No Cooperation from the Cat (23 page)

Perhaps because she hadn’t yet had enough of a steady diet of Banquo. She would see even less of him when he departed on his next expedition. I had the unhappy feeling that she was one of those
absence makes the heart grow fonder
romantics. Give me the
out of sight, out of mind
types every time. There was less strain involved.

“I like everything about civilisation,” Tom went on. “All the noise, the crowds, the buzz of excitement, the food—especially the food. It’s all ambrosia—after the messes Banquo had us eating out in the wild.”

“I must admit he never struck me as one of the world’s great gourmets,” I agreed. “How did he and Melisande ever get together? I’d think she was wasted on him.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Tom said grimly. “Not any of it. Poor Mellie. She was a romantic and he was—”

“I think we all know what he is,” Evangeline cut in sharply.

“Yes, well…” He paused, staring into space at some vision only he could see. The might-have-been, perhaps.

“Yes, well…” he repeated, then gave himself a little shake, coming back to the real world—however unwillingly. As he turned abruptly, he dislodged one of Isolde’s ersatz cupcakes from the peak of a carefully arranged stack. It bounced as it hit the floor and continued bouncing across the room like a rubber ball.

With a happy chirrup, Cho-Cho bounded after it. This was more like it—there hadn’t been many games around here lately.

“Don’t try to eat that,” Tom warned as she captured it. “Although,” he added grimly, “it would be a lot more palatable than most of the stuff Banquo served up.” He shuddered reminiscently, then brightened. “At least I’ll never have to face that again. They can go to their Antarctica and freeze to death. I’ll stay here in the comparative tropics of dear old London.”

“Antarctica…” Evangeline mused. “I’d have thought he’d had enough of all that ice.”

“Glutton for punishment—if not for food. And all the discomfort and rotten food were just a trial run before the big one. That’s when he’s really going to pull out all the stops and try some kind of crazy heroics. And those crazy cousins of his are egging him on all the way. It’s a wonder they haven’t killed him instead of—” He broke off abruptly.

Instead of Melisande,
he nearly said. Another vote from a member of the expedition. I wondered if he and Mick had discussed their suspicions or come to them separately.

“Never mind,” I soothed, covering his gaffe. “You’re not going to be there. You’ll be well out of it by then.”

“If not sooner.” He brightened. “I’ll never have to eat any more freeze-dried goo! And—” He shuddered, the gloom returning. “I never want to see anything boiled in a bag again!”

In that case, there were quite a few restaurants he’d do well to avoid, but I decided not to mention that. Let his dream of civilisation remain untarnished for a while longer. He’d find out soon enough.

“You just hang on to that thought,” Evangeline told him. She gave me a
we’ll discuss this later
look and I knew she hadn’t missed his gaffe, either.

I nodded agreement but, before we could do anything else, a key scraped in the lock and footsteps sounded along the hall. I wasn’t the only one who flinched and braced myself.

But it was only Jocasta, and Nigel right behind her.

“Your car is here,” she said. Was there more than a trace of wistfulness in her voice? I wondered how long it had been since she’d had a day out. She no longer had to hide from Banquo’s awful cousins—they had found her, moved themselves in, and, with Banquo, kept her poor little nose so steadily to the grindstone that it was a wonder she had any nose left at all. She needed some time off—and they weren’t around to thwart her today.

“Why don’t you come along with us?” I invited her impulsively. “You’ve been working so hard, you need some time off.”

“That’s right,” Nigel seconded, beaming. “Do come.”

“But…” She wanted to, it was there in her eyes. But she was a properly brought-up young lady. “I wasn’t really invited. Your uncle—”

“He’ll be delighted. He’s the most generous man in the world. Ah, providing he’s in the right mood.”

There was a small humming noise, almost a purr, from Evangeline. If there was anything she was an expert at, it was putting generous men in the right mood.

But
—the look she shot at me should have encased me in ice—she wasn’t good at sharing the wealth. If Bertie opened his jewel box, she didn’t want competition for any booty around.

“Go on,” Tom urged. “I can manage perfectly well by myself today. In fact, I’d welcome the chance to catch up with lots of fiddly little jobs without anyone else underfoot.”

I’ll bet he would. After trailing across the frozen wastes with Banquo and Mick for company and then finding himself stuck with them back here—and with Banquo’s ghastly cousins, as well—it was no wonder he’d welcome a chance to work alone with no one else to keep interfering.

“Well…” Jocasta was increasingly willing to be persuaded. “If you’re sure…”

“That’s settled then,” I said firmly. “Get your coat and let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

*   *   *

Jem was already sitting in the limo when we got downstairs.

“‘Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,’” Evangeline greeted, not altogether pleased to see him. “I thought you’d be back in Brighton now.”

“Things got more complicated than I expected.” Jem moved his large attaché case to make more room as we got in. “I see you talked Jocasta into it,” he said to Nigel. “Good.”

“Are we dropping you at the station?” I asked. That was a very big attaché case, the sort that can double as an overnight case, perhaps even a weekend case.

“Not quite yet.” Jem looked amused, but slightly nervous. “There are still a few things I have to see to.”

“Hmm…” Evangeline had caught that trace of nervousness, too, and she knew Jem better than I did. Her swift glance told me she knew he was up to something. She suspected the worst: another rival for the promised jewels. At least, he was unlikely to pounce on any of the female fripperies so close to her heart. Jocasta would be her main rival there—and, of course, me.

Nigel got in last and shut the door behind him. The limo glided off. We were on our way …

The journey seemed to go on forever. Even Evangeline got restive enough to stop studying her hands and deciding what kind of rings she’d like and looked out of the windows impatiently.

“Where
are
we going?” she demanded, not without cause. We were threading our way through narrow streets somewhere between the river and a lot of railway yards. Not the most salubrious area in town. Although, to be fair, it seemed to be fighting to improve. In fact, if gentrification set in around here, convenient to town as it was, it might become highly sought after.

We turned a corner and the narrow one-way street gave way into a wider, more pleasant thoroughfare with a few trees, definitely an improvement. Judging from the scaffolding surrounding what seemed to have been warehouses, the improvement was set to continue. I began to relax—until the car pulled up in front of one of the scaffolded buildings and stopped.

“This is it?” Evangeline glared at the scaffolding shrouding the building as Nigel got out and held the door for us. “This is where we’re going?”

“Dear ladies—” There was now no doubt about it. A small door opened at the foot of the precarious structure and Bertie stood there with a welcoming smile, flanked by two men who were surely security staff. Of course, some of these buildings must house storage vaults for valuables. I could see Evangeline relax, but I wasn’t so sure. Somehow, although it seemed generically familiar, it did not seem like security vaults.

“Come in, come in—and forgive me for not going to collect you personally. I wanted to see that things were ready for your arrival here. And—” He broke off as he saw Nigel tenderly assisting Jocasta out of the limo, with a care he had not extended to us.

“And—who is this new lovely lady?” Behind Nigel’s back, his eyebrows semaphored a question to me.

I shrugged slightly and, with what I hoped was an enigmatic smile, held up my crossed fingers. He got the message.

“Welcome, my dear!” He surged forward and captured one of Jocasta’s hands, tucking it into his arm. “Ah, Nigel, Nigel.” He waggled a playful finger. “Yet another beauty. You
are
a dark horse.”

“More a chip off the old block, I’d say.” Evangeline was still here pitching, although not quite so confidently as usual.

“Possibly, possibly,” Bertie preened, still keeping Jocasta firmly by his side. “Come inside and let me show you our wares.”

Evangeline brightened, this was more like it. I wasn’t so sure. There was something hauntingly familiar about this place, yet I knew I’d never been here before. I’d never been in any English security vaults before, either.

There was scaffolding inside the building, too, and the smell of fresh paint. Ladders were propped against walls, dim shapes were shrouded in canvas.

“This way.” Bertie swerved and led us through a door I had not noticed. “Sorry for the mess,” he apologised, “but I’m trying to get things back into order. Hope no one is allergic to the smell of paint.”

Allergies again! I winced and looked at Evangeline to see if the reference bothered her, but she was too busy agreeing with the others that paint didn’t bother her at all.

“Good, good. It’s not so bad back here, they haven’t started working on it yet.”

I’ll say they hadn’t. The smell of dust almost won out over the paint. Tatters of barely disturbed cobwebs dangled in corners of the ceiling. There had obviously been a hasty but not very comprehensive tidying-up before we arrived. Patches of old paint, cleaner than the grime-streaked rest of the wall, told of pictures removed.

I had to stop myself from looking around for Miss Havisham. Evangeline’s nose was twitching and it wasn’t because of the dust—or perhaps it was. She was growing increasingly suspicious. This wasn’t the sort of place she expected to find a casket of precious gems stored. My suspicions were getting pretty well confirmed the farther into the building we ventured. But then Evangeline probably hadn’t played in as many rundown fleapits as I had in the early days of my career.

“In here.” Bertie opened another door and led us into an office. I could see Evangeline’s hopes rise momentarily and then crash as she got a good look at the place.

She had never before been in a security vault whose walls were lined with theatrical posters—and that meant she was not in one now. She gripped my elbow so fiercely that I winced.

“Trixie,” she muttered, “we are betrayed!”

Maybe she thought she was, but I knew I wasn’t. I never expect anything until it is firmly in my hands and then I am duly grateful. Evangeline expects everything and, when she gets it, she has it appraised.

I twitched my arm in a gentle hint and she relaxed her grip slightly. Not good enough. I pulled away firmly, ignoring her hiss of annoyance, and went over to study the posters more clearly. Even I recognised that there were legendary names and shows among them, although some were well before my time. Here and there lighter patches of wallpaper hinted at shows that had not been so successful. Or possibly the original posters had disintegrated, some of them looked ancient enough.

There was not a safety deposit box in sight, nor even a safe. But Evangeline was the only one bothered about that.

Nigel was looking extremely pleased with himself and so was Bertie. Jem still looked uneasy—perhaps he had noticed that Evangeline was quietly seething. Those deep breaths she was taking were not meant to calm, but to build up a head of steam. At any moment, the explosion might come. I moved closer to Jem, who seemed the least likely target of her wrath.

At the same time, I tried to signal her to be quiet. I had the feeling that something interesting was going on and I didn’t want her to spoil it. She ignored me.

“Where—?” she demanded in a dangerously quiet voice, “where is the jewel box you promised?”

“Yes, yes.” Bertie beamed, not taking offense. “Right along this way.” He led us along a narrow corridor, so quickly that I lost count of the closed doors we passed. I had the impression that a couple had stars on them.

“Through here…” We stepped out of the wings onto what was definitely a stage. Furniture in the Art Deco style was arranged as a drawing room, with a white grand piano upstage of a sofa. There was a further sofa opposite it in the shadows.

A beautiful piano; I wondered if it was still in tune. As I gravitated towards it, Bertie pushed a button and the curtains parted, revealing the auditorium. We all stared, transfixed.

“Hugh!” Evangeline spotted him first, leaning back in the second seat from the aisle in the third row. “What are you doing here?”

“What?” he said.

“I said, ‘What are you doing here?’”

“Hugh, is Martha with you?” I called.

“Good.” Hugh stood and began to make his way up to the stage. “The acoustics are perfect.”

Before he could reach us, something uncurled from the corner of the farther sofa and darted into the wings. I gasped, but it wasn’t a rat, it was a sleek grey cat.

“The theatre cat?” I smiled.

“Mothball!” Bertie cried. He clutched at his chest and staggered. Nigel caught him before he fell.

Chapter Twenty-five

“Steady on, Bertie.” Nigel half-carried him over to the matching sofa, which was nearer, and stretched him out on it. He drew a small flask from his pocket and held it to Bertie’s lips. “Drink this … slowly … it’s brandy.”

Evangeline looked on enviously.

I hoped Jocasta, who hovered behind Bertie, was paying attention. This was a side of Nigel we hadn’t seen before. Kind and caring and genuinely fond of his great-uncle. Or perhaps she had seen it—or sensed it—since she had flown to Nigel for refuge. Which he had been delighted to provide. Now she just had to realise what she had, so unlike the selfish ego-on-legs that was Banquo. If only she could see that monster clearly and get over her fatal infatuation.

“Mothball!” Bertie drank, choked, gasped. “Mothball—it can’t be!”