Only the Cat Knows (12 page)

‘If you won’t lie down, at least sit down.’ Monica gave me what was obviously meant to be a reassuring smile,
then frowned at Anderson. ‘Shouldn’t you check her pulse?’

‘Um, right.’ Humouring her, he reached for my wrist while blocking her view with his body lest she notice that my hand against his was on the large side. ‘A little fast, but within the normal range,’ he reported.

‘Are you sure?’ That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. He was letting the side down.

‘I’m all right!’ I snatched my wrist away. ‘Just a bit shaken, that’s all. It’s not every day one finds a dead body.’

The silence was deafening. Monica looked at Anderson. Anderson looked back. Neither wanted to be the first to speak. Anderson turned his head, distancing himself even more, and Monica had to admit that she had lost.

‘Nessa, dear,’ she began. ‘That’s just it. You didn’t. There was no dead body in the cell. That was just the wax figure, the way it always has been.’

Why was I not surprised? In the length of time between my informing Monica and their appearing here, they could have embalmed it, buried it and arranged for the memorial service.

‘I saw her,’ I said flatly.

‘You
thought
you saw something,’ Monica corrected. Her tone of sympathetic understanding was sickening. ‘It’s been a dark gloomy day, the cell is even darker, and filled with shadows …’ She shrugged.

‘Shadows don’t bleed.’ It wasn’t Monica I was trying to convince. I avoided looking directly at Anderson, even as I wondered how much convincing he needed. There had been the sounds of several cars arriving and departing. When had the good doctor arrived: before or after the body had been spirited away?

‘I don’t think you quite realize, dear, just how seriously ill you’ve been,’ Monica said.

Again, I was not surprised. If I’d thought about it, I would have taken a bet that that was the way they’d play it.

‘You had such a terrible, terrible accident,’ Monica went on. ‘And you’ve made a remarkable recovery — so far. But you’re still recuperating and it’s not unusual if you’ve had a little relapse. Perhaps you’ve been pushing yourself too far, too soon. It’s only to be expected that you might have some post-traumatic … difficulties. We do understand that head wounds can have that effect.’

‘I was not hallucinating.’ Anderson would know that. Monica could be excused — almost — for what she was pretending to believe. I wondered if tidying away bodies was a normal part of her housekeeping duties.

‘Of course not,’ she soothed. ‘Vision problems are common in cases like yours.’ She smiled forgivingly. She was winning and she knew it.

‘But …’ I closed my eyes and swayed briefly. ‘But … I was sure I saw … something …’ I had to let her win. For now. A barely recovered Nessa would not be strong enough, perhaps not sure enough of herself, to fight her corner.

‘It’s all right, we understand,’ she cooed. ‘You’re overtired. You mustn’t think of trying to join us for dinner tonight. Have an early night and catch up on your rest.’

‘Oh, but I’ve been resting all day.’ I didn’t want to miss dinner. I needed to speak to Madame — and to find out if anyone was missing from the table. ‘It won’t be too much for me. Truly.’

‘I’m sure you think so, but I don’t believe it would be wise.’ The voice chilled, the velvet glove slipped. Monica was not about to let me mingle with the others. In the mood I was in, believing what I believed I’d seen, possibly asking awkward questions, I was a loose cannon and she was not going to have me rolling around.

‘It would be best,’ she went on firmly, ‘for you to retire now and sleep through until morning. Everything looks so much better and brighter at the start of a new day. All the phantoms of the night will have faded away’

‘It’s still early and I’m not at all tired.’ That might be the way she’d like to have it, but I wasn’t going to go along
with it. Phantoms be damned! ‘I’m feeling quite well enough to come to dinner.’

‘No, that wouldn’t be wise. You must conserve your strength.’ She sent another meaning glance to Anderson. ‘I’m sure you’re a lot more tired than you think. Brian will give you a little something to help you go to sleep right away’

‘No!’ I should have known that was why she had waited for Anderson to arrive before she appeared at my door. ‘No! I’m not having
that!
’

‘It’s all right, Nessa, I promise you.’ Anderson had drawn something out of his black bag and was smiling at me in a way I didn’t like. ‘Trust me.’

‘No!’ I saw light glint off a hypodermic needle and prepared to go down fighting. If he tried to roll up my sleeve, I’d lay him out. I could always claim that it had been a lucky punch. ‘Try to touch me and you’ll regret it!’

‘Nessa, don’t be silly. You see —’ Monica spoke across me to Anderson — ‘she
is
hysterical.’

‘I am
not!
’ Although there was plenty to be hysterical about. The mere thought of being left here unconscious, unable to throw the bolt against invaders, at the mercy of anyone who might have a key, made my blood run cold. As did the fear that Monica might decide I would sleep more comfortably if she were to undress me and put me into one of my nightgowns …

‘All right,’ I capitulated. ‘I’ll go to bed now. I’ll take a sleeping pill. I’ve got some. I don’t need anything from —’

I felt the sharp stab of the needle. Anderson had rammed it through my clothes, straight into a buttock. I tried to pull away, but it was too late.

What had he shot into me? The effect was almost instantaneous. I felt my muscles weaken, my eyesight blur, as I fought to hold on to consciousness. It was a losing battle.

‘It’s all right … Nessa.’ He caught me round the shoulders in a strong grip and Monica advanced to steady me on the other side as they took me into the bedroom.

‘Don’t worry,’ Anderson crooned. ‘Just relax … trust me.’

As though I had a choice.

Tr-r-ru-u-u-s-s-t m-e-e-e
…
T-t-r-r-u-u-s-s-t m-e-e-e
…

The words eddied and looped through my uneasy dreams, sometimes loud and demanding, sometimes soft and insinuating.

I was stumbling through a swirling fog that obscured my surroundings and blotted out the path beneath my feet.

Trr-r-u-u-s-s-t m-e-e-e
… A disembodied hand thrust through the mists, extended towards me.

I reached out tentatively, only to recoil as a burst of high-pitched mocking laughter rang out behind the veiling fog.

I turned, disorientated, then turned again to find myself facing a mirror. I grimaced at it, but it just gazed back sadly.

It wasn’t a mirror, it was Nessa.

‘
I trusted
,’ she said, ‘
and look what happened to me
.’

‘
Nessa
…’ I struggled through quicksands towards her, but she dissolved into the mist, leaving me bereft.

‘
Nessa
…’ I called after her. But she wouldn’t come back.

‘
Nessa
…’ She had to come back. She
had
to.

Half-conscious now, I fought against restraining bonds. Had they tied me up? I felt again the sting of a needle — no, multiple needles. No, not again! I pulled away, managed to sit up and opened my eyes.

In the dim glow of the night-light that had been left burning, I saw two furious eyes glaring back at me and a paw raised to strike again.

The sheet was tangled about me, but I was still in my kaftan. Perhaps I could trust Anderson — at least, as far as I could throw him. This time. I was conscious, becoming more so with every minute — and with no drug-induced
hangover. Only the lingering depression from the haunting dream.

‘Down, girl,’ I said. The cat looked at me uncertainly. Taking a risk, I rubbed behind her ears. Gradually, she lowered her paw and relaxed. She was still in an aloof mood, however. She must have been curled up beside me on the bed when I began to thrash around and disturb her.

It had given her a nasty shock — and I had the marks to prove it. I looked ruefully at the scratch just above my wrist, then pulled down the kaftan sleeve to cover it. And we had been doing so well, too. Still, a little setback could happen to anyone. As Monica had reminded me.

The bedside clock told me I hadn’t been unconscious all that long. There was still time to join the others for dinner. Since that appeared to be what Monica had been determined to prevent, I decided I would.

I wanted to see which of the harem was missing — and what explanation might be given for her absence.

I showered and changed into a fresh kaftan, then waited until I knew they would all be in the dining room. As I went down the corridor, a familiar figure appeared at the far end, obviously having delivered his usual message.

‘Don’t tell me, let me guess,’ I said when the black-clad young man drew abreast. ‘Mr Oversall will not be joining us tonight.’

‘You ought to know.’ His icy glance raked me contemptuously. With elaborate formality, he stepped to one side and bowed me past.

‘And what do you mean by —?’

He was gone. Disappearing into the shadows of the long dark passageway. Only the faint emanations of his hostility quivered in his wake to disturb the atmosphere.

Nessa, Nessa, what did you do to him?
Would I ever know? Even if — when,
when
— she recovered, she might not reveal it. Close as we were, there were still some things we didn’t tell each other. Whether we guessed or not was another matter.

I paused outside the door. The temptation to burst in on them in a dramatic entrance, appearing suddenly in their midst like the Demon King — or Queen — was strong, but I resisted it.

Low key was best. As if nothing at all had happened. Just another quiet dinner on another quiet day. Everything normal and routine.

Quiet — that was it. It was far too quiet in there. Profoundly, sadly quiet.

Who were they in mourning for?

I took a deep breath and slipped into the room silently, looking around to find out.

Think again.

The table was set as usual, but half of the usual diners were missing. Wide spaces yawned between the few who were seated there.

Which
one
was missing? Hell! Half of the females were missing. Any one of them might be the victim I had stumbled over.

‘Nessa!’ Monica looked up as I slid into the chair beside her and was not pleased. ‘I told you —’ She broke off as the curious faces turned towards her and forced a smile. ‘Are you feeling better?’

‘Much.’ I smiled back. ‘When I woke from my nap, I was feeling so much stronger, I decided to join you after all.’

‘We’re so glad you did.’ Beloved spoke up. ‘As you can see, our ranks are considerably reduced. Everett had another sudden descent of VIPs and sent for reinforcements.’

Richie was sitting on my other side, in Madame’s usual place. He looked up and nodded hello.

I nodded back. Not for a moment had I thought the body might be Madame’s. It was younger — and straighter — than hers.

‘He sent for Yvonne and Amanda and Candy.’ Grievance throbbed in Nina’s voice. ‘Even Kiki!’

‘Not Candy,’ Monica corrected. ‘She’s come down with one of her migraines. We may not see her for a couple of days now.’

Oh, really?
I carefully kept my face blank.

‘Rather odd, don’t you think, the way Candy develops these convenient migraine attacks whenever Everett has certain visi —’

‘That’s quite enough, Ivor!’ Monica called him to order.

But he had made his point. There were certain times when Candy chose not to get involved. Obviously, this was one of them.

‘And you really
did
sleep well?’ Monica turned back to me, oozing sympathy and, incidentally, changing the subject. ‘No more … bad dreams?’

More?
The word was insidious, implying a constant, ongoing and deplorable condition. Right up there with:
Have you stopped beating your wife yet?

‘If there were, I don’t remember them.’ I played along with a sweet smile, adding for good measure, ‘This whole day seems to have gone all fuzzy and dreamlike.’

‘You don’t understand how ill you’ve been — and this gloomy weather doesn’t help.’ It had been the right thing to say, suggesting disorientating side-effects from that injection. Monica gave a small approving nod. Whatever Anderson had given me had done a good job.

‘Winter gets so dreary here,’ Nina complained. ‘Now that it’s set in, all the days seem to blend into each other. There are times when you don’t know whether you’re really awake or sleepwalking.’ That earned her a nod of approval, too.

A young girl I hadn’t seen before appeared and set a bowl of fragrant leek-and-potato soup in front of me.

And that brought another question to mind: how many servants
were
there around this place? Silent, swift and beautifully trained, they moved around so unobtrusively it was too easy to overlook them.

Was it one of them I had seen sprawled in the anchorite’s cell?

‘Eat your nice Welsh soup,’ Ivor said. ‘There’s lamb hotpot to follow. Chef has gone back to his ethnic roots tonight.’

‘Just the job for a night like this,’ Richie observed. A gust of wind slammed against the building and a chill draught eddied through the dining room, underlining the truth of this.

The soup was delicious and the prospect of lamb hotpot sounded even better. Let Ivor sneer. Richie was right. Weather like this was just what Welsh country cooking had been created to combat and protect against.

The empty soup bowls were whisked away and replaced by the lamb dish. Only the clink of cutlery against china broke the silence. I glanced around at the others.

Monica was frowning at her plate. Richie was shovelling in the lamb, enjoying it and unconcerned about anything else. Both Nina and Ivor were pouting, although that wasn’t slowing down Ivor’s intake. Nina was pushing her food around the plate as though wishing it was something else, perhaps the more exotic sort of meal she imagined our missing colleagues were enjoying with the boss and his important visitors.

But were they really? If Everett Oversall had visitors tonight, they were evidently on the lower side of the danger scale. The rest of us were not being subjected to a lock-in.