The Cat Next Door by Marian Babson Page A

She stopped abruptly, not able to bring herself to say the word.
    Had Kingsley suggested such an idea to her? Or had it been Verity, trying to lay the groundwork as she
pushed herself forward for the coveted position? Would Kingsley actually marry her? Or, after a suitable interval for grief – and allowing the publicity to die down – would Kingsley look for a bride with better social and financial connections?
    No prizes for guessing the answer to that one. Her own cynicism startled her. Once, she would never have dreamed of criticising Kingsley, not even mentally. It was, perhaps, a measure of how far she had travelled, how much she had changed.
    â€˜If your father is downstairs, I’ll tell him you want him.’ Aware of Lynette’s anxious eyes, she balanced the tray carefully as she carried it from the room. She was pretty anxious herself. At the top of the stairs, she hesitated, wondering whether it would be wiser not to attempt the stairs with it. One or both of them might go crashing down if she tried.
    â€˜Leave it there.’ Emmeline spoke from the foot of the stairs. ‘Nan can collect it when she comes back. You’re not used to carrying heavy trays, especially not on stairs.’
    â€˜I was a bit nervous about it,’ Margot admitted, setting the tray down on the floor and freeing her hand to rest lightly on the banister as she descended. ‘Especially as I haven’t had breakfast yet and I’m feeling a bit weak.’
    â€˜I hadn’t realised you weren’t up yet,’ Emmeline said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve cleared the dining-room. Come into the kitchen and I’ll make fresh tea. Or would you prefer coffee?’
    â€˜Tea is fine.’ Margot followed her into the kitchen, vaguely uneasy, and watched Emmeline bustling about, setting a place for her at the table. What was wrong with this picture?
    While the kettle boiled, Emmeline rinsed the dishes piled on the draining board and stacked them in the dishwasher. ‘I’ll wait until you’ve finished and put
yours in before I switch it on,’ she said. Emmeline was not usually so domestic – or domestic at all.
    â€˜Where’s Nellie?’ That was what was wrong. The weekend help, who augmented the au pair, should be here doing all these domestic chores.
    â€˜Nellie …?’ Emmeline closed the dishwasher door and straightened up. ‘Nellie doesn’t work here any more.’
    â€˜But I thought Nellie was part of the fixtures and furnishings! Did she retire?’
    â€˜In a way. We haven’t seen her since … about a year ago. We had to let her go.’
    â€˜Let her go? But – ’
    â€˜Nellie was unable to resist the lure of chequebook journalism. She sold “her story”. Only it wasn’t hers, it was ours. How we were coping, how Lynette had taken to her bed, almost as catatonic as Chloe. Oh, she told them everything she knew. And what she didn’t know, they invented. They printed it in a double-page spread, with Nellie, the “faithful retainer”, grinning all over her face at the top of one page. We couldn’t allow her to stay on after that.’
    â€˜No, I suppose not.’
    â€˜We’ve got by with temporary help from an agency since then but, with the trial about to start, we’ve cancelled our account. We’ll just have to manage on our own until it’s over. We can’t risk having a spy in the house. It’s sub judice right now but …’ Her voice faltered. ‘But, once the verdict has been announced, they can say what they like. Especially if Chloe is found … if the verdict goes against Chloe.’
    Emmeline obviously could not bring herself to utter the word guilty , perhaps she couldn’t even think it.
    â€˜Then they’ll write their books about the case,’ Emmeline said, adding bitterly, ‘They probably have them written already – all but the