Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

"How do you feel, lover?" Melinda asked as she stood in the passage outside Qwilleran's room.

"You seemed rather quiet during dinner." "After conversing with the same crowd for five days, I'm running out of things to say and also the patience to listen," he said.

"May I come in? I want to check your pulse and temperature. Sit down over there, please." She entered in a cloud of scent that had enchanted him three years ago; now it seemed too sweet, too musky. She inserted a thermometer in his mouth, counted his pulse, raised his eyelids, and looked at his eyeballs.

"You're still legally alive," she said as she drew a flask from her official black bag.

"Would you like a little nip for medicinal purposes?" "You've forgotten I can't have alcohol, Melinda." "Where's your tea-maker? We'll have a nice cup of tea, as they say over here." She filled the pot with water from the bathroom tap.

"How do you like the tour so far?" "There's too much of everything. Too much food, too much conversation, too much bus travel, too many tourists." Melinda sauntered around the room in familiar fashion.

"Your room looks comfortable. The doubles are better than the singles.

I'm at the end of the hall in Number Nine--for your future reference -comandthe furnishings give me gastro-intestinal burbulence. I have a wonderful view of the loch, though. Perhaps Arch would like to exchange with me," she said with a mischievous glance.

"Does anyone know the name of this loch? They all look alike to me," said Qwilleran, an expert at ignoring hints.

"Well, tell me about you, Qwill. What have you been doing for the last three years?" "Sometimes I wonder. The years speed by." He was in no mood to socialize or particularize.

"Apparently you're not married yet." "It's fairly well accepted in Moose County that I'm not suitable grist for the matrimonial mill." Melinda poured two cups of tea and splashed something from the flask into her own cup.

"I was hoping we could pick up where we left off." "I'll say it again, what I've said before, Melinda. You belong with a man of your own age-your own generation." "I like older men." "And I like older women," he said with brutal candor.

"Ouch!" she said and then added impishly, "Wouldn't you like a second-string girlfriend for your youthful moments?" "This is good tea," he said, although he disliked tea.

"You must have used two tea bags "Are you as... uh.. compatible with your present inamorata as you were with me?" "What is this? The third degree? I think you're exceeding your privilege as a medical practitioner." She was not easily deterred.

"Didn't you ever think you'd like to have sons, Qwill? Polly is a little old for that." "Frankly, no!" he said, irritated at her intrusion into his privacy.

"Nor daughters. I'm a bachelor by chance, choice, and temperament, and offspring are outside my frame of reference." "With all your money you should have heirs." "The Klingenschoen Foundation is my sole beneficiary, and they'll distribute my estate for the benefit of the county, the population of which is 11,279, according to Big Mac. So I have 11,279 heirs--a respectable heirship, I'd say.

" "You're not drinking your tea." "Furthermore, I resent suggestions for the disposition of my financial assets." "Qwill, you're getting to be a grouchy old bachelor. I think marriage would be good for you.

I speak as your medical adviser." She transferred to the arm of his chair.

"Don't move! I want to check the bump on your head." "Excuse me," he said and went into the bathroom, where he counted to ten... and then a hundred and ten before facing her again. She had kicked off her shoes and was now lounging on the bed against a bank of pillows.

"Won't you join me?" she invited playfully.

"I like red pajamas." He made a point of pacing the floor and saying nothing.

"Let me explain something, Qwill," said Melinda in a reasonable tone.

"Three years ago I wanted us to marry because I thought we'd have a lot of fun together. Now I have a couple of other reasons. The Goodwinter clan is dying out, and I want sons to carry on the name.

I'm very proud of the Goodwinter name. So I'll make you a proposition--since one has to be conventional in Moose County. If you will marry me, you can have your freedom at the end of three years, and our children will resume the name of Goodwinter. We might even have a go-o-od time together." "You're out of your mind," he said, suddenly suspecting that the strange look in her eyes was insanity.

"The second reason is... I'm broke!" she said with the impudent frankness that he had once found attractive.