Amanda Cadabra and The Strange Case of Lucy Penlowr by Holly Bell (i like reading .TXT) 📗

‘I see. Well now, I won’t say that there aren’t holes in your scheme, but I can, at least, see that you’ve given it some consideration. I tell you what, Cal. Let me think about it.’

‘Of course, Dad.’ Cal was relieved that his father had not said ‘no’. He gathered he was being given a ‘maybe’. ‘Well, I’ll be off. Got homework and, er … steak and kidney pudding tonight?’

‘Oh, yes. Splendid.’ Sir Philip drew an opened letter towards himself and began making notes on it. Cal lingered in the hope that his father might dispense a crumb or two as to which way his decision might go. None was forthcoming.

‘Right, then. I’ll get home and get my maths out of the way and then make a start.’

‘Good show.’

Lady Rayke gave her son a smile and nodded towards the door. Cal took the hint.

‘See you later, Dad, Mum.’

However, at the door, he was recalled.

‘Son.’

‘Dad?

‘You’re a good lad.’

Cal grinned.

‘You’re a good dad.’

***

‘Right! Tea.’ Hogarth clapped his hands.

And that was that for the night.

Chapter 6

Amanda Makes a New Acquaintance

Trelawney detected Amanda’s unease as they drove into town for breakfast. Tempest had been checking out the local talent from the car window from the first drive through Parhayle. The day before, he’d gone about his business of charming a lady cat or two. One had been a bit standoffish.

I could tell her who I am, of course, Tempest had considered. That usually impressed. Sometimes overawed, and very occasionally horrified followed by a speedy exit. It always had an effect, though, that was entirely satisfactory. All but in the case of The One. Natasha: she of the silken cream fur and sapphire eyes, whose domain was The Grange in Sunken Madley. Still, there was, no doubt, diversion to be found, especially in a provincial town where possibly not every human was cautious about the production of the next generation of cats. As they had learned to become in Sunken Madley.

As Trelawney put the pay and display parking ticket on the dashboard, Amanda watched Tempest go, with a slight frown.

‘Is something amiss with your, er, Tempest?’ he asked solicitously.

‘No. Nothing’s ever amiss with Tempest except over his ice princess at The Grange. No, Inspector, I can tell he’s on the prowl.’

‘Oh, dear. Local wildlife lookout,’ replied Trelawney sympathetically.

‘No, no, he’s never serious about that; he just likes to make them nervous. No, I mean he’s cruising.’

‘I thought he didn’t like the water.’

Amanda shook her head. ‘Not that sort. Looking for female, er, companionship of a very short-lived nature.’

‘Ah, I see. And that troubles you?’

‘Yes, I want to visit again in four months’ time and not find the town crawling with grey kittens and irate owners!’ Amanda remembered a painful scene with Mrs Wooley’s pedigree.

‘I was all set for her to produce a litter of purebred British Longhair Silver Shaded Points. White fur and blue eyes. And instead got a brood of grey with yellow eyes!’ had expostulated the enraged lady.

‘I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Wooley,’ Amanda had protested, ‘but I’m sure so experienced a breeder as yourself would have kept her indoors while she was in heat.’

‘I did! It was him. He got in. I saw him leaving!’

‘Oh, dear. Ah.’ What could she say? Amanda had recalled the night when, at 4 am, Tempest had disturbed her, coming in, having completed what for a human would have been the walk of shame, from Mrs Wooley’s house. The emotion of embarrassment, however, was quite unknown to Tempest, with whom Amanda had pleaded, the next morning, to confine his attentions to the moggies of the area. Tempest had heard her out in apparent patience, then yawned and looked pointedly towards the kitchen.

Amanda had sighed. ‘I don’t know why I bother!’

Nor do I, had thought Tempest. It is entertaining when she does, though.

This exchange Amanda related to the inspector, by way of explanation for her anxiety. Trelawney offered what comfort he could think of, then, assured that she would be perfectly content wandering around the town, left for the police station.

Some half an hour later, Amanda had just emerged from a gift shop when it happened. It was the child’s red coat that caught her eye. Glimpsing a cat under a Ford Transit van on the opposite side of the road from Amanda, the little girl slipped her hand from her mother’s. She darted out into the cobbled road, right in the path of an oncoming pizza delivery scooter, clearly in a hurry. Seeing the child, the rider swerved towards Amanda’s side of the street. An elderly gentleman, standing partly in the road chatting with the Transit’s driver, was invisible in his grey raincoat against the silver of the van. Amanda dashed forward, grabbing the man and wrenching him to safety, just as the young bike rider saw the danger. The motorcyclist jerked his Suzuki away with so much effort that the scooter went over, sending the boy across the cobbles, his helmet thudding into the ground.

The force of Amanda’s rescue attempt threw the senior off his balance, and the two of them went down in a tangle of arms and legs. The man uttered an oath in Cornish.

Amanda apologised. ‘Gav dhymm! Drog yw genev! An jynn-diwros,’ she explained, gesturing towards the motorbike.

He looked at her in surprise and apologised likewise. Unharmed, they helped one another to their feet.

‘Are you all right?’ she called out to the motorcyclist, who was getting up, shaken but uninjured.

‘Yes, thanks. Sorry, mate!’ he called to the elderly gentleman.

The mother, having collected her errant infant, likewise called out,

‘Sorry! Sorry to all of you. I don’t know how she got away from me so fast.’

The little one pointed and, by way of elucidation, uttered,

‘Cat.’

‘Ah,’ sighed