There is more trouble in the offing
By Amrita Dhingra

"CARRIE," you said in voice meant to elicit confidences, "I hate to pry but what exactly was the cause of your falling apart with Frank. It’s none of my business of course......" you let it rest there. And it worked, for once, like a charm.

"Of course you should know!" she said vehemently, "It’s not as if I’d be running an illus....illustri...."

"Illustrious," you helped her out.

"Yes that’s the word I want illustrious. It’s not as if I’d be running an illustrious personality down — it’s only Frank. Can you imagine he hates Tawny!!!"

"Tawny? Who or what is Tawny?"

"Tawny is the nicest, sweetest cat in the world and he belongs," she informed you, "to me ."

"I see."

"And Frank said he hated Tawny. Said he was a raging monster with the temper of the devil and he hoped he’d get run over by a car some day soon!"

"He didn’t?" You could see that nothing else was expected of you.

"Yes he did! And did I ever say anything against Comet. Never. Tawny only scratched Frank once accidentally and that was it! He just blew up!"

She carried on from then on. About how Frank would never look where he was going and how he’d end up tripping over Tawny. And of course the poor dear couldn’t help but scratch. Wouldn’t you scratch if an overgrown behemoth stamped on your tail?

But you were only half-listening. The scenario was all too clear to you. Girl meets boy. All is sweetness and light till ailurophile meets ailurophobe. Frank Gulley, you remembered, had hated cats for a long, long time. It had all begun with the headmaster’s pet feline back at the boarding school. This particular feline had an atrabilious character. It regarded the school as its personal territory and hated all schoolboys with a personal vengeance. Somewhere along the line it had substituted schoolboys for mice on its mental map and was always actively involved in getting you into trouble. Now this tabby, though it was an ambitious cat, knew its limitations and as a result employed devious strategies to trip you up. Usually most of you kept out of its way, but one night circumstances landed you flat under its paw.

You had not submitted your geography workbook atlas’ on time to the headmaster. Too afraid to own up to the stern disciplinarian, Frank and you decided to sneak into his study late that night and quietly place the workbooks with the rest. As you descended the darkened staircase one step at a time, huddled into your dressing gowns, your hearts were beating fast. One flight of stairs down, you felt more at ease and even had a little chuckle over how he’d never find out. Neither of you, however, noticed the wicked green expression in the glowing eyes that peered out of the shadows. And as luck would have it. Frank trod down hard on the next step, trod down hard on the tabby’s tail.

With a banshee’s wail the cat jumped into the air, flew into a rage and clawed Frank. Poor Frank was so bewildered that he lost his balance and tumbled down the rest of the stairs at a tremendous speed.

The ruckus was of course enough to wake up half the school. The tabby was behaving very much as the aggrieved party, while you and Frank stood in the headmaster’s study under circumstances which were significantly different from those you had planned. You could still see the green eyes narrowed with pleasure as the tabby sat on Matron’s lap while you received some of the juiciest from the headmaster’s cane.

Poor Frank. He had not taken it too well. He may have become a brilliant space scientist but he still hadn’t left his fear of cats behind. You recalled how he had avoided that old tabby like the plague from then on. He had even developed an allergy to cat hair after that. Obviously cats moved him deeply. However, it was testament of his devotion to Carrie that he had refrained from throwing anything more than verbal abuse at Tawny.

By now the two of you had neared the house and just as you were about to explain the facts of the matter to Carrie and maid came out with a message that Carrie was wanted on the phone. As you followed Carrie into the hall you met Fiona.

"Oh there you are, here are the keys to my car", she said before walking away busy directing her housekeeper.

Waiting around for Carrie to get off the phone so that you could heal the rift between Frank and her, you couldn’t help but overhear what she was saying.

"......Oh yes he’s a darling and soooo good at public speaking. Of course he’ll come and host the ladies club meet....."

You waited no longer. It was clear that Carrie was intent on taking you to one of those ladies meets where old matrons and bluestockings assemble to discuss socially relevant matters and the state of anomie that exists in the world. Neither of them interested you in the least. Anxious to make good your escape, you backed out of the hall slowly and then turned and legged it for the garages.

As you slid into the driver’s seat and urged the powerful engine to life you felt as sense of gratitude that at least you’d been able to avoid the ladies meet. Infact while reversing out of the garage you even congratulated yourself on your perspicacity. As you turned the car out of the huge wrought iron gates and onto the metalled road you had already begun to relax.

"Hi!" The voice was eager and friendly and came two inches from your left ear.

Startled, you jumped and the car swung drunkenly on the road. Steadying it just before it went off the road, you took a deep breath and said, "Tom, hi! nice surprise.......you err .... umm ... startled me. What’re you doing here?" Damn Amanda Spence, you thought, the least she could have done was take care of Tom. Why couldn’t she have taken him safely back? You knew why, you thought maliciously, because she’d been so busy making your life miserable that she hadn’t had time to think about anything else. Considering the good job she did of making your life hell, she must be treating it as a full-time job.

"Well I kinda got bored and when Amanda ordered Jentley to drive me home I just slipped out of the limo at the last moment. I’ve been staying in the garage ever since. By the way," he said climbing into the front seat and nearly causing you to collide with an oncoming truck, "do you have some chocolate? I am awfully hungry!!"

Sparing him a sidelong glance you returned your attention to the road. He looked in his element — collar awry, hair tousled, his face had a smut on it. Except for the rumbling of his stomach, as far as Tom was concerned, life couldn’t be better.

"You mean Amanda didn’t go back to the city with you?"

"Nope."

"Then where did she go?"

"God knows," he said yawning widely and making it clear that this line of conversation did not interest him, "and very possibly Amanda."

"Now look here young Tom," you said, "you must know where she went."

Call it a phobia, but you were determined to know the whereabouts of that young Jezebel.

"All right, I’m not sure because I wasn’t really listenin’ but dad called her and they agreed to meet someplace. It seemed important. She even forgot to give me a brushin’ down. Now how about that chocolate?"

Unfortunately for Tom you did not have any chocolate on you. Instead as you drove down to Dr. Vextor’s clinic you stopped en route and bought him a square and filling breakfast at the local inn. Tom showed you his gratitude by talking nineteen to a dozen and informing you that he had abandoned his plans for pursuing a career as an explorer of the Antarctic in favour of becoming a vagabond. Much of this shift was attributed to necessity, because the expedition ship had already left (he had procured yesterday’s newspaper from one of the trashcans outside Fiona’s kitchen and read about the departure in it).

"I’ll jus’ need a little help from you now and then," he said with his mouth full, "jus’ some cake and chocolate an’ suchlike to tide me over till I become good at it ....." here he was forced to pause as he swallowed that bite. "Not that I’m not pretty good at it already. But cake and chocolate......"

The visit to Dr. Vextor’s clinic was far from pleasant. First, you couldn’t decide whether to leave Tom in the car or take him with you. You chose the latter course of action because there was no telling what he’d get up to in your absence and you really needed that car. Dr. Vextor looked exactly like what you’d thought he’d look like. A short, balding, over-anxious man with spectacles two sizes too large for him.

"This bandage", you said as politely as you could, "is too big. It’s not my eyebrow that’s injured, I just have a bump on the temple."

"Yes, yes, one never can tell in such cases. I suspected a concussion," he said vaguely.

A concussion to what, my eyebrow, you wanted to ask, but bit the retort down. Getting the bandage off was torturous, but even worse was enduring the rebandaging. There was a nasty looking scratch across the bridge of your nose. Nothing very terrible just terrible looking.

When you came out of the clinic you had a monstrosity in white plaster across your nose.

"What happened to you?" said Tom who had been making faces at the other little boy in the waiting room.

"Nothing."

"You look......"

"I know. Let’s go."

One thing must be said for young Tom. He controlled his guffaws. Once again you felt affectionate towards the young devil.

On the way to the city you mulled over the whereabouts of Amanda and the Boss. You had not met the old man for quite a few days now and you wondered what was going on. Tom was adamant that he did not want to go home. So you took him to your flat. On the way up in the elevator you gave him strict instructions as to the code of conduct to be followed. The gist was clear. He must resist his personality traits and natural disposition. If required he must wage a battle against temptation. Under no circumstance should he wreck your flat. Otherwise the whole vagabond deal was off.

Tom gave you his solemn promise that he would take care of the flat and generally behave himself. After that you drove over to the office of the old firm. Your secretary informed you that both the Boss and Amanda were still out and that the Boss had left a message that he would contact you as soon as he was able to.

It was much past lunch time and you hand’t had a bite to eat. It had been ages, you realised, since you’d done anything fairly routine. Like going to your club, which you used to frequent so regularly. Nostalgia for the good old days swept over you like a wave. The traffic, the bustle of the city all seemed to fade away. Your club began to beckon to you like a safe haven, you found yourself driving towards it. At least Amanda wouldn’t be present here.

Your club still had not thrown its doors open to women, thank god for small mercies. In its quiet atmosphere you meant to get your much needed peace and quiet, soothe your nerves, spend some time with your cronies, soak up a much needed refresher and sink your teeth into a grilled sandwich.

When you ascended the steps of the old venerable building, however, an unforeseen problem presented itself. The doorman was a new fellow.

"May I help you sir?" He inquired stiffly. These doormen have to undergo special training as to the right tone to adopt. Depending on whether you’re visiting royalty or just an uppity young man, they know how to put you in your place. You knew because you’d once had a very informative chat on the matter with the Boss’s butler Steppings.

"No," you said, "I’m just on my way in."

"For members only sir." Iron entered his voice as he stood there prepared to do battle to keep you out.

You showed him your member’s card.

"I’ll be begging your pardon now sir," he said gravely, relieved that you were indeed one of them, "but I didn’t recognise you......" he coughed softly and you realised he was talking about the plaster adorning your visage.

"Oh that. Don’t worry," you called wryly as you went in, "it’s just a new nose job!"