mildly. ‘The cat is obviously a stray, ill cared for and half starved. If I might suggest—without my head being bitten off—that she remains with the vet until she is quite well, then if you wish to have her you can do so, if not, we must find a good home for her.’
‘Oh, yes—well, that would be nice, but the vet won’t keep her for nothing? Will he? Could I have his phone number or his name—the bill, you know.’
‘I thought I had made myself clear already, Miss Mason. He doesn’t charge for emergency treatment, and I will settle the account…’
Jemima said suddenly: ‘You’re an endocrinologist, aren’t you? Belling told me. Do you use cats to—to experiment on? Because if that’s the reason…’
His voice cut through hers like cold steel. ‘Miss Mason, I do not, as you put it, use cats. I never have done nor do I intend to, but since you are determined to think the worst of me I suggest we end our conversation.’
He hung up before she could so much as draw breath.
She licked down the last envelope, wondering if she had hurt his feelings—or was he a man with feelings to hurt? Just his pride perhaps. In any case she would have to apologise. She picked up the letters to post and went along to the drawing room to wish Lady Manderly goodnight and went slowly out of the house and down the street.
‘Bother the man,’ she muttered, ‘I hope I never see him again!’ The thought was a little lowering for some reason; she brightened visibly when she remembered that she would have to in order to apologise.
CHAPTER THREE
JEMIMA DIDN’T SEE HIM for a whole week; although he did in fact leave a message with Belling on two occasions, letting her know that the little cat was making progress. And when she did see him again, he had Gloria with him; they arrived one early afternoon just as Jemima was about to take Coco for her walk. Gloria was wearing a dashing tartan outfit with long leather boots which must have cost the earth. She had a fetching, slightly ridiculous hat perched on her lovely head and wore the smug expression of one who knows she looks as near perfection as possible. As well she might, conceded Jemima sourly, aware of her own shortcomings.
Gloria grinned at her and waved an airy hand. ‘Hullo there, how’s a life of toil suiting you, darling?’ She eyed her with a faintly malicious smile. ‘You could do with a visit to the hairdresser, if you don’t mind my saying so.’
Jemima bent to fasten Coco’s lead on to the silly jewel-studded collar. Words, heated words, jostled on her tongue, but she had no intention of allowing them to be uttered. She was rather red in the face as she straightened up, but she managed a smile.
‘No time,’ she said with false cheerfulness, and made for the street door. The Professor was standing just inside it, apparently wrapped in thought, and she went past him without looking at him. It was a surprise therefore when he opened it for her and joined her on the pavement.
‘The little cat is well enough to leave the vet,’ he told her blandly. ‘I’ll fetch her this evening and bring her to your flat.’
Jemima stood staring up at him, unaware of the horror on her face. He saw it and wondered with a faint spark of interest why it was there.
‘Oh, well,’ she said in a rush, ‘I—I haven’t told my landlady—she might not…that is…’
‘I should anticipate no difficulty, Miss Mason, unless you live in a council flat.’
‘No, no, I don’t.’
‘Then there should be nothing to worry you.’ He waited a bit to see if she was going to tell him what the difficulty was, but when she didn’t speak: ‘I will meet you here at six o’clock.’
Jemima sought feverishly for an excuse and could think of none—not that it mattered; he had turned on his heel and gone back into the house before she had got her addled wits working.
She spent the rest of the afternoon examining various wholly unsatisfactory ways of getting out of the mess, and rejecting them in turn, to the detriment of her work, so that Lady Manderly had the satisfaction of calling her to order several times.
Six o’clock came too soon, and when she suggested that she should stay a little while and check the grocery bills due to be paid, she was told quite sharply to go home at once. She took as long as she could to leave the house, going back twice on trumped-up excuses, but in the end, almost fifteen minutes late, she had to open the door, buoyed up with the very faint hope that the Professor had got sick of waiting for her.
He hadn’t. There was the Rolls, parked opposite with him at the wheel. He leaned over and opened the door as she went reluctantly across the pavement and observed drily: ‘I’m still here, you see. Get in. Where do you live?’
She saw a possible loophole of escape and said quickly: ‘Oh, quite close by. If you’d just let me have the cat, I can walk there…’
For answer he started the car and swung it round. ‘The address?’ he persisted in a voice which would brook no denial.
He made no comment as he stopped the car in front of Mrs Adams’ shop. It was still open, although there were no customers there. Shirley was starting to tidy away the racks of magazines and comics, and she glanced up as Jemima got out of the car and crossed the pavement.
‘Cor, look who’s ’ere, come ’ome in a posh car!’ She caught sight of the Professor straightening his splendid person to his full height, cat basket in hand, and her eyes almost started from her head. ‘And Prince Charming tagging along, an’ all.’ She grinned widely at Jemima. ‘Oo’s yer posh friend, Jemima?’
Jemima had gone a little pink, but she said clearly: ‘Shirley, this is Professor Cator, who has most kindly given me a lift back.’ She gave him a fleeting look. ‘Professor, this is Miss Shirley Adams.’
He took the hand offered him and shook it firmly. ‘I’ll come up with you, if I may, Miss Mason?’ He looked enquiringly at Shirley as he spoke and she flung the door at the back of the shop open. ‘Go ahead,’ she begged him, and winked at Jemima.
There was nothing for it but to climb the shabby stairs with him hard on her heels. As they reached the landing the smell of frying fish was heavy on the air, a sign that Mrs Adams was in the kitchen, fortunately with the door shut. Jemima breathed a small sigh of relief and led the way down the passage and opened her door.
‘It isn’t a flat,’ she told him forthrightly. ‘I should have told you that in the first place, shouldn’t I?’
He closed the door behind him. ‘Yes, you should,’ and then surprisingly he added in a quite gentle voice, ‘But I quite see why you didn’t.’ He smiled at her so kindly that she smiled too, a little uncertainly, and he went on: ‘Of course you can’t keep a cat here; she shall come home with me.’
He put the basket down on the bed and stood in the middle of the room, towering over everything, and since Jemima had nothing to say to that, he bent and let the cat out and tucked her under his arm. ‘Perhaps I might sit down?’ he suggested softly.
Jemima’s face, until now pale with fright, coloured fiercely. ‘I’m so sorry, please do—not the chair, though, it’s not very strong. Perhaps the bed, if you wouldn’t mind.’
He
