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‘Hard to tell. Could be hours, could be days.’
‘But time enough to get her to a vet?’
‘That might freak her out.’ Forde was thinking. ‘How far is your nearest vet?’
Melanie stared at him blankly. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’
‘OK. Look in the telephone directory while I get the stuff in from the car and find a local vet. It’s—’ he glanced at his watch ‘—getting on for five o’clock but they should still be working. I’ll give them a ring and ask if someone can come and make a house call.’
‘Would they do that if they don’t know us?’ Melanie asked doubtfully. ‘It’s not as if we’re clients, is it?’
‘We won’t know that till we ask.’
Without thinking about it she reached up and looped her arms round his neck, kissing him hard and then stepping back a pace before he could respond.
He stared at her, clearly taken aback. ‘What was that for?’
‘For caring.’
‘About the moggy?’
‘No, not just the cat,’ she said softly.
Something told him not to push it at this stage. ‘I’ll get the food in. You find that number.’
When he called the veterinary surgery, which was situated some fifteen miles away in the nearest small market town, the receptionist was less than helpful, although she did eventually let him speak to one of the vets after Forde wouldn’t take no for an answer. As luck would have it, the woman was young, newly qualified and enthusiastic, added to which Forde used his considerable charm along with offering to pay the call-out fee with his credit card over the telephone and any further costs with cash before she left the cottage.
But Melanie, listening to Forde’s end of the exchange, was quite convinced it was the charm that had swung it when the vet said she would be with them within the hour.
Once she began to unpack the bags Forde had brought in she could hardly believe the amount of food he’d bought. A whole cooked ham, a small turkey, a tray of delicious looking canapés, a mulled-cranberry-and-apple-chutney-topped pork pie, cheese of all descriptions, jars of preserves, a Santa-topped Christmas cake and a box of chocolate cup cakes, mince pies, vegetables, nuts, fruit, and still the list went on.
‘Forde, this would feed a family of four for a week,’ she said weakly when the last bag was empty. ‘There’s only me. Whatever possessed you?’
‘I must have known you’d have a visitor.’ He smiled at her over the heaped breakfast bar as she began to stuff what she could in her fridge.
‘A visitor?’ She glanced at him, colour in her cheeks.
He nodded towards the sleeping cat.
‘Oh, yes, of course, but she’s hardly going to eat much,’ she said flusteredly. For a minute she’d thought… But no, he wouldn’t invite himself to stay, not after the rules she’d made. If she wanted him to spend Christmas with her she would have to ask him. But did she want that? Or, more precisely, did she want what that would mean in the days after Christmas and beyond? Because one thing was for sure: she couldn’t play fast and loose with his heart any more. She had to be sure. And she wasn’t; she wasn’t sure. Was she?
‘You’d be surprised. She’s going to have kittens to feed and she’s got lost time to make up for.’
And as though on cue the cat woke up, stretching as she opened big amber eyes and then stood up amid the folds of the blanket. When Forde lifted her out of the laundry basket she didn’t struggle but gave a small miaow. Melanie quickly warmed more milk and cut more chicken, and this time Forde set the little animal on its feet to eat. She cleared both saucers, stretched again and then walked over to her makeshift bed and jumped in, settling herself down by kneading the blanket how she wanted it. Then she looked at them.
Melanie knelt down beside her, stroking the brindled fur beneath which she could feel every bone. ‘She’s so beautiful,’ she murmured softly, ‘and so brave. She must have been desperate, knowing her babies are going to be born and she had no shelter, no food. It’s a wonder she’s survived this long.’
A steady, rhythmic vibration began under her fingers as the little cat began to purr; it made her want to cry. How could anyone treat this friendly little creature so cruelly? To throw her out in the winter when they must have known her chances of survival and those of the kittens was poor?
‘But now she’s found you,’ Forde said quietly. ‘And she knows she can trust you to look after her.’
Flooded by emotions as turbulent as the weather outside, Melanie looked up at him. She felt as though she were standing at the brink of something profound. ‘Do you think I should keep her?’
He didn’t prevaricate or throw the ball back in her court. ‘Yes, I do. She needs someone to love her unconditionally.’
Melanie blinked back tears. ‘But she’s so fragile and thin. I can’t see her surviving giving birth, Forde. And what of the kittens? If their mother’s been starving, what shape will they be in when they’re born?’
‘Take it a moment by moment, hour by hour. She might surprise you. I think she’s a tougher little cookie than she looks. Don’t give up on her yet.’
