Paws for Alarm (3 page)

‘Hey – !' Arnold beamed with delight. There's a whole shelf of do-it-yourself books here. All English ones I've never seen before. Maybe I'll find some new ideas.'

‘Oh, no!' I groaned as he began pulling out books and piling them on the desk. ‘You can't fool around with that here, you know. This isn't our house.'

‘I know it. I just want to read them – What's this?' He stretched his arm behind the remaining books and retrieved a photograph in a silver frame.

‘It must be the Blake family.' I went over to him and we stood looking down at the four smiling faces. I felt a lump in my throat. They all looked so happy and confident, so unsuspecting of the tragedy ahead of them.

‘What do you suppose it was doing back there?'

‘It must have been on the desk originally,' I guessed. ‘After the accident, Rosemary probably couldn't bear to look at it and she must have just put it behind the books to get it out of the way for the time being.'

‘Then she either forgot it,' Arnold pieced the rest of the story together, ‘or decided it didn't matter if it stayed there a while longer.'

‘It's as good a place as any. Put it back. We wouldn't want her to think we'd been snooping.'

‘It's too bad.' Arnold sighed, replacing the photograph. ‘They were a nice couple. It's a damn shame.' For once, I was in complete accord with Arnold. They
were
a nice couple and it
was
a damned shame. I only hoped Rosemary would find some peace and maybe a little happiness in our house in Cranberry Lane.

‘Oh no you don't!' I caught Arnold by his pyjama shirt-tail as he tried to slide out of bed in the morning.

‘Gee, honey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you. I thought I'd leave you and the lads to catch up on some sleep and just get an early train to London and have breakfast there.'

“That's what I thought you thought. Nice try, but it isn't going to work. You're not going to leave me and the kids here alone until we've had a chance to look around and get settled. There's still the shopping to do — provided they decide to open any stores today — and I'm not going to lug heavy bundles all by myself.'

‘Oh, yeah, I forgot that.' He tugged experimentally at his shirt-tail, but I held fast.

‘Just a couple of days,' I coaxed encouragingly, ‘and we should be all sorted out.' I hauled myself upright, ignoring a slight tearing sound, and offered a compromise. ‘You can have first go at the bathroom.'

We managed toast and two cups of coffee each before the twins came down to join us. They were hot to be fobbed off with cereal, so I had to cook some bacon and eggs I had discovered lurking at the back of the refrigerator.

On second thoughts, it smelled so good frying, I added a few more rashers and eggs for Arnold and myself.

‘
Mmrr-hrrm?
' The faint apologetic throat-clearing sound spun me round to glare indignantly at the back door. Surely Lania wouldn't have the nerve to break in on strangers at the breakfast table? But there was no one there.

‘
Mrr-hrrmm?
' The sound came again, from somewhere down around my ankles, I realized belatedly. I looked down.

An orange marmalade cat with big green eyes stared up at me in uncertain pleading. One front paw was lifted delicately off the floor as though about to wave a disclaimer that he intended to be any trouble.

‘Oh, good heavens! We've forgotten Esmond. You poor darling, you must be starving!'

‘
Prr-yah,
' he agreed. He moved a tentative step nearer and blinked hopefully. The message was clear: he didn't mean to intrude, but he would appreciate a bit of breakfast. He was the politest cat I'd ever seen.

‘Oh, poor Esmond!' Donna pushed back her chair and swooped at him. He retreated behind the stove.

‘He's not much like Errol,' Donald said.

‘He's shy, and we're strangers. You shouldn't jump at him like that, Donna. You've got to give him time to get acquainted.'

‘Errol isn't shy' Donna said. ‘Errol isn't afraid of anybody.'

‘Errol is different. He grew up with you hooligans. Esmond has obviously been more gently reared. Come on, Esmond,' I put down a saucer of milk by the edge of the stove to encourage him.

After a long moment, a delicate pink nose appeared and, when we seemed to be paying no attention, Esmond emerged and settled down to his milk. He wrapped his tail neatly around his paws, closed his eyes, and took dainty appreciative licks.

‘Is Esmond a
tom
cat?' Donald asked doubtfully.

‘Well ...' I didn't really want to go into that right now. ‘More or less.'

‘Less.' Arnold snickered coarsely.

If you've finished your breakfast –' I gave him a filthy look – ‘why don't you get dressed? Let's get our shopping done early. God knows what hour they'll decide to roll up the sidewalks today.'

‘Sure, honey, sure.' Arnold heaved himself to his feet and lumbered towards the door. ‘And I'll tell you what –' He paused and looked back at me. ‘We'll hire a car this morning, too. Then we'll be mobile again.'

It turned out to be market day in St Anselm. From having no shops open at all, we were suddenly on overkill. Fresh fruit and vegetables were piled high on trestle tables under striped awnings in the central Square. Around the perimeter, other stalls had been set up where they were selling household goods, old books, bits of junk and antiques all mixed together.

‘This –' I breathed a sigh of happiness – ‘is more like it!' We plunged into the midst of the fray. We needed everything, so it didn't matter where we stopped.

We had collected about eight small bags before I noticed that most of the other shoppers had brought their own sturdy shopping bags, or else those baskets on wheels. I wasn't keen on them, but I could see that they were a necessary adjunct to life over here. Fortunately, there was a stall selling bags and carts of all descriptions. I bought one, dumped everything into it, and let the twins fight over who was going to wheel it.

‘Tomatoes –' I eyed the varieties offered and found little placards uniformly describing them as either ‘Rock Hard' or ‘Little Balls of Sugar'. Neither attribute was what I desired in a tomato.

‘How about some more bacon, honey?' Arnold broke in on my deliberations. And some cheese? They've got both at that stall over there.'

We had used most of the bacon left for us, so I allowed him to steer us over to the stall — where I found more food for thought. Bacon is bacon – or so I had always presumed. But here were neat piles of strange-looking slices of cuts I had never heard of. The piles were labelled with odd names: back, oyster, collar, green, gammon, middle ... The only one resembling bacon as I had always known it was labelled ‘streaky' – and even that was partially unfamiliar, since it was sliced with the rind still on it and complete with gristle. A larger piece – if I'd had to put a name to it, I would have called it an unsmoked flitch of bacon – was disgustingly identified as ‘Belly of Pork'.

‘Arnold –' I swallowed and turned to him. ‘Arnold, I think culture shock is setting in. Things are different here.'

‘They sure are, honey.' With a beatific smile, Arnold began buying cheese like there was no tomorrow.

‘I'll have half a pound of Blue Cheshire,' he began, happily reading off the exotic names. ‘Also half a pound of Sage Derby ... and Red Windsor ... and Stilton ... and Ilchester ... and Red Leicester ... and Wensleydale ... and —'

‘That's an awful lot of cheese,' Donna pointed out in a worried tone.

‘And Double Gloucester ...' Arnold continued unheedingly. ‘And Farmhouse Cheddar ... and –'

‘Like every large rodent,' I told Donna, ‘your father could exist indefinitely on cheese alone. Arnold –' I gave him a sharp poke in the ribs – ‘that's enough!'

‘And Curd!' Arnold finished triumphantly. ‘“Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey.” I've always wondered what that was. We'll have some tonight.'

The stall-holder was whacking off hunks of cheese with alarming rapidity, as though he wished to serve this maniac and get his money before the men in white coats arrived and dropped the butterfly net over him.

‘Oh, uhh –' Arnold came out of his happy trance as the pile of wrapped wedges mounted on the counter before him. He glanced at me guiltily. ‘Er, did you want some bacon, honey?'

‘Not right now,' I said sweetly. ‘I think we'll live on cheese soufflés for the next few weeks.'

‘We can use it all,' Arnold argued unconvincingly. ‘Maybe we can give a party.'

‘We don't know anyone here to invite to a party,' I reminded him. ‘Although I do agree that five pounds of cheese would be plenty for a party – if we were giving one.'

‘Is it really –' Arnold winced – ‘five pounds?'

Three pounds, seventy, actually, Guv,' the stallholder said briskly. ‘If that'll be all, that is.'

‘That's all.' Arnold passed over a ten-pound note and waited for change, avoiding my eyes.

‘Maybe Esmond likes cheese, too.' Donna tried to cheer me.

‘Lovely lot of English cheeses you've got there.' The stall-holder handed over Arnold's change. ‘You won't regret it. But –' he tempted slyly – ‘how about some of these French cheeses? This Brie, now, ripe and ready for eating. So's the Camembert, and the Roule, and –'

‘No more today, thank you!' I cut him off and grabbed Arnold's arm as he opened his mouth to buy out the rest of the stall. ‘Before we do any more bulk buying, we're going to hire a car.'

We found the Rent-Your-Wheels office without any problems, since it was just off the High Street with a big sign over it. The trouble began when we looked at the cars on offer.

‘Gee, honey,' Arnold said, ‘I'm not sure we can handle any of these. They all have manual shifts – and five shifts, at that.'

‘All we've got, squire,' the salesman said. ‘You won't find many automatic transmissions around these parts. Everyone reckons they're too dodgy. You'll cotton on to it fast enough. Look, why don't you slip behind the wheel and take it out for a little spin? You can leave your shopping here.'

‘I don't know. We don't have much time to fool around –' Arnold checked his watch and I knew just what he was thinking. ‘Maybe we ought to come back another day.'

‘You can forget that, Arnold Harper! You're not going up to London this afternoon and leaving me stranded with the kids in a strange town.' He wasn't going up to London tomorrow, either, but I'd let him find that out later.

‘Oh, but honey –'

‘Furthermore –' I rammed home the advantage – ‘you know perfectly well we're going to dinner at the Sandgates' tonight. No way could you make it to London, get anything done, and get home again in time for that.'

‘Okay, okay! We'll take the frigging car!' he snarled, turning on the salesman so violently the poor man cringed. ‘What do I have to sign?'

We drove home with the twins joining me in a chorus of: ‘Left! Keep left! They drive on the left over here.'

By the time we pulled up in front of the house, we were all frazzled and limp.

‘It's not so hard, honey.' Arnold tried to abdicate. ‘You'll get used to it in no time.'

Tomorrow,' I said firmly, ‘we'll spend the day driving around and looking at the local tourist attractions. You and I will take turns behind the wheel – and we'll both get used to it.'

‘Aw, but –'

‘Please, Daddy,' Donna chimed in. ‘You never go anywhere with us.'

‘What are you talking about?' Arnold was stung. ‘I've brought you all over here to England, haven't I?'

‘And now you're going to leave us,' Donald said darkly. ‘Again.'

‘As usual,' I agreed. ‘You see, Arnold, even the kids are on to you.'

‘This
is
supposed to be a working trip.' Arnold set his jaw stubbornly. ‘There's an awful lot of research to be done. Those archives contain tons of material. I shouldn't waste a minute getting to them.'

‘If you give yourself a couple of days to recover from the jet-lag, you'll be fresher when you get to them. Besides,' I reminded him, ‘we don't know how late that dinner at the Sandgates' will run. You may be very happy to sleep late in the morning and then have a lazy day.'

‘Maybe.' He was grudging, but I could see that I had persuaded him. ‘Well, okay. We'll get that over with tonight and see how we feel in the morning.'

Lania opened the door, greeted us with a wide smile and introduced her husband, Richard, who was hovering at her elbow. He was short, dark and just missed being handsome; there was something about his expression that reminded me of Arnold. I was certain that they were going to be good friends – if Arnold could be dragged away from his research long enough to let a friendship develop.

‘And
my
children: Angela and Peregrine.' She beckoned them forward to meet Donna and Donald. ‘Now you children run upstairs,' she commanded. ‘Mrs Thing will give you supper in the nursery before she leaves and you can watch television.' She turned back to Arnold and me with a moue of distaste. ‘They're rerunning
The Wooden Horse
– again. But it does keep the children amused.'

We followed her through the hallway and into the drawing-room with a sense of slightly out-of-whack
déjà vu
because the layout was a mirror image of our own quarters. Only to be expected, I suppose, in the sort of house they call semi-detached, but it was disconcerting.

Especially as there was nothing mirror image about the decor – other-worldly was a more apt description. The colour scheme was silver, black and a pale, shimmering blue. I felt as though I had stepped into an ice cavern. On the far side of the room, a couple who were obviously our fellow guests sat on a huge silver-grey sofa which could have doubled as an iceberg. Their drinks seemed to be floating on air just below their knees until I took a closer look and realized their glasses were resting on an oval sheet of thick blue-green glass set in a narrow black metal framework.