Free Under Suspicion by The Mulgray Twins Page B

whizzing through the air, claws extended, to wrap himself round some hapless pharaoh’s head.
    His gaze switched back to me. ‘They tied cats to their shields, playing on the Egyptians’ reverence for the creatures. Knew they wouldn’t counter-attack incase they injured the animals. One of the earliest cases of psychological warfare, I suppose. Stylish, elegant, classic.’ He picked up the Lucie Rie pot from the black lacquered table and ran his finger round the rim. ‘I’m planning to write a book on felis persicus , so bring in a photograph of Persepolis Desert Sandstorm. I’d like to feature her.’ Friendly smile, scheming eyes. ‘When I have collected enough material, I’ll…’ He was silent for a moment, lost in thought.
    I summoned up an easy smile in return. ‘For a book, you said?’ A request of this sort had been on the cards, and I’d thought long and hard how to counter it. ‘My Persepolis in a book, that would be wonderful, Mr Vanheusen.’ Now for the planned regretful, ‘But I’m afraid I haven’t got a photo of her. You see, two years ago she was so frightened by a camera flash that she had to be sedated by the vet. And ever since then,’ I embroidered my fictitious tale with increasing enthusiasm, disappointment oozing from every word, ‘whenever she sees a camera so much as pointed in her direction, she rushes under the sofa and refuses to come out for hours.’ That should snooker a possible counter-proposal to take her picture without flash. I sat back, confident that I’d managed to head him off.
    He replaced the Lucie Rie pot on the side table and leant forward. ‘No problem, Deborah. We’ll set up a hidden camera here, in my office. I guarantee she’ll not notice a thing.’ He reached over to the diaryon the table. ‘Now when can we fit her in?’
    Hell . I hadn’t anticipated this . How was I going to get out of producing moth-eaten Gorgonzola? I felt tiny beads of sweat forming on my hairline.
    ‘Shall we say after Christmas, the 28 th ?’ His pen poised over the entry.
    I played for time by making a show of consulting my diary. ‘No-o, I’ll be away. That’s the date of the Donkey Safari Outing.’ I tapped the folder on my lap.
    ‘Then, the day after?’
    ‘Yes, that should be all right.’ I waited till he’d written it down, confident that I’d found a way out. ‘Er…there’s one little difficulty, Mr Vanheusen. When I have to put Persepolis in her carrying box, she throws a positively diva tantrum,’ I said truthfully. ‘And it’s the same when I let her out…’
    An understanding nod. ‘It’s the same with The Prince.’
    ‘So, no carrying box. The hidden camera’s a good idea, but I’ll have to take the photo myself, at home.’
    ‘Well, we’ll give it a try.’ Reluctantly he closed the diary.
    I’d bought time.
     
    I turned into Calle Rafael Alberti and parked as usual opposite a patch of waste ground hedged by dusty oleanders. I’d overcome one hurdle but it would not be so easy to get my hands on a photo of a female redPersian that would fool Vanheusen. Top pedigree cats, like celebrities in any field, are instantly recognisable to devotees. The catch-22 of producing a photograph was that he’d be even more eager to see Persepolis Desert Sandstorm in the fur. That gleam in his eye made me certain of it.
    This was the night for my weekly trudge round the supermercado, but I really didn’t have the energy for it. I decided to treat myself instead to a cool San Miguel on the bench under my pergola listening to something soothing and classical. The plaintive notes of ‘ Misa Criolla ’ would fit the bill. A tired brain churns out no solutions. I’d leave the problem of the photo till later in the hope that the answer might suggest itself.
    After that beer, I’d continue the job I’d started yesterday. Jesús’s patio was vibrant with a colourful display of blue-painted olive oil tins and red and pink geraniums. My patio was dull in