a low vicious monotone. I didn’t understand French — which was probably just as well — but she was obviously cursing me thoroughly.

  To hell with her, too! I kept watching the cat as her mouth opened in a snarl and she did some cursing of her own, drowned out as the chanting began to swell in volume. I followed her gaze to the tower door in time to see shadows moving there.

  With something between a triumphant bark and a menacing growl, Brutus burst through it and out on to the walkway, Bud right behind him holding tightly to the other end of his leash, trying to keep him under control.

  Yvonne and the cat both shrieked. Probably I did, too.

  Brutus lunged forward and I let go of Yvonne. He and Bud could take over now. My concern was for the Duchess. I swooped her into my arms before Brutus could notice her.

  Then it happened so fast I hardly had time to blink.

  There was a final scream as Yvonne backed away from the charging Alsatian, overbalanced and fell from the aperture she had destined for me.

  Brutus thrust his head through it and looked down, whining at being deprived of his prey. Bud moved forward and there was a clunk as his foot struck the monks’ choir, sending it hurtling into the void after Yvonne as the voices rose in a crescendo.

  There was a muted thud I didn’t want to think about, followed by a distant clatter as the monks’ voices were silenced for ever.

  Silence. I clutched the Duchess and we buried our faces in each other’s necks.

  As from a great distance, I heard Bud say: ‘Down, Brutus, down! Friends. Good boy. Sit!’

  Then: ‘I heard all that chanting, so I came to see what was up. And I heard screaming. Are you all right, Miss Vanessa?’

  A comforting arm draped across my shoulders, an avuncular hand dropped to give my arm an encouraging squeeze — and froze when it encountered a firm bicep.

  ‘Miss Nessa?’ His voice faltered uncertainly. I raised my head and met his puzzled eyes.

  ‘You’re not Miss Va —’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  She was sleeping. Breathing smoothly and evenly, her colour almost back to normal, her hair growing back in short curly tendrils. The best sight I’d seen since I got back to England.

  ‘I don’t know when she’ll wake up,’ Dr Anderson warned. ‘It’s best to let her do so naturally. It may be some time.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ I drew a chair up to the bedside and settled into it. ‘I’ll wait.’

  ‘We also,’ Madame said. Oversall positioned her wheelchair beside me and pulled up a chair for himself. All the next of kin.

  ‘Well …’ Anderson was in full disapproving medic mode, but unable to do anything about it since the entire private hospital belonged to Oversall.

  ‘You do realize —?’ He was safer frowning at me and the offering in my arms. ‘Most people bring flowers.’

  ‘She’ll be happier with this.’ The room was already so crammed with flowers that it looked like a florist’s shop.

  ‘She will, indeed,’ Oversall said. The decisive word.

  ‘Well …’ Unsatisfactory, but Anderson obviously wanted to keep this job. ‘I have other patients …’ With an On your heads be it shrug, he left the room.

  ‘Now.’ I turned to face Oversall. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s been happening?’ I hadn’t seen him for a couple of weeks, not since that nightmare night when he had been brought to stand looking down at Yvonne’s broken body and think his own thoughts.

  ‘There isn’t much to tell.’ His face shuttered. ‘Everything has been taken care of.’

  Swept under the carpet with the golden broom, he meant.

  ‘Yvonne was with us for a very long time.’ Madame did not look at him. ‘We have returned her to her native France. Her family were satisfied with the arrangements. They were generous. My nephew will … notice her absence.’

  ‘I see.’ I did. Generous arrangements — and the family would also have been made aware that a major scandal about Yvonne was being covered up. No wonder they were satisfied. And it was Aunt Madame, was it? I filed that one away for later contemplation.

  ‘And Kiki?’ I asked. ‘I suppose you shipped her back to her family, too?’

  ‘We did everything necessary, everything possible. They, also, were — not happy, but satisfied with the arrangements.’

  As they say, money can’t buy happiness, but it can certainly make misery more comfortable.

  �
�Francesca —’ Oversall said heavily, before I could enquire about her. ‘We still don’t know. We have no idea where the body is hidden. It’s … unfortunate that you didn’t find out from Yvonne what she did with her.’

  ‘Sorry to be so incompetent,’ I said. ‘But I was fighting for my life at the time.’

  ‘Do not be angry.’ Madame leaned over and put her hand on my arm. ‘It is over now.’

  Was it? I wondered if Oversall thought so.

  The cat stirred in my arms. She had been staring from the motionless figure on the bed to me and back again for some time. Now she wanted to get closer to investigate.

  I set her down gently on the side of the bed and she crept forward delicately, nose twitching.

  We all watched her with varying degrees of gratitude. There was nothing left to say — and it was something to occupy us.

  Closer and closer she moved, until the cold wet nose touched Nessa’s cheek. Nessa smiled in her sleep and instinctively stretched out a hand. The cat curled into it. Nessa’s smile widened and her eyelids fluttered open. As I had noticed myself, it was a lovely way to be awakened.

  ‘Glori —’ she whispered. Her eyes opened the rest of the way and she saw me. ‘Gloriana —’

  ‘Both your Glorianas,’ I said. ‘Although she strikes me as more of a Dowager Duchess.’

  ‘You think so?’ Her eyes began to shut again. The cat stretched out beside her and began purring loudly, no longer concerned that there seemed to be two of us.

  ‘What …?’ She was fading. 1 … doing here?’

  ‘Just rest.’ Oversall rose to hover over her protectively. ‘You’re safe now.’

  ‘Everett …’ She greeted him faintly, there seemed to be genuine affection in her smile. She looked beyond him. ‘And Madame …’ There was affection for her, too.

  ‘Go back to sleep,’ Madame said. ‘All is well.’

  ‘Is it?’ She looked wildly at me for a moment, struggling for something she ought to remember. ‘Vance — have I missed your Opening Night?’

  ‘No, I haven’t got a show yet. I’ve been … sidetracked.’