"New Orleans is an exciting place for a wedding trip," Qwilleran murmured.
Lynette said blithely, waving the hand with the dazzling diamond, "There's an old superstition: `Marry on Tuesday, many a bluesday.' But I'm not worried. The ceremony will be here in the clubhouse, with the pastor of our church officiating. Then there'll be a simple reception for about forty - "
"But we'd like you and Polly," Carter Lee interrupted, "to be our guests for dinner at the Boulder House Inn. We're staying there overnight and leaving on the shuttle flight Wednesday morning. The inn has limo service to the airport."
"It'll be a Scottish wedding, Qwill," Lynette said. "I'll wear a sash in my clan tartan over a white dress and fasten it with the silver brooch you gave me. Polly will wear her floor-length kilt and a clan sash. Then there are several Scottish customs, like a wreath of flowers in my hair and a silver coin in my shoe - for luck. At the reception Polly will break the traditional oatcake over my head."
Qwilleran said, "You can buy oatcakes at the Scottish bakery, but silver coins haven't been struck since the l960s."
"I'll cheat. I'll put a thin dime in my shoe. Carter Lee has to leave his left shoelace untied during the ceremony."
"I'll cheat, too," Carter Lee said. "I'll wear evening pumps."
"Yes, he'll be in dinner clothes," Lynette said, "but we're counting on you, Qwill, to wear full Highland dress."
He nodded his agreement, having received innumerable compliments on his Scottish Night debut.
"Since I'm marrying out of my clan, I'm supposed to keep my maiden name. Once a Duncan, always a Duncan... But you don't mind, do you, honey?"
Her fianc‚ squeezed her hand and smiled indulgently. They were being so coyly sentimental that Qwilleran shuddered inwardly. Coy sentimentality was beyond his frame of reference. Furthermore, he had a dinner date, and they had said they would drop in for a few minutes; they had been there more than an hour. He should never have served them a second glass of wine. In an effort to jog them loose from their prenuptial euphoria, he changed the subject, saying somberly, "Carter Lee, how is your cousin? Is she - ? Is she - ?"
"She's holding up," he replied. "She'd like to marry again, and that's a healthy sign. She should go on with her life. She has so much to give. I hate to see it go to waste, don't you, Qwill?"
Before Qwilleran could formulate an appropriate reply to a debatable question, all three of them were unnerved by a sudden fracas in the foyer: snarling, thumping, hissing, growling. He jumped up and rushed to the scene. The two cats were fighting over the Russian fur hat, rolling in it and kicking it - and each other - with hind legs like steel pistons.
"Stop that!" Qwilleran thundered, and the two culprits streaked away in opposite directions. "My apologies!" he said to Carter Lee.
"No problem. I'll just give it a good shake."
They drove away in the Land-Rover, and Qwilleran went to dinner at Polly's, but not before giving the Siamese a treat and saying, "You rascals!"
-12
Qwilleran's life that winter was a jigsaw puzzle of work, social events, reading, daily snowshoeing, telephone calls, and the exigencies of domesticity with two Siamese cats. Once a week the pieces fell into place when he spent a predictable weekend with Polly Duncan. He could count on contentment and stimulation in equal quantities, plus at least one set-to with Bootsie. The weekend following Lynette's birthday party, something went wrong, however. It started with broiled whitefish and broccoli at her place on Saturday evening and ended with Sunday dinner at the Palomino Paddock, a five-star restaurant in Lockmaster County.
Over the whitefish Qwilleran said, "If Lynette thinks she can keep her wedding sub rosa until after the fact,she's living in a fool's paradise. I saw Fran Brodie today, and already she'd heard the news from a customer."
Polly said, "It's the newspaper publicity she wants to avoid. Her friends are being invited informally by phone, and they understand she doesn't want them to talk about it."
"Of course they understand, but will they keep their traps shut? This county is inhabited entirely by blabber-mouths."
"Qwill, dear, you're so cynical."
"I've decided why Danielle was so moody at last night's party. Willard had arranged to take her to Mardi Gras, and it's his hotel reservation that's now being used by Carter Lee for his honeymoon, so Danielle is left out... unless Lynette jilts him, in which case he can take Danielle."
"It's not a matter for levity," Polly said in gentle rebuke. "Lynette's intensely committed to this marriage. She's resigned from her job at the clinic, and she's transferring her property to joint ownership."
"So you think it's safe to go ahead and buy a wedding gift? If we'd known sooner, they could have had a black female schnauzer."
"It's really a problem, deciding what to give them. She has a houseful of heirloom silver, porcelain, and art."
Qwileran said, "We could commission a portrait artist to paint the two of them together in front of their gingerbread house - like Grant Wood's American Gothic but without the pitchfork. There's a guy in Lockmaster who does portraits, and he's quite good."
Polly liked the idea enormously.
During their time together they talked about this and that. She said, "You're enjoying your snowshoes, aren't you? I see you shoeing around the Village in your orange padded vest and orange hat."
"That's so rabbit hunters won't mistake me for a snowshoe hare... Have you done anything about getting your stereo repaired?"
"I've called Lucky Electronics three times."
"When you call Lucky, you're lucky if he shows up, and if he comes to look at your problem, he has to order a new part, and if it ever arrives and he installs it, you're lucky if it works. We should buy you a new rig, state-of-the-art."
Then they talked about the library. "We have a problem with the new water-saving commode in the restroom," Polly said. "It flushes with a crash and a roar that resounds throughout the building. The clerks giggle; the subscribers are alarmed; and I'm embarrassed, but the plumber says there's no way out - it's the law!"
On the way home from Lockmaster on Sunday evening, Qwilleran made a big mistake. He asked, "Have you had any luck in finding Bootsie a companion?"
"At last! My friend in Lockmaster is having a litter, and she's promised me first choice."
"Be careful what you call your new kitten. T. S. Eliot says the name you give your cat can affect his selfesteem, or words to that effect. It may be that Bootsie doesn't like his name."
"What do you mean?" she asked tartly.
"You have to admit that Bootsie is hardly an appropriate name for a noble, aristocratic animal like a Siamese. If it's causing him to doubt his self-worth, that could account for his bad disposition."
Polly bristled. "He's very sweet and loving when we're alone."
"But you have to lock him up when you have company. Does that sound like a well-adjusted pet?"
"You're the only one who can't get along with him!" Polly said belligerently. "I think you and your theories are absurd, and that goes for T. S. Eliot, too."
Qwilleran was unaware that one should never question a person's choice of name for a pet, no matter how intimate the friendship. Unwittingly he had crossed the line. "Sorry I mentioned it, Polly. I didn't mean to upset you."
"Well, I'm very much upset, and I find this entire conversation unconscionable. Just drop me at the front door. I have a headache."
He did as she requested, and she was gone without another word. He had never witnessed such an outburst from this intelligent, reasonable woman.
The Siamese realized he was disturbed, and they kept their distance, regarding him anxiously. Without speaking to them, he got into a lounge robe and bedroom slippers and scooped a dish of ice cream for himself. Snow was falling lightly. The daylight was fading. Sprawled in his big chair with feet propped on the ottoman, he wondered, Now what? Should I call and apologize? Will she come to her senses? What did I say? How did it start?