‘Oh, Kitty,’ Carrie cried, ‘how could you?’

  The cat appeared to be quite unconcerned as the mouse scurried away across the carpet. But then suddenly it leapt, caught the mouse in its claws and almost in a continuation of the same movement, tossed it up into the air.

  ‘Oh, Kitty, shame on you!’ Carrie shook her head. ‘How can you be so cruel?’

  But Kitty could, and clearly enjoyed it, and Carrie watched as the whole procedure was repeated. At this point she decided to intervene, but the moment she stepped forward the cat snatched the mouse up into its jaws; it wasn’t going to be deprived of its prey. Carrie stood back. After a while the cat relaxed a little and dropped the mouse back on the carpet. At once the mouse made another attempt to escape – only to be caught once more. Carrie felt helpless. The poor little creature must be in torment. Every time it seemed to be on the point of escaping, the cat captured it again.

  But the end was in sight. Yet again the cat released the mouse and then crouched, watching as it made another attempt to get away, at the same time tensing, ready to spring. And then, but too late, it saw the partly open door of a cupboard. Just an inch ajar, it yawned before the desperate little creature’s eyes. Quickly the cat sprang. But not soon enough. With one last, desperate scrabble, the mouse slipped through the gap. A second later Carrie, leaping forward, slammed shut the cupboard door.

  ‘There!’

  The cat clawed futilely at the wood for a second, then looked up at Carrie entreatingly. But not to be entreated, she picked him up and carried him out onto the porch. Shooing him gently, firmly out into the garden, she closed the screen door. Returning to the study, she knelt and carefully opened the cupboard door.

  The mouse lay in the furthest corner, between Carrie’s sewing-basket and some old movie magazines. Drawing up her courage, she reached in. Her hand trembling slightly, she gingerly touched the mouse’s soft fur. It didn’t move.

  There was a film of sweat on her palm as her fingers closed tenderly around the soft, warm little body and drew it out. The mouse lay still in her open palm.

  ‘Oh, Kitty,’ she murmured, ‘you’ve killed him.’

  But then she discerned the faint movement of its breathing, and seeing the tiny round eyes regarding her, her heart gave a little leap of joy.

  ‘Oh,’ she breathed, ‘you’re all right. You’re alive!’ Gently she touched the mouse’s soft back with her fingertip. ‘And you’re not to worry any more. Auntie Carrie’ll take care of everything.’

  Some minutes later she had brought a small wooden box up from the basement, and after furnishing it with bits of newspaper and odd scraps of fabric, she placed the mouse inside. Over the top of the box she laid a piece of wood, leaving a very narrow gap, just wide enough to allow the creature to breathe.

  She placed the box in the safety of her room. She was glad Rosemary was out of the house right now. Rosemary didn’t take kindly to mice, and there was no sense in upsetting her.

  *

  ‘I think we should give a party,’ Rosemary said when she returned from the market a little while later.

  ‘What for?’ Carrie asked. ‘What’s the occasion?’

  ‘Well – it’ll be a good way of saying goodbye to everyone.’

  Carrie hesitated. ‘Can we – can you afford it, Rosie?’

  ‘To hell with affording it. It’ll be fun. We’ll just ask a few people.’

  ‘Okay,’ Carrie sighed. Rather than talk of giving parties, she thought, they should be trying to economise. Still, once Rosemary’s mind was made up there was nothing to do but go along with it.

  *

  Later that evening, in her room, Carrie lifted the cover from the little crate and looked in. At the disturbance, the mouse scuttled into a corner, vainly trying to hide. ‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered, ‘I won’t hurt you. I’m the one who saved your life.’ She was pleased to notice that the creature had eaten more of the bread and drunk some of the milk she had provided. Gently, she lowered the cover again. It was nice to have a pet. And now she had two.

  The fact that she was the mouse’s saviour instilled in her heart a warm, motherly possessiveness. The cat was adorable, but he came and went at will, showing no real love for her, only a love of his own comfort. He took everything, and any warmth that came from him had to be taken; it was never given. Maybe the mouse would be different. And perhaps when it was fully recovered it wouldn’t want to leave. It needed only to get used to her, to learn that it could trust her. Perhaps, in its tiny mouse’s heart, it could show her the love and gratitude that it so surely owed.

  *

  An hour later, after a trip to the pet department of a local store, Carrie unwrapped the little mouse cage she had bought. Now it stood before her on the chest of drawers, resplendent in its newness, and unutterably cute. ‘Oh, Mousie,’ she breathed excitedly, ‘you’re going to love this.’

  Lifting the wooden cover from the box, she smiled down at her pet. The sudden invasion of light startled it, and for a few seconds it scurried about, stopping to rear up on its hind feet, tiny pink nose sniffing at the air. Carrie giggled. He really was the cutest thing, and so adorable.

  ‘You, you little sweetheart,’ she cooed, ‘are going to your new home today.’ She cocked her head, smiling down. ‘What do you think of that, huh?’ Forefinger extended, she put her hand into the box. The mouse reacted by scurrying into a corner. ‘Come on, now,’ she cooed. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. I’m the one who saved your life. I only want to help you. You and me – we’re gonna be friends.’

  And now she had both hands inside, fingers outspread, but the mouse only ran from her. He couldn’t escape, however. In another moment he was in her grasp, his fur warm and silky-smooth. She lifted him, fingers close around him, so that only his nose was visible in the cradle of her hand.

  ‘Oh, God, but you’re sweet.’

  She lightly touched the soft fur of his ears while he gazed at her, deathly afraid.

  ‘There…there now… You see, little mousie? There’s nothing to be afraid of.’ She went on stroking. ‘Isn’t that nice?’

  Mousie didn’t think so. Inside her fist he struggled. ‘Hold still now,’ Carrie chided him. ‘You’ve got to get used to me. You’ve got to learn to trust me.’

  And slowly she felt a stillness creeping into the little creature’s body. His panic was easing a little, she thought, and she allowed her fingers to relax their pressure. He was going to be good. But then all at once, feeling her fingers slacken about him, the mouse pushed violently upwards, body squirming, feet scrabbling as they searched for purchase. He was about to escape, but quick as a flash her other hand was there, catching him as he emerged. Giggling breathlessly, she found herself rotating her hands while the mouse, running furiously, moved from one hand onto the other. She laughed with delight. It was like a game.

  And then Mousie tired of the sport. Tired of the torment, and, desperate to escape, he bit, hard, his needlesharp incisors cutting deep into Carrie’s forefinger. She gave a piercing squeal of pain and shock. Her hands jerked, and the mouse fell back into the box.

  ‘Oh, you – you thing!’ she cried, her voice breaking. ‘Oh…’

  For a moment she gazed at her damaged fingertip and then, with one quick, angry movement, she snatched up the wooden cover and slammed it in place.

  She was bleeding, blood welling from the little punctures in her flesh. She put her finger to her mouth and sucked on it. The wound hurt, too. Apart from the pain, though, she felt anger. How could he do such a thing? She had rescued him, literally from the jaws of death. She had given him milk, bread, love and kindness and he had reacted by biting her.

  Pushing back the wooden cover a little, she glared down into the shadowed interior of the box. ‘After all I did for you,’ she said.

  For another moment she glared down at the tiny Judas, then, sucking on her injured finger, she turned and went from the room.

  She came back carrying a pair of thick leather gloves. She put them on and reached down into the box. As before, the mouse scrabbled to get away from her, but this time she did not hesitate as she pursued him.

  ‘Got you!’

  There was a note of triumph in her voice as she felt his futile struggling in the grip of her gloved hand. ‘Bite me now,’ she muttered. ‘Just try to bite me now.’

  *

  Rosemary, at work in the music room, looked up as Carrie went past the window towards the garden. She saw that she was wearing gloves and carrying something in her cupped hands. Going after that dumb cat, she guessed. She really shouldn’t encourage it to hang around the place, feeding it all the time. Then she shrugged. What the hell – if it made her happy. She turned back to her music while lightly on the afternoon air came Carrie’s voice, sweet, musical, as she called up the path:

  ‘Kitty…Kitty. Here, Kitty. Come and get lunchies.’

  *

  ‘What happened to your finger?’

  Rosemary asked the question as she and Carrie sat at dinner that evening. Carrie gave a casual glance at the Band-aid that covered the bite, and brushed the question aside.

  ‘Oh, that. It’s nothing.’ She shifted slightly on her chair. Her left buttock ached dully as a result of the tetanus shot the doctor had given her. ‘It’s just a little scratch,’ she said.

  *

  The next day she went back to the store, taking with her the mouse cage, quite unused. She got a credit note in exchange and with it bought a couple of DVDs of old MGM musicals. She got Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and Singin’ in the Rain. She had always adored Jane Powell and Gene Kelly.

  ……NINE

  ‘Well, look at you!’ Carrie said admiringly.

  It was the evening of the party. The hired bartender and maid were in place and busy, and now Rosemary emerged from her room, finally dressed to meet her guests. She was wearing a new gown of deep blue satin, around her shoulders a long, lavender silk stole.

  ‘I look okay, you think?’ Rosemary said.

  Carrie nodded enthusiastically. ‘You look wonderful – and that stole – it looks so beautiful. But I always loved it.’

  Rosemary caressed the silk. ‘Yes, my lucky little wrap,’ she said. ‘My God, but it’s old now.’ Smiling with the memory, she said, ‘I bought it all those years ago, when the band played at the Royal Variety Performance.’ She gave a little sigh of pleasure. ‘Imagine that – me singing for royalty.’

  ‘I wish I’d been there,’ Carrie said.

  Rosemary nodded. ‘It’s nice to have some good memories. And they don’t come much better. Anyway,’ she waved a hand at Carrie, shooing her off, ‘– you go and get ready now, or you’ll be late. They’ll be arriving any minute.’

  As Carrie went off to her room, Rosemary started downstairs to check that all was going well. The guest list had risen to fifty-two, and it promised to be a busy evening. When she had first said that they must hire a maid and bartender, Carrie had protested: ‘Rosie, we can’t afford them. We can manage without them.’ ‘Listen,’ Rosemary had said, ‘I want to enjoy this too. I’m not going to spend hours cooking in the kitchen and the rest of the time dishing it out.’

  And now the frantic work was behind them, and at last, it seemed, everything was ready.

  Twenty minutes later, the first of the guests appeared.

  Kurt was one of the last to arrive. Rosemary answered the door to his ring and greeted him warmly, kissing him on the cheek. ‘Come on in,’ she said, ‘and get a drink. Douglas arrived a few minutes back.’

  As Kurt followed her into the living room he surveyed the throng of guests. ‘You told me just a few people,’ he said. ‘This is your idea of a few?’

  She laughed, took his hand and led him towards the bar, where the bartender set about pouring him a drink. Looking over her shoulder at the assembly, she said, ‘There are people here that even I don’t know. Still, it makes a change not to see the same tired old faces.’ Kurt’s drink poured, she handed it to him. ‘Talking of tired old faces,’ she said, ‘how do I look?’

  ‘You look great, Rosemary. Just great.’

  ‘Why Cap’n Butler, you say the most lovely things.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘But next time don’t wait to be asked.’

  She stayed talking to him for a few more minutes then went to give her expansive welcome to two more guests who had arrived. She was in her element. There were few things she enjoyed more than being surrounded by people who were all – at least outwardly – affectionately disposed towards her.

  Standing near the bar, Carrie watched Rosemary’s progress, wishing that she herself could give an impression of such relaxed confidence. But it was no good wishing. She felt uncomfortable in the turquoise dress that Rosemary had persuaded her to buy (and it had cost a fortune!) and was all too conscious of her slightly exposed cleavage. ‘Darling, it looks marvellous,’ Rosemary had told her, but Carrie remained unconvinced.

  ‘Hello, Carrie.’

  Carrie turned at the sound of her name, and saw that Douglas had come to the bar to get a fresh drink. They had not met before this evening, but over their brief introduction earlier she had found him pleasant and relatively easy to talk to. Now, smiling, he gestured with a wave of his hand, taking in the many guests. ‘You and Rosemary have done wonders,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’

  ‘Not I,’ she said. ‘It’s all Rosemary’s doing.’

  He nodded. ‘If you say so.’ He looked around. ‘Are we allowed to smoke?

  ‘Oh, sure.’

  He took out cigarettes, offering one to her, but she shook her head, ‘No thanks. That’s one vice I’ve avoided.’

  He nodded approvingly. ‘You’re a smart lady.’

  They began to talk, and she found herself almost relaxing with him. He showed interest in her, and asked her about herself, about her life. He evinced a wide knowledge of the entertainment business, and when he learned that at one time she herself had had something of a career in the theatre, he was keen to know more. Prompted, she named a couple of the productions in which she had appeared, and when she mentioned the Off-Broadway production of The Charm-Spinner he said, a smile breaking over his plain features, ‘Yes! You were Caroline, the professor’s daughter. That was you, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her smile lit up her face. ‘You saw it?’

  ‘Oh, I did! And you were wonderful.’

  ‘But it was so long ago,’ she said. ‘That was years ago.’

  He shrugged. ‘But I remember it. It was one of the first things I saw after arriving in Manhattan.’ He gave a little wondering shake of his head. ‘Your performance – it stayed with me.’

  Carrie began to thank him, but over her words came Rosemary’s voice as she approached, expansively gesturing towards the dining room. ‘Okay, folks, dinner is served, so do come and eat.’ Smiling at Douglas, she added, ‘Enough talk for now, Douglas. Come and eat.’

  In the dining room the buffet supper had been laid out, resplendent on the wide table. Rosemary stood at Douglas’s side while other guests filed by, filling their plates. ‘Look at them,’ she whispered to him, ‘like a pack of vultures.’ She shrugged. ‘Still, we’re none of us any different, I guess.’ She urged him towards the table. ‘Go eat, while there’s something left.’

  As Douglas moved away she saw Kurt coming towards her bearing a fork and a loaded plate. He nodded appreciatively as he got to her side.

  ‘Great stroganoff, Rosemary.’

  ‘Thanks. Have you got a drink?’

  ‘I’m taking it easy. Have to drive later.’

  ‘You don’t have to go,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you stay over?’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘but I’m driving Doug back to the city. And anyway, I have to make an early start tomorrow.’

  ‘Okay, suit yourself.’

  When most of the other diners had served themselves Rosemary went to the table and took up a plate. In the course of making her selection – a little rice, stroganoff, a little salad – she glanced up and saw two brown eyes regarding her across the table. She smiled at the young man. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Oh, sure, thank you. Everything’s fine.’ He was somewhere in his early thirties, she guessed. He had dark hair and a wide, slightly diffident smile.

  ‘You’re Tom Ringler, right?’ she said. ‘You came with the Davisons.’

  ‘Yes, I’m staying with them.’ He helped himself to salad. ‘I’m surprised you remembered my name – with all these people here.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got a good memory – when it suits me.’ She looked directly into his eyes. ‘And faces I always remember. Well, some faces – the handsome ones.’ She took up a napkin and a fork. ‘Come on, Tom Ringler-who-came-with-the-Davisons, let’s find a place to sit. I’ve been on my feet all day.’

  They sat side by side on the stairs, picking at their plates, sipping at their drinks and chatting casually of this and that. Rosemary found herself warming to him. ‘Listen,’ she said to him during a lull in the conversation, ‘you don’t have to sit here talking with me.’ She gestured towards the living room where the guests came and went. ‘There are three or four very attractive young ladies out there, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘But I’m happy where I am.’

  She smiled back. ‘Well, that’s nice to hear.’

  When she had finished her plate, he picked it up, rising from his seat. ‘Would you like some dessert?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ She smiled. ‘But get something for yourself and come on back.’

  When he had gone, she lit a cigarette and sat looking out over the comings and goings. Then, above the voices and the soft music from the stereo she became aware of the ringing of the doorbell. Who could be arriving this late? And then she recalled that one of her guests had asked if he might bring along an acquaintance who was down for the weekend and had expressed a wish to meet her. This must be the friend, she thought.