Читать книгу Spitting Feathers - Kelly Harte - Страница 10

‘Ah,’ Mrs Audesley declared when she opened the door, ‘so the two of you have already met. Excellent.’

In fact we hadn’t actually got as far as exchanging names, but she’d referred to him as Chris the day before, and I assumed she’d mentioned my name to him. I was feeling uncomfortable because of our small misunderstanding, and it wasn’t helped by the ease Chris and his employer obviously felt in one another’s company. I also noted that Mrs A didn’t seem to mind in the least about his untidy appearance.

‘How are the travel plans going?’ he asked casually as we followed the lady of the house into the opulent sitting room.

‘Not bad,’ she replied. ‘Marcus has arranged most things. It’s just a matter of packing, really, though one needs so much for so many weeks away from home,’ she added with a wistful sigh. She indicated that we should take a seat and then turned her attention on me. ‘I’ve checked your references and everything seems to be in order.’

I nodded demurely and waited for her to continue. Chris had taken the seat next to me on the sofa and Mrs A remained on her feet, just as she had the day before. She was wearing an expensive-looking ensemble in beige today, with a single row of no doubt real pearls around her well-pre-served neck. I’d taken to looking at women’s necks of late. The last time I saw my mother I’d noticed that hers was looking rather scraggy, a bit turkeyfied, and if I took after her—as I already feared I might in the genes department—that was presumably another undesirable physical feature I had to look forward to in about twenty-five years.

‘I’m making a list of dos and don’ts regarding Sir Galahad,’ Mrs A went on, ‘which I’ll have ready for you on Saturday afternoon.’

‘Is that when you’re leaving?’ Chris wanted to know.

‘Yes. A taxi will be arriving for me at four p.m., by which time I trust that Tao will be settled in.’

‘I thought I’d get here around midday,’ I said. ‘If that’s okay with you.’

I didn’t hear Mrs A’s reply because at that moment an almighty squawk let rip from the adjoining room. Knowing looks were exchanged between the two other people in the room with me, and while I looked on blankly Chris got up.

‘Come on, old feller,’ I heard him say as he opened the door and went inside. When he reappeared Sir Galahad was perched importantly on his shoulder. Until he saw me, that is, at which point he squawked again, flapped his wings, and took off in my direction. He landed safely on the top of my head and immediately enquired whether I’d like ‘one lump or two.’

‘We haven’t even poured out the tea yet,’ said Chris, who was now standing next to a side table on which was arranged a formal looking tray of tea things. ‘Shall I pour, Adrienne?’ he asked his employer, and I was struck again by his easy familiarity with the dowager duchess, and the fact that he used her first name.

Mrs A nodded and finally sat in a chair at right angles to me.

‘He’s been very excited at the prospect of seeing you again,’ she told me, which seemed a little bit far-fetched, but I didn’t think it would be wise to say so.

‘That screech was his welcome cry when he heard you speak,’ Chris chimed in. ‘I used to get it, but he takes me for granted these days.’

He brought tea over for Mrs Audesley and me, served in fine bone china cups—with saucers, of course—and placed them between us on a wine table. Meanwhile, Sir Galahad was gently plucking my hair, and purring like a contented cat. I reached up and ruffled his throat feathers a little, and he announced in the fondest of terms that my mother was sired by a German shepherd.

‘Sir Galahad!’ Mrs Audesley bellowed severely, and the bird instantly flopped down onto my shoulder. He extended his head round to my face and tut-tutted at me, as if I was the one with the foul mouth.

‘I’m sorry about that, Tao,’ his owner said, ‘but I think I warned you that his language can be a little spicy at times. I think he does it for attention now. You’re a naughty little show-off,’ she said, wagging her finger at the bird indulgently.

‘Adrienne blames her wayward nephew,’ Chris said as he took his place next to me again. ‘But I’ve heard him say things that couldn’t possibly have come from Jerome.’ He looked accusingly in Mrs Audesley’s direction, and she gave in with the tiniest hint of a grin.

‘My husband was a little deaf, and I’m afraid I used to say things under my breath which Sir Galahad later repeated.’

‘Silly old fart!’ Sir Galahad piped in, as if he understood what she was saying all too well and was obliging us with a small demonstration.

Mrs Audesley chuckled fondly at this, and then glanced at the portrait of her husband. ‘He was a lot older than I was, and I’m afraid he could be very difficult at times. I was tempted to poison his pink gin on several occasions,’ she said lightly, ‘but I released my emotions with the occasional whispered insult.’

Just then the bird started making a noise that sounded as if he was imitating someone being strangled, and I glanced at Mrs Audesley questioningly. She was looking at the bird with surprise, as if this was a new one on her as well. I turned to Chris, and as he mirrored her expression the noise suddenly changed to a cough and I felt something land on my lap. A small ball of I wasn’t sure what. I picked it up and examined it more closely. It looked like a tightly compressed orb of seeds and vegetable matter, and a quick sniff confirmed my suspicions. The strange object had come from within the bird. Luckily I am not particularly squeamish, so I held it up to the bird and thanked him for the presentation.

At which point Mrs Audesley let out a sigh. ‘If there was any doubt about his affection for you,’ she began mysteriously, ‘then there is no longer.’

Still none the wiser, I frowned at Chris.

‘I should be offended,’ he said wryly. ‘It’s a regurgitation. They only do it for those that they love, and I’m afraid he’s never done it for me.’

‘That’s because you’re a man,’ Mrs Audesley said soothingly. ‘It’s clearly something he saves for the women in his life—although until now it’s only been me.’ She glanced at me sadly, but without resentment. ‘And I have to admit he hasn’t performed for me in quite a long time.’

The bird appeared to be listening intently, and whether or not he understood—and I was sure, of course, that he couldn’t—he lifted his wings and took off towards his mistress where, on the top of her perfectly coiffured head, he announced, ‘Here is the shipping forecast,’ in a perfectly enunciated BBC accent.

‘It’s no good trying to sweet-talk me now,’ his mistress said in feigned hurt tones, but she ruffled his feathers just the same. She might have looked faintly ridiculous, with a bird on her head like some bizarrely plumed hat, but somehow she got away with it. She looked over at me then.

‘Well, at least I won’t have to worry that my old friend will be pining while I’m away, I suppose.’

‘And I promise to take very good care of him,’ I said, because I thought that was what she wanted to hear and also because that was exactly what I intended to do. Apart from anything else, I was flattered that the bird liked me so much, and it’s hard not to like someone back when they make their feelings so clear. Not that he was exactly a ‘someone’, being a parrot and everything, but the way he spoke so well, and at times in just the right context, it was easy to fool yourself that he was really a miniature human in parrot costume. Quite spooky, really.

‘Amen!’ Sir Galahad said, and his mistress managed a chuckle.

When we’d finished tea, Mrs A suggested that Chris show me around the garden—which, I presume, was her way of providing an opportunity for us to get better acquainted. For obvious reasons it was important to her that we got along, and I didn’t at this stage see why we shouldn’t, despite our bad start. And it was obvious that Mrs A thought a lot of him, especially since she allowed him to live in part of her house.

‘How long have you been working for Mrs Audesley?’ I asked as we strolled slowly along the path which led from the terrace at the back of the house. The layout of the garden was fairly traditional. It was long and narrow, but broken up with areas of shrubs and beds crammed with old-fashioned flowers. I didn’t know much about gardens, but I could see that this one was very well kept.

‘Four years,’ he said. ‘Although I’ve only been in the flat for just over a year.’

It occurred to me that, although he was lucky to live somewhere as nice as this, he couldn’t earn very much. And neither would a garden this size take up the whole of his time, I wouldn’t have thought. ‘So, do you look after other gardens as well as this one?’ I asked him chattily.

He nodded absently as he took a penknife out of the back pocket of his jeans and deftly dead-headed a pale pink rose that was past its best. I don’t think he was really listening to me.

‘And what do you do for entertainment round here?’ I pressed on regardless.

He shrugged. ‘This and that, though I’m not really one for going out much. I work most evenings during summer.’ He moved ahead of me and began slicing the stems of some blowsy red flowers that I didn’t know the name of.

‘They don’t look dead,’ I said.

He turned and looked at me as if I was stupid. ‘They’re not. I’m cutting them for the house.’ He went back to what he was doing. ‘Adrienne likes fresh flowers in the house. It’s part of my job.’

It was beginning to feel like hard work, this getting acquainted with the gardener, and I wondered if this was his way of paying me back for being offhand with him earlier. Which would be a bit childish, but, since I obviously hadn’t made a very good first impression, I made a final effort to be friendly.

‘I could stick around for a while if you like. Till you finish up here. And then perhaps we could have a drink somewhere close by. Get to know each other better before I move in.’

He was kneeling on the grass now, and I realised how he came to have muddy jeans. When I finished speaking he looked up at me again briefly, and seemed to consider my suggestion.

‘Can’t, I’m afraid. I’ve got someone coming to see me at the flat shortly.’ He glanced at his wristwatch and, after muttering something under his breath, got quickly to his feet. He gathered the flowers he’d cut and, without speaking again, headed away from me back to the house.

With nothing else for it I followed him, feeling a bit of a fool. I found him in the kitchen, pouring water into a plastic bucket. I was about to say something else, some snidey remark about his attempts to be friendly being pretty short-lived, but I didn’t get the chance because Mrs A came in then, and made a big fuss of the flowers. They started talking about them, using the Latin name for the plant as they made favourable comparisons to last year’s crop, and I, who knew the English names of only about three garden flowers, felt distinctly out of it.

I saw Chris look at his watch again, and after turning off the tap and placing the flowers in the bucket he excused himself. ‘Gotta go, Adrienne, though I’ll see you before you leave, of course.’ Then he seemed to remember me. ‘Nice to meet you, Tao,’ he said, without much conviction. ‘Just give me a knock if you need any guidance on our mutual friend, and try and let me know in plenty if time if you’re going to be away from the house.’

He left then, and after a quick farewell to Sir Galahad, which involved him making the sound of a mournful trumpet that Mrs Audesley informed me was a burst of The Last Post, I left as well. Just in time to see a very striking, wealthy-looking woman in her early, possibly middle forties, hobbling down the steps in silly high heels towards the door of Chris’s basement flat.

I wandered down to the nearby shops and discovered a pricey little gift shop that I found hard to resist for two reasons. One, I wanted to get something nice as a thank-you to Sophie for everything, and two, I was feeling agitated after my brief encounter with Mrs Audesley’s gardener, and spending always calmed my nerves.

I mean, who did he think he was? Ordering me about like that, and worse—much worse—snubbing my invitation to go for a friendly drink. I tried comforting myself with the old ‘it’s his loss’ chestnut, but it didn’t ring all that true when I thought of the woman he’d turned me down for. Though what she saw in him was a mystery—unless she considered him her bit of rough, of course, I thought nastily. It is well known that some women get their kicks from dirtying their hands on the hunky hired help, and since he’d said he did gardening for other people, she might well have been one of his clients.

An unpleasant thought suddenly crossed my mind as I was examining a nice little crystal candlestick that seemed to absorb the colour of everything around it—an image of Mrs Audesley and Chris cosying up on her pale blue sofa. I ejected it with a shudder and told myself to behave. Just because the woman was on first-name terms with her gardener, just because she seemed very at ease with him about the place, that did not mean there was anything else going on between them. The woman was in her seventies, for goodness’ sake, and okay, so she might have a good neck, but a fifty-year age gap was just too revolting to contemplate.

The candlestick was one of a pair and as I tipped it over and saw the price ticket stuck to the base, it emptied my head of all other thoughts. I’d almost decided that they would be perfect for Sophie, but could I really afford sixty-five pounds? And besides, unless I left the price tag on she wouldn’t even appreciate the expense I’d gone to.

I was the only browser in the shop at that moment. Apart from me there was a smartly dressed brunette who was heavily involved in a book behind the counter. So I took the pair of candlesticks over to her and, after sucking in some air, asked if she could manage any discount.

From the look on her face it was clearly a question she hadn’t been asked before, but when her mouth finally closed she smiled at me warmly. She had strange pale grey eyes, and one of the smallest noses I’d ever seen. She reminded me of a fairytale wood creature, a nymph or a fairy, or something. Definitely on the supernatural side.

‘I’m afraid I don’t have the authority to do that,’ she said. ‘But I can show you some like them that don’t cost nearly so much.’ She got up and glided gracefully across the shop to a shelf in the corner that I’d overlooked. She was quite small, and very slender—the sort of person who makes me feel big and clumsy. She picked up a similar pair of candlesticks and held them up to the light. ‘You can hardly tell the difference,’ she said.

I looked at them closely and saw that she was right.

‘Apart from the price,’ she said with a grin. ‘These are just under twenty pounds.’

‘Do you giftwrap?’ I asked.

‘Beautifully,’ she said.

I rang Sophie when I got out of the shop half an hour later. During that time I’d become quite friendly with Alina, whom I discovered was just standing in for a couple of days while the shop’s owner was away at a gift trade event in North Wales. Alina herself was currently ‘between’ acting jobs—which was stretching the facts just a little, I’d thought, when I heard the details. Indeed, the last acting job she’d had was six months ago, when she’d played the part of a mugging victim in a Crimewatch reconstruction. But I liked her upbeat confidence, and her certainty that the right role was just around the corner. When she learned I was moving into the area, and where, she told me that was ‘completely amazing’, and promised to come round and see me. I’d left the shop feeling quite uplifted, encouraged to meet a female who wasn’t a bitch, and hopeful that I’d found a new friend.

By now it was getting on for six, and I wasn’t even sure if I’d catch Sophie before she left work, but I did. She was just on her way out of the building, as a matter of fact, and I asked if she’d meet me at a pub not far from her flat in about half an hour. I wanted to talk, tell her all about Taylor and my awkward new neighbour, and I wanted to give her the present. And I wanted to do it all beyond the prying eyes and ears of the two Cs.

But she sounded dubious, impatient almost. ‘I just wanted to get straight back to the flat and have a soak in the bath.’

‘Oh, go on,’ I wheedled, ‘just a quick one. It might be the last chance we get for ages.’

‘Okay,’ she said with a sigh. ‘But it really will have to be a quick one. I’m going out at eight.’

I didn’t get a chance to ask where she was going because she disconnected.

She was frowning and looking at her watch when I got to the pub forty minutes later. I was very apologetic, of course, but she refused another drink when I offered her one.

‘I’m sorry, Tao, but I can only stay another ten minutes. As it is I’m going to miss out on my bath.’

I passed over the gift, which had indeed been beautifully giftwrapped in lime-green paper and purple ribbon by Alina, and hoped it would soften her up while I went to the bar. It was fairly quiet, thankfully, and the barman, a middle-aged man with a sad expression and sandy-coloured ponytail, nodded in silent, morose recognition when I ordered a glass of red wine.

Sophie seemed pleased enough when I got back, but there was still a look of elsewhereness in her eyes. She held up one of the candlesticks and smiled. ‘They’re fabulous, Tao, but you shouldn’t have. I know how tight money is at the moment, and these must have cost a bomb.’

I didn’t deny it, but I pooh-poohed her objections. ‘I just wanted you to know how grateful I am for everything.’

‘I know you are,’ she said.

‘I met Taylor Wiseman today,’ I told her quickly. ‘You know—the TV chef. And guess what?’

But I’d lost her again. She was putting the candlesticks back in their gift box and transferring them to her bag. She looked up at me blankly.

‘He’s asked me to go to his place tomorrow to talk about a possible job.’

‘That’s nice,’ she said.

‘It’s more than nice! It’s brilliant. It could be the start of something really big.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed, then, shall I?’

I was beginning to get annoyed with her. She should have been gushing with excitement by now, not offering to keep her damn fingers crossed.

‘What about the house?’ she asked, sounding a bit more enthusiastic now. ‘Everything still okay there?’

‘Fine. I’ll be moving in on Saturday, at twelve-ish, I told Mrs Audesley. Is that still okay for you?’

‘Great,’ she said. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing the place.’ She was slipping her bag onto her shoulder and there was a look of apology forming on her face. ‘I’m sorry, Tao, but I really will have to leave now.’

‘But where are you going?’ I said. What could be more important than my exciting news? I was actually thinking, but managed not to say.

‘I’ve got a hot date,’ she said, getting up.

‘Not with Mrs Audesley’s prodigal nephew, by any chance?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ she answered defensively. ‘And I wish you wouldn’t make it sound as if there’s something dubious about his character. The only thing you know for certain about him is that he’s done you an enormous favour.’

She was right, and I couldn’t deny it. For all I knew, Mrs Audesley’s reasons for disliking her nephew were quite unreasonable. And, come to think of it, Chris had as good as defended him when he’d said that Jerome wasn’t responsible for all of Sir Galahad’s bad language. ‘Sorry,’ I said, giving in to the inevitable of being left on my own to drink my wine. ‘Have a great time.’

She gave me a grateful nod and then looked a bit coy. ‘You can have my bed tonight, if you like. I might be late so I’ll sleep on the sofa.’

Which was Sophie-speak for, In all probability I won’t be coming home tonight.

Because I didn’t want to get in the way while Sophie was preparing for her big date, I hung around the pub for a while. I had another glass of red wine, and a packet of pork scratchings, and when they were gone I dawdled home through the narrow, busy streets. I picked up a couple of cream cheese and smoked salmon bagels from the twenty-four-hour bagel shop, and found the flat empty when I got in. For once I was a bit disappointed. It would have been fun to tell the two Cs about Taylor, to rub their noses once more in my move to Hampstead. They went out a lot during the week, though I had no idea where they went or how they managed to fund their outings. As far as I knew neither one of them had a current boyfriend, so they must have been spending their own money.

I could have phoned my parents and told them my news, but I knew they wouldn’t be all that impressed. Never having owned a TV, they wouldn’t have heard of Taylor Wiseman, and besides, I wanted to be a little more sure of my ground first. I hadn’t even told them about my move yet, so if anything definite came from my meeting with Taylor tomorrow I could tell them the whole lot together.

I spent part of the evening watching TV—a ghoulish hospital drama that involved close-ups of open wounds made wonderfully real by the make-up department. Then, although I still had another day to go, I made a feeble attempt at some packing before planning to use the hot water that I had deprived Sophie of. I was also planning to ‘borrow’ some of Fiona’s expensive bubble bath, then rub out the marker line the suspicious cow had made on the bottle and create a new one. In fact I was just checking her make-up drawer for the right colour eyeliner when the front doorbell rang.

Luckily I hadn’t got as far as stripping off yet, because when I answered the intercom I got a nasty shock. It was Peter Parker, the landlord, asking if he could come in.

‘What for?’ I asked cautiously.

‘I had a message from one of those posh birds. She said there was a problem with the light fitting in her room.’

No one had told me that. And what was he doing, coming around here at this time of night? ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but there’s only me here at the moment. Can’t you come back tomorrow?’

‘No, I can’t. Now, open the door like a good girl, or I’ll just use my own key anyway.’

I sighed and pressed the buzzer to open the street door, alarmed for Sophie’s sake to learn that he had such easy access to the flat, and alarmed for my own sake that I was about to be alone with him. I could hear him dragging his feet over the uncarpeted stairs, and I opened the door before he reached it. I left it open, just in case I needed to make a fast getaway.

He was dressed in two shades of denim tonight—black jeans, blue jacket—and he was carrying a metal box that I assumed contained his tools. I managed a smile as it didn’t seem sensible to appear unfriendly.

‘I’ll leave you to it, then, shall I?’ I said.

‘I wouldn’t mind a drink,’ he said as he gave me the once-over.

I hesitated. I didn’t want him hanging around, and yet I didn’t want to antagonise him either. ‘Tea okay?’ I asked as I uttered a silent groan.

‘Tea’s good,’ he said.

He followed me into the kitchen and I switched on the already fullish kettle. ‘Better wait till it’s boiled ’cause I may have to switch the electricity off.’

I shrugged, and then busied myself with teabags and things as he plonked himself down at the kitchen table.

‘Had a helluva day,’ he said with a heavy sigh.

Unfortunately I felt some response was necessary. ‘Oh, yes?’ I said, glancing around at him. ‘What have you been up to?’

The kitchen was poky, with hardly room for a table, and his presence was overpowering. He smelt of very stale BO and I wondered if I could get away with spraying some air freshener without offending him. I decided I probably couldn’t.

‘Having a row with the Social. They’re threatening to stop my benefits. Seem to think I might have some undisclosed income.’

I turned and looked at him properly. Like rent from a sublet council flat, I thought, but wisely didn’t say. His eyes were narrowed to a slit.

‘I’d be really upset if I thought someone had grassed me up,’ he said meaningfully.

‘Why would anyone do that?’ I asked as casually as I could manage. Luckily the kettle clicked off at that moment and I could get on with making the tea.

‘All sorts of reasons,’ I heard him say, ‘but none worth the trouble they’d come up against if I found out who it was.’

I put some milk in the tea, removed the teabag, and turned to ask if he’d like some sugar. When I’d added the requested three spoonfuls, I decided it was high time to change the subject. ‘So where do you live yourself?’ I asked chattily.

‘Not far,’ he said, in a way that sounded to me like an additional threat.

‘With anyone?’ I pressed blithely on.

He looked a little bit embarrassed now. ‘With my mum,’ he murmured quietly.

Suddenly he didn’t seem nearly so scary, this thirty-odd-year-old man with his big talk and his silly tattoo…who still lived with his mother.

‘Does she give you a hard time?’ I said, on a hunch.

‘Does the Pope say his prayers?’ Peter said dismally. ‘She’ll kill me if the Social carry out their threats. She’s forever nagging me to get a job.’

‘Why don’t you, then?’

‘Easy for you to say,’ he said huffily. ‘It’s hard when you ain’t got no qualifications.’

And I didn’t suppose that his appearance helped much either. He could be smartened up if someone tried very hard, and made to smell a lot better, but it would be difficult to hide that thing on his face.

‘Well, I haven’t worked for over a year,’ I said, to make him feel better, conveniently forgetting to mention that I’d been learning a trade for most of that time. ‘But I’m hoping my luck’s about to change.’ He wasn’t exactly first choice to share my news with, but I did it anyway. And to my surprise he seemed quite excited for me.

‘My mum’s a big fan,’ he said, shaking his head with the sort of indulgence that made me realise how fond of his mother he was, despite everything. ‘I’m not allowed to open my mouth when that American’s on.’ He looked at me slyly. ‘If you get the job, I’ll tell her you’ll bring him round for a chat. That should keep her off my back for a while.’

I didn’t dispel his hopes there and then, not when he seemed in such a good mood, but as he downed the last of his tea I reminded him why he’d come here. ‘Whose room did you think has the lighting problem?’ I said pointedly.

He got up reluctantly and went to Jemima’s room. Two minutes later he reappeared. ‘Got any lightbulbs?’ he wanted to know.

I didn’t have a clue, but guessed if we had that they’d be in the cupboard next to the sink. I was right, and I handed him one.

He was back again in less than a minute. ‘Thought so,’ he said with a slow shake of his bison-like head. ‘Silly bitch probably doesn’t know that you have to change them occasionally.’

And, don’t ask me why, but there and then I decided that I quite liked Peter Parker.