No Cooperation from the Cat by Marian Babson

ambition—and money.
    “A terrible, disgraceful, public scene!” Edytha reiterated. “You’d have thought Isolde did it on purpose! Poor Isolde was quite, quite shattered! Those Brazil nut crisps were her special party piece.”
    “Brazil nut crisps?” Martha’s professional interest was aroused. “I haven’t seen a recipe for those in the files.”
    “You wouldn’t. Isolde was magnanimous enough to offer it, but Melisande rejected it—quite rudely. She said she wouldn’t use anything she couldn’t test personally.”
    “I noticed there were never nuts in any recipe,” Jocasta said. “But I thought perhaps it was because peanuts seemed to be the only available nuts you find when travelling.”
    “I’ll try that recipe,” Martha said quickly. “If Isolde—”
    “No need, I can tell you right now,” Edytha said. “Any of us could. We have reason enough to remember it.”
    “Yes?” Martha was already reaching for her pencil.
    “Just as many Brazil nuts as you think you need. Shelled, of course. Put them in a pan of cold water, bring it to the boil, simmer for three or four minutes. Then drain and slice them lengthwise—” She paused thoughtfully. “That’s the tricky bit—they slide around, so watch your fingers and the knife. Then just spread the slices out in a baking dish, dot with butter, sprinkle with salt, and bake in a moderate oven—”
    “That would be about a hundred eighty degrees Celsius,” Martha translated, writing briskly, with one eye on Banquo, who looked as though he was coming to the boil himself.
    “For fifteen minutes or so, stirring once in a while,” Edytha concluded.
    “It sounds as though that would work under a grill, or even in a frying pan,” Martha said thoughtfully. “And olive oil could be used. I’ll check it out and—”
    “What about her EpiPen?” Banquo boiled over. “She always carried one. Why didn’t she use that?”
    “What’s an EpiPen?” said Evangeline, as well she might.
    I’d wondered, too. She and I were of a generation where all these new problems had never existed. I wondered if it were true, the theory that claimed the present generation had sanitised themselves out of the protection a few healthy germs used to give.
    “It’s a preloaded syringe, ready for use, with an extra-long needle so that it can be used through clothing.” Edytha knew. “She always carried one with her. So did I, when I was working with her.” Jocasta got another accusing glare.
    “No one ever told me,” Jocasta said. “That must have been why she rushed to the ladies’ room. She wanted to inject herself in privacy when she realised what was happening. Only…” Her voice faltered. “Only it was too late…”
    “Oh, what does it matter?” Banquo threw out his arms dramatically. “Melisande is gone. My darling—dead! And I—I am left alone. Bereft! Robbed of my expectations, my plans, my future!”
    It hadn’t done Melisande any good either.
    “Poor boy…” Edytha’s hand snaked towards his brow again. “Poor, dear boy…”
    “Gone!” He moved out of reach, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. This was his scene and he was not going to be upstaged. “The love of my life! My soul mate!”
    He had a use for his brow himself. He smote it—actually smote it. I hadn’t seen a gesture like that since the days of the old silents.
    “Dear boy, don’t upset yourself so. You’ll make yourself ill.”
    “ Make myself ill? I am ill! Heartsick. Heartbroken. The only woman I ever loved is dead. I am dead, too. My life is over. There is nothing left for me until I join my darling Melisande in the grave. No other woman will ever touch my heart again. I will never love again!”
    Jocasta gave a strangled sob and stumbled towards her room. Edytha didn’t look any happier herself.
    “My next expedition shall be my last!” Banquo declared. “I will make sure I do not return!”
    “Can we depend on that?” Evangeline murmured.
    That did it.