The Catswold Portal

But yet, watching her, he was sharply aware of another side. Despite her quiet enthusiasm, she gave him the impression she was holding something back, that there was far more to her life than she was letting him see.

“Wine?” he said. “The chablis?”

She nodded.

“Melissa, the Kitchens will be beside themselves when they learn you’re alive.” He watched her hands tighten on the menu. She had been reading the menu as eagerly as if it were deathless prose. “To the Kitchens, you were like their own child. Your disappearance caused a rift in that family that has never healed.

“They’ve gone to Europe for the summer. If I knew where, I’d call them. We could drive into the city tomorrow so you can see the house.”

“Oh, yes. I’d like that.”

When their dinner came she was starved, and the lobster smelled wonderful. She attacked it eagerly then realized he was staring. She felt her face redden. She slowed down, taking smaller bites. But it was the most wonderful food she had ever imagined—far richer than the rock lobsters which could sometimes be found in sea caves of the Netherworld.

He said, “The Kitchens have tenants in the house, but we can ask if they…”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to disturb anyone. I don’t—want to explain to strangers. It would be nice just to see it from the outside.”

He nodded. “We could go to the Cat Museum, too—it’s the best example I know of McCabe’s work. He completely changed the old buildings. Alice must have taken you there.”

She tried to remember and could not.

“We can get some nice poses in the museum gardens working against the windows—reflections of the oak trees and of the outdoor cat sculptures.” And now she remembered. Bronze cats, brick paths beneath twisted branches, white walls and long windows.

She had loved the Cat Museum; how could it have faded from her memory? When she was small its galleries and gardens had been a haven for the part of herself that even Alice didn’t see. She had always loved cats, had run to cats on the street to pet them, upsetting her foster parents and enraging some of the cats. And even though she and Alice had cats, some element had been missing, something she had come close to only in the Cat Museum.

He said, “The place has the feeling of a self-contained world. The reflections of the twisted trees and the sculpture are just what I want—you will fit perfectly. I think we can get some exciting work there.”

She smiled at him, liking his intensity, his deep involvement in the work. She did not see such passion of purpose in the Netherworld. Except of course in Siddonie’s dark passions.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning if you’ll tell me where, what part of the city.”

“I’m staying in the village with someone, quite near to you. I’ll walk over.” She watched him set a morsel of lobster aside for the calico. She must have looked amused, because he grinned shyly.

“I spoil her. I never thought I’d have a cat, let alone spoil it.”

“Doesn’t she deserve to be spoiled?” she said softly.

“She’s so beautiful, a really lovely cat.” She couldn’t resist, the deception was delicious. And she could see his pleasure when she admired his cat. Their eyes met and held, and she shivered. But she thought, I am Catswold. We are totally different. I should not let myself be so drawn to an upperworlder—I will be sorry. Already I can feel the pain this involvement would cause. I am Catswold, I am of the blood of Catswold queens, the blood of Bast. She watched idly as the dessert cart was wheeled toward them, and let herself be distracted. Such desserts in the Netherworld were served only to royalty. She selected the most beautiful one, but it was too sweet and disappointed her. Sipping her tea, she said, “Did Timorell or McCabe leave anything personal? Something of—sentimental value? Jewelry, perhaps?” An emerald pendant, perhaps?

He watched her, frowning. “John Kitchen salvaged some of McCabe’s paintings and prints. I think there was a safe deposit box. McCabe and Kitchen had the same attorney, one they both trusted. He might know. I’ll give him a call, if you like.”

She nodded. Things in this world were so complicated. She was yawning when they left the restaurant, was almost asleep when they turned into the lane. When he asked where she was staying, she said she would walk. He insisted he take her.

“But I really want to walk. The evening’s lovely.”

“Then I’ll walk with you. It’s late to be walking by yourself. I won’t pry or question your living arrangements.”

She looked at him, puzzled, then got out, handing him the basket. “I’ll be fine. You have canvases to stretch. It’s only a little way, and there are street lights.”

“You can’t know you’ll be fine. The streets are empty, Melissa.”