Nine Lives to Murder by Marian Babson

Author:Marian Babson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2019-11-19T16:00:00+00:00

19

‘Horrid! Filthy! Beast!’ There was nothing dreamlike about the hand crashing across his ear.

‘Monster!’ An iron grip closed on the scruff of his neck and lifted him bodily from his pleasant occupation.

‘Urrr …’ Strangled by his own skin, he could only writhe in Cynthia’s furious grasp. However, it did not escape him that Malfì had streaked off and was hiding behind the screen in the corner, trying to pretend that she had never been there at all.

‘Don’t you ever come near poor Malfi again!’ He felt a final slap and then was hurled into space while the door slammed shut behind him.

He’d never realized Cynthia had such a vicious temper. Oh, a bit of temperament now and again, that was one thing. But to think she could turn into a howling termagant like that! And after all the soothing times she had sympathized with him when Miranda was in a fury about something, making him wonder if life might be more peaceful with her.

The residue of Monty performed a neat arabesque in mid-air and set him down lightly on all four feet. He shook himself dazedly.

‘Caught in the act, eh, Monty?’ A burst of ribald laughter exploded around him.

His ears twitched furiously, his tail shot up. If there was one thing more embarrassing than to be caught in the act, it was to be seen to be caught. He disdained even to glance in the direction of the unseemly merriment. He turned and stalked down the corridor.

‘Never mind, eh?’ one of the stage hands called. ‘It was good while it lasted.’

Well, yes, so it had been. Malfi was a delightful little creature. He felt that she might understand him if he tried to communicate his problem to her. Cynthia often brought Malfi to the theatre, he had noted absently in the past. That meant Malfi would spend a lot of time here during the run of the play—and Cynthia would have to be onstage for much of that time. Heh-heh-heh.

He suddenly realized with incredulous horror that he was actually planning future assignations with a cat.

Why not? He was a cat himself now.

It was all too much! Thoroughly unnerved, he plunged through the open doorway into Wardrobe and curled up in his favourite chair. It was also Tottie’s favourite chair, but he knew she wouldn’t dispossess him when she returned to find him there.

He had intended to give himself a bath but, worn out from his exertions, both physical and mental, he fell asleep …

He dreamed of Miranda. Miranda as she was when he first knew her, so young and vibrant and trusting, filling the days—and the nights—with laughter …

Suddenly, Antoinette was there … and the dream darkened, the laughter faded. Antoinette, holding a younger Geoffrey by one hand and Jennet by the other, her dark eyes accusing him of all his inadequacies as a husband and a father. He found himself groping for the words to make them understand, to make it all right … but no words would come.

Cynthia came instead, someone else staring at him with accusing eyes.

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