Spitting Feathers. Kelly Harte
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there is a catch.’
‘God, Tao. Listen to yourself! You get the chance to live in the most sought-after part of London, for nothing, and you’re still complaining.’
‘I’m not complaining if this is for real, but it just seems too good to be true. You can’t blame me for being a teeny bit sceptical.’
‘Well, it’s certainly not a foregone conclusion. You’ll have to go for an interview—see if the pet owner likes you, trusts you, whatever.’
‘How long is this person planning on being away?’
‘Two months, which would be brilliant. It would give you loads of time to get established before looking for somewhere more permanent to live.’
It would indeed be brilliant, but then something else occurred to me. ‘Who told you about this amazing opportunity anyway?’
‘Someone in Foreign Investments e-mailed me back and we had a chat during our lunch break.’
Foreign Investments… I couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit jealous of Sophie at that moment. We’d both started out at the bank together in Manchester, but it had always been clear that she was the smart one, and so when she was duly promoted to the bank’s head office in London I’d decided to go back to college and study photography. It was the push I had needed to get me out of a rut and into something that appeared from the outside a lot more glamorous and exciting.
‘Male or female?’ I wanted to know.
‘Male,’ she said, suspiciously coy. ‘A very nice male, as a matter of fact, and it’s his great-aunt who owns the house in Hampstead.’
‘Why doesn’t he look after her pet while she’s away?’
There was a slight hesitation. ‘He’s not very good with animals, apparently, and he has his own place to think of. He can’t just drop everything to help Auntie out.’
‘He doesn’t sound all that nice to me. Hates animals, and unhelpful to old ladies. What’s his name, anyway?’
‘Jerome Audesley, and if he moved in you wouldn’t be able to, so you should be grateful.’
‘But what makes you think this aunt of his will like me?’
‘I’m not saying she will. But she’s a bit eccentric, apparently, so you’ve got a better chance than most, I suppose.’
It wasn’t a particularly encouraging response, but I didn’t have anything to lose so I asked for the woman’s name and number. ‘And what sort of pet are we talking about?’ I said when I’d finished jotting it down.
Another slight pause. ‘It’s a parrot,’ she said. ‘And the old lady is extremely fond of him.’
I got the impression she was holding something back, but since I was beginning to like the idea of spending some time in a smart part of town I let it pass. ‘I’ll give her a ring straight away,’ I said.
Mrs Adrienne Audesley had at least three plums in her mouth, and possibly a citrus fruit as well. She sounded posher than the Queen on the phone, and as formidable as Margaret Thatcher. I thought it would be helpful to mention the name of her great-nephew, but it nearly blew my chances there and then.
‘Are you a friend of his?’ Mrs Audesley demanded to know.
‘No,’ I said quickly, guessing the lie of the land by her tone. ‘He just works with a friend of mine.’
There was a slightly suspicious pause, then: ‘Can you come over immediately?’
I could, but, having no idea how long it would take, I said I’d be there within the hour.
‘That will have to do, I suppose,’ she growled at me. ‘Only don’t be any longer or I might have gone out.’
She gave me the address and, worried I might not get there in time via public transport, I decided to take a taxi. I couldn’t believe it when the driver announced that we had arrived, on two different counts: one, because he proceeded to charge me the equivalent of a small ransom demand, and two, because the house that we were parked outside was frankly amazing.
I’d already taken a fancy to Hampstead, which looked more like a large village to me than a part of London—and a very nice one at that. The house itself was just off the main drag, a mellow-bricked Georgian end of terrace with three elegant storeys, plus basement, and a run of steps leading up to a shiny black-painted door. And as I grudgingly parted with my money to the driver, who could not be persuaded that I deserved a discount on account of the fact that I was out of work, I set to wondering which part of the house Mrs Audesley lived in. She hadn’t mentioned a flat number during our phone conversation, but I assumed that her name would be listed along with the other occupants at the main door.
On my way up the tiled steps, I glanced over the wrought-iron railing to the basement, which had its own separate entrance, and guessed that this was where the old lady lived with her parrot. By now I could already see that there was only one buzzer at the front door, which seemed to suggest that the upper part of the house had not been turned into flats after all. And, because I was sort of curious to see who my rich neighbours might be, I pressed it anyway.
The voice went so well with her appearance that I knew it was Mrs Audesley the moment she opened the door. She was tall and well built, and there was nothing about her that suggested frailty despite the obvious advancement of her years. I took a quick guess that she was in her mid-seventies, which would roughly be the same age as my gran, but unlike my gran, with her perm and blue rinse, Mrs Audesley’s silvery hair had been fashioned into an elegant, upper crust, cottage loaf bun.
‘Miss Tandy?’ the woman said, peering at me with alarming scrutiny. I was glad I’d slipped into something smart—well, smart for me, anyway—but I did feel a bit lower-end-of-the-High-Street next to someone who was dressed like a dowager duchess. I’d been living as a student again for the past year, and as money had been very tight, the budget cream trousers and jacket I wore looked a bit shoddy beside her pale blue cashmere twin-set and matching linen skirt.
‘Tao,’ I said, thrusting my hand firmly towards her in pretence of a confident manner. ‘That’s T-A-O,’ I spelled out, ‘pronounced like towel without the E and L on the end.’ I was talking fast, like I always do when I’m nervous. ‘My parents were sort of hippies,’ I offered by way of explanation. ‘Well, my mother mostly. Still is, as a matter of fact. She’s into all that Eastern stuff. And Tao—well, it’s—’
‘It’s from Taoism,’ Mrs Audesley interrupted me, letting go of my sticky hand. ‘A system of religion and philosophy based on the teachings of the sixth-century Chinese philosopher Lao Zi. Come inside, Miss Tandy.’
‘I’m impressed,’ I said, following her into the wide hallway. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who wasn’t one of my mother’s friends whose heard of all that stuff.’
‘I studied eastern religions in my youth,’ Mrs Audesley replied. ‘But I remain a committed atheist,’ she added almost cheerfully.
I just had time to glance at myself in the gilt hall mirror before we moved on, and I squirmed at the state that my hair was in. I’d pulled it into an elastic band before leaving Sophie’s flat, but being fine, and having a mind of its own, a considerable amount had already managed to disengage itself from the fastening. I was desperately trying to tuck it back as I was shown into a spectacular sitting room, complete with stunning chandelier, that overlooked the quiet street at the front of the house. It was decorated in pale blues and creams, with which we, in our current outfits, blended nicely. I sat down when she waved her hand at a brocade-upholstered chair and watched as she moved elegantly towards the black marble fireplace. Above it was what I imagined to be a family portrait—a painting of a good-looking man in military uniform.
‘My husband Larry,’ she said, following my eyes. ‘He died twenty years ago, and although he was handsome he was also very annoying at times, and quite honestly I don’t