Free Canapés for the Kitties by Marian Babson Page B

the humans, they advanced on Karla. Had-I jumped into her lap, But-Known rubbed, against her ankles.
    â€œAren’t they darlings?” As Karla bent to stroke the cats, her hair slid forward, masking her expression, but revealing a long horizontal bruise on her neck.
    Lorinda and Freddie just had time to exchange a significant look before Karla straightened and faced them again. “Anyway, just because Jack took the pictures doesn’t mean we’re going to use them. He’ll probably be taking hundreds this winter.”
    â€œOh, God!” Freddie moaned.
    â€œI know. He’s taking them of me, too. I daren’t even go down to breakfast without full make-up and not a hair out of place. I’m getting sick of it already. I wish I’d never given him the idea, but he’s got the bit in his teeth now and I can’t stop him. Believe me, I’ve been trying to.”
    â€œI believe you,” Freddie said grimly.
    â€œOh!” Karla wasn’t dumb. “Have we been disturbing you? I’ve wondered how thick the walls really are.”
    â€œNot thick enough.” Caught, Freddie admitted it. “Not that I hear much,” she lied hastily. “Just the occasional thud or crash.”
    â€œI try to keep the noise level down, honestly, I do,” Karla said earnestly. “But when he gets into one of his aggressive moods ...” She let the thought trail off, unconsciously raising her hand to rub at the bruise on her neck, now hidden again by her hair.
    How did a nice woman like you ever link up with a boor and a brute like that? But it was not a question that could be asked, even though Karla might be willing to try to answer it in one of those exhaustive and comprehensive soul-searchings some Americans indulged in. A more neutral question was safer.
    â€œWhere did you meet Dorian?” Lorinda asked instead.
    â€œOh!” From the, way Karla jumped, she might just as well have asked the original question. “In New York last year, when he came over to do that signing tour. We have the same publisher and we were at a few book stores together. We sort of got to know each other.” She appeared flustered and – was that a blush? She dipped her head again, swinging her hair forward to shield her face.
    But-Known allowed one more stroke then obviously decided that her hostess duty was done and strolled over to leap up on the sofa beside Lorinda. Had-I settled down comfortably in Karla’s lap, pinning her to the chair.
    â€œHe made England sound so ... so attractive. I’d always wanted to come over and spend some time here and really get to know it. Then, when he wrote and told us about this place, a whole group of mystery writers living together –” She blushed again. “I mean, in the same community, like the Pre-Raphaelites or the Bloomsbury Set, all like-minded people, friends and colleagues, being creative ... Oh, I’m not explaining it well.”
    â€œWell enough!” Freddie said dryly. “Don’t forget, we were taken in, too.”
    â€œAnyway, Jack had just lost his job ... again.” She half swallowed the word. “So he was free to travel and looking for something to do. I’d just been offered the assignment to complete the book Aimee Dorrow had been working on when she died so suddenly and do another one to see if we couldn’t keep the Miss Mudd series going without her, as it was so successful. Jack put the idea of a Literary Winter/Year in England to them and they were interested – provided that I was spending that winter working on My Name Is Mudd. To tell the truth, I’m not sure they would have taken Jack’s idea on its own, but lumping the three books together in a package, he had a deal.”
    â€œHow are you getting on with it?” Freddie asked curiously. “I mean, someone else’s idea, someone else’s characters. Doesn’t it bother you at