Jackson, Braun Lilian

Author:The Cat Who Moved a Mountain
Language: eng
Format: azw
Published: 2013-01-06T16:00:00+00:00

When Sabrina arrived she brought two pillows in bright red and gold, each a yard square, to stack on the living room floor between two windows. "I think they make the statement we want," she said. "They balance the color accents and add some desirable weight at that end of the room . . . How's the ankle, Qwill?"

"The Pain-and-Anguish Scale went down sixteen points when you walked in," he said, admiring the misty green silk dress that complemented her decorator-blond hair. "Shall we have a drink before we leave?"

"Mmmm . . . no," she said. "I've requested a choice booth, and they won't hold a reservation more than fifteen minutes. I hope you don't object to the no-smoking section . . . Where did you find that fabulous burl bowl? At Potato Cove? ... I see you need candles. I could have brought you some."

"I have plenty," he said. "The candle dipper sold me a lifetime supply, but I haven't found time to stick them in the candleholder . . . Let me check out the Siamese before we leave."

The two cats were exactly where he thought they would be—perched on top of the new floor pillows, looking haughty and possessive, their cold blue eyes challenging anyone to de-throne them.

With Qwilleran taking one experimental step at a time, he and Sabrina walked slowly down the long flight to the parking lot.

"Do you mind living alone?" she asked.

"I've tried it both ways," he replied, "and I know it can be a let-down to come home to an empty apartment, but now I have the Siamese to greet me at the door. They're good companions; they need me; they're always happy to see me come home. On the other hand, they're always glad to see me go out—one of the things that cats do to keep a person from feeling too important."

On the way down Hawk's Nest Drive she pointed out clients' houses. She had helped the Wilbanks select their wallpapers . . . Peel & Poole was re-designing the entire interior for the Lessmores . . . Her partner had done the windows and floors for the Wickes house.

"Are you the only design studio in town?" Qwilleran asked her slyly.

"The only good one," she retorted, flashing an arch smile at her passenger. "I'd give anything to get my hands on Tiptop and do it over, inside and out."

"Would you kill for it?"

He expected a flip reply, but Sabrina was concentrating on traffic at the foot of the drive and she ignored the remark.

They turned onto a road that roughly paralleled the overflowing banks of the Yellyhoo River and then led into the foothills where the restaurant called Pasta Perfect occupied a dimple in the landscape. It was a rustic road-house that appeared ready to collapse.

Qwilleran said, "In the flat country where I live, this place would look like a dump, but in the mountains even the dumps look picturesque."

"It was a challenge to blend its dumpishness with an appetizing interior," Sabrina admitted.

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