‘Ah … has Evangeline mentioned this investment opportunity to you?’ Sure enough, he was in there pitching. ‘I believe there might still be just enough time to get you in on the ground floor.’
‘Don’t do it!’ Eddie was Cassandra leading a Greek chorus in the background. ‘Whatever it is, don’t do it!’
‘Don’t worry,’ I told him. ‘With the stock market heading south the way it is, I have no intention of going anywhere near it.’ I was surprised that Evangeline had.
‘Right. You want to stay away from all them dotty coms.’
‘No, no. Nothing to do with the stock market.’ Nigel gave a fastidious shudder, curling his fingers in the body language of someone who had been badly burned. ‘I’ve taken my clients out of that. Bricks, not clicks – that’s the thing now. If anything should happen, there are still solid assets to cash in – you can’t lose. At least,’ he added, in a sudden burst of candour, ‘not everything.’
‘Pack it in, mate!’ Eddie advised. ‘Next time Trixie’s got any spare cash, she’s going to set me up in my own ‘ire car business.’
‘Unfortunately, there’s nothing to spare at the moment.’ I made it clear. ‘Nor likely to be for quite some time. If ever.’
‘Ah!’ Nigel slumped back in his chair and returned to brooding.
‘Well.’ Eddie stood and gave me a conspiratorial wink. ‘I’ll go and ‘ave a look at them stairs for you. Sounds like someone’s stirring in there, so it ought to be all right.’
‘I’d better see how she is.’ There were faint clattering sounds, interspersed with agonized groans coming from the kitchen. ‘I still think you ought to keep it quiet. She won’t be up to much.’ I glanced at the disconsolate Nigel and my heart betrayed me. He didn’t look up to much, either.
‘Why don’t you move into the kitchen?’ I suggested. ‘I’ll fix you a snack while you wait for Evangeline.’
‘Ah!’ He brightened. ‘Too kind of you.’
‘Too right, too kind,’ Eddie grumbled. ‘We were almost rid of ‘im.’
‘Shush!’ Luckily, Nigel did not appear to have heard. Cho-Cho was already at the door, waiting for us.
‘Don’t let the door slam!’ Jocasta pleaded as we trooped into the kitchen. She was slumped at the table, a large glass of water in her trembling hand.
‘Like that, is it?’ Eddie, who had pursed his lips to begin whistling, unpursed them again and regarded her sympathetically. ‘Tried the ‘air of the dog yet, ‘ave you?’
‘Don’t even mention it!’ Jocasta gave him a hate-filled look and shuddered.
‘Sorry I spoke. Only tryin’ to be ‘elpful.’ Eddie marched across the room with a purposeful tread. Jocasta flinched at each step.
No, she was not in any shape to face the motorway traffic back to London today.
Equally, she wasn’t in any shape to take over any housekeeping duties, either. Especially not cooking. So much for Evangeline’s nefarious little scheme.
‘I’m sorry.’ Jocasta turned to me. ‘I’m letting Martha down. I’m letting everyone down. I’ve never done anything like this before.’
That was obvious. ‘It’s all right,’ I soothed. ‘I’ve talked to Martha and she understands.’
‘But she shouldn’t have to understand! There shouldn’t be anything to understand.’ Jocasta gave a pitiful moan. ‘I’ll never forgive myself!’ Her hand shook as she lifted the glass of water to her lips and took a sip.
‘How about a cup of coffee?’ I suggested. ‘I’m making some for Nigel.’
‘I don’t want coffee!’ The quick wan smile apologized for the momentary petulance. ‘I want … I want barley water!’
‘Oh?’ I’d read about people drinking it in English novels, but I hadn’t the faintest idea what it was. ‘I’m afraid I don’t – ’
‘Never mind,’ she said despairingly. ‘It’s too late.’
‘Too late?’ I eyed her nervously. Had she taken something deadly? Was she suicidal? What did we know about her, after all? She had appeared from nowhere, with no one to vouch for her history. ‘You’re not – ?’
‘Oh, no.’ She mustered a feeble laugh. ‘Nothing like that. I mean, it’s just that barley water takes a long time to steep. It should have been made last night.’
‘Ah – I could pop round to the local shop and pick up a bottle for you.’ Nigel beamed at her magnanimously. It was not as though she had expressed a desire for Château l’Extravagance. Even he could run to a bottle of barley water.
‘No. Thank you.’ She dashed his hopes. ‘The home-made is so much better – and so easy. If only you start in time.’ She glanced at me. ‘I should tell Martha. It’s ideal for the book. One can make it just before going out in the morning and it will be ready to drink when one comes home after the performance in the evening.’
‘I’d like to make some myself.’ She was perking up and anything that took her mind off her parlous state was to be encouraged. ‘I could make some now. If you’d tell me how.’
‘Nothing easier – ’ She broke off and looked around with sudden mistrust. ‘If there’s any barley in the house.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I assured her. ‘We went shopping yesterday while you were … er … out of it. We’re all stocked up.’ With chicken soup in mind, I had bought barley, rice and all kinds of pasta for the store cupboard. Even several tins of new potatoes and, with Cho-Cho in mind, tins of tuna, salmon and mackerel fillets. We were loaded for bear.
‘Lemons?’ She was still wary. ‘Fresh lemons? Unwaxed?’
‘Lemons, limes, oranges,’ I answered proudly. ‘Also – ’
‘Just lemons. You can also make it with oranges or limes, but lemons are best – so far as I’m concerned. Now …’ She was almost back to normal. ‘A quart jug. Is there a quart jug around?’
‘If there is, I’ll find it.’ Entering into the spirit of the occasion, Eddie began opening cabinet doors. ‘This right?’ He held up his find.
‘Good. Get the kettle boiling – ’ She flung out the order and they both jumped to obey.
‘Tea strainer …’ That was to hand. She scooped two heaped tablespoons of barley pearls into it and rinsed them thoroughly under the cold water tap and emptied the strainer into the jug.
‘And a grater for the lemon …’ I’d noticed something of the sort in a cutlery drawer earlier. I found it again and brought it to her.
‘We just want the zest.’ She had swung into teaching mode. ‘That is, the yellow part,’ she translated for the men. ‘None of the pith – the white stuff – or the juice.’ Expertly, she denuded the lemon of its colour, grating it into the jug.
‘And now, some sugar …’
Her willing accolytes leaped for the sugar bowl and Nigel won. He proffered it to her. She ladled a couple of spoonfuls into the jug.
‘If that’s not enough, you can add more when you come to drink it. Now, kettle boiling? Good.’ She filled the jug with the boiling water and stepped back.
We waited expectantly for the next step. She looked back at us and shrugged.
‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘Perhaps a saucer over the top …’ She suited action to words. ‘And that’s really all there is to it. Just let it stand until it cools, then pop it into the fridge to steep overnight, or while you’re out all day. Then strain it and drink it. Nothing could be easier.’
‘Wonderful!’ I exclaimed.
‘Ah …!’ ‘Yeah …’ Both Nigel and Eddie had lost some of their enthusiasm on realizing that it was going to be a long time before the barley water was ready to drink – and they were unlikely to be around then.
Jocasta slumped back into her chair, her brief flurry of activity having exhausted her. She, too, seemed depressed by the knowledge that, however much she longed for it, her barley water wouldn’t be ready for several long hours.
‘Never mind.’ I tried to lighten the sense of anticlimax that had swept over us. ‘We can have some – ’
The front door slammed loudly, there was a
thunder of footsteps charging towards us. A man’s voice bellowed:
‘Where is she? Where’s my little darling?’
Chapter Twelve
Jocasta shrank back in her chair, quivering. Again, I wondered about her past – and whether it had just caught up with her.
But the oldish young man – or youngish older man – who dashed into the kitchen ignored her and rushed towards Cho-Cho-San, who pranced forward to greet him with a delight she had not shown for Soroya.
‘There she is!’ He swept Cho-Cho-San into his arms and they nuzzled each other enthusiastically.
‘If only he could get that much projection into his “Charge”,’ Dame Cecile sighed to Evangeline as they followed him into the room.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked Cho-Cho. ‘I thought I’d lost you. I was so relieved when Cecile told me you were here.’ His voice throbbed with emotion.
Now here was a man who would have been devastated to have had Cho-Cho returned to him as a prime example of the taxidermist’s art. I studied him with interest. He seemed a perfectly ordinary, perhaps not too successful, jobbing actor. Probably specializing in character parts and secondary leads. Could someone have hated him enough to want to take revenge by destroying what he held dear?
From the expression on her face at the moment, Dame Cecile was first in the queue of suspects. Except that she had been too caught up in the drama of the expiring Fleur-de-Lys to have been able to plot and carry out such an elaborate revenge. Nor would she have harmed an innocent animal no matter how much its owner had offended her.
Telling myself I wasn’t jealous because Cho-Cho appeared to have forgotten my existence, I turned back to the fridge to continue what I had started: putting together some sort of scratch meal for Nigel. Then I stopped and looked again.
Nigel had disappeared. So had Evangeline.
Well, it was her funeral. With a mental shrug, I abandoned the idea of a man-sized meal and turned back to Jocasta, who was flagging visibly.
‘How about some tea and toast?’
‘Excellent idea,’ Dame Cecile said. ‘Make it cinnamon toast.’
‘Dry.’ Jocasta shuddered. ‘Just some dry toast, please.’
I nodded and paid no attention. When I set the hot buttered toast, liberally sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon in front of her, she ate it without a murmur. Dame Cecile nodded approval and polished off her own portion with relish.
Eddie had drifted off towards the cellar door and squatted down, peering intently into the darkness below.
The only sound in the room was Cho-Cho’s purr. It was so quiet, it was almost peaceful. Then, suddenly, everything went wrong, before I could do a thing to stop it.
‘We’ll be on our way now,’ the man said. ‘Before you-know-who shows up. Thanks, Cecile. Come on, little darling.’ He gave Cho-Cho another nuzzle. ‘We’re going home.’
Gone. They were gone. I stood frozen as the front door slammed. Behind me, I heard a hiss of sharply indrawn breath from Eddie. Instinctively, I turned towards him, sure of meeting a sympathetic gaze.
But Eddie was now crouched inside the cellar opening, only the top of his head to be seen. Apparently, he was three or four steps down and staring intently at the ruined top step.
‘Don’t like the look of that,’ he muttered.
‘What?’ I crossed over to him.
‘Look at this.’ He pointed to something I could not see.
‘I can’t see it from here.’ I started forward. ‘I’ll have to come down and look at it from your level.’
‘No!’ He held up a hand to stop me. ‘Don’t come down. It’s too dangerous. Look …’ He indicated a smear along the threshold. ‘You can see that, can’t you?’
‘Yes …’ Reluctantly, I bent to inspect it. To my relief, it wasn‘t blood. ‘But … what is it?’
‘Grease.’ He ran a finger over it, then sniffed at his fingertip. ‘Maybe butter.’
‘But there was hardly any butter in the fridge – Oh!’
‘All used up on this, I reckon.’ He nodded glumly. ‘And what you can see from where I’m standing is a lot of nail ‘oles – with no nails in them, like the nails were pulled out to make the stair treads unstable. And there’s no railing. If the grease didn’t get ’er, the broken steps would. Once she started to fall, she didn’t ‘ave a chance. Don’t know what the police were thinking to let it go, the way they did. I wouldn’t call it an accident.’
‘You can’t be sure of that!’
‘You want to bet I’m wrong?’ He met my eyes challengingly. ‘Where are all the missing nails, then? An’ I reckon someone took a hammer and gave the top step a good bashing to break it up. Loose and broken and greased.’ He shook his head. ‘They don’t make coppers the way they used to.’
‘I don’t think the police examined it too closely. The broken top step was so obvious, the grease wasn’t. And there was no light – ’
‘No bulb in the socket,’ he said. ‘Now, if it had been a burnt-out bulb, fair enough. But missing …?’
‘What are we going to do?’
‘I don’t know what you’re going to do, but I’m going to fix these stairs before anybody else gets ‘urt.’
‘But – ’
‘Don’t say it!’ he warned. ‘I’ve ’ad enough of the police. ‘Aven’t you?’
‘But – ’ I didn’t want to get involved any more than he did, but it still didn’t seem right.
‘Trixie!’ How long had Evangeline been standing there? ‘Tea break is over. We’re going back to the theatre now. Are you coming?’
I looked around the kitchen. Dame Cecile had firmly urged Jocasta out on the deck and into a deck chair where she could nap and get the benefit of the sea air. Eddie had bent again to his self-appointed task and was totally absorbed. The empty saucer on the floor by the fridge made my heart twist.
‘Are you?’
‘I guess so.’ There was nothing left for me here.
Not that there was anything much for me at the theatre, either.
‘Places, everyone!’ a ringing female voice called out. I had no place. Neither had Evangeline, but it wasn’t bothering her. She and Cecile were whispering together in the wings and giggling like schoolgirls … naughty schoolgirls. If I’d had enough energy, I’d have feared the worst.
Except that I had the feeling that the worst had already happened to me.
‘Places, everyone!’ the voice repeated, with a trace of asperity.
Matilda materialized from nowhere to preside at the waiting tea table. A nondescript elderly man appeared and seated himself in an armchair beside her. ‘Teddy Roosevelt’, easily recognizable as Cho-Cho’s friend, despite the large moustache and pince-nez he now wore, moved forward to stand by Matilda’s other side.
Instinctively, I looked around for Cho-Cho but, of course, he had said he was taking her home – wherever that might be – not to the theatre. I hoped she was safe there. I didn’t like the thought of her being left alone someplace. How many people knew where he lived?
‘Teddy! That was your cue!’ the voice said sharply. Onstage, the action had begun – or tried to.
‘Oh, sorry.’ Abstractedly, the actor looked out over the footlights. ‘Afraid I was thinking of something else.’
‘That was obvious!’ The voice betrayed a fraying patience. ‘Perhaps you could bring yourself to join the rest of us …?’
‘Yes … yes … Sorry, Frella.’
‘From the top!’
I sat back and let the familiar proceedings wash over me. It was a good play and it would have been fun to be up there with Evangeline, playing the leading roles, but I knew I was right. We needed a brand new play we could make our own. We wanted to look forward, not back.
Which brought my thoughts back to Nigel. He had disappeared pretty smartly after his brief conference with Evangeline. It had lasted just about long enough for her to write a cheque. I hoped she knew what she was doing. Rather, what he was doing.
‘Ted
dy! Can’t you pay attention?’ I winced as the shrill voice soared into the stratosphere. Teddy was fluffing his lines again. I got the impression it wasn’t going to augur well for his home life.
‘It’s always a mistake for an actor to marry his director – even if it’s the only way he can get the part.’ Slipping into the seat beside me, Evangeline was of the same opinion. ‘I hope he has a good understudy – because if she doesn’t sack him, one of the other actors is going to murder him.’
‘All right …’ This time the voice was dangerously self-controlled. Teddy had fluffed again. ‘Just carry on. Let’s get to the end of this scene.’
Something brushed against my ankles, startling me. I gasped and looked down.
A large orange cat looked up at me, blinking huge green eyes.
‘Don’t be frightened,’ a voice said from the row behind. ‘it’s only Garrick. He may look fierce but, unless you’ve got four legs, a long tail and a squeak, he’s a pussycat.’
‘I’m sure of it.’ I leaned forward and wriggled my fingers for Garrick to investigate. ‘He just startled me, that’s all. I didn’t expect a cat here.’
‘All theatres have a cat. The way actors leave their snacks lying around and audiences drop sweets, the place would be overrun otherwise. We couldn’t do without Garrick, he’s the best mouser in the business.’
Hearing a familiar voice, Garrick abandoned me and strolled under my seat to the next row.
‘Here he is. You know who feeds you, don’t you, Garrick?’
I watched Garrick defect without regret. He was a perfectly nice cat, but he wasn’t Cho-Cho-San. Equally, I suppose he thought I was a nice enough woman, but I didn’t control the tin opener.
‘Hello, Jem.’ Evangeline also recognized a familiar voice. ‘Cecile told me you were stage door keeper here. It’s been a long time.’
‘The Royal Empire was built in 1809. Sometimes it feels as though I’ve been here from the beginning.’
‘Jem played the odious child brother with Cecile and me in Three on a Match way back when,’ Evangeline informed me. ‘He was brilliant. Everyone had him marked out for a great future.’
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