“Thank you, Dexter.” Celia smiled as Dexter came forward to grasp the front of the three-tiered Victorian rosewood tea-trolley and help her ease it over the threshold. She was using her crystal punchbowl as a salad bowl,
a silver-topped claret jug was filled with lemonade, cakes were piled high on a Wedgwood plate.
I was glad to see that she still had some of her treasured antiques. Her friendly local antique dealers hadn't got their hands on everything, then. Not yet.
I looked at Celia searchingly in the light of my new knowledge, but her mask was back in place. Her face was untroubled, the very slight frown of concentration clearing as she and Dexter coaxed the tea-trolley over the threshold without mishap.
“That looks great, Mrs. Meadows,” Dexter approved. “Just great.”
“Here we are.” Patrick appeared in the doorway bearing a straw bread basket lined with a gleaming white linen table napkin. When he turned back the folds to offer me a corn muffin, a cloud of fragrant steam rose from the depths.
His face, also, was untroubled. Well, as untroubled as I had yet seen it. Nothing was going to erase those deeply-etched lines around his mouth and eyes; they were there to stay, no matter what might happen in the future.
If he had a future. I averted my eyes, lest he read the thought in them.
“I saw Dr. Peterson driving through town this morning,” he informed me. “That's Jonah's nephew. He's going to be living at the Peterson place for the summer, so he'll be your nearest neighbour. I'm glad of that. He could be very useful to you.”
“Oh, I shouldn't think we'd need to call on him,” I said. “Tessa's arm seems to be mending well. Anyway,
Nancy left a different doctor's name to be called in case of emergency.”
“He's a Doctor of Literatureâ” Celia laughed for the first timeâ“not medicine. He's here to work on a book of local history. In any case, Nancy and Arnold never met him. He's only been up here for the odd weekend until term ended. They've been rushing around so much getting ready to leave, we've scarcely seen them ourselves. We met Noah because Jonah brought him over to introduce him and explain he was taking over the house for the summer. Jonah always disappears into the mountains for the summer himself. But we'll have Noah over sometime so that you can meet him. I think you'll like him.”
“Fine,” I said. Celia would not understand that likes or dislikes did not matter. I was in some strange limbo where nothing seemed quite real and other people slid across my consciousness like shadows. I didn't feel real myself. I walked, I talked, I must be making the right responses to situations since no one seemed to notice that I was empty and hollow, a living ghost haunting a world that no longer concerned me.
“You'll like him,” Celia insisted. She frowned at me uneasily.
I nodded and dredged up a sympathetic smile. I was afraid that it would not be long before Celia knew more than she wanted to know about such feelings.
H
e must have been lurking in the bushes when Celia brought us home. Then he waited for her to drive away and leave us. The sound of her car engine had hardly faded into the distance when the front doorbell rang, a sharp demanding peal.
It was late for anyone to be calling. Slightly alarmed, I glanced at Tessa and Timothy. They were opening a tin of cat food for Errol, who was twining around their ankles, and did not appear to notice anything amiss in the situation.
“Yesâ?” I opened the door cautiously, wishing that Nancy and Arnold were less trusting. They might have taken the rudimentary precaution of having a chain on their door. I did not recognize the dark male shape looming before me. “What is it?”
“What is it? I'll tell you what it is, ladyâ” He pushed past me and stood foursquare in the hallway, scowling and narrowing his eyes against the light.
“Now just a minuteâ” I protested.
“What it is, isâ” He was snarling with fury. I backed away. “Your cat has knocked up my catâand I want to know what you're going to do about it!”
“Poor sweet.” Tessa had come to see what was happening. “Can't she get back to sleep again?”
“If there's one thing I can't standâ” the man turned his contorted face to Tessaâ“it's an insolent brat!”
“It isn't insolenceâit's innocence!” I flew to Tessa's defence, annoyed but no longer quite so frightened. It is difficult to be afraid of a manâhowever large and bad-temperedâwho is tenderly cradling a gloriously beautiful picture-book cat in his arms. She appeared to be a long-haired Siamese with big blue perfectly round eyes which were watching us all with interest.
“Look at her” He gently stroked the cat's bulging sides. “Just look at what your revolting monster has done to my poor little Pitti-Sing. That beast ought to be put down!”
Tessa pressed close to me and tugged at my skirt. I bent to her. “I don't like that man, Mummy,” she whispered.
I wasn't exactly enamoured of him myself, but he appeared to have genuine cause for grievance.
“Put down!” he repeated. Tessa whimpered.
“That's out of the question,” I said firmly. “Just because you can't keep your own cat under control, there's no need to take it out on Errol.”
“She's never out of my apartment in the city,” he said. “I thought it was safe to let her enjoy the great outdoors up here. I didn't know that monster was prowling the
woods, or I'd never have let her out alone.”
“Errol isn't the only male cat around Edgemarsh Lake,” I defended. “I don't know why you should jump to the conclusion that he's to blame.”
Unfortunately Errol chose that moment to come ambling into the room, perhaps drawn by the sound of his own name, or perhaps curious to see what had distracted us from the vital business of getting his supper. He gave a chirrup of pleased surprise when he saw the feline in the stranger's arms and made straight for her, breaking into a raucous serenade. Pitti-Sing immediately began to struggle to get down and join him. It was abundantly clear that Errol was well known to her and had enjoyed the fullest cooperation in his escapade.
“No! No!” the man cried, clutching the squirming cat desperately. “No, Pitti-Sing, stay with Daddy.” He glared at me. “Get that monster out of here! Go away! Go awayâ” He launched out with one foot at Errol.
“No-o-o!” Tessa leaped to save Errol from the kick. As she bent to pick him up, the foot landed on her cast. “Oooh!” she screamed and burst into tears.
“You kicked her! You kicked my sister!” Timothy was upon him like a whirlwind, fists flying.
“Oh my God!” The man dropped to his knees beside Tessa. “I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to hurt you. It was an accident.” Pitti-Sing took advantage of his divided attention to twist free and break away. Errol followed her.
“Timothy!” I caught my son as he drew back his foot to aim a kick at the man's head, now within range, and pulled him away. “Behave yourself! It was an accident. Tessaâ” I knelt beside herâ“are you all right? Let me
see your arm, darling. Does it hurt to move it?” If that stupid man had rebroken her arm, I'd kick him myself.
“Mummy!” She hurled her good arm around my neck and subsided against me, still sobbing.
“My God, lady,” the man said. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have hurt her for the world. Honestly.”
“You were going to kick Errol,” Timothy accused. “You wanted to hurt
him
.”
“Damn right!” For an instant, something dangerous sparked in the man's eyes. “That cat has it coming to him!”
“He's an awful man, Mummy,” Tessa confided loudly. “I don't like him.”
“I'm terrible,” the man agreed unexpectedly. “Hereâ” He stuck out his chin and pointed it at Tessa. “Go ahead and sock me. As hard as you can. Then we'll be even.”
“Tessa!” I caught her doubled-up fist. “Two wrongs don't make a right! And you”âI turned to the manâ“ought not to suggest such a thing. I'm trying to bring up my children to be civilized!”
“Sorry, lady, you're right.” He wrenched himself to his feet. “I'm glad you stopped me. I'll bet that kid packs quite a punch.”
Tessa gave one final sniff and tried not to smile, “I could knock you over,” she said.
“Tessa!”
“Sure you could, kid.” He reached out as though to pat her on the head, but had second thoughts and withdrew his hand hastily.
“Look.” He turned to me. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have
said what I said about your cat. I was angry. Believe it or not, I'm a reasonable man and you look like a reasonable woman, so why don't we compromise? I'll settle for having the cat taken care of.” So that I should have no doubt about his meaning, he added, “I'll even pay the vet's bill myself.”
“No!” I said sharply. I couldn't possibly do that to someone else's cat. What would Nancy and Arnold say if they came back and found Errol neutered? Presumably they liked him the way he was or they would have attended to the operation themselves. Perhaps they had plans for breeding from him at some future time.
“So much for reasonable compromise.” A sulky look spread over the man's face.
“Mummy, he's still trying to hurt Errol, isn't he?” Tessa asked plaintively.
“It won't hurt the cat,” he snapped.
“It won't do him any good,” I countered, firmly on Errol's side. “Why don't
you
be reasonable? They're both long-haired cats, the kittens ought to be beautiful.”
“I wanted to mate Pitti-Sing with one of her own breed when she was a bit older. She's a pure-bred Himalayanâ” He broke off and looked around. “Where is she? Where did she go? Pitti-Sing ⦠here, Pitti-Sing ⦔
“He calls her Pitti-Sing,” Timothy observed with interest.
“It's not baby-talk” The man went on the defensive. “It's from
The Mikado
. Pitti-Sing was theâ”
“We're quite conversant with the works of Gilbert and Sullivan, thank you,” I said crisply.
“Say, that's right” He seemed struck by a new thought. “You've all got accents. Butâ” He looked around and shook his head. “This
is
the right house. I'm sure. Besidesâ” he said it like an accusationâ“that cat was here.”
“The cat lives here,” I said. “We don't. We've swapped houses with the Harpers for the summer. We're the Blakes. This isn't our houseâor our cat.”
“That explains it!” His face cleared. “No wonder you wouldn't agree about the cat. In that case, there's no problem. I'll take the thing to the vet myself. You don't have to know anything about it until it's all over. Then you can be as shocked and indignant as they areâand put all the blame on me.”
“No!” I was already shocked and indignant. “Certainly not! That's unthinkable! Errol is under our protectionâif you dare to lay one finger on him, I'll call the police!”
“Oh.” His sigh was a bit too theatrical; I mistrusted it instantly. “I'm sorry you feel that way, butâ” he sighed againâ“I suppose there's nothing I can do about it. I'll just take my cat and leave. If that's all right with Errolâ”
“Timothy, Tessaâgo find the cats. Bring Pitti-Sing back here to Mr.â?”
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm Noah Peterson. My uncle has loaned me his house to work in for the summer. I guess that makes me your nearest neighbor. We ought to try to get on better.” He smiled and held out his hand.
“I suppose so.” Somewhat reluctantly, I shook it. In the sudden silence, I became aware of strange crackling
noises in the background. “What are those children doing now? Or is it the cats?”
“I don't know.” He frowned and listened. It was too far away to be the children. “It sounds like a string of firecrackers going off. Some of the kids at camp must be staring their Fourth celebrations early.”
“Rather muted firecrackersâ” I moved uneasily to the window and raised the shade. A crimson light flickered in the sky. “Perhaps they're sending up fireworks.”
“Oh no!” He strode over to the front door and opened it. “Oh no!”
“What is it?” I followed him out on to the porch and the question became unnecessary. Now I could smell the smoke and hear the angry crackle of flames.”
“Tim! Tessa!” I called, fighting panic. It was the nightmare all over again, except that this time I was awake.
“Kids!” Noah Peterson said bitterly. “They've set light to the bonfire. They're going to ruin the Fourth of July for everyone.”
“The bonfire ⦔ I began to relax. “At the top of the Lake ⦔ It was a safe distance away. Furthermore, it would soon be under control. Already the swooping siren of a fire engine could be heard rushing along the road from town: “That's all right, they'll soon have it out.”
“It will still be ruined,” he said gloomily. “By the time they're through, it will never dry out again in time for Tuesday night.”
“Mummyâ” Tessa came up behind us. “I've got Pitti-Sing. Listen, she's purring.”
“Fine,” I said, although the sound could not be heard above the crackling noises.
“And I've got Errol!” Timothy was flushed with triumph. Or perhaps it was just the reflection of the red glow overspreading the sky. “What's that?”
“That's the Fourth of July gone up the spout!” Noah Peterson gathered his cat from Tessa's arms. “Someone's set off the bonfire early.”
“Will there still be a Fourth of July?” Timothy asked uncertainly.
“Oh, sure. There'll still be the town picnic, the Horribles parade, the fireworks ⦠but it won't be the same. Not without the Grand Finale Bonfire.”
“It still sounds like a full programme to me.” I tried to cheer him. He seemed to be a hidebound traditionalistâperhaps because of his interest in history.
“Oh well.” He tried to cast off his gloom. “I suppose we might as well go down to the lake and watch it across the water. It's the only bonfire you'll see this year.” He started down the steps, then seemed to recall that he was still carrying Pitti-Sing. Timothy still clutched Errol.
“We'd better leave the cats in the houseâif you don't mind,” he said. “It might upset them.”
Pitti-Sing might be sensitive enough to be upset by the bonfire, but I doubted whether anything short of a charge of dynamite would ruffle Errol's fur. Nevertheless, I took Pitti-Sing from him and went into the house. Timothy followed me.
“Put them in separate rooms!” Noah Peterson called after us.
Â
Everyone appeared to have had the same idea. The circumference of the lake was dotted by telltale points of
lightâpinpricks that were cigarettes, and larger circles that were flashlights. Voices carried on the still night air, with an occasional burst of laughter. The show might be going on ahead of schedule but everyone seemed determined to enjoy it just the same.
The noise was louder out here, a constant snapping crackling roar, punctuated by loud reports as a knot of wood exploded sending sparks showering upwards. The cracks were echoed from the camp across the water, where discipline had obviously slipped in the face of this unscheduled excitement and some of the campers were setting off their firecrackers early.
The air seemed even hotter and the smoke pall pressed down over the lake. I fought back an urge to cough and blinked my eyes against the acrid smoke.
“We're all right so long as the woods don't catch,” Noah Peterson muttered to me.
“If there was any danger, why did they allow the bonfire to be built in the first place?”