The Cat Who Wasn't a Dog Page 4

  ‘I suppose that’s understandable.’ I found myself defending Cecile. ‘She and Fleur were together for about twenty years. Most marriages don’t last that long.’

  ‘Hers certainly didn’t. Nor did my father’s. It may be understandable, but it was very unprofessional!’ Matilda took a deep breath and added regretfully, ‘If only my father had lived a few more years, he’d have divorced Soroya, too, and I wouldn’t have been left with this problem.’

  ‘Mmm …’ I wasn’t going to go into that. The gossip I remembered hearing about the late Mr Jordan led me to suspect that, if he’d divorced Soroya, it would only have been to marry a teenage lapdancer.

  Where was Evangeline? Where was Eddie? Where, even, was Dame Cecile? I cast around unhappily for a way to change the subject. When the good guys got this beleaguered in a film, it was the cue for the US Cavalry to appear on the horizon, riding to the rescue. Where were they?

  I became aware of movement at the doorway, but at floor level. It was none of the above, but any distraction was welcome. Especially this one.

  ‘Cho-Cho-San!’ I cheered. ‘You got away from her!’

  ‘More than my father ever did.’ Matilda was still brooding.

  ‘Was Cho-Cho-San your father’s cat?’ The explanation for her calling Soroya a liar occurred to me.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Matilda laughed bitterly. ‘All his attention was taken up by two-legged cats. He had no time for any four-legged ones.’

  ‘You said something about fish earlier.’ Firmly I pulled the conversation back to the essentials.

  ‘That cupboard over there …’ Matilda waved in the general direction. ‘This establishment doesn’t run to cat food, I’m afraid, but you’ll find all sorts of seafood there.’

  Not quite. There was one tin of tuna and two of salmon – one of them dented. I reached for the tin of tuna – the good old-American comfort food.

  ‘I’ll split it with you,’ I told Cho-Cho-San, realizing anew just how hungry I was. I’d given up on the eggs. In fact, I was beginning to get a fated feeling about them. Who else might show up to claim them if I tried to cook more?

  Cho-Cho-San leaned against my ankles in happy agreement as I wrestled with the ringpull, then I remembered I’d used the last of the bread for Soroya’s toast. I zeroed in on a breadbox under the cabinet, but found only a very sad-looking wholemeal loaf. Still, if I trimmed off the greenish crusts, the centre was probably safe to eat.

  Returning to the fridge, I found I’d used the last of the butter scrambling the eggs. The mayonnaise jar was empty, the cream cheese stood in a puddle of liquid while the top of the cheese was parched and cracked and shrouded in dark blue mould. The chutney was a dark solidified lump at the bottom of the jar and something whose stained and sticky label proclaimed it to be some sort of relish looked so sinister that I didn’t bother to open it.

  ‘How long have you been without a housekeeper?’ I asked, dribbling a bit of oil from the tuna across the stale bread.

  ‘Oh … two or three weeks. Perhaps longer. I’ve lost track. We’ve been so busy rehearsing … and then we eat out afterwards. I only got round to interviewing a new one a couple of days ago. Why?’

  ‘Just wondering …’ Matilda was obviously akin to Evangeline: so long as there was a restaurant open, the kitchen held no interest for her.

  ‘That reminds me …’ Matilda’s brow wrinkled. ‘Where is Mrs Temple? She was supposed to start work this morning.’

  Poor Matilda. Life was just one problem after another for her. Opening night looming, an unwanted stepmother who had moved in, a housekeeper who had decamped without ever having worked for a day – and it couldn’t have been much fun to have Dame Cecile stalking around playing the tragedienne since the demise of Fleur-de-Lys.

  My own problems paled into insignificance. Actually – fingers crossed – I didn’t have that many problems at the moment.

  In fact, if my daughter was going to surprise me with the announcement I hoped for, everything was wonderful.

  At my feet, Cho-Cho finished her tuna and curled around my ankles again, purring lyrically. I bent and gathered her into my arms, stroking the silky fur while a feeling of immense well-being settled over me. I tried to share it with Matilda.

  ‘Don’t worry, everything will sort itself out. Cecile will carry on with the show. Soroya can’t hang around too long, if she has all those commitments in Bollywood. Your new housekeeper is bound to turn up sooner or later, probably she got caught up in some train delay. There’s absolutely nothing to worry – ’

  The slam of the front door and a series of piercing screams halted me in mid-sentence.

  ‘You think so, do you?’ Matilda cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at me before standing to face the doorway and whatever new crisis was heading towards us.

  The front door slammed again and a loud angry voice rose over the screams. Another slam of the front door – they must be slamming it in each other’s faces – was followed by a sudden ominous silence.

  It appeared that lunch had not gone well. Perhaps I hadn’t made such a bad choice after all.

  ‘I have a raging headache!’ Evangeline tottered into the room and slumped into the chair Matilda had just vacated.

  ‘I’ve got indigestion,’ Eddie complained, leaning against the wall.

  ‘The pizza parlour was your idea!’ Evangeline snapped.

  ‘Yeah, well, sorry about that. I thought she might not make a scene in a place like that. It being out of ’er depth, sort of.’

  ‘Hah!’ Evangeline spat bitterly. ‘Hah!’

  Matilda and I stood watching the doorway. It was like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  ‘Perhaps she’s gone straight up to her room?’ I suggested hopefully. Matilda shook her head. It was too much to hope for.

  It certainly was. It was just the calm before the storm. I remembered the mirror in the front hall and realized that Dame Cecile had merely paused to check her hair and make-up and, possibly, adjust her expression, before returning to the fray – and fresh victims.

  ‘Get that beast out of my sight!’ She appeared in the doorway, attempting to skewer me with a laser-like glare. ‘You traitor!’

  ‘Traitor? Me?’ I clutched Cho-Cho-San to me protectively, aware that Evangeline and Eddie were relaxing slightly now that Dame Cecile’s wrath was turned elsewhere.

  ‘You!’ Dame Cecile advanced slowly, one finger pointing in accusation. ‘You! Deserting my poor Fleur for that – that – ’ Cho-Cho-San stretched out her neck and sniffed at the pointing finger, then tried to rub against it. Dame Cecile snatched it away as though it had been burned.

  ‘You!’ She backed a few paces. ‘I shall never forgive you!’

  It was a shame she didn’t extend the edict to include never speaking to me again.

  ‘Trixie was right.’ Unusually, Evangeline weighed in on my side. “The cat is alive. There was nothing anyone could do for Fleur. The living must come first.’

  Eddie began shaking his head frantically and making shooshing gestures. Abruptly, I remembered that Fleur’s was not the only corpse we had left behind in the blazing shop.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Matilda was no fool. ‘Where did you get that cat? She lives on the other side of town.’

  ‘She does? Then who – ?’

  ‘Get that wretched beast out of my sight!’ Dame Cecile was off again.

  ‘Perhaps it would be as well to take her into another room,’ Matilda murmured. ‘At least, until Cecile calms down a bit.’

  ‘I heard that!’ Dame Cecile trumpeted. ‘And I am perfectly calm!’

  ‘Of course you are.’ Evangeline did a Get out of here! jerk of her head towards the door and I was glad to slide away.

  ‘Strewth!’ Eddie had followed me from the room. ‘And I thought you two were the bleedin’ limit!’

  ‘Don’t be rude. You know we’re pussycats.’

  ‘The only pussycat around here is this one.’ He held out his hand to Cho-Cho, who
sniffed it thoroughly and approved. She rubbed her head against it. ‘Pretty little thing, nice nature. What was she doing in that place?’

  ‘Waiting to be stuffed.’

  ‘Never!’ Eddie paled. ‘But she isn’t dead.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But …’ Eddie went from pale to green. ‘You don’t mean …’

  ‘There was an empty display case waiting for her. And the instructions for mounting were attached to her cage.’ I felt a trifle better at having someone to confide in, even though Eddie was looking worse with every word as the full implications sank in.

  ‘Who’d do a thing like that?’

  ‘Presumably, Mr Stuff Yours – if the money was right.’

  ‘Then I ’ope ’e was the geezer I found with ’is ’ead bashed in. ‘E ’ad it coming to ’im!’

  I nodded agreement. Eddie began scratching Cho-Cho’s ears and making little soothing sounds. “Ow could anybody want to ‘urt you, sweet’eart?’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t want to.’ It was a good question and a possible answer presented itself. ‘Maybe he refused to do it – and that was why he was killed.’

  ‘Then there’s a madman runnin’ loose!’ Eddie looked around uneasily. ‘Somebody’s dead crazy!’

  ‘That’s very possible.’ Surely, no normal person could be so cold-hearted and vicious. What twisted mind would want to consign an innocent cat to such a horrible fate? Could it be someone who hated her owner, who wanted revenge? ‘Deliver to:’ had been the last line below the mounting instructions, the name and address had been torn away.

  Deliver to Soroya Jordan? I could understand someone hating her that much, but did she care enough about Cho-Cho to be properly devastated by such a delivery? She seemed to spend most of her time in Bollywood, leaving the cat behind. In whose care? Anyway, Matilda said that she had lied about the cat being hers. Presumably, there was someone with a greater claim to Cho-Cho-San, someone who cared more about her.

  I needed to have a talk with Matilda. Privately. The low murmur of voices from the kitchen told me there was no hope of that right now.

  ‘Gone a bit quiet out there.’ Eddie looked in that direction. ‘Think you might roust out your chum? We ought to be getting back to civilization.’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea.’ I started forward, then turned back. ‘Here, hold Cho-Cho for me. I don’t want to start Dame Cecile off again.’

  ‘That’s it, you come to your Uncle Eddie,’ he crooned, as Cho-Cho settled trustingly in his arms. ‘Don’t you worry about a thing. We’ll see you right.’

  There was a sudden eruption of hysterics from the kitchen and I nearly collided in the doorway with Matilda, who was trying to escape just as I was trying to enter.

  ‘You’re still here!’ she gasped. ‘That cat’s still here! Get it out of here before Cecile sees it again!’

  ‘But … Soroya will be looking for – ’

  ‘Soroya doesn’t have to go onstage with Cecile next week!’ She caught me by the shoulders and pushed me back. ‘I’ll take care of Soroya – you hold on to the cat until after the opening.’

  I tried to hide my delight. ‘I suppose we could take her back to London with us …’

  Chapter Five

  We slept late in the morning. At least, I did. I wasn’t sure about Cho-Cho’s usual sleeping habits. She had begun the night stretched out at my feet but, when I awoke, I found her curled in the crook of my arm. She chirruped a happy ‘Good morning’ as I opened my eyes.

  ‘Ah, well,’ I said. ‘Let’s go see what we can find for breakfast.’

  We found Evangeline and Nigel huddled together like conspirators at the kitchen table. They leapt apart guiltily when they realized I was in the doorway.

  ‘Ah!’ Nigel said. ‘Ah! There you are!’ Quite as though he had been looking for me, although I got the distinct impression that I was the last person in the world he really wanted to see. He eyed me warily as I advanced into the room.

  But not half as warily as Cho-Cho-San eyed him. She sank lower to the floor and crept up on him, sniffing at his shoes and looking increasingly suspicious and puzzled. She moved a bit closer and investigated his trouser cuffs.

  ‘What’s that?’ Nigel became aware of her and swung his legs out of range.

  ‘Trixie has rescued a cat!’ Evangeline proclaimed in martyred tones. ‘But we can’t keep it here,’ she added nastily. ‘We’re just putting up with it – I mean, putting it up – for a couple of days.’

  ‘Ah!’ Nigel regarded Cho-Cho uneasily. ‘It doesn’t need walking, does it?’ He had not appreciated his tours of duty with an Irish wolfhound.

  ‘Cats can take care of themselves,’ I reassured him, shooting Evangeline a dirty look. ‘She won’t be any trouble at all.’ I made a mental note to get to a pet shop that afternoon and pick up a litter tray and a few accessories. A toy or two might not go amiss.

  Cho-Cho took a final sniff at Nigel’s socks and strolled away to inspect the kitchen. I went to see what I could find in the fridge to feed her. As I thought, there was plenty.

  I have always prided myself on maintaining a wellstocked fridge. Compared to Matilda Jordan’s, it was a cornucopia of riches. I hoped her new housekeeper would turn up and take over soon. I’d never met anyone more in need of a housekeeper.

  I wrenched a few chunks of chicken off the carcass of yesterday’s supper and took a raspberry Danish from the freezer compartment for myself.

  I was crossing to zap it in the microwave when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a surreptitious movement at the table. I turned to see Evangeline slide a small oblong piece of paper towards Nigel.

  A cheque-sized piece of paper.

  He palmed it expertly and transferred it to an inside pocket.

  Well, if she was fool enough to have any financial dealings with Nigel, it was her funeral.

  I immediately wished I hadn’t had that thought. It brought back the memory of the taxidermist’s shop that had turned into a funeral pyre – for man and beasts.

  On the way back to London yesterday, I had tried tactfully to persuade Eddie that it was his civic duty to tell the police that there had been a dead body in the back of the shop. Even if he had to relay the information via another anonymous phone call.

  Shades of de Mille, Preminger, Selznick and Zanuck – the way that man carried on! I certainly won’t make a suggestion like that again. For a nasty moment, I’d thought he was going to turn us out of the cab and make us walk back to London.

  We had placated him and assured him that we had no intention of telling the police anything ourselves. How could we? We hadn’t seen the body. Eddie was the only eyewitness who could describe it – and he didn’t want to get involved. I couldn’t really say that I blamed him.

  ‘Ah, well!’ Nigel pushed back his chair as I set the saucer of chicken on the floor for an eager Cho-Cho and retrieved my now thawed raspberry Danish from the microwave. ‘Mustn’t keep you any longer. Know you have things to do. I’ll be on my way, see myself out.’ He left at a brisk trot and we heard the front door slam behind him.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee and took the chair he had just vacated.

  ‘Don’t look at me in that tone of voice,’ Evangeline said. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘Hmmm …’

  Cho-Cho had gulped down her chicken already – can cats get indigestion? – and sauntered back to me hopefully.

  ‘Nice kitty …’ Ever one to latch on to a distraction when she was in trouble, Evangeline leaned over to stroke her.

  Cho-Cho accepted the caress, but was far more interested in the plastic carrier bag with the exclusive logo resting beside Evangeline’s chair. She pawed at it delicately and it toppled over. She promptly wriggled into it.

  ‘Here, now, stop that! What are you doing?’ Evangeline snatched at the disappearing cat. ‘Come out of there!’

  The bag shimmied and rocked, feathers suddenly flew out of the opening.

  ‘Don’t ruin it!
’ Evangeline caught the bottom of the squirming bag and upended it, tumbling out the cat entangled in a nest of feathers.

  Cho-Cho shook herself and pranced away, trailing a long banner of feathers on either side of her, clearly delighted with the plaything she had discovered.

  As well she might be. I hadn’t seen an ostrich feather boa like that since Darling of the Bowery.

  ‘Where on earth did you get that?’ I gasped.

  ‘Dear Nigel brought it for me. He says it’s the latest thing.’

  ‘Perhaps it is …’ We both watched as Cho-Cho rolled over on her back and kicked out wildly at the boa, sending multicoloured fronds flying through the air. ‘But do you think it’s really you?’

  ‘Possibly not,’ she admitted. ‘It looks far more like her. And – ’ a crafty expression brightened her face – ‘if she tears it to pieces, it won’t be my fault if I can’t wear it when Nigel takes me out to dinner.’

  ‘How true!’ I caught up one end of the long boa and trailed it enticingly across Cho-Cho’s nose. She sneezed, then arched and twisted, doing a manic somersault to land on her feet and attack this new menace. A storm of feathers eddied upwards.

  ‘Good girl! Catch it! Kill it!’ Evangeline egged her on. She took the other end of the boa and looped it around Cho-Cho’s powderpuff of a tail. Cho-Cho twisted madly to capture it.

  Evangeline gave a sudden schoolgirl giggle and I found myself matching it. Cho-Cho’s antics were irresistible. We stood in a snowstorm of feathers, giggling wildly, egging the cat on to ever wilder excesses. I swear Cho-Cho was giggling, too. We were all having a wonderful time.

  The sudden peal of the doorbell stopped us all dead in our tracks. We looked at each other in silent agreement: we weren’t expecting company.

  ‘Perhaps Nigel forgot something?’ I looked guiltily at the carpet of feathers. Where was the broom?