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‘I saw a light on up in your office when I got up for a glass of water some time around three,’ she confessed, revealing her own somewhat restless night. ‘I thought you had probably just forgotten to turn it off.’
He had shown her his office the night of their scallop dinner—a large, book-lined, high-ceilinged room upstairs in the back corner of the house, with folding doors that opened onto a balcony shared with his bedroom, facing directly out to the beach. There was also a window on the other external wall, which overlooked Kate’s holiday haven and the northeastern end of the beach, but it was fitted with reflector glass and motorised tilting shutters, which he usually kept closed. He didn’t like to feel claustrophobically shut in when he was working, he said, but he needed the security of walls and at least the illusion of total privacy.
‘It’s probably still on now. When I get in the zone I don’t even think about practicalities like light, heat, food, sleep. I work and drop. It can make me a bit of a bastard the next day, though.’
Crudely, but aptly put. ‘Is that an apology?’
‘No, an explanation. Which is more than you’ve given me.’ He left her to digest the wider implications of his comment as his eyes fell to the carry-box by her feet, which had begun to shudder and squeak.
‘What in the—?’ His eyes shot back to her face. ‘You caught the rat yourself!’ His surprise had a tiny suggestion of chagrin—St George deprived of his dragon.
She smiled wryly. ‘Sort of.’ She bent down to unfold the handles and reef open the top.
‘You’re not going to let it go after all that—?’ Drake lapsed into silence as he noticed the Vet Clinic’s stamp on the flap of the box in the same moment that a ball of furiously squeaking fur bounced out onto the faded floor and resolved itself into a small, glossy black kitten with a white breast and underbelly, and four white paws that immediately scampered into motion.
‘A kitten? You went and got that little thing from Ken to catch a rat?’ said Drake incredulously as he watched the creature skitter around a table leg. ‘I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but you’ve been suckered—it’ll be eaten alive.’ The kitten turned in response to the deep rumble of his voice, approaching his bare feet with the little black tail held high, wagging eagerly back and forth, and the squeaking redoubling in volume.
‘That is my rat,’ Kate told him with a rueful look at her night-time nemesis. ‘I didn’t get it from Ken; I took it to him.’
It had been a very uncomfortable trip, too, with the kitten squeaking in protest at being cooped up in the semi-dark again, poking a pathetic white paw through the tiny ventilating gap she had created in one of her suitcases by loosely tying the two zip fasteners together.
She watched the black tail start to wag even faster as Drake scooped up the kitten in one big hand, and cupped it level with his face, inspecting the small, triangular face with the yellow eyes and tiny white moustache angled crookedly under a black nose.
‘When I opened the door under the house to shine the torch in, she came rushing out, squeaking to beat the band. Ken said she’s not as young as she looks—several months at least—but she must have been hiding under the house and coming out at night scavenging for food, and then got trapped under there somehow in the last few days. He says she’s lost a little bit of body weight, so he’s given me some supplements to add to her food.’ She nudged the plastic bag with her sneakered foot.
The kitten suddenly lunged forward and began swiping her piquant little face back and forth against Drake’s nose, nuzzling his mouth in between squeaks.
‘I think she likes you.’ Kate laughed as Drake emerged from the flurry of friendliness spitting strands of black fur and hastily set the kitten back down on the floor to resume her exploration of the kitchen.
‘Why can’t she miaow like other cats?’ he mumbled critically, still picking fur off his tongue. ‘You’d have rescued her much sooner if she’d had the decency to behave like a proper feline.’
‘I don’t know, but I think it’s cute,’ she said defensively. ‘Ken says not all cats vocalise in the same way—he said it could be physiological, or because she hasn’t been around other cats who miaow. He said she must have been in good condition when she got trapped under the house or she wouldn’t still have fat stores left in her body, so she’s either a very good hunter
or someone’s pet, but no one had been asking about missing kittens.’ She smiled as the animal made a daring pounce on a patch of sunlight.
‘Ken seems to have said an awful lot,’ he remarked, eyes narrowing on her softened face as he crossed his arms across his chest. Her gaze jumped to his. ‘So how come you still have the cat and not him?’ he pressed. ‘Didn’t you take it to the clinic to hand it in?’
Kate’s gaze slid away from his and she busied herself unpacking the plastic bag. ‘Well, yes…but Ken gave Koshka a thorough check-over and all the tests, and there’s nothing actually wrong with her—the nurse gave her a good brushing and she doesn’t even have fleas!’ She darted him a triumphant look that was met with lowered brows.
‘Koshka? You’ve given her a name already?’
‘It’s Russian for cat. Ken was calling her Kitty—I had to give her something prettier than that!’ she insisted.
‘Oh, yes, he knows all the right triggers.’ His voice dripped with sarcasm as he shook his head. ‘Don’t tell me he persuaded you to adopt it?’ he growled. ‘What’s going to happen when you go home? You’re not allowed pets in your town house.’
‘I know that. I’m not keeping her—just fostering for a few weeks, until I leave, or Ken can find her a home…’
Drake rolled his eyes. ‘Where have I heard that one before?’
‘He said she’d be kept alone in a cage if she stayed at the clinic, whereas here she can prowl and play, and we’ll be good company for each other,’ she hastened to add.
‘You already have company—me. Not to mention my faithful hound.’ His mouth took on a malicious curl. ‘I guess the problem will be solved soon enough. Koshka won’t be more than a single gulp for Prince.’
Kate gasped, and even though she knew he was joking she protectively snatched up her little charge, cuddling the warm, squirming body into the curve of her neck, laughing softly when a raspy tongue began to lap at the side of her jaw. She didn’t notice the bloodshot brown eyes darken with a moody bleakness as Drake watched the tender byplay.
‘We won’t let that big goof get you, will we, Koshka?’ she crooned, tickling a white chin and letting small, sharp teeth gnaw at her scratching finger, the wagging tail beating a light tattoo against her breast. ‘Mummy will look after you.’
‘Foster-mummy,’ corrected Drake. ‘You’ll get attached—how are you going to feel when you have to give her back?’
