Authors: Marian Babson

Whiskers & Smoke (3 page)

BOOK: Whiskers & Smoke

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“Oh?” I couldn't hide my surprise and disappointment. I had been looking forward to a long gossip with Celia after we had put the children to bed.

“I'm sorryâ” She turned the pale blur of her face
away as she led the way up the path. “I must get back to Patrick â¦ he â¦ isn't well.”

“I'm sorry.” I apologized in turn. “I hadn't realized. Whatâ?”

“Later â¦” Her footsteps echoed on the wooden steps and across the wooden porch. “Tomorrow â¦” She opened a screen door, then I heard the scrape of a key in the lock and the inner door swung open. Celia stepped inside, there was the snap of a switch and light flooded the porch.

“Lookâ” Timothy lingered at the top of the steps, surveying the porch. “They've got rocking-chairs out hereâand a hammock swing. Andâ”

“Hurry up,” Celia said. “We don't want mosquitoes getting into the house. They've got those, too.”

“I like the hanging baskets.” Unburdened by luggage, Tessa skipped into the hallway. I went back to the car for the rest of our cases.

Celia had gone through the house snapping on lights. When I entered, the screen door slamming behind me, I found everyone in the large cosy living-room that ran parallel with the long wide porch outside. Two wide windows faced on to the porch and I could quite see how convenient it would be on rainy days to send the children out to play on the porch and still be able to keep an eye on them from the living-room. If we ever had any rainy days here. I said as much to Celia.

“That's a proper veranda,” she corrected me. “The old-timers still call it a pee-azza.” She gave every letter full value, accentuating a Yankee twang. “Most of the older houses have them. I can see that they're quite attractiveâif
you like that sort of thing. We have a modern Cape Cod Cottage with a patio, ourselves.”

“I know. You've sent me pictures. I'm looking forward to seeing it.”

“You'd better see this house first.” I winced inwardly as Celia stubbed out a cigarette in a delicate glass bowl. She did not succeed in extinguishing it completely. She sailed out of the room without a backward glance at the thin acrid wisps of smoke still curling upwards from the smouldering stub. I hesitated, but the sides of the bowl were curved and steep; the cigarette could be left to burn itself out safely. Besides, she had halted in the doorway and was now looking back at me impatiently, waiting for me to follow her. It could look too pointedâperhaps reproachfulâif I stopped to extinguish the cigarette while she was watching.

“Bring your cases,” Celia directed. “We'll start upstairs. You can leave your things in the bedrooms.”

I picked up Tessa's small case and my own; I would carry the heavy cases up later when the children couldn't watch. Already, Timothy was fretting because he was not big enough to manage them and Tessa was upset because her arm prevented her from carrying even a light case.

“Rosemary, you'll have the master bedroom, of course.” Celia flung open the door and switched on the light.

“It's beautiful.” I looked around the opulent room thus revealed. A dark red richly-patterned Oriental rug covered the gleaming pine floorboards, an enormous double bed dominated the room, reflected in both the dressing-table
mirror and a full-length pier glass in one corner. The ubiquitous rocking-chair was also present.

“I knew you'd like it,” Celia said with satisfaction. “Now, let's get the children settled. Tessa, you'll have Donna's room. Timothy, you'll have Donald's.”

After that, it was a whirlwind tour. Celia raced us from room to room without giving us time to take them in.

“The bathroom â¦ the guest roomsâ” Celia opened doors briefly and closed them againâ“but you won't need to worry about that. You don't know anyone, so you won't be having guests.” She shut the last door with finality and was half way down the stairs before we could follow.

On the ground floor, she rushed us from living-room to Arnold's study, to dining-room, to kitchenâand then down into the cellar.

Somewhere along the way, she had found time to light another cigarette but not to find an ashtray. A trail of ashes marked our progress through the house, not deliberately flicked off, just dropping off from their own weight and unnoticed by Celia in her overriding preoccupation.

“When I first came to this country,” Celia told us, “they called basement rooms like this the rumpus room. Now it seems to be the playroom.”

“Ping-pong!” Timothy shouted joyously, advancing on the table in the middle of the room. A darts board was hanging on the farther wall, a folding bridge table in a corner held a partially-completed jigsaw puzzle, outdoor sports equipment huddled in another corner. Tessa raised the lid of an old chest perforated with holes and discovered a cache of games.

“Do they have giant woodworm here, Mummy?” she asked fearfully, studying the holes.

“We don't have woodworm at all,” Celia snapped indignantly. “Arnold drilled those holes especially, so that there wouldn't be any danger if the kids played hide-and-seek and one of them got into the chest. There have been tragedies in the past â¦” Her voice trailed off.

“From time immemorial,” I agreed. “Didn't Tennyson do a poem about itâor was it Sir Walter Scott?”

“Probably both,” Celia said. “It was a popular theme. No, Timothyâ” she called. “You can't go in there.”

“Out of bounds.” Timothy read out a hand-lettered notice pinned to a side door.

“Nancy apologizes for thatâ” Celia relayed the message. “She's piled all their clothing and private items in there and locked the door. She said it seemed the easiest thing to do.”

“Oh, good. I'm glad she's done that because it's exactly what we did. She won't mind finding a locked room in our house, then.”

“You'll find the key on the key ringâin case of emergency, but you shouldn't have to use it.”

“That's right. I left the keyâjust in case. The washing-machine overflows occasionally and water has been known to seep under the door. I'd appreciate it if she mopped up in there before any damage was done.”

“The cubicle over thereâ” Celia was uninterested in my domestic problemsâ“is a shower stall, so that you can rinse the sand off before you go upstairs if you've been swimming in the lake.

“Never mind those stepsâ” She gestured and another
mound of ash fell to the floor. I wasn't going to worry about it this timeâthe basement floor was cement. “They lead up to an old-fashioned bulkhead doorâyou have to go half way up the steps and throw it open. It used to be the only outside entrance to the cellar, but Nancy and Arnold had a proper door put in over thereâ” Another gesture, another heap of ash. “No one ever uses the bulkhead any more, but they never got round to having it sealed off. You'll get a better idea of the layout when you see it in the daylight.”

“I'm willing to wait.” I could hardly articulate the words for the yawn. The children seemed to be more alert. Timothy had found a ping-pong ball and paddle and was looking around hopefully for an opponent. Tessa had drifted over to the jigsaw puzzle and was becoming absorbed in it, something she could do easily with one hand.

“You could all do with an early night.” Celia led the way back upstairs and headed firmly for the front door. “I'll be over in the morning. Get a good night's sleep.”

At the open door she turned back suddenly and hugged me. “Oh, Rosemary, I'm so glad you're here!”

Chapter 3

H
i, Rosemary, Tessa and TimothyâWelcome to Cranberry Lane. I hope you'll like it here. I just know we're going to love your place â¦

I had seen the note waiting for us on the kitchen table, but Celia had been dismissive. “You can read it later.”

Later had arrived. The children were bathed and in their pyjamas, having a glass of milk and some sweet biscuitsâwe must learn to say “cookies,” as was printed on the packetâbefore going to bed. I was reading the letter aloud.

I won't try to put everything in this letter or you'll be up all night reading it. I've left notes around the house re things you ought to know about. You'll find them as you need themâI hope!

We nodded at each other. I had done much the same. The washing-machine had had a special note of warning.

I've explained to Errol that you're going to be his temporary family for the summer and he said “Okay.” He's an absolute love and very easy-going and I know you'll love him as much as we do. Just one thingâplease don't let him have canned cat food more than twice a week. It doesn't agree with him after that. He usually eats what we eatâhe gets a lot of mileage out of scraps. One other thingâyou'll find his brush and a can of flea powder in the back entry. Sorry about thatâbut with the woods right behind us and the hot weather, there's no way he can avoid fleas.

I usually water the flowers in the hanging baskets every second day and just talk to them a little while you're doing itâit makes them grow. The garden should be watered once a week and in-between if it needs it. Unless there's a drought and the water restrictions are in force. You'll read about it in the local paper, of which, please save all copies for me so that I'll be able to catch up with the news when I get back. Don't worry about buying itâwe subscribe and it will be delivered every Friday. It's all paid for, so don't let the paper boy try to tell you any differentâI don't quite trust him â¦

Fortunately the children were distracted by a noise outside and didn't notice my voice trailing off as the letter became both confidential and libellous. I decided I would finished reading it when they were in bed.

“What's that?” Tessa asked as the noise came again, a high, piercing, demanding summons at the back door.

“It must be the catâ” Timothy set down his glass of milk and dashed for the door. He opened it and fell back in awe at the creature who marched past him.

“Is that a cat?” Tessa eyed it doubtfully. It was a good question.

The brute was twice the size of our lovely Esmond; a burly, thick-necked, square-headed animal, given an unexpectedly rakish look by the fact that the tip of one ear had evidently been chewed off in some private dispute of long ago. A patch of tiger fur was growing back at the base of his long waving tail, but had not reached the length of the rest of his fur yet. He had great flashing eyesâone blue and one amber. He paused inside the doorway and regarded us thoughtfully.

“Errol?” I asked tentatively. “Are you Errol?”

The monster leered affably and advanced into the room. Half way across, he lowered himself into a crouch, brought up a hind leg and attacked the mangled ear with such vigor that he seemed in danger of scratching off what remained of it.

“Shall I bring in the flea powder?” Timothy asked helpfully.

“Not now. Errol will just have to put up with it until morning. We'll tackle it then. He must be used to fleas.”

Errol finished scratching and resumed his interrupted progress. He halted in front of the refrigerator and stared at it pointedly.

“I think he's hungry,” Tessa said.

“I wouldn't be surprised,” I said faintly. Errol looked capable of eating a cow-and-a-half at each meal, skin, bones and all. It was difficult to think of him as having a delicate digestive system. “I'm afraid he'll have to settle for a tin of cat food tonight, though. We'll go shopping tomorrow and get in some suppliesâ”

The telephone rang and we all jumped. “It must be Celia.” I went to answer it.

“I'll feed Errol,” Timothy said. “I've found the tin-opener.”

“Hello?” Absently, I registered the note left for me on the telephone pad. It was like an unexpected nudge in the ribs.

Useful telephone numbers: Fire Department 341;

Doctor 748; Electrician 225; Plumber 576;

May's Mini Market 963 (more expensive than the supermarket, but they'll deliver COD if you phone in an order) â¦

Then a list of names which meant nothing to me now but presumably would at some future date.

“Hello?” I realized that I had been waiting for a reply. “Hello â¦ Celia?”

There was a click at the other end, then the dial tone. Odd â¦ and there was something odd about the note on the telephone pad, too.

“Who was it, Mummy?” Tessa asked as I went back into the kitchen.

“A wrong number,” I said. They might have apologized. Or perhaps it was someone who had been startled to get an English voice answering. Surely, though, all the Harpers' friends must know about the house swap. If any of them had rung in an absent moment, why hadn't they identified themselves and explained? It would have taken only a moment and would have been the courteous thing to do.

The children lost interest. Bemused, they were watching Errol as he gulped down the cat food. He was a noisy eater. As though he felt my disapproval, he raised his head and glared at me. He had a fine line in disapproval himself. He turned his head and concentrated on Tessa's glass of milk.

“I think he wants a drink,” Timothy said. “Shall I give him some milk?”

“Why don't you?” I decided against voicing an opinion that Errol looked as though he might prefer straight whisky.

The telephone rang again. This time it was Celia.

“Did you ring a few minutes ago?” I asked.

“No, I just got in. I wanted to remind you that the cat was around somewhere and would expect to be let in and fed.”

“Thank you, we've already found him. At least, I think it's a cat.”

“Errol is a Maine coon catâthey're the large economy size.”

“Except when you're feeding them.” Errol was making short work of a tin which would have done Esmond for two meals.

“Fortunately, he likes vegetables. When you're cooking, just toss an extra potato and another handful of peas or whatever into the pot for him. Nancy started him as she meant him to go on when he was just a kittenâ”

“Celia, is everything all right?” She was burbling on far too much about the blasted cat. It wasn't like her. Or had it been so long since we'd met that I no longer knew what she was like?

“Of course. Why shouldn't it be?”

“You said something about Patrick not being well â¦” I frowned absently at the message pad; I could tell from the quality of the silence at the other end of the line that she hadn't liked my answer.

“Nothing dramatic is going to happen suddenly. It isn't that kind of unwell.” Her voice was too crisp. She was trying to convince herself as well as me.

“You asked if I'd rung earlierâ” She changed the subject abruptly. “Did you have a â¦ an unidentified caller? What did they say?”

“They didn't say a word. Just listened for a moment and then rang off. Why? Has Nancy been having trouble with telephone calls?” Inheriting an obscene caller was all I needed. Welcome to America!

“No, no, of course not!” Had she denied it too quickly? “It must have been one of her friends who'd forgotten she'd already left.”

“I thought of that. Rather rude friends, hasn't she? They might have spoken and apologized. The other thing I thought of,” I added wickedly, “was that perhaps it was burglars ringing to find out if the house was empty.”

“You
will
lock the doors tonight?” Celia didn't laugh. “Front and backâand check that all the windows are latched. One can't be too careful these days.”

“Oh, Celiaâ” I caught back a yawnâ“of course, I'll lock up properly. I'm not a child.”

“You're dead on your feet.” Her voice softened. “Get to bed, the lot of you.” She rang off.

I yawned again, not even trying to restrain it. She was
right. It was bed for all of us. I'd lock up all right, but if burglars got in tonight, they'd just have to take anything they wanted.

They could start with Errol. Having finishing his meal, he was sharpening his claws on the leg of the lovely maplewood kitchen table.

“Stop that at once!” I darted at him, hand upraised threateningly. “I'm sure you're not allowed to do that when your family are home.”

Muttering darkly, he stalked over to the door and demanded his freedom. I let him out, slammed the door behind him and locked it; while I was at it, I checked that the kitchen windows were latched.

Then I gazed with dismay at the fresh raw scars on the table leg. We hadn't been in the house one night yet and already there was visible damage. It wasn't our fault, but it was there.

“Oh dear,” I moaned, kneeling and rubbing vainly at the scars. “And we were going to be so careful!” Even through my guilt, I wondered what was happening back at
our
house. Were the Harper twins as bad as their yobbo cat? What damage would we find waiting for us when we returned?

“It doesn't show much.” Timothy spat on his fingers and rubbed the scars. “Not when you're standing up.”

“Don't worry, Mummy,” Tessa comforted. “We can get something to put on it and polish it every day and the scratches will go away.”

“I can't worry about anything more tonight,” I admitted. “Let's go up to bed.”

Once the children were tucked up in bed, I found that I couldn't settle down myself. I paced the floor of the luxurious master bedroom; the double bed waited. I had not approached it; I could not. At this hour, in the darkness, it seemed to represent everything I had lost.

I crossed to the window and stood looking out over the humming air-conditioning unit which occupied the lower part of the window. Immediately below me was the roof of the veranda. Beyond it, I could see the path leading up from the road. The trees stirred silently, there must be a breeze. I tugged at the window but it refused to budge; the air-conditioning unit ruled, no natural air could be allowed in to disrupt its smooth operation.

Restlessly I left the room and checked on the childrenâthey were both sleeping soundly. From Tessa's room, I could hear the predatory yowl of a marauding cat somewhere out in the woods. Errol, no doubt. I was beginning to see why he had been so named.

Tonight I was not amused. Like a prowling cat myself, I left Tessa's room and went down the corridor, exploring the rooms I had glimpsed so briefly on Celia's whirlwind tour.

The sewing-room; an electric sewing-machine, the dark sinister shadow of a dressmaker's dummy, a Victorian sewing basket on a pedestal. Evidently Nancy was the domestic type. I closed the door softly; I'd have no reason to open it again for the remainder of our visit.

At the end of the hallway, I opened the door on enchantment. A guest room so welcoming it seemed to reach out invisible arms and draw me inside. It was decorated
in New England Colonial style, delicate floral-sprigged wallpaper, braided rugs on the polished pinewood floor, a light maple rocking-chair beside a bookcase full of well-read books, a large window set into the eaves so that there was a wide, comfortable window-seat one could curl up on. And the three-quarter-size brass bed was also wide and comfortable, inviting without being daunting. I could feel at home in here.

I retrieved my suitcases from the master bedroom, turning off the air-conditioning as I left, and moved in at once. This would be my room for the summer.

After unpacking, I knelt on the window-seat and found, as I had hoped when I had noted that it was without an air-conditioning unit, that the window slipped upwards easily. There was a screen on the outside and a cool breeze from the lake immediately wafted into the room.

There was an old-fashioned electric fan on the dressing-table; I flicked the switch and it hummed into action; picking up speed and revolving slowly. On the opposite side of the dressing-table was a vase of fresh flowers. The oddity surprised me for a moment; there had been no flowers in the master bedroom.

With a mental shrug, I tossed back the patchwork quilt covering the bed. A white envelope lay on the pillow. I was beginning to be familiar with those envelopes by now.

Dear Rosemary,

I thought you might prefer this room. I know I would, if I were in your shoes. It's where I put my favorite guests.

Look in the bedside tabouret for a little nightcap. It's
homemadeâPixie Toller's specialty. (You'll meet her soon, if you haven't already.)

BOOK: Whiskers & Smoke

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