‘No harm done. Let’s be off. Someone start her up.’
In the front seat Theo moaned. His hand was clamped to the side of his head. ‘No harm done? For Christ’s sake, Lonsdale, I think I may have fractured my skull. What was it?’
‘I don’t know – a damned cat, I imagine. Nothing important. Come on, crank her up and let’s get moving before our friends from the Met arrive.’
‘Everything’s blurred. I think I might have a concussion.’
‘That’s the booze, you ape,’ Harry snapped. ‘Ye gods – Selina, you’ll have to do it.’
She climbed unsteadily out of the car and went round to the front. As she bent to turn the starting handle she saw a shadow in the gutter, beyond the dim beam of the headlamp bulbs, like something spilled. The world tipped and swung, as if she was on a fairground swing boat. She yanked the handle round, but there was no strength in her arm and her hand slipped on the metal. When she tried again, harder, the engine coughed into life and Harry gave a triumphant shout from the driver’s seat.
‘That’s my girl! In you get!’
She couldn’t leave, not without looking. Checking, just in case … Reaching out, her hand encountered fur, soft and warm and silken. When she lifted it up it was heavy and supple, for all the world like a fox fur stole.
‘It’s a cat.’
‘Thought so. Thank God that’s all.’ From the darkness beyond the dazzle of headlamps Harry’s voice was clipped with impatience. ‘Dear God, Selina – it’s probably hoaching with all kinds of vermin and diseases.’
The champagne rush had retreated and there was a sour taste in her mouth. The cold breath of reality had blown away the evening’s glitter, and a shadow had fallen across it, dulling its dazzle.
‘We can’t leave it. I don’t know if it’s—’
The word stuck in her dry throat.
‘Darling, if it isn’t dead now it soon will be.’ Harry gunned the engine, impatience simmering into irritation. ‘It’s just a feral thing, for God’s sake. Put it down and get in the car, like a good girl.’ His head whipped round. ‘The police were only a minute behind us—’
In spite of the dinner suit she was shivering. Only her hands were warm, buried in the animal’s fur. If it was warm did that mean it was alive? The car shot backwards as Harry straightened it up, and the headlamp beams swung over her. ‘Theo, tell her, would you? We haven’t got time to moon about giving the last rites to a bloody alley cat. If my father hears about this it’s the last time I’ll be given free rein with the motor. Selina – get in.’
Theo giggled. ‘Bring it along, darling. It can be our mascot.’
Along the street the windows above the shuttered shops had all been in darkness, but by now lights showed behind a few of them, and curtains stirred. Someone lifted a sash and shouted something in an accent so purely Cockney it was as unintelligible as a foreign language. They were a long way from South Kensington.
‘On our way, old chap,’ Harry muttered through gritted teeth. ‘Selina—’
The cat’s head was heavy in the crook of her arm. She had no idea what to do with it, but she knew that she couldn’t drop it back into the gutter. ‘We should take it somewhere. To someone who—’
Harry gave a slightly wild laugh. ‘Are you out of your mind? I’d say for once we’re in with a good chance of winning this thing. You do know that the prize pot is one hundred guineas tonight? Added to the fact that the police will be here any second and I have the tiniest suspicion they might think I’m not sober enough to drive. For God’s sake put down that unsavoury creature and get in now, or I’ll leave without you.’
For a second she didn’t move. And then she stepped back, onto the pavement.
Harry threw up his hands then rammed the gearstick forwards. ‘Very well, have it your way. We’ll see you at the British Museum. If we’ve already left, one of the other teams will be along soon, I’m sure.’
The car shot forwards. She saw Theo’s face, his eyes wide and his mouth opening, though if he spoke the words were lost beneath the engine’s angry growl. And then he was gone, and there was nothing but the glow of red lights, briefly visible through the cloud of exhaust smoke before the car turned the corner.
5
A Door Opens
Left alone, Selina looked around.
She imagined that during the day this would be a lively street, busy with vans and carts and shoppers on pavements cluttered with crates of fruit and vegetables, tin baths and dolly tubs. Now it was eerily still, though not quite silent: the city never was. She suddenly felt very sober and rather shaky. In an instant the shiny surface of the evening had cracked, exposing the void that was always there, just out of sight. She clutched the cat, her fingers stroking its soft fur, and tried to quell the old panic. Tried to think.
She was unfamiliar with the streets of Bloomsbury that lay beyond the smarter squares and the British Museum, but knew that neither could be very far away. If she walked to somewhere civilized she might just be able to flag down a late taxi and be back in Kensington in no time. Polly would know what to do. Her people were farmers. She was bound to have lots of experience with injured animals.
She glanced at the cat in her arms and, catching the glisten of something wet in the dark fur by its ear, looked away sharply. Don’t look down. Never look down. She started to walk in the direction she guessed might take her somewhere more familiar – Russell Square perhaps, where years ago she’d attended Italian lessons with an exiled Contessa – but her footsteps faltered as a pair of headlamps appeared at the far end of the street. Oh God – was this the police? Part of her longed to surrender herself, and the cat, to their charge, but Mama’s warning to stay out of trouble rang loud in her head. She was fairly sure that being caught by the police wearing men’s clothing and carrying a bleeding cat was precisely the sort of thing she was supposed to avoid; the sort of thing the newspapers would adore. Oh God, the lights were approaching rapidly. She looked round in desperation for a doorway to duck into.
Nowhere. There was nothing. And then directly behind her a door opened and a figure appeared, silhouetted against the light behind.
‘Are you all right?’
A male voice; gruff, slightly wary, but not hostile. She held out her arms to show him the cat, unaware until that moment that there were tears streaming down her face. ‘I’m afraid I … I don’t know what to do. The police—’
He glanced in the direction of the headlamps and swiftly stood back, indicating for her to go past him into the hallway beyond, shutting the door just as the police car shot by.
‘Oh – thank you.’
It was only afterwards that she was struck by the rashness of her behaviour. If she’d been sober and thinking straight, she would never have gone into the house of a stranger in this less-than-smart part of town. In truth, the less-than-smartness didn’t fully hit her until it was too late, and she looked around.
It was one of those mean, communal spaces, with a grimy tiled floor and scuffed dark green Lincrusta on the walls. A gas sconce on the wall spat dirty yellow light over a cheap table on which stood an aspidistra in a pot full of cigarette ends. The man who had let her in pushed it aside and motioned for her to put the cat down.