'What gave me away?' He looked panicked.

'The way you hold the knife. Professional. It's all right, Jase. I'm not prying. It was just a comment.'

He relaxed enough to go back to the chopping. 'I was a kitchen hand, and that's what kitchen hands do, they chop. Vegetables, salad, potatoes, anything. Did food technology at school. Wanted to be a chef. But I like baking better. It's a kind of magic.'

This was the longest speech I had ever heard Jase utter. He realised it too and shut up like a clam. This did not bother me as I have a preference for silence in the morning. Jase finished the ginger, washed his hands again, then helped me unload sacks of flour into the hoppers. The Mouse Police slept on the empty ones but I didn't need cat hair in the full ones.

'Would you like some breakfast?' I offered.

'What y' got?' he asked, having returned to his customary taciturnity.

'I could go so far as a cup of coffee and a gingerbread m.u.f.fin.'

'Coupla rolls?' he asked. 'With cheese?'

I left him in the bakery while I got the coffee and some cheese. He tore into the rolls as though he was starving. Still had all his top teeth, I saw. The Mouse Police scented cheese and came to his feet and he almost snarled at them. Nature red in tooth and claw, I thought, and I didn't even like that on the Discovery Channel.

I gave Jase more cheese and more rolls and I cut up small bits for the cats. Everyone was full by the time I ran out of cheese and Jase unbent so far as to offer the last crumb to Heckle, who gratefully bit his finger.

I waited to see if he was going to cuff Heckle, in which case he was out of my bakery forever, but he just laughed.

'I should'a given you a bit when you asked nice,' he said to Heckle, who flattened the stubs of his ears in acknowledgment.

'Time to take the stuff into the shop,' I said.

'Wait till me clothes are dry and I'll help,' he offered.

I was a little suspicious of this sudden helpfulness but it was a fair offer and the trays were heavy.

'Is someone waiting for you outside?' I asked.

'Maybe,' he shrugged.

'Then you can stay here and mind the oven while I start loading the bread for the carrier. Don't touch the thermostat. I'll be just through here.'

I began to count loaves into trays destined for various restaurants. Jase was sitting as I had left him when I came back. He didn't know that there was a s.h.i.+ny metal vent in front of me which enabled me to see into the bakery. He had got up, bent to examine the oven, wandered around the room, opened the washer and loaded his clothes into the dryer, fiddled with something in the bathroom, come out again and sat down. I was actually watching to see if he was going to mistreat Heckle for biting him. But Heckle and Jekyll were out in the street, begging Kiko for sc.r.a.ps of fish.

I would have to watch him closely before I could leave him in the bakery unsupervised. I'm not going to have my cats terrorised by the hired help.

What was I thinking of? Leaving a heroin addict in my bakery, where a mere stout door and a few locks stood between him and the looting of all my possessions? I had obviously gone mad. He was going out as soon as his clothes dried.

But meanwhile he was company and he did chop very well. Presently Heckle and Jekyll came back, smelling strongly of endangered marine species of the Southern Ocean, and settled down on their flour sacks.

I poured the milk and water into the m.u.f.fin mix, belted it around a bit and ladled it into the m.u.f.fin tins, which Jase had already sprayed with oil. I pa.s.sed each one on to him to have its bit of crystallised ginger popped onto the top and then he slid them into the oven. We worked smoothly together and when they were all in the oven Jase's clothes were dry.

He changed into his skivvy and jeans and re-a.s.sumed his horrible sneakers. If the health inspector saw them in my bakery he'd condemn us on the spot and probably prosecute me under the Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty for having a weapon of ma.s.s destruction. I wondered how I could get him another pair without transgressing the 'no work, no pay' guidelines and decided that perhaps it might be easier to wash them next time and see if the dryer could deal with drying them. Then, if they fell to pieces, I could get him another pair in good conscience.

I realised that I was definitely thinking of Jase as one of the staff and shook myself. I couldn't adopt every stray in Melbourne. We loaded up and began carrying bread into the shop.

Jase was stronger than he looked. Goss was already outside as I opened up and she gave him a considering stare. It was the sort of measuring gaze of a young woman who is wondering whether that seconds dress, not quite right about the hem, is worth the sale price or whether it would be too much work to make it wearable. I was glad she wasn't directing it at me, but Jase seemed unaffected.

'Seen you around,' she said to Jase, opening the cash register and ostentatiously counting the float.

'Yeah,' he muttered.

'You were at Blood Lines last night,' she said, never taking her eyes off him. Jase set down the load of bread and turned to go back into the bakery. His ears were burning red. I felt pleased. So he did have some human emotions apart from hunger.

'You were with Suze,' said Goss. My, how broad was the acquaintance of my shop a.s.sistants. Where on earth had Goss and Kylie met Suze? a.s.suming that it was the same Suze. The one that Daniel had said was on the way out.

'Yeah,' muttered Jase, and escaped into the bakery to get some more bread.

'What're you letting him into the bakery for?' demanded Goss hotly.

'Why, what's wrong with him?' I asked.

She was angry. Her nostril ring twinkled as she panted.

'Well, duh, you aren't to know, but he takes drugs,' she told me solemnly.

'Yes, I know. He doesn't take drugs here. He scrubs the floor.'

'Oh,' she said. 'I suppose that's about right. Hey, scrub boy!' she yelled. 'f.u.c.king junkie!'

I was about to suppress Goss, who had never behaved like this in my shop before, when Jase came tumbling back, dropping his tray of bread on the table so that it rang.

'Not!' he yelled right back into Goss's face. 'Not a f.u.c.king junkie. Not for a f.u.c.king week. Not a junkie. What would you f.u.c.king know about it anyway?' he sneered. 'Little Miss Daddy's Girl, going to the clubs, thinks she's a f.u.c.king princess.'

'Goss,' I said. 'Jason. Behave. What's it to you anyway, if I employ an a.s.sistant baker?'

Jase swelled with pride. Goss slammed a braceleted hand down on the counter with an angry jangle.

'Suze was my friend,' she said. 'We went to the same school. She was a good girl! Then she met that s.h.i.+t of a f.u.c.king junkie!' She pointed to Jase, who was backing away.

'I never!' he yelled. 'She was on the f.u.c.king stuff before I met her! I tried to f.u.c.king help her!'

This was all sounding like a soap opera and I have never had any patience with soap operas. I grabbed Jase and hustled him back into the bakery and told him to stay there until I came back. That should ensure that he would run like a hare.

I grabbed Goss and hugged her. She broke into angry tears immediately. I patted her back. So thin that I could count every vertebra, feel every rib. I longed to feed her. But the best I could so was to murmur the old lie, 'It will be all right, Gossamer, it will be all right.'

'I liked Suze,' she sobbed. 'She was always so cool. And now she sucks old men in the alley behind the club for a hit. And it's all down to that Jase c.u.n.t,' she spat.

'What he says might be true,' I said. 'Stranger things have happened. People who are the coolest at school do tend to have peaked early. She might have been taking drugs all along. And if Jase brought Suze here to collapse on my grate then he saved her life. Come along, Goss, stop crying, wipe your face. Go into my bathroom and fix your make-up. Daniel is looking for Suze and he might be able to do something for her. Then come back and tell me about this club. Interesting name.'

Eighteen is, thank the G.o.ddess, a distractible age. Gossamer disappeared into the bathroom and I went into the bakery. Jase was, of course, gone. I was a little disappointed about that. I closed and locked the outer doors, patted the Mouse Police and, escorted by Horatio, went into the shop and opened the shutters.

Horatio levitated to his usual place next to the cash register, awaiting wors.h.i.+p. The door was open and the buyers of bread began to wander in, seeking gingerbread m.u.f.fins and French twists to fortify themselves for the coming toil. It was half an hour before Gossamer came back. She was beautifully made-up and composed. She had even stopped swearing, though the two of them had used 'f.u.c.king' more like punctuation.

'I'm sorry I yelled at him,' she said. 'I'm sorry I swore like that in the shop. You might be right. Maybe he even cares for Suze. And you'd like Blood Lines. It's a Goth club. You have to wear Goth clothes or the door b.i.t.c.h won't let you in. And I met the coolest guy there. I'm feeling a bit lost because Kylie managed to get off with that Jon guy she's been after. But I met the coolest of them all. I'm seeing him tonight.' She turned her kohled eyes to me and said in an excited whisper, 'His name's Lestat.'

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Only extreme control suppressed my yelp. How is it that some women are attracted only to the man who is guaranteed to do them the most harm? If Goss's Lestat was the same person as Daniel's Lestat then I had to say something. But what? Any indication that he was dangerous would just make him more attractive. I stacked the bread for the carrier at the door and tried to think.

Then, of all things, the newspaper rescued me. Goss regulates her whole life by the astrology column in the daily astonisher and she was reading it and frowning.

's.h.i.+t,' she said in a low voice.

'What's the matter?' I asked.

'It says this is a bad time to make new friends,' she said, pointing out the advice for Libra. 'So I'll have to see him another time.'

'Can you contact him?' I asked. She gave me that 'what was it like in the fourteenth century, anyway?' look to which I had become accustomed.

'Mobile number,' she said.

151.

Un.o.btrusively, I watched over her shoulder as she called up the address book in her phone and, while she tapped it in, I wrote the number down on the top of a pile of paper bags. I then folded the bag and put it in my pocket. It is uncool to talk on a mobile phone these days. Uncool travels fast in these days of amazing technological advances. I remember when Sony Walkmen were the epitome of cool. And I rode a stegosaurus to school, as Goss might have said. I remember when video recorders were the coolest thing. Nowadays if you haven't got DVD you are prehistoric.

Goss sent a text message. Her fingers flew. I was impressed. In the old days Goss would have made a wonderful morse code operator.

We settled down to sell bread. For a Monday, we did quite well.

Everything proceeded. I told Goss about Andy Holliday and his missing daughter and she was round-eyed with sympathy. I asked her if she had heard the name Cherie Holliday. She shook her head. Her hair was blue today, and flew around her face.

'But she wouldn't be calling herself that,' she said. 'Not if she went off in such a snit. I mean, her uncle was ... doing what she said. Her dad didn't believe her. She must have felt, like, gutted. She just went off into the night and he never saw her again and now he knows that she told the truth and he can't tell her. That's the saddest thing I ever heard.' There were tears in her eyes. They did her credit. This from a girl who had hounded a recovering heroin addict out of the shop. The young have such cheap, hard judgment, as Irene said in Galsworthy long ago. I decided to press my luck.

'So, when I get the flyers printed, will you help me spread them round?' I asked, expecting the answer 'as if'. But Goss revealed hidden depths of compa.s.sion.

'Sure. We can tape them onto lampposts, I always read the stuff on lampposts. If there's a picture. Have we got a picture?'

'Yes. I'll pick it up when Meroe and I go there today to help him put all his stuff away. You know what a terrible job that is.'

She giggled. 'Some of my stuff is still in boxes,' she said. 'I'd come too but I've got an audition. Second call for a soap. Wish me luck?'

I pressed my lips to her cheek and wished her luck. I added 'buy a large roll of sticky tape' to my mental list of things to do, which was getting alarmingly long.

Then we sold some more bread. By shutting-up time we had done reasonably well. There was still a sack for the soup van but every single gingerbread m.u.f.fin had been sold, which was nice. I made another mental note that I must tell Jase, if I ever saw him again.

I put up the shutters and went into the bakery to start cleaning. Horatio removed himself to the stairs and sat there with the Mouse Police as I swilled and washed. I opened the door into Calico Alley and there was the said Jase. He looked embarra.s.sed. He hung his head and mumbled.

'Sorry,' he said. 'Can I wash the floor?'

'If you explain,' I said. 'I can't have Goss upset like that.'

He thought about it, lingering in the doorway. I didn't say anything. This one he had to decide for himself. Finally he decided to talk.

'I know Suze,' he said. 'I met her when she'd been six months on the gear. She was lonely and so was I. So we sort of hung together. I swear I never turned her onto it. Some other dude did that, not me. She hangs out with some Goths at Blood Lines, that's why I was there.'

'You're a Goth?' I asked, looking critically at his clothes.

'No, they're all f.u.c.king mad. But they like ... company. Some of us used to hang outside Blood Lines and ...'

I thought of a face-saving formula. 'Make certain deals,' I said. He looked relieved.

'Yeah. And Suze ... makes deals. Blood games. Clean,' he said when he saw my face. 'New syringes and all. I don't understand it, really. But they pay her real good.'

'What's a blood game?' He s.h.i.+fted his eyes uneasily. 'They like to drink blood. Our blood. They don't take much. And they pay well-in heroin. I been working at the club and Suze has been selling blood.'

'All right, I believe you. And you're off drugs?'

'Didn't mean to but I ran out of money. Then I thought, I'm sick of ha.s.sling for a living, why not stop? It can't kill you. f.u.c.king near did. Been a week,' he said. 'I was real sick for a couple of days, just hid in a squat. Then I got so hungry I came out.'

'Well, at least I can feed you,' I said. 'Have two leftover ham rolls and get on with the floor,' I instructed, and he ate the ham rolls in three snaps of his jaw and got out the mop. In Jase, my need to feed people might have met its match.

He mopped the floor downstairs while I a.s.sembled a picnic supper out of the remaining ham, a good hunk of egg-and-bacon pie and a few slices of fruit cake. He deserved it for his morning's help in the bakery. I put it all in a supermarket bag. If he had to sleep rough he would at least be well fed.

I returned as he finished the floor and rinsed the mop. I slid onto the wet slates with my feet on a duster and handed him the bag.

'Supper,' I said. 'And here's your ten bucks. Thank you, Jason.'

'See you tomorrow, Miss,' he said, and went. I locked the door behind him.

In view of my agreement with Meroe, I was going to omit the g-and-t and Horatio's walk on the roof. He, however, stood at the door and cried until I gave in and carried him up to the garden. There he disappeared into the undergrowth where he clearly had some appointment. I sat down in the rose bower. No one on the roof but Mr Pemberthy, exercising Traddles. He didn't even lift his eyes as he stopped near me for Traddles to pee on an innocent bush.

'How is your wife?' I asked.

'She's at the specialist's,' he said. 'They don't seem to know what's wrong with her. She gets into these states. Nothing will please her but to try to sell the apartment. Since those letters came,' he said.

Then he seemed to run out of words. He waited until Traddles had finished christening the bush and went on his way. Poor sad, defeated man. It must have taken Mrs P years to grind him down to his present status of something lowlier than the average worm. He didn't even bother about his clothes anymore. His tweed coat was frayed at the elbows and there were stains on his tie and on his sleeves. But as he had told Meroe and me, he was into dominance and loved being Mrs P's slave.

Horatio came back as I finished my drink, chirruped invitingly to me as a signal that he was now ready for an extensive afternoon nap, and we went back to my apartment. There I left him and went to fetch Meroe to tackle the Great Unpacking.

Andy Holliday was a bit more together today. He gave me a picture of his daughter and allowed me to conduct him, and his bottle, down to the Prof 's flat. As I closed the door I noticed that he was actually pouring a gla.s.s for Professor Dion, which at least cut down the amount he was going to be able to drink.

Meroe and I surveyed the apartment. She set down her basket on the TV and said, 'It's no use relying on the labels. At least Lady Diana's furniture is here and she loved cupboard s.p.a.ce. You start in the kitchen and I'll see what I can do with the clothes.'

Boxes, naturally, were mislabelled or unlabelled until you turned them over and found that the labels were on the bottom. We called out discoveries to each other. The moving men appeared to have just dumped everything down where they felt like it and poor Andy had been too miserable to protest. Thus Meroe found the dishes neatly stored in the bathroom, and I found the linen offloaded into the kitchen. We swapped boxes and carried on the kind of long distance conversation only possible between two good female friends.

'I've got the computer,' I cried. 'And the printer.'

'Good, the telephone jack is just behind that polished wood table. I found it when I was looking for a power plug.' There was a ripping noise. 'And I've got the phone and the answering machine.'