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Authors: Sharyn McCrumb
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keep the television volume turned low and to hide his cache of Louis L’Amour novels behind the filing cabinet in case of unannounced visits from the wedding terrorists.
The doctor’s companion in exile was Valerian, an imposing Maine Coon Cat, whose shaggy and shedding dark coat had thrown him into disfavor with the current regime. After having been driven from the sofa, the armchair, and even the carpeted staircase by cleaning fanatics, the feline emperor had demanded asylum by scratching on the door of the doctor’s study and meowing piteous complaints about his ill-treatment. All eighteen pounds of him were now comatose and sprawled across the book galleys as he recuperated from the fatigue of an interrupted nap. His fellow refugee napped in the chesterfield chair by the window.
When someone tapped softly at the door of the study, Dr. Chandler awoke with a start—and with just enough presence of mind to thrust his paperback between the seat cushion and the arm of the chair. Valerian did not twitch so much as an eyelid.
“Come in!” called Dr. Chandler, scrambling to get to his desk. Unfortunately, his manuscript wasburied under an avalanche of cat, so he endeavored to look busy with a yellow legal pad.
“Robert, I thought you might like some coffee,” said his wife, appearing in the doorway with two cups and a plate of cookies on a newly polished silver tray. The tray and the fact that the cups were from a set of antique Bavarian china, usually kept in the bow-fronted display cabinet, were other signs of the rampant formality occasioned by the wedding. “I see you plan to join me, dear,” said Dr. Chandler, eyeing the second coffee cup. “How thoughtful.”
The invasion having been accomplished with the utmost civility, Amanda set the tray on the glass-topped table and settled into the chesterfield chair with the air of one who is about to preside at a meeting. “How is your chapter coming?” she asked, handing him the plate of cookies.
“Oh, tolerably,” he replied, glancing nervously at the cat. “It’s painstaking work, you know.”
“No. I cannot
think
why anyone would want to write a book. It pays very little and people only seem to read them in order to express unkind opinions about them.” She shrugged. “Really, why bother? But you go right ahead with your little hobby. I just wanted to tell you how things were progressing with the wedding.”
“Elizabeth isn’t even here yet,” he grumbled, thinking it only fair that the blushing bride should share in the general inconvenience.
“No, but that hardly matters, does it? Brides are a nuisance, anyway. They always come up with the most unsuitable ideas and often one has to be quite firm with them.”
“Why shouldn’t she have some say-so, Amanda? It’s her wedding!”
Amanda laughed. “Really, Robert, you might aswell ask the cow how it wants the roast cooked. Elizabeth will be wise to leave everything to me, as I have a great deal of experience in social matters. She did phone to ask about locating one of her old school friends from high school. Wants her for a bridesmaid.”
“And were you able to assist her?”
“Oh, yes. She certainly isn’t hard to find.” Amanda paused for effect. “It’s Jenny Ramsay.”
Dr. Chandler thought hard. “That name sounds familiar. Have we met her?”
“Every day for four years, Robert. She’s the weather girl on Channel Four.”
“Oh!
Jenny
. The perky little blonde who does the parades and things.”
“Exactly. Elizabeth hasn’t seen her since high school, but apparently they’d made some sort of teenage promise to be bridesmaids at each other’s wedding. I told you brides were dangerous.”
“She’ll look quite nice as a bridesmaid.”
“Certainly she will.” Amanda looked as if she wanted to add something, but apparently she thought better of it. “Oh, well!” she said with a little laugh. “Where was I? Oh, yes. I have made an appointment with Country Garden in
The doctor’s companion in exile was Valerian, an imposing Maine Coon Cat, whose shaggy and shedding dark coat had thrown him into disfavor with the current regime. After having been driven from the sofa, the armchair, and even the carpeted staircase by cleaning fanatics, the feline emperor had demanded asylum by scratching on the door of the doctor’s study and meowing piteous complaints about his ill-treatment. All eighteen pounds of him were now comatose and sprawled across the book galleys as he recuperated from the fatigue of an interrupted nap. His fellow refugee napped in the chesterfield chair by the window.
When someone tapped softly at the door of the study, Dr. Chandler awoke with a start—and with just enough presence of mind to thrust his paperback between the seat cushion and the arm of the chair. Valerian did not twitch so much as an eyelid.
“Come in!” called Dr. Chandler, scrambling to get to his desk. Unfortunately, his manuscript wasburied under an avalanche of cat, so he endeavored to look busy with a yellow legal pad.
“Robert, I thought you might like some coffee,” said his wife, appearing in the doorway with two cups and a plate of cookies on a newly polished silver tray. The tray and the fact that the cups were from a set of antique Bavarian china, usually kept in the bow-fronted display cabinet, were other signs of the rampant formality occasioned by the wedding. “I see you plan to join me, dear,” said Dr. Chandler, eyeing the second coffee cup. “How thoughtful.”
The invasion having been accomplished with the utmost civility, Amanda set the tray on the glass-topped table and settled into the chesterfield chair with the air of one who is about to preside at a meeting. “How is your chapter coming?” she asked, handing him the plate of cookies.
“Oh, tolerably,” he replied, glancing nervously at the cat. “It’s painstaking work, you know.”
“No. I cannot
think
why anyone would want to write a book. It pays very little and people only seem to read them in order to express unkind opinions about them.” She shrugged. “Really, why bother? But you go right ahead with your little hobby. I just wanted to tell you how things were progressing with the wedding.”
“Elizabeth isn’t even here yet,” he grumbled, thinking it only fair that the blushing bride should share in the general inconvenience.
“No, but that hardly matters, does it? Brides are a nuisance, anyway. They always come up with the most unsuitable ideas and often one has to be quite firm with them.”
“Why shouldn’t she have some say-so, Amanda? It’s her wedding!”
Amanda laughed. “Really, Robert, you might aswell ask the cow how it wants the roast cooked. Elizabeth will be wise to leave everything to me, as I have a great deal of experience in social matters. She did phone to ask about locating one of her old school friends from high school. Wants her for a bridesmaid.”
“And were you able to assist her?”
“Oh, yes. She certainly isn’t hard to find.” Amanda paused for effect. “It’s Jenny Ramsay.”
Dr. Chandler thought hard. “That name sounds familiar. Have we met her?”
“Every day for four years, Robert. She’s the weather girl on Channel Four.”
“Oh!
Jenny
. The perky little blonde who does the parades and things.”
“Exactly. Elizabeth hasn’t seen her since high school, but apparently they’d made some sort of teenage promise to be bridesmaids at each other’s wedding. I told you brides were dangerous.”
“She’ll look quite nice as a bridesmaid.”
“Certainly she will.” Amanda looked as if she wanted to add something, but apparently she thought better of it. “Oh, well!” she said with a little laugh. “Where was I? Oh, yes. I have made an appointment with Country Garden in
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