Behaving Badly Part 25

CHAPTER 10.

'He's asked you to go away for the weekend,' gasped Daisy the following day. I was in Stroud, filming a cat that had adopted two orphaned rabbits which its owner had found in a hedge. We filmed the cat suckling them as peacefully as if she'd given birth to them. I'd then done a piece to camera on other examples of inter-species adoption-a sheepdog which had nursed four piglets, the lioness which had 'mothered' a baby gazelle, the Alsatian which had suckled two fox cubs, and the donkey which had adopted a lamb. Then, while the crew were packing up, I'd called Daisy.

'A weekend away?' she reiterated as I sat in the parked car with Herman. 'Gosh. Things are hotting up. So when's that happening?'

'The weekend after Nigel's party. David's in Stockholm this week, then he comes back for three days, then he goes to Paris for a few days. But the idea is that we'll drive down to Petworth on Friday the eighth.'

'So you're going away with David?'

I felt myself smile. 'I'm going away with David. That's right.'

'And did something happen last night-to prompt this?' she enquired with a giggle.

'No. He saw me into a cab, then went home.'

'Poor bloke,' she breathed. 'He clearly fancies you to bits-he must be gagging for it.'

'I think he is,' I said ruefully. 'But he's not pus.h.i.+ng it. He's nice. In any case he had to catch an early plane this morning.'

'But don't you want to...take things further?'

I stared through the windscreen. 'Yes, actually, I do. I'm so attracted to him.'

'Then why don't you?'

'Because I can't possibly get involved with him, unless he knows who I really am.'

'Hmm.'

'It wouldn't be right, Daisy. I've given it a lot of thought.'

'I understand. But it does rather put the brakes on things.'

'Well, it's a huge complication, so yes. But at least the whole thing with Alexander buys me time.'

'Maybe you could tell him when you go away for that weekend.'

I felt my entrails twist with anxiety. 'That's what I've decided to do. I'll have known him for six weeks by then. I can't delay it any longer. No more prevarication. Anyway, how was the cla.s.s?'

'It was wonderful,' she replied. 'We did a number of a.s.sault scenarios. Did you know that if someone grabs you from behind you shouldn't step forward to try and escape them; you should step backwards, and jab them hard with your elbows, or drive your heel into their s.h.i.+n. We practised that on Marcus. He was all padded up and he "attacked" us and we had to defend ourselves. It was huge fun.'

'I hope you didn't hurt him.'

'Oh, no. Marcus is indestructible, Miranda. He's such a solid person. The things he's survived! We were asking him about his work in the pub afterwards.'

'I just hope you never have to use what he's taught you for real.'

'I hope so too-but simply knowing how to defend myself makes me feel more confident. Do you promise you'll come next week?'

'I solemnly promise. And what are you doing this weekend? Are you seeing Nigel?'

'I'm not...sure,' she said vaguely. 'He's working all day tomorrow, then I've got to be at one of my parties in the evening. I'll probably have to stay there till at least ten, so I'll probably just go home and crash.'

'What's happening on Sunday? Maybe we could meet for tea?'

'Sorry, but I won't be around.'

'You'll be with Nigel, of course. Don't worry. You need to spend some time with him as you've both been so busy lately.'

'Oh no, it's not that. I'm going microlighting.'

'Microlighting?'

'Yes. I've never done it before. It's basically a big kite with a motorbike engine. Apparently it brings back the romance of the early days of aviation as you go phut, phut, phut around the sky. And recently I...got offered the opportunity to try it, so I thought, why not give it a go? I mean, life's so short, Miranda,' she went on expansively. 'I feel you should take every chance you get. And what are you doing this weekend?' she went on quickly.

'Well, not very much. I've got a couple of clients on Sat.u.r.day, then I'm looking forward to a relaxing Sunday.'

But this wasn't to be.

It started quietly enough. I had breakfast at Primrose Patisserie, and was sitting outside in the suns.h.i.+ne, reading the paper, when I saw Natalie float down the road. She looked as fragile and delicate as her gla.s.s jewellery. That seemed to be why Marcus liked her so much. Now she stopped, pulled up a chair at the next table, and ordered a cup of cranberry tea. I gave her a brief smile of semi-recognition but she seemed not to know me. Suddenly her mobile trilled out.

'Oh hi, Marcus,' she said. No doubt he was coming to meet her. 'How's Bedfords.h.i.+re?' No-he wasn't. 'Oh good. Excellent conditions? No, I don't mind at all... I know I could have come. But I didn't want to. It sounds horribly dangerous... This evening? Okay. But don't book anywhere where they allow smoking. You know I can't stand it... Well, I can't... I don't care if it's a tall order, Marcus, I'm not having people smoking within fifty feet of me. I'm very asthmatic... Yes, I have told you that... Well, that's their problem, isn't it?' And I was just wondering what Marcus was doing in Bedfords.h.i.+re that was so 'horribly dangerous', when my phone rang. I'd diverted my calls.

'Is that Miranda Sweet?'

'Yes.'

'My name's Keith Bigley, and I'm calling from Oxford about my rescue cat, Ali.'

'What's the problem?'

'Well, basically, we think he's insane. My wife and I are quite worried about him actually, and we saw you on that Animal Crackers, and we know it's the weekend and everything, but we wondered if you'd come out.' So much for my relaxing Sunday, I thought ruefully. Still, the money would be handy. I paid for my breakfast and left.

Keith had said that the cat 'kept playing with water'. It had a 'fatal attraction' to it, he claimed. I had an inkling why this might be, but I had to see it to be certain. So I put Herman in the car, and set off.

'Thank G.o.d you're here,' said Keith, as he opened the door an hour and a half later. 'This cat is really freaking us out.' We shut Herman in the dining room, then I followed Keith through to the kitchen, where his wife was was.h.i.+ng up. Standing on the draining board, trying to dip its head under the stream of water, was a large ginger and white cat.

'We've only had it four days,' he explained. 'We got it from the local rescue centre. But it's got this thing about water. I was having a bath last night and it tried to get in with me. It tries to get into the loo as well. We're worried that if we forget to put the lid down one day, it might drown.' Suddenly the cat jumped off the draining board, ran into the garden, and leaped into the pond with a huge splash.

'You see,' said Keith's wife. She shrugged. 'Weird. We don't like to leave the house, in case it gets into difficulties while we're out.'

'So you're on lifeguard duty?'

She nodded. 'We've ordered a pond cover,' she explained, 'but it won't arrive for a week. Maybe we should get it some water-wings,' she mused, as her husband and I went outside.

'What's wrong with it?' her husband asked, as we stood by the pond watching it doing a vigorous b.r.e.a.s.t.stroke amongst the lily pads. 'Is it crazy? Maybe it's got a brain tumour or something?'

'There's nothing wrong with it at all,' I replied.

'But what sort of cat goes for a swim?'

'A Turkish Van,' I replied.

'A what?'

'It's a Turkish Van,' I explained, as it hauled itself out of the pond and shook itself. 'They come from South-East Turkey, near Lake Van, and they have this unusual fascination with water. I thought that's probably what it was when you phoned me, but I needed to see it to be sure. I think it's a cross breed...' I looked at it, as it lay on the gra.s.s, purring like a tractor and licking the water off its fur. 'But it's got most of the Van characteristics-the high ears, the ginger and white colouring, and the long, broad body.'

'I thought he was a big fella.'

'They are. They can reach three feet in length-and they're very clever. You can teach them tricks and take them for walks, like a dog. How long had it been in the rescue centre?'

'Only five days. Someone had dumped it there. The staff didn't seem to know what it was. They just described it as a tortoisesh.e.l.l.'

'Well, that's because it's not a pure-breed-it's got these brown patches on its tummy. And if it had been kept in an ordinary pen, they wouldn't have seen it in action, so they wouldn't have known what it was. It must have been thrilled to come here and have a good splash.'

'So what should we do?'

'Nothing,' I said. 'Don't cover the pond-except in winter, because of ice. Don't keep fish, for obvious reasons. Oh, and don't let it go swimming on a full stomach in case it gets cramp.'

He looked at me. 'Oh. Right. Is that it, then?'

I nodded. 'That's it. You don't have an insane cat-just an unusual one,' I added as we went inside.

'Maybe we should take it to the beach,' his wife said.

As I was driving back, David called me from his hotel in Stockholm. He talked about the shoot, then I told him about my client.

'They're known as swimming cats,' I explained. 'They're very rare. I've never seen one before.'

'How bizarre. And are there any dogs that climb trees?'

'Not to my knowledge, though Staffords.h.i.+re bull terriers practically do, because they love sticks so much.'

'So you've been having an interesting day?'

'I have. And now I'm going to have a quiet evening, and catch up with my paperwork, maybe watch a bit of TV, and...'

'Think about me?' he said with a laugh.

'Yes. Think about you. I do think about you, David.'

'Nice things?'

'Very nice things.' And things which you could never guess at.

'Now, before I go, have you got anything serious to confess?' he asked in a mock-serious tone. 'You usually do.'

'No. I haven't, David.' At least, not today.

'Well, there's something I'd like to confess to you.'

'What?'

'That... I miss you. Do you think I've got separation anxiety?'

I smiled. 'It sounds like you might have.'

'Then you're the perfect person to cure me of it. In fact, you're the only person who can. I hope I'll always know you,' he added. My heart turned over.

'I hope you will too,' I replied.

Animal Crackers aired again on Tuesday, and the following morning I got a call from a researcher at London F.M. asking me to take part in a phone-in on animal behaviour.

'We're calling it "Pets Behaving Madly",' he said. 'It's on tomorrow night, seven until eight. I'm sorry it's such short notice.'

I agreed to do it, though I felt bad at having to miss the self-defence cla.s.s yet again, but I knew the show would generate work. I phoned Daisy, but she didn't sound too upset, in fact she sounded slightly distracted; but then she clearly had a lot on her mind. I asked her about the microlighting and she said it was 'blissful'.

'It was so romantic,' she said. 'You just buzz about in the sky, with the earth beneath you. It's so liberating-I felt free.'

'How high up did you go?'

'Not that high. Only a thousand feet or so.'

'It sounds terrifying.'

'No-they're safe, because if the engine cuts out you just glide. The landing was a little bit hairy,' she went on. 'You have to head straight for the ground, nose down, then pull up at the very last minute. Apparently, the trick is to get the thing down without burying it.'

'You weren't flying solo, were you, Daisy?'

'Oh. No. I wasn't.'

'You had an experienced instructor with you, I hope?'

'Er, yes. Yes, I did. He says he'll help me get my licence-you only need to clock up twenty-five hours. Anyway, how was Animal Crackers?' she went on quickly. 'I meant to watch you, but I forgot.'

'Oh. That's okay. It was fine.'

'I thought Animal Crackers was great,' said Dad, when he phoned me later that day for his weekly chat. 'The way you handled that hyperactive tortoise.'

'He was rather temperamental.'

'And those aggressive rabbits. Starsky and Hutch.'

'Stropski and b.i.t.c.h, more like. Those bunnies really were very bad-tempered. Speaking of which, are you ready for your rendezvous with Mum tomorrow?'