Earthly Delights Read Free

street at lunch hour, instead of confronting a screaming hysterical dervish in a back alley at five in the morning. ‘What’s happening?’
    A man had strolled into Calico Alley, walking over the hard damp cobbles without making a sound. He was tall, with close-cropped dark hair, a scar across his forehead, and the most penetrating, bright and beautiful eyes I had ever seen. He was dressed in jeans, boots and a leather jacket lined with fleece.
    ‘These cunts want to send me to hospital!’ Suze replied, moderating her tone. I wondered how many of my exceptionally respectable neighbours were even now listening fascinated from their bedroom windows above. Usually the only noise in Calico Alley at that hour was the muted hum of my machines and the occasional squeak as the Mouse Police made another arrest.
    ‘Chill,’ advised the man. ‘These kind people saved your life, and even if you don’t, I think it’s worth saving. Now say thank you nicely and come on. The bus stops at Flagstaff tonight, remember?’
    To my amazement, Suze turned to us and said, ‘Thank you,’ in the carefully enunciated voice of a well-behaved little girl who has taken elocution lessons, and followed the tall man out of Calico Alley.
    ‘Who was that masked man?’ I gasped, leaning back against the jamb and fanning myself.
    ‘That’s Daniel,’ said Julie, similarly affected. ‘He’s theheavy on the Soup Run. You’re a baker, aren’t you? Then he’ll be back.’
    ‘Oh, good,’ I said faintly. ‘Why?’
    ‘’Cos he’s on the Soup Run,’ said Thommo, nettled. ‘Gotta go,’ he added, listening to his radio. ‘Fry-up on the ring road. Come on, Jules.’
    Julie stuffed her equipment into her bag and prepared to follow her partner.
    ‘What’s a fry-up?’ I asked as she walked away.
    ‘A burning car,’ she said. ‘Nice work. You saved that girl’s life. ’Bye,’ she said.
    I went into the bakery, made my muffins and my French bread, threw in a few twists with the leftover dough, all the time trying not to think. The terrible colour of the girl’s face. The feel of her bones under my hands. And the cruel ungrateful strength of her reaction, which had not surprised the ambulance officers at all.
    It was only when I observed Horatio examining Heckle’s foot that I was recalled to my own duty of care to my dependants.
    Heckle, uncharacteristically, allowed me to feel over the injured foot. I could see a small puncture in the hard pad of his weathered paw. It had been bleeding freely, which, in view of what might have been in the syringe, was good. I bagged the syringe and put it in my drawer, meaning to take it with Heckle to the vet. Could cats catch AIDS? There was a feline version called … what was it called? God, I was so tired, and so cold …
    Heckle, who is basically an old softie, was purring rustily under my absent-minded caresses when there was a knock at the open door and the rich voice asked, ‘Can I come in?’
    ‘Why not?’ I asked, feeling weak.
    He drew the door closed behind him. Horatio, contrary to his usual practice, walked towards him, tail straight as a taper, uttering a polite greeting. Daniel of the Soup Run dropped to one knee, holding out a hand. Horatio was graciously pleased to allow his ears to be stroked and his whiskers smoothed.
    ‘What’s your name, ketschele?’ he asked.
    I found my voice. ‘He’s Horatio. This is Jekyll and this is Heckle, and I’m Corinna.’
    ‘Delighted,’ he said to all of us. ‘I came to thank you,’ he added, taking the other chair. Jekyll planted herself firmly on his foot. She is a cat who makes her intentions plain.
    ‘It was nothing,’ I murmured. ‘It bloody nearly was nothing, too. If those ambulance people hadn’t turned up … she was as blue as this floor …’
    I hadn’t realised how upset I was. Daniel dislodged Jekyll gently, took off his coat, wrapped it around me, and ferreted around in the stockroom. He came back bearing a bottle of