A BELINDA ROBINSON NOVEL BOOK 1: BELINDA AND THE WITCH'S CAT
Published by Writers Exchange E-Publishing, Smashwords Edition
http://www.writers-exchange.com
Copyright 2011 Margaret Pearce
Writers Exchange E-Publishing
PO Box 372
ATHERTON QLD 4883
Cover Art By: Laura Shinn
ISBN 978-1-921636-44-8
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to individuals known or unknown to the author are purely coincidental.
Chapter one
Belinda lay in her bed and stared through the darkness at the pale square of the window. Against it the shadow of the big gum sighed and rustled.
It would have been a nice night to sit on the porch and study the stars, wrapped in the companionable silence of her mother and father, except she had been bundled off to bed early. She wondered what they were arguing about.
"I won't!" came her father's rumble.
The protest in the rumble lowered, as her mother's clear accented voice dropped to a whisper.
The smell of coffee wafted up the passage with the suggestive clink of cups. They were having coffee, and not inviting her! They had pushed her off to bed like a baby, because they wanted to discuss or argue about something.
Belinda blinked back tears. It was bad enough having a father getting transferred all the time because he was an executive with a big company.
Now just as she was getting settled in her new home, in her new district and her new school, her mother was going to have to go away. Tonight was her last night home. She had been ill for ages with some mystery virus.
"A couple of months rest under nursing care will give her a chance to recover properly," the cheerful young doctor had assured the family.
Belinda made her decision. She wasn't going to be pushed off to bed while things happened. She padded down the passageway, and paused at the kitchen door, blinking in the light.
Her mother's thin intense face turned, and the silky brows arched over the gleaming green eyes. "Not asleep, darling?"
Belinda shook her head.
"Should be in bed," grumbled her father.
He was large and untidy, and every hair on his dark head stood on end. Belinda took after him, in that she had dark hair, and perhaps one day would be quite tall.
She wished she had either his warm twinkling brown eyes, or her mother's gleaming green eyes. When she looked in a mirror, her gray eyes didn't seem to belong with either her mother or her father.
Belinda stared from her father back to her mother without speaking. She thought about the dreadful fact that her mother was not going to be home when she came back from school tomorrow.
"We can visit every weekend," promised her father, his brow wrinkling with the intensity of his promise. He knew what she was feeling.
"It's not the same." Belinda felt her voice start to quaver.
Her mother straightened narrow shoulders and looked at her. Belinda choked back the sob. It would never do to cry like a baby.
"That's better. After school tomorrow, Daddy will drive you to the airport."
"The airport?"
"To collect your grandmother."
"I've got a grandmother?"
Belinda thought about that. Everybody else in the world had grandmothers and other relatives except her, Belinda Anne Robinson. All she had was a father who kept getting transferred, so they shifted from place to place, and a mother who painted.
"Everybody has grandmothers." He looked worried, unhappy and mulish, all at the same time.
"What's she like?"
"Just a grandmother, like any other grandmother," answered her mother. A secret look of amusement went over her pale face. "She will look after you both while I'm away."
"Now, off to bed," ordered her father. "You'll meet her tomorrow."
"I'm sure you'll get on - it's never dull while Matilda's around," promised her mother.
Belinda sighed, kissed her parents, and padded back to her bedroom. As she became drowsy, she again wondered just what had her parents been arguing over?
Chapter two
The next morning, Belinda woke feeling unhappy. This was the morning her mother was going away.
She pulled her doona up to her chin, and stared across at the painting on the wall. Her mother had painted it for her. It was a bush scene by moonlight. Everything was silver and blue, the trees and hills luminous, with small details standing out strongly.
The house wouldn't be the same without her mother and her paintings. She was used to coming home and opening the door to the comforting indescribable smell of paints and turpentine, and the untidy scatter of canvases all over the house.
Sometimes there was the excitement of strangers, drinking coffee, framing pictures, organizing catalogues and collecting and delivering parcels for the exhibitions.
Only once had she made the mistake of bringing one of her class mates home after school. Peggy's brown eyes had opened wide at the splodge of orange paint on her saucer, as she nibbled at her scone, and wrinkled her nose at the overpowering smell of turpentine mixing with the smell of hot scones.
"I think your mother is odd," she had whispered.
"She is not!" Belinda was furious.
Peggy shrugged. She didn't bother to invite Belinda to play with her any more. Belinda didn't really care, but she was just a bit lonely. With her father having to travel every few weeks, and her mother rushing around with her exhibitions, nobody seemed to have time to talk to her.
If she'd had a brother, or a sister, or even a spare cousin, it wouldn't have been so bad. She never seemed to find a friend of her very own. Or if she did, she lost them when they moved again.
The bright morning light flooded the kitchen, and her spirits lifted. Nothing could be too bad with the sun streaming through the curtains, and the bacon spluttering in the pan.
Even her father sprawled on his chair watching the toaster was somehow comforting. In a few minutes, lazy spirals of black smoke would billow out, as the toaster took advantage of a split-second lapse in his attention to burn the toast, as it did almost every morning.
"Morning, Mummy. Hi, Daddy."
"Good morning, Belinda." Her mother smiled at Belinda, neat in jeans and blouse, her hair in its long plait down her back.
Her father also smiled, and the toaster, in obedience to some long-standing law, started to smoke. The smell of burning toast filled the kitchen.
"Dash it!" her father roared, as he grabbed at it.
Belinda relaxed. The kitchen felt so normal it was hard to believe her mother was going away. Then out of the corner of her eye she noticed the two cases crouching against the wall.
Suddenly, the smell of bacon made her stomach turn over. The despair grew. She glared at the clock on the mantelpiece ticking its way through her last minutes with her mother.
"Don't forget your lunch," prompted her father, as he glanced at the clock.
Belinda put it in her bag, and gave her mother one last tight desperate hug. A lump stuck in her throat, as if her breakfast hadn't gone down properly.
"It's not the end of the world, Belinda," comforted her mother.
"See you," Belinda muttered, and fled, her bag bumping against her legs as she ran.
As she reached the school, she slowed down. Girls huddled in groups, talking and giggling. She edged around them. She thought they were all silly, the way they squealed and giggled. Anyhow, they never asked her to join them.
She found a vacant bench and watched the squad practising basketball. Without the supervision of a teacher they argued more than they practised.
This morning the school ground resounded to the high, shrill accusations. The voice of the umpire floated higher and shriller above the rest.
"Out."
"It's in."
"Out."
"I saw it go in."
"Out."
"You just weren't looking."
Belinda wrinkled her nose at the tone of that last voice. That was Amanda Jones. She was a snooty pig of the first order. She never let anyone in the class forget that her parents used to own most of the town.
The bell went. There was a scatter for Assembly. The small umpire came racing up beside Belinda, blonde curls bobbing, and the whistle swinging around her neck.
"Hi, Kate," Belinda said shyly. She rather liked Kate, who was friendly and seemed nice, except when umpiring.
"Hi," Kate returned.
"I'm going to the airport to meet my grandmother this afternoon," Belinda confided.
Kate looked interested. "Didn't know you had one. Where's she coming from?"
Belinda was taken aback. "I don't know," she admitted.
Where was her grandmother coming from? Planes came from interstate as well as overseas.
The day dragged on. Belinda daydreamed behind her books. It was hard to concentrate on schoolwork with the prospect of meeting a new grandmother in front of her.
After school she ran over to where her father waited in his big black car.
"Is Mum all right?" was her first question.
"Quite settled in, and sends her love."
The car accelerated into the line of traffic. They were hurtling along the freeway, before Belinda remembered.
"Where is Grandmother coming from?"
Her father shrugged.
"I mean, is she coming in from overseas, or just interstate?" Goodness, Belinda thought, parents can be irritating.
There was still silence. Sometimes her father had trouble picking out the right words to answer questions. It never did to hustle him.
"Your grandmother travels a lot. She could be coming in on an overseas plane, or just a local one."
"Don't you like Grandmother?"
Belinda remembered the argument she had tried to listen to the night before. Had it been Grandmother they were arguing about, or something else?
"Where would you get a silly idea like that?"
"Well?"
Belinda's father drove in silence. He ran a hand through his hair so it sprang up, heightening his likeness to a bad-tempered bear.
"Your grandmother isn't used to staying put for longer than a few weeks. I can't see that she will enjoy looking after us for so long," he said at last.
"Do you think she will go away again?"
The silence was answer enough. Her father obviously did think so, but didn't like to say it. Still, even if she didn't stay long she was still a grandmother. Belinda cheered up.
When they reached the airport, she stayed close to her father. He was a reassuring bulwark against the confusion that swirled around her.
There were people everywhere, overflowing the spacious lounges and the long open corridors. The loudspeaker boomed out messages and instructions all the time.
Belinda wondered if she would be able to pick out her own grandmother. She watched a plump old lady with a serene pink face approach the desk. She would make a nice grandmother.
"Young man," said the old lady, "you have mislaid my luggage again."
Belinda's father remained where he was, hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face. So that old lady wasn't her grandmother!
A tall thin lady with a piercing laugh, and a wilted fur slung over her shoulder, clicked up to the desk on high pointy shoes. Belinda shrunk closer to her father. Wouldn't it be awful if she was her grandmother?
She suddenly became aware she was being watched. She turned and stared at the gleaming light green eyes level with her own.
The owner of the eyes was an old lady with silky white hair tucked under a pretty straw hat, and a dimple starting at the side of her mouth.
"Grandmother!"
Belinda flung herself at the little old lady with happy recognition. It was like greeting an old friend rather than meeting a new one. Grandmother's face seemed familiar, and somehow comforting, just like her mother's.
"Good afternoon, Matilda. Did you have a good trip?" Belinda's large father bent down to kiss the little lady.
Was he scared of Grandmother? Belinda wondered. He looked for all the world as if he expected her to bite him.
He patted at her arm in a timid manner. "Car's outside. Where's your luggage?"
"Over there."
Belinda's grandmother walked with precise steps on tiny feet, shod in flat-heeled buckled shoes. There was a familiar fragrance about her.
"You're exactly like Mum," Belinda confided.
Her father muttered something under his breath. Grandmother slanted a glance up at him and laughed, a clear irrepressible gurgle.
Belinda's father lengthened his stride. When Belinda and her grandmother caught up with him, he was stooping to put the last piece of luggage in the car. It was a square wicker basket.
"Put it on the back seat," Grandmother said in her high, accented voice. "That's Senna."
The case got put on the back seat. Belinda slid in beside it.
"Did you have to bring that animal?" Her father demanded.
"What's Senna?" asked Belinda.
"Sennacherib is the cat, my dear."
Belinda looked at the basket with interest. She had never had a cat, or any sort of pet. Her father had said it wasn't fair to keep pets.
"Does he dislike strange places?" Belinda asked her grandmother.
"Of course not."
Grandmother opened the basket and lifted out a Siamese cat. It had a narrow head that looked out of proportion to the size of the powerful heavy body. The cat had slanting blue eyes with something of the look of Grandmother's about them. Around his neck was a narrow leather collar with a bell that tinkled as he stared around the car.
"He's beautiful." Belinda was entranced. "Please can I hold him?'
Grandmother lifted the cat onto Belinda's lap. He kneaded his sharp claws into her lap, his purring vibrating through her as he closed his eyes.
"He likes me, Gran." There was disbelief in Belinda's voice. Animals usually ignored her. If she tried to pat a cat or a dog, it always rose in a dignified aloof manner and walked away.
"Belinda," Grandmother said. "I'm not used to being called 'Gran' or 'Grandmother'. Call me Matilda."
"But I like to call you Grandmother. You're the only relation I have."
"That's true," agreed Matilda.
Belinda nestled closer, and explained how awkward it was not having any relations, when everyone in the school had dozens.
By the time the car had pulled into the neat little house hidden among the large trees, Matilda knew all about Belinda's shocking reputation in the school sports, the trouble she had with Maths, and how she always got A for art, about Peggy turning up her nose at the scones because of the turpentine, and Amanda always snubbing her.
"Fiona fixed up the spare bedroom for you," Belinda's father said as he carried the cases through to the end room.
Belinda followed, still nursing the sleepy Senna. She hoped Matilda would like the room.
It was all green and gold - the sort of room you would have if you lived under the sea. The side drapes were a deep green, with a trailing pattern that could be waving seaweed or tree branches. The floor was covered with a gold rug and the bedspread was green. On a table under the window, white gardenias floated in the green bowl.
"Lovely," said Grandmother, and Belinda's father gave a relieved sigh.
Belinda sneaked a look at him. She just couldn't understand why he was so edgy with Matilda. She seemed an absolutely perfect grandmother - just the sort that Belinda would have chosen. If, of course, you could choose your own grandmother.
"Matilda, do you think Senna is hungry?" she asked.
Matilda turned around and inspected Senna. He met her gaze unblinkingly.
"Yes dear, I'm sure he is."
Senna jumped out of Belinda's arms, stalked along the passage and into the kitchen and waited by the refrigerator, tail high.
Belinda picked out a pretty saucer. The cup had long gone, but it was much too pretty a saucer to throw out.
"Will this do to put his dinner in?" she asked.
Matilda looked at the saucer, and her eyes twinkled. The saucer had a design of blue birds flying around the rim.
"I'm sure he will appreciate it. Senna is very partial to birds."
Belinda found a nice piece of fresh liver her mother had left for her father's dinner. She cut off generous slices. Senna put his head down and started eating.
He kept on eating and Belinda kept on cutting up the liver. The rumble of his purring became louder. Belinda watched him eat. It was lovely having a cat in the house, even if it was only visiting.
It was odd how her father didn't like cats. He often said he wouldn't have minded a dog, but he hated cats.
"How old is Senna?"
"About your age." Matilda said. "But he's got a lot more sense than a child your age, because for a cat, he's practically an old wise man."
"I've got a lot of sense for my age," Belinda protested.
Matilda's eyes twinkled, and the dimple deepened by the edge of her mouth. "I'm sure you have, Belinda."
Belinda's father cleared his throat. He had watched Senna eat all the liver with an odd expression on his face.
"Have a rest for a while, Matilda." His gaze rested on the licked clean saucer. "We can have dinner later."
Chapter three
The next morning, Belinda hovered around helping her father. "Clean handkerchief, laptop, mobile phone and organizer?" she recited.
"Get me the sales statistics like a good girl. On the bedside table."
Belinda rushed into his bedroom, weaving around Senna who batted screwed-up balls of paper up and down the passageway.
"They're not here."
"Nonsense! I just put them down before breakfast," her father grumbled as he followed her up the passage.
He stooped to snatch the balls of paper from Senna. "My sales statistics! They're ruined! Matilda!" The passage walls vibrated with his roar. "That damn cat will have to go."
"Don't swear, John." Matilda seemed unruffled as she smoothed out the papers. "They're just a little creased."
"Creased!" he yelled, and catching Matilda's glance, lowered his voice. "I would be obliged, Matilda, if you would keep that animal out of my papers."
"Of course, John." Her face was placid agreement.
He sighed and kissed Belinda. "I'll be back late tonight. Don't get into mischief."
Matilda followed him out the front door. "Before you go, John, where's the straw broom?"
"There isn't one, you'll have to use the vacuum cleaner," he replied.
Matilda giggled. Belinda looked at her. It didn't seem a very funny answer, but then Matilda laughed so easily.
The car roared off. Matilda turned to Belinda. "Bring some friends home after school, and I'll cook something nice."
Belinda's face drooped. She didn't have any real friends to invite home.
"What about Kate Kennedy? You said she was nice."
Belinda nodded. Kate was friendly. She might come.
"And Amanda Jones?"
Belinda shrugged. It was a waste of time asking her. Amanda never mixed with the rest of the class. Matilda raised an eyebrow.
Belinda flushed and wondered if Matilda could read minds. "I'll ask her."
She stammered out the invitation while Amanda was checking the tennis scores. Belinda felt her palms go clammy as she waited for the snub.
At last Amanda nodded, promised to come, and then went on checking. She didn't sneer, or come out with one of her cutting remarks.
Kate was delighted. "I've been dying to see what your new grandmother is like."
After school, the three of them set off for Belinda's place. Amanda was aloof, as though she regretted her decision to come, but Kate was so cheerful she never noticed as she chattered away.
As they passed the Higgins place, Kate slowed down. The high stone wall hid the grounds. They peered through the gates and glimpsed a drive edged with the overgrown hedge.
"I've heard that place is haunted," Kate whispered.
"I believe there's an old lady who lives there alone," Amanda agreed, also in a lowered voice.
It was Kate who discovered the hole where some of the stones had fallen through. Belinda had walked past it every day without noticing. With the overhang from the tree and the creeper, it was almost hidden.
Kate pushed back the creeper and wriggled through. Amanda, after peering after her, also wriggled through. Belinda waited alone for a few seconds, feeling foolish, and then curiosity urged her through after them.
Inside the grounds it was dark, damp and mysterious; the shrubs packed close around the tall trees, and high ferns crowding all the clearings. Belinda pushed through the ferns to the sound of dripping water.