Now and in the Hour of Our Death Read Free Page B

howls changing to a basso rumbling.
    Fiona bent and scratched the animal’s head.
    â€œDid you miss me?”
    â€œAaarghow.”
    â€œNo, you didn’t. You’re missing your grub. Come on.” Fiona walked into the kitchen, took out a bag of Tender Vittles, and poured the pellets into a bowl. McCusker attacked the food as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks.
    â€œTime you went on a diet.” Fiona glanced down. “Maybe it’s time I went on one myself.”
    She left the kitchen and entered the small living room, parquet-floored and two-thirds covered with two Persian rugs. They’d cost her a fortune, but apart from McCusker, who had she to spend her money on?
    Through the tall bow windows, over the houses opposite, she could see the neon glare of the downtown towers and, beyond them, the lights of the Grouse Mountain ski run. They’d be getting it ready for the ski season.
    She switched on a floor lamp and drew the curtains. It wasn’t cold enough to light the false-log fire that sat flush in the wall flanked by two floor-to-ceiling bookcases where she kept her records segregated as classical or pop in the lower racks. She glanced at her books—old friends from Ireland and new Canadian acquaintances.
    She looked over to a telephone and answering machine. No flashing red light. So Tim hadn’t called and—no, she’d not call him.
    She shrugged, selected Carmen , and slipped it onto the turntable. Modern science, she thought, is a wonderful thing, as she turned off the speakers in the room and turned on those in the bathroom. She’d done the wiring herself after she’d read about the option in an interior-decorating magazine.
    The overture was finishing as Fiona switched on the bathroom light, threw a capful of Vitabath into the bathtub, and turned on the taps. At the sound, McCusker stuck his head round the door.
    â€œToo hot, McCusker.” The silly cat loved to drink from a running tap. Steam filled the room. Fiona slipped off her shoes. She inspected herself in a full-length mirror. She rubbed a patch clear.
    Deep-set, dark almond eyes, slightly slanted and set between little fans of laugh lines peered back at her. She turned to see herself in profile. Nose straight, not too big; lips—she pouted—full but not too full. Chin firm. Forehead smooth—well, two shallow creases, but not bad for a woman of forty-three. A few more silver streaks in the raven-black hair that was cut to frame her face. Tim had asked her not to dye the silver. Said he liked it. To tell the truth, she’d been pleased. Why should she try to pretend to be younger than she was?
    She stripped off her clothes. The room was warm and steamy, just like Kiri Te Kanawa’s Carmen, who was beginning to seduce Plácido Domingo’s Don José. “ Près les ramparts de Seville …” She hummed along and examined her naked body in the mirror. “Not the girl you were ten years ago—but you’ll do.”
    The telephone in the living room rang. “Go … away,” but then it might be Tim. She hauled open the bathroom door and raced for the phone.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œG’dye.”
    It was Tim. She’d know that Aussie accent anywhere.
    â€œYou all right? You sound a bit out of breath.”
    â€œI’d to run to get the phone.”
    â€œAnd I thought talking to me made you that way.”
    â€œIf you could see me now, you’d be that way yourself.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI’m naked.”
    â€œYeah. Right.”
    The room was cold. She felt the goose bumps starting. “And you’d better tell me what you want. I’m going to freeze.”
    â€œYou really starkers?”
    â€œI told you. I’m freezing.”
    â€œI could nip over. Warm you up.”
    â€œNot tonight you won’t. I’ve an early staff meeting tomorrow.”
    â€œBugger. I’m working on Friday night. How