Miriam's Talisman (39 page)

‘What the hell am I doing this for?' Don't stroke a cat in the street, her father used to warn her. It'll follow you home and we'll never get rid of it. ‘But I didn't stroke it, and I certainly didn't decide to feed it. I don't even remember finding the saucer. Jonathan's right, I really do need this break.' She sits down again and watches the cat as it sets about the business of drinking, crouching low, long neck extended. It looks awfully
thin, but its table manners are impeccable. ‘The cat that got the cream, eh?' The creature ignores her. Hadn't the woman in the shop said something about a cat?

‘Just here for the weekend, are you? Well, you'll be needing some bread, potatoes—how about milk, nice fresh eggs for your breakfast?'

Sally had only wanted directions but since she was there…Well, they
would
need some basics, and there was dinner that evening. There was always the takeaway, or perhaps one of the pubs did meals. No, let's do this properly. There would be plenty of time to cook and little else to do. She took a wire basket and looked around. The shop was a sort of mini-supermarket which seemed to sell a little of everything, including the morning newspapers and dairy produce. A bank of shelves was stacked high with fresh vegetables, probably straight from those fields. The dividing wall was missing, exposing the studs that formed an opened divider to the next-door teashop; a glimpse of checked tablecloths and copper kettles, local enterprise.

‘Staying at old Trevor's place then, are you?'

‘Yes, I expect so.'

‘Well, it's nice to see it being used again, even if it is only for holidaymakers.' There were no other customers in the shop, so the woman was finding odd things to tidy up as a blatant excuse to follow Sally around the shelves. ‘Mind you, I don't know that old Martha would approve of all those alterations. Husband not with you?'

‘He'll be along later. Who's Martha?' The name rang a bell.

‘Well, that's nice. Probably not used to being on your own, are you? Martha? But of course, you wouldn't know. Yes, lived there all her life. Quite old she was when she died. Trevor, he was related to her on his mother's side, he found her one morning. Must have passed in her sleep. He was the only one she would have anything to do with, except her cats, of course. I think they got shipped off to the RSPCA. All except that grey one, it was nowhere to be found.' She drew breath. ‘Now, anything else I can get you?'

‘You wouldn't have any wine, I suppose?'

‘Certainly, my dear, I've got red and white,' A proud flourish revealed half a dozen bottles of each. ‘Only three pounds a bottle. My Jack got it cheap at the wholesalers. Has a good eye for a bargain, does Jack. You can easy pay ten for a bottle like that in Newmarket, you know. Which would you prefer?'

I'm going to regret this, thought Sally, unable to offend by refusing.

‘Oh, er, red I think.' The label was unreadable. Probably ‘Produce of Outer Mongolia'.

‘Now, you don't want one of those frozen birds,' Sally had been rummaging in the freezer chest, ‘all water and chemicals, they are. I'll get Jack to find you a nice fresh one. Jack …' The woman bustled away before Sally could protest, but was back a moment later. ‘He's just sorting you out a nice plump bird. That's Jack's side of the business—he's got a free-range barn out the back. We sell no end of eggs through the shop, and he always has a few of the hens all cleaned and oven-ready for our weekend customers. Now you'll need some fresh vegetables to go with that. What about carrots and some peas? Couldn't get any fresher if you jumped the hedge and picked them yourself.'

Plans for dinner, it seemed, had been taken out of Sally's
hands. ‘My name's Ruth, by the way, since you'll be coming in here again.' She began sorting through the piles of vegetables and loading them into brown paper bags. ‘Yes, funny thing about that cat. Her favourite it was, practically worshipped each other. Then it just disappeared. Perhaps it knew she'd passed on. Cats are like that, aren't they? Sometimes know things we don't. Still, I don't suppose you've got any animals yourself, living in the city and all.'

The saucer licked clean, the cat returns to its place on the rug and begins its after-dinner wash. This is a creature who maintains standards even in hard times. The dull, grey fur and crumpled ear disguise traces of a more aristocratic ancestry. The paws are dainty, the bones long and delicate.

‘Well, cat, what the hell do I do now? Try to find this Trevor, I suppose. Can't call Jonathan—he's still in his blessed meeting. Might be easier to go back to Newmarket and find a hotel. I could ring him from there, then he can pick me up in the morning and we can sort out Trevor and his damn cottage then. What do you think?'

The cat tidies a few stray hairs in its tail, then looks straight at her. Only now does Sally become aware of the creature's eyes. Two orbs, clear as iced moonlight, search out her own, piercing her with their gaze and pinning her to the chair. The purring begins again, slow and soothing. Then somehow the cat is on her lap and her hand, obedient to some primitive instinct, is moving down the length of its back. Long strokes, soothing, caressing, in rhythm with the pulsating song. Sally begins to drift down a long, dreamtime tunnel. From somewhere, a long way away, she hears the
voice of a woman singing an old nursery rhyme.

Her body jerks her awake. The cat is sitting alert, ears pricked forward. The late afternoon sunshine has completed its journey across the floor and the room is in semi-darkness.

‘Oh, God, what the hell time is it? Come on, I've got to get out of here. Where are my car keys?'

The cat leaps to the floor, bounds across the kitchen and lands on top of the Aga. At a flourish of its tail, the boiler emits a low-throated
boom
. At the same time, flashes of blue lightning strike Sally's still sleepy eyes and neon strips flood the kitchen with light. The gas fire kicks into life.

‘Oh, thank God. That's one hell of a party trick, Puss. What do you do for an encore?' Then her smile withers. It was just coincidence. Must have been. Or perhaps cats feel power surges in the wire or something. What the hell, just be thankful. A reassuring red light signifies the approach of tea. At the same time a car pulls up outside.

HarperCollins
Publishers

First published in 2007
This edition published in 2010
by HarperCollins
Publishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1, Auckland

Copyright © Elenor Gill 2007

Elenor Gill asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This work is copyright. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.

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National Library of New Zealand Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
Gill, Elenor, 1945-
Miriam's Talisman / Elenor Gill
ISBN 978 1 8695 0702 2 (pbk.)
ISBN 978 0 7304 0090 5 (ePub)
I. Title.
NZ823.3—dc 22

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