Catching Katie

Haydon’s eyes narrowed to slits. Light of battle was one thing. Triumph he did not like.

‘I’ll discuss that with Mrs Harding,’ he said.

‘Darling,’ said Viola again, her tone a command. ‘This is no time to get sidetracked.’

She moved, scarlet heels tapping on the glittering pavement, and aligned herself beside him. She looked the two girls up and down. She was very self-possessed.

‘You can’t leave that thing here.’ She did not even look at the battered van but it was clear what she meant.

‘Watch me,’ said the girl with the auburn hair.

Viola gave a faint smile, her superiority undented.

‘I’m sure you wouldn’t want it towed away.’

The girl snorted. ‘You can’t have a car towed away because it lets down the tone of the neighbourhood.’

Viola said briskly, ‘You would be surprised what I can do if I set my mind to it. Now tidy up your bits and pieces and move that thing.’

She turned away as if there was no more to be said. The auburn-haired girl did not agree.

She said with deceptive mildness, ‘Are you threatening me?’

Viola was taken aback. For the first time she looked uncertain. She turned to Haydon, laying her scarlet-tipped fingers on his arm beseechingly.

Even in his present jet lagged state it was an appeal to which he had to respond. He had been watching the sharp little exchange as if he was in a dream. Now he roused himself.

‘Miss Lennox is right. This is an area where the parking is reserved for residents,’ he said. ‘The police can remove anyone else.’

The girl bit her lip. She did not like it but she was clearly trying to contain her anger. ‘We won’t be here long. We’re only unloading.’

Suddenly all the tiredness was back. Haydon could feel himself swaying. He jerked himself upright and said more coldly than he meant, ‘Well, try to keep it civilised.’

The girl picked up a big piece of hardboard with a garish picture on one side of it and took a hasty step forward.

‘You mean like not throwing things?’ she asked sweetly tossing it at the other girl. Viola gave a small, ladylike scream. The other girl caught the picture, but only just.

All tiredness left Haydon abruptly. ‘That was a very childish thing to do.’

The girl’s eyes glittered. The tilt of that chin was now positively militant. She glared at Haydon.

‘Yes, wasn’t it?’ she agreed.

She picked up the easel. It was more unwieldy than the picture and rocked in her hands.

‘They say we should all release our childhood repressions,’ the girl said thoughtfully. She looked very young and determined. And not at all in control of the easel.

‘My car,’ screeched Viola, diving forward.

Haydon had a sudden, inexplicable desire to laugh. He turned his head away.

‘What would Madame Piroska have to say about that?’ he muttered.

But Viola was not listening. She had lost her air of superiority in simple alarm.

‘If you scratch my car, I’ll sue you till the pips squeak,’ she shouted.

The girl tossed back her auburn hair and cast her a look of unutterable scorn. Viola’s alarm escalated to panic.

‘You c-can’t,’ she stuttered.

The girl smiled. ‘You’d be surprised what I can do if I set my mind to it,’ she retorted with satisfaction.

Viola was pale. ‘That’s pure vandalism.’

Even the girl’s companion seemed a bit disconcerted.

‘Katie,’ she protested.

Haydon took charge.

‘This is nonsense. And you know it.’

He removed the easel from the girl’s hand with efficient ease. She glared, her eyes hot.

She said in a low, shaking voice, ‘Don’t you tell me what I know and don’t know.’

Haydon’s brows twitched together. The girl had been shaking with nerves at the start of the encounter. Now she was hell bent on war. It was amusing—and very odd. He knew that if he had not been so tired he would have got to the bottom of it. But those sleepless hours were catching up with him.

He said dismissively, ‘Then don’t behave like a fool.’ And turned away.

The girl stamped in temper. It was a hard stamp and it sent the easel rocking. Before Haydon knew what was happening, the thing had swung up in his hand and banged hard against the passenger door. There was a nasty silence as they all stared at the long, irregular scratch.

Viola let out a wail.

‘That’s torn it,’ said the frizzy-haired girl.

Furious with himself, Haydon cast the easel away from him. It fell squashily into the hedge.

‘If you have damaged my easel, you will replace it,’ announced the auburn-haired one. She was clearly on a roll.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Haydon. He was no longer amused.

She showed her teeth in a smile that was an open challenge.

‘Just trying to keep things civilised,’ she mocked.

Their eyes locked. Haydon did not trust himself to speak. He turned on his heel and stormed into the house. Behind him the girl laughed.

He was so irritated that he forgot that he had refused Viola entry. With one last angry glance at her maltreated car, she strode into the house after him. Then Mrs Bates appeared in the hallway. Haydon’s irritation reached new heights. He turned.

‘I told you, Viola. No coffee. No heart-to-heart. Just go away,’ he said with great firmness.

‘But—’

He held the front door open for her. ‘Goodbye, Viola.’

‘Wow,’ said Andrea as they stormed off. ‘You really told him. I’ve never seen you like that.’

Katie leaned against the lamppost. Not just her hands, her whole body was shaking.

‘Nor have I,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’

Andrea pursed her lips. ‘Don’t you?’

‘No.’ Katie was honestly puzzled. ‘Do you?’

‘I’d say your hormones just met a worthy opponent,’ Andrea said cheerfully.

‘What?’ Katie was horrified.

Andrea laughed aloud.

They took everything inside. Eventually a fair amount of it was stashed in the hall while Katie decided what to do with it, but at least it was not littering the pavement any more. Katie began a systematic search for instant coffee.

Andrea looked round the chromium and white kitchen and words failed her.

‘It’s more like a laboratory than a kitchen,’ said Katie gloomily. ‘What’s more, the machines all look alike. I tried to wash a blouse in the cooker last night.’

Andrea shook her head. ‘The size of it,’ she said at last. ‘It’s a football pitch.’

Katie looked over her shoulder from the third cupboard door she had opened. ‘I’ll get plenty of exercise racing from the fridge to the stove,’ she agreed with a grin.

Andrea was awed. ‘If this place doesn’t teach you to cook, nothing will.’

‘Nothing will,’ Katie said firmly. The cupboard was full of gold-edged china. She shut the door and moved on. ‘If God had meant us to cook he wouldn’t have invented takeaway pizza.’

‘I wish I thought you didn’t mean that.’

Andrea taught Home Economics at the same school as Katie taught art and spent her spare time writing what she claimed to be the ultimate cookbook. In theory, Katie was illustrating it. But it had rapidly emerged that Katie did not know a sauce Béarnaise from a rice pudding. From time to time Andrea invited her home and did her best to remedy her education. But, as they both acknowledged, it was an uphill struggle.

Now Katie said cheerfully, ‘While I can work the microwave, I shan’t need anything else.’

Andrea shuddered.

‘As long as I can tell it from the burglar alarm, that is.’

‘Burglar alarm!’ Andrea was startled. She looked round as if she expected one of the silent machines to bite. ‘Is this stuff gold-plated or something?’

Katie shook her head. ‘It’s the area. Oh, they’ve got some antique furniture and a couple of good pictures. But mainly it’s because this is the sort of road that professional burglars like. Well, you saw what those two were like out there. There’s even a millionaire next door.’

‘Really? How do you know?’

‘Mrs Harding told me. Ah!’ She emerged from the seventh cupboard with a jar in her hand. ‘Coffee at last. Unless you want to hold out for freshly ground beans? There are bound to be some somewhere.’

‘Black, no sugar,’ said Andrea. Hard-working schoolteachers could not afford to be coffee snobs. She leaned on the counter as Katie plugged in the kettle. ‘Do you suppose that was him just now?’

‘Who? The millionaire?’ Katie turned back, startled by this novel thought. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t think so. The millionaire is quite old, I think. And antisocial.’

Andrea nodded. She was disappointed, but she was a realist. ‘He might have come on like Napoleon but he certainly wasn’t old.’

‘Nor antisocial,’ said Katie with irony. ‘Not with a blonde like that in tow.’

Andrea sighed. ‘She was a knockout, wasn’t she?’ Her tone was wistful.

Katie gave her a sharp glance. She knew Andrea was sensitive about her lack of height and her untameable hair.

‘Probably got ingrowing toenails,’ she said briskly. ‘And a heart like Cruella De Vil.’

Andrea laughed suddenly. ‘And you,’ she said, ‘have got a heart like chocolate fudge.’

Katie opened her eyes wide, disconcerted. ‘Me?’

‘You. I wouldn’t know what to do if I was a knockout blonde. But it’s nice of you to comfort me. That kettle has boiled by the way.’

Katie found mugs and spooned coffee granules into them. Andrea leaned her elbows on the counter.

‘You know, it’s odd,’ she mused. ‘You’re so gorgeous yourself. And yet you seem to know exactly what it’s like to be plain and difficult. I think that must be why the kids like you so much.’

Katie’s hands did not falter. ‘The kids like me,’ she said without excitement, ‘because they get to make a filthy mess in my class and they can bop around to Lucifer’s Eleven at the same time. Teenage heaven.’

She poured boiling water on the granules. Andrea took her mug.

‘And who brought the tapes of Lucifer’s Eleven in to school in the first place?’

Katie relaxed. She gave her wicked grin. ‘I like them.’

‘Your eardrums are depraved. I’m surprised Douglas hasn’t confiscated them.’

Katie tensed imperceptibly. ‘My eardrums?’

‘The tapes. I suppose he’s too relieved there’s one afternoon a week when the escape committee have a truce.’

Katie nodded. They taught at a big school with a lot of children from deprived families. Truancy was a problem.

‘I guess.’

‘In fact, Douglas must love you.’

Katie jumped. She disguised it by pretending that her coffee was too hot, but she was not sure Andrea was deceived. Douglas Grove’s attentions were becoming an embarrassment, especially as he was the headmaster. She did not know how much her colleagues had noticed. She did not want to give any reason to confirm whatever rumours there might be.

So she said lightly, ‘Me and Liam Brooker. He’s teaching the upper fourth salsa in their gym lesson.’

‘Liam Brooker is a maverick,’ Andrea said wistfully. She did not notice the strain in Katie’s voice. ‘Be warned. He’s also a ladies’ man.’

‘Not this lady,’ said Katie, relieved at the change of subject.

Andrea cocked an eyebrow. ‘No? You sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

The older girl looked at her curiously. ‘Why? I mean, he’s fun and he’s cool and he’s even good-looking in a battered sort of way. And you’re on the loose.’ She thought about it. ‘You haven’t got someone you’re hiding away, have you?’

Katie laughed. ‘No.’

‘Then why isn’t the dashing Liam in with a chance?’

Katie’s eyes danced. This at least was one area about which she had no secret traumas at all. ‘Three reasons. One—he doesn’t fancy me. Two—I don’t get involved with men I work with. Three—I don’t fancy him.’

Andrea was dissatisfied. ‘Why not? Every other woman in the school does.’ Although neither of them was going to admit it, this included Andrea herself.

Katie shrugged. ‘I guess I’m just different.’

‘Not that different,’ said Andrea drily. ‘You’re twenty-four. You’re unattached. Where’s the problem?’

Katie hesitated. ‘Let’s just say, I’d think very carefully before. I gave my heart.’

Andrea snorted loudly. ‘Who has time to think? You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You could be right,’ Katie admitted. She pushed her half-drunk coffee away from her. ‘I’ll just put my painting stuff into the conservatory and then I’ll take you out for brunch. It’s really great of you to give me a hand like this.’

‘Any time,’ said Andrea, shrugging her shoulders. ‘Especially if you’re going to ask me over to play in this kitchen.’

Katie was stacking squares of hardboard and canvas under her arm.

‘Sure, if you want to,’ she said.

‘Really? Would it be all right?’

Katie was amused. ‘I’m house-sitting. I’m not in purdah. Mrs Harding said I could do what I want within reason.’

Andrea put down her own coffee and picked up the sketchbooks.

‘What does that mean? No Roman orgies?’

They went downstairs to the double-height conservatory. Katie dropped her load with relief and propped it behind a cane chair.

‘Well, not trash the place. And I can’t sublet, of course. Oh, and I’m not supposed to party loudly. The millionaire next door is freaky about noise.’

Andrea grinned and handed over the sketchbooks.

‘Kiss goodbye to Lucifer’s Eleven in the home, then,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be a long, boring summer.’

Haydon shut the door on Viola with finality. After a discreet couple of minutes Mrs Bates emerged from the kitchen.

‘You must be tired after your journey,’ she said. She was much too professional to refer to the altercation she could not have avoided overhearing. ‘Breakfast? Coffee?’

Haydon pushed a hand through his hair. He was beyond discretion. The Bateses had been with him a long time.

‘Women,’ he said explosively. ‘What I need is a strong drink. How is the whisky in the study?’

‘Ah.’ Mrs Bates looked uncomfortable. ‘Dr Davison arrived last night. He was working late and. . .’

Haydon sighed. Andrew Davison was an old friend and a distinguished researcher. But he left borrowed rooms in turmoil.

‘You mean the study looks like a cyclone hit it and you don’t even know where the whisky decanter is, let alone whether it’s full?’ he interpreted.

Mrs Bates chuckled. ‘That’s about the size of it.’

‘And I suppose Andrew is not up yet? So his papers are everywhere and you don’t like to tidy them in case you misplace something vital.’

Mrs Bates rode his annoyance with the ease of long practice. ‘You said yourself his work is very important.’

‘Yes.’ Haydon breathed hard. ‘I did, didn’t I? God preserve me from out of town friends.’

‘Why don’t you sit in the summerhouse?’ Mrs Bates suggested soothingly. ‘It’s a lovely morning and you’ll be quite comfortable. Bates put up the rocker. I’ll bring you out some breakfast.’

Haydon gave her a narrow-eyed look. ‘Alicia, are you pacifying me?’

‘Just trying to be practical,’ the housekeeper assured him. She added temptingly, ‘The coffee’s fresh-brewed.’

He flung up his hands. ‘Oh, very well. Whatever you say. Just make sure everyone keeps away from me until I feel human again.’

In the end Andrea would not stay for brunch. The dilapidated van was borrowed and she had to return it to her cousin’s boss. She hesitated, though, looking at Katie with concern.

‘Are you sure you’ll be all right? I mean, I know it’s a smashing gaff and everything. But it’s not like sharing, after all.’

Katie made a face. ‘After the last three months I’m never going to share again,’ she said with resolution. She hugged Andrea. ‘Believe me, being on my own is going to be a luxury.’ And, seeing her friend was still doubtful, she added, ‘First I’m going to have a Jacuzzi for the first time in my life. And then I’m going to paint the lilac tree in the garden. Heaven. Really.’

‘Oh, all right,’ said Andrea. ‘I suppose you know what you’re doing. But if you get lonely, just give me a ring.’

‘I won’t get lonely,’ said Katie.

Haydon was passing the telephone on his way to the garden when it rang. On pure instinct he picked it up.

Viola did not even wait for him to give the number. ‘Don’t think you’ve seen the last of me,’ she hissed.

She had to be on her mobile phone.

‘You shouldn’t drive and telephone at the same time,’ Haydon said calmly.

She ignored that. ‘I’m sending you the bill for the damage to my car.’

He sighed. ‘And I’ll be happy to pay it.’

‘You’d better.’

Haydon was so tired he felt light-headed. This, he thought, is ludicrous. He said so.

Viola gave a bark of unamused laughter. ‘It certainly is. I thought we were going to have a sensible talk.’

‘We did,’ Haydon said levelly. ‘There is no more to be said.’

‘Now that’s just where you’re wrong. I have plenty more to say.’

He could believe it. He said wearily, ‘Just send me the bill for the car, Viola.’

‘Oh, no. I’m not letting you walk away from this.’

He stiffened. But before he could demand an explanation, she spat ‘You owe me, Haydon. You’ll pay, believe me.’

And she cut the connection.

CHAPTER TWO

THE summerhouse was tucked into the end of the rose garden. It was a cool octagonal building, open on two sides to the scents of early summer. Haydon sank into the newly oiled canvas rocker with a sigh of relief.

Bates brought out the tray and placed it noiselessly on a pine table beside him.

‘I am sorry about this morning,’ he said. ‘Miss Lennox really convinced me that you wanted her to meet you in my place.’

‘I’m sure she did,’ Haydon said drily. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘Nevertheless, I was at fault. I should have checked. I will next time.’

Haydon shuddered. ‘No next time,’ he said with resolution.

He lowered one shoulder and twisted his head away from it, feeling the tension like a knotted rope down his neck. Bates would have thought it intrusive to express sympathy, but he poured a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice without being asked.

‘Shall I book you into the Glen for a few days? Tomorrow?’

When the pace of his life took too great a toll Haydon went to a Spartan health hydro. It was very popular and most patrons faced a waiting list. But Bates was quite right in believing the Glen would have made a place for Haydon at less than a day’s notice.

Haydon hesitated, tempted. But in the end he shook his head regretfully.

‘I’ve still got work to do. And I don’t want to miss the rest of Andrew’s visit. Maybe next week.’

Bates looked concerned. Haydon did not encourage fussing. On the other hand, Bates had never seen him look so exhausted. He hesitated, but in the end said, ‘You really do look very tired.’

Bates gave him the juice. He still looked worried. Haydon smiled.

‘If I can get this deal sorted out, I’ll go to San Pietro,’ he promised.

Bates knew Haydon’s Tuscan retreat. He looked relieved.

‘I should think it would be very pleasant at this time of year,’ he said sedately.

Haydon tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘No phones. No women.’ He let out a long sigh.

Bates waited. Haydon neither opened his eyes nor spoke again. After a moment Bates removed the glass from his unresisting hand. He left quietly. Haydon did not stir.

The Jacuzzi, Katie found, was rather alarming. It had almost as many instructions as the burglar alarm. She read them carefully. But still, when she turned it on, the bath became a multi-jet fountain, soaking the walls and the rosecoloured carpet.

She mopped up, unpacked dry shorts and shirt, and retreated. Her hair dripped down her back in damp rats’ tails. The sun, she thought. That was what she needed. A good book and a cheese sandwich and she could stretch out in the lush garden and dry out.

But first there was something she had been putting off for a week. She braced herself.

The phone was answered on the second ring by a bark.

‘Yes?’

Her mother hated the telephone and never sounded encouraging anyway.

‘Hello, Mother. It’s Katie. I thought I’d let you know I’ve moved.’

Her mother’s voice warmed into interest. ‘You’ve left that dead-end job?’

Katie sighed. Her mother had high ideals and absolutely no practical sense. She had been furious when Katie had decided to teach instead of devoting her time to painting. ‘You will suffocate your creativity,’ her mother had said darkly. ‘Just like I did when I married your father.’

Since she had married because Katie was on the way there was not much Katie could say to that one. Her mother did not seem to understand the realities of life. She just wanted Katie to be a free spirit and go where her inspiration took her. She thought Katie’s desire to eat very poorspirited.

Now Katie said patiently, ‘No, Mother. I’m still selling my soul for a mess of pottage. But I’ve moved house. I thought you’d want my new phone number.’

‘Oh.’

Katie gave it to her. Her mother wrote it down.

‘I didn’t know you were leaving the flat.’

‘I wasn’t. There were developments.’

Her mother would not be sympathetic if she told her about the traumas of the last fortnight. She took little interest in love affairs, and none at all in other people’s traumas. She would never have let herself get caught in between two warring flatmates. Predictably she showed no interest.

‘So where are you now?’

‘I’m house-sitting. On my own, this time.’

‘Good,’ said her mother. ‘You’ll be able to get on with your painting without those silly girls wasting your time.’

‘They were my friends,’ squawked Katie in protest. Even now, her mother’s single-mindedness could shock her.

She could almost see her mother shrug. ‘Never thought about anything but clothes or boys,’ she said, dismissing them.

Since that had been exactly the cause of their acrimonious break-up, Katie could not really argue with that.

She did, however, point out, ‘That’s life, Mother.’

There was a giant snort from the other end of the telephone. ‘Not for a serious artist,’ said her mother with conviction. ‘It’s time you faced up to it and did something about your talent.’

She rang off, briskly convinced that she had done her best for her only child.

‘Thank you, Mother,’ said Katie to the buzzing line.

Telling her father the news took an even shorter time. As usual, he was not at home. As usual, the crisp message on his answering machine reduced her to monosyllables. Katie left him the bare details of her new home. Her father always seemed to reduce her to a curt little voice, she thought, despairing. Even when she wanted to sound friendly she could not.

A drip detached itself from her hair and ran down her spine.

‘Sun,’ Katie told herself aloud. She shook her shoulders, as if that would get rid of the uneasy feeling talking to her parents always gave her. ‘I have a new home and the sun is shining. All is well with the world. Believe it.’

Haydon tipped his head back and watched the sun dance off the edge of the apple blossom. When he half closed his eyes the light refracted off his eyelashes into a thousand rainbows. His body felt light. He picked up the glass and drained his juice, then heard the glass fall to the floor as his hand missed the teak table. God, I must be more tired than I realised, he thought.

That must be why those girls in their battered van had irritated him. The redhead had looked as if she’d wanted to hit him. Shame, that. She’d been quite impossible, of course, with her travelling junk shop of belongings and her nasty temper. But still there had been something about her. He could not quite remember what. But something.

Bees hummed. The sun was warm on his skin. Haydon’s eyelids drooped. He slept.