The Cat Who Came To Breakfast

CHAPTER 9

When Qwilleran arrived at Four Pips following the episode on the nature trail, the Siamese were playing a cozy domestic scene in the lounge chair, which they had commandeered as their own. Koko was biting Yum Yum's neck, and she was slobbering in his ear.

"Disgusting!" Qwilleran said to them.

He stripped off his clothes and took a shower. Despite the arduous detour through the woods, he still had to check the Island Experience and make a reservation for the Rikers. He took a rest and revived himself with some packaged snacks before dressing in his second-best shirt and pants. His crumpled duds he stuffed into a plastic bag for another trip to the Vacation Helpers.

On the way he could not resist stopping at the inn to report his adventure to the Hardings. They were sitting in their favorite swing, close to the front door, where they could see everyone coming and going.

"I've just met some members of the royal family, he told them as he walked up the steps.

"The Appelhardts?" the vicar said in surprise. "Dare one inquire how that came about?"

Qwilleran related the story without mentioning his aerobic feat with an armful of hysterical botanist. "She said she lived at The Pines, and I helped her get home. Two men were playing croquet, and one of them happened to be a doctor. He took her away in a golf cart, and I would guess she was airlifted to the mainland."

"Well, well, well!" Mrs. Harding exclaimed.

"Three holes in the ground," her husband said mock-

"Oh, Arledge!" She slapped his wrist. "He always says that," she complained to Qwilleran fussily.

The vicar said, "We haven't seen the royal family since the Ritchies disposed of their property. As their house guests we were invited to garden parties at The Pines. Th'e matriarch of the Appelhardts always presided like the dowager queen mother."

"The refreshments were sumptuous," Mrs. Harding recalled, "and there were peacocks strutting around the garden, spreading their tails and making horrendous noises when one least expected it."

"Alas, the Ritchies are gone, and the royal family is still with us," the vicar said in a grieving tone. "If you are interested in a little authentic history, Mr. Qwilleran—"

"I'm very interested!" He pulled up a chair.

"In the 1920s, the Appelhardts bought the western half of the island from the government and displaced the islanders, who had been tolerated as squatters. They established the Grand Island Club for millionaires who enjoy nature—if not too uncomfortably natural. According to widespread belief, they bought the land for ten dollars an acre and sold it to club members for ten dollars a square foot. I suspect it is now worth ten dollars a square inch." He finished with a chuckle that developed into a coughing spell.

Mrs. Harding rummaged in her handbag. "Here, "Arledge, take this lozenge, and do be careful!"

Qwilleran said, "I had only a brief glimpse of their estate from the rear, but it seems extensive."

"Oh, yes!" she said. "Besides the main lodge there are smaller lodges for the married sons, cottages for the help, stables for the horses, a large swimming pool with pool house, tennis courts—"

"My dear, you sound like a real-estate agent," her husband chided.

She gave him a reproving glance and continued. "The married sons are professional men. The young woman you met is their only daughter. She never married. There's also a very handsome son—married several times, I believe. He appears to have no serious calling."

"The prodigal son," Mr. Harding explained. "Inevitable in every family of means."

His wife said, "The Moseley sisters will want to hear about this, Mr. Qwilleran. The daughter was a student at the school where they taught. I'm sure you've met Edith and Edna, haven't you?"

"I met one of them at the fruit basket, but I don't know whether it was Edna or Edith. She was promoting bananas as a source of something-or-other."

"That was Edna. She's the taller of the two and wears glasses."

"It's Edith who wears glasses," her husband corrected her. "Edna wears corrective shoes and speaks with a soft voice. Edith taught dramatic arts and always projects from the diaphragm. Edna taught science, I believe. She's the prettier of the two—"

"Well, you must excuse me," Qwilleran said as Mr. Harding paused for breath. "I have an important errand to do. We'll continue this later."

His next stop was the Vacation Helpers service center where he dropped off his clothes to be pressed. Shelley greeted the silk shirt like an old friend. "You're really hard on your clothes," she said.

"Don't blame me. My roommate flew off the handle."

"Do you let her get away with that?"

"My roommate is a male with four legs and a tail and sharp teeth," he explained.

"Oh, don't tell me! Let me guess! You have a German shepherd.... No? A Weimaraner?"

"You're not even warm. I'll give you a clue. He has a dark mask."

"A Boxer!"

"No. I'll tell you what," Qwilleran said. "I'll pick up my pressing in an hour or so, and you think about it in the meantime."

The Island Experience was the last in the row of commercial establishments on West Beach Road, and it was the most imposing. The rustic lodge was landscaped with taste and money. Instead of the traditional porch, a contemporary deck spanned the front elevation, overlooking the lake. There were tubs of salmon-pink geraniums to match the salmon-pink umbrella tables, but there were no guests in the salmon-pink canvas chairs.

Qwilleran assumed they were all in the gazebo, drinking the complimentary champagne. He rang the bell.

The woman who greeted him was a handsome, well-dressed, mature woman with a sparkling smile. "Welcome to Island Experience! I'm Carla, your merry innkeeper."

"I'm Jim Qwilleran, a bad-humored traveler from the mainland."

"Trudy!" she called over her shoulder. "Guess who just walked in! The Qwill Pen himself!"

Another woman with designer-style appearance and personality came briskly into the foyer, smiling and extending both hands in welcome. "We've been reading your column in the little newspaper here, and it's enchanting! We remember your by-line from Chicago, too. Are you looking for a place to stay? Be our guest!"

"To tell the truth, I've been on the island since Sunday," he said. "I'm traveling with pets, so I'm obliged to stay in one of the cottages at Domino Inn."

"Why don't you stay here and let the animals have the cottage? The Vacation Helpers will feed them and walk them for you."

"It's not so simple as that," he objected. "I appreciate the suggestion, but my purpose here at the moment is to find lodgings for a couple of friends. Arch Riker and his wife—he's publisher of the "little newspaper'—want to spend this weekend on the island. I believe they'd enjoy your inn."

While standing in the foyer he had scanned the adjoining rooms and had noted the impressive antiques and impressive decor and also the lack of guests. Someone was hovering in the living room, but she wore a salmon-pink uniform and was dusting the bric-a-brac.

"Let us show you around," Carla offered, "It took nerve to paint the plank paneling white, but I think it enhances our country antiques, don't you?"

There were loungy sofas in the living room, foils for the expensively severe tables, desks and cupboards. In the dining room Windsor chairs surrounded a long trestle table; its pedigree was palpable even to Qwilleran. Upstairs, only one door was closed; open doors revealed perfectly appointed bedrooms and sitting rooms that seemed to be waiting for a magazine photographer.

"Do you think your friends would like a suite?" Trudy asked as she handed him a card listing the rates.

There were four bedrooms and two suites. The Garden Suite was twice the price of a bedroom, and the English Suite was the most expensive of all, having a Jacobean canopy bed with twisted posts.

"I think Mr. and Mrs. Riker would like the English Suite," he said, chuckling inwardly at the thought of his friend's indignation. Arch could afford it, but he always played the tightwad. Furthermore, he had been goading Qwilleran for his Scottish thrift for four decades. It was time for sweet revenge.

"We put fresh flowers in the English Suite," one of the women said. "Do you happen to know what the lady likes?"

"Yellow."

"Perfect! Yellow looks lovely with the dark oak. We'll phone the mainland and have them shipped over by ferry."

With the arrangements completed, Qwilleran was invited to have champagne in the gazebo. "Make mine a soft drink, and I'll accept with pleasure," he said.

The gazebo was screened, not only against mosquitoes but against wandering cats. Several healthy specimens, two of them pregnant, were prowling about the backyard, waiting for the hors d'oeuvres.

"Everyone feeds them," Trudy said. "The island is really overcatted."

They sat in white wicker chairs while a timorous young island woman in salmon pink brought the champagne bucket, glasses, and a flavored mineral water for Qwilleran. He proposed a toast to the two merry inn-keepers and then asked the standard question: What had brought them to the island? The women looked at each other briefly for cues and then began an overlapping dialogue:

Carla: "Both our families have been members of the Grand Island Club since it began, so we've been summer neighbors all our lives, until—"

Trudy: "Our husbands died, and our children thought the Caymans were more exciting, so—"

Carla: "We sold our memberships and—"

Trudy: "Started traveling together, buying antiques and staying at country inns."

Carla: "We collected so much stuff, we had two options—"

Trudy: "To open an antique shop or start a bed-and-breakfast, so—"

Carla: "We decided we'd like an inn, because we love meeting people and playing the host."

Trudy: "And then we heard about the Pear Island opportunity. Imagine our surprise when—"

Carla: "We realized it was our own Grand Island with a different name."

Trudy: "Actually, we're delighted, because—"

Carla: "There's something about this island that gets into the blood."

As they stopped for breath, Qwilleran blinked his eyes and shook his head. Seated between them, he was turning rapidly from side to side to keep up with their dizzying recital. "May I change my seat in order to see both of you lovely ladies?" he asked. It was no exaggeration; he wondered how many hairdressers, masseuses, dressmakers, cosmetic surgeons, orthodontists, and voice coaches had labored to produce these perfect womanworks. Their well-modulated voices assumed a higher pitch, however, with each pouring from the bottle.

A tray of canapes was brought to the gazebo by the painfully awkward server, who was trying hard to do everything right. When she had gone, Qwilleran asked, "Do you staff your inn with islanders?"

"We debated that. Don Exbridge wanted us to hire students from the mainland, but our families always hired islanders, and we felt comfortable with them. They're part of the island experience, you know."

Another chilled bottle of champagne arrived, and another bottle of kiwi-flavored mineral water, and Qwilleran said, "You mentioned that you sold your memberships. Not your real estate?"

The women exchanged a glance that said, Shall we tell him? Then they succumbed to his sincere gaze and sympathetic manner. They were relaxing. They were eager to talk.

"Well," Trudy began, "when we decided to sell our property—which our families had held since the 1920s—we learned we had to sell it back to the club at their price, which was much less than market value. It was in the original contract. Nothing we could do about it."

Carla interrupted with belligerence, "If my husband had been alive, he'd have found a loophole, believe me!"

"The Grand Island Club is controlled by the Appelhardt family, who founded it, and Mrs. Appelhardt, the mother, is a hard woman," Trudy said.

Carla again: "I call her a Harpy! I always felt sorry for her kids. They grew up with our kids. None of them turned out the way she intended."

Trudy: "Poetic justice! She wanted the eldest to be a lawyer. He got through law school but could never pass the bar exam."

Carla: "The next was supposed to be a heart surgeon. And what is he? A perfectly wonderful vet! He always loved animals."

Trudy: "And what about the girl? She's a real flake!" Carla: "And the youngest boy! She's bailed him out of three marriages already." Trudy: "It would be funny if it wasn't so sad." Carla: "Why does he bother to get married?" Trudy: "He's just an easy mark who can't say no." When the merry innkeepers signaled for a third bottle of champagne, Qwilleran stood up, thanked them for their hospitality, and explained that he had another appointment. Leaving them happily relaxed in the wicker chairs, he walked down West Beach Road, marveling at the intrigue behind the Golden Curtain. He picked up his pressed garments, then stopped at the Domino Inn to phone Riker's office. He left the information about the reservation with the secretary.

"He's here. Want to talk to him?" asked Wilfred. "Haven't time. Late for an appointment." Qwilleran knew that his friend's first question would be "How much?"

On the way out of the building he was stopped by the Moseley sisters. "You're a hero!" they said. "The Har-dings told us about the rescue."

"Just happened to be in the right place at the right time."

"We knew Elizabeth very well," said the one with glasses. "She was a student at our school in Connecticut. When we read about Pear Island resort in the Boston papers and made our reservation, we had no idea we were coming to her beloved Grand Island." "Have you seen her since you've been here?" "Oh, no! We wouldn't think of intruding," said the pretty one with a soft voice. "Is she looking well?"

"In the throes of a snake bite one is never at one's best."

"Very true." They nodded, smiling at his arch observation.

"But to answer your question seriously, she seems to be unhealthily thin."

One sister murmured to the other, "She's having problems again. She's not eating. Too bad she can't get away from that environment."

A profile of the rich little mermaid was forming in Qwilleran's mind. "Was she a good student?"

"Oh, yes," said Edith. "All her life she'd had private tutors and was a prodigious reader, but she was a nervous wreck when she came to us. We all worked hard to improve her diet and elevate her spirit and draw her into campus life."

"We succeeded to a degree, and she should have gone on to college, but ... it didn't happen. The reason was never explained. We corresponded for a while, but gradually she slipped away into her small world. Poor Elizabeth!"

Qwilleran concealed his personal curiosity by inquiring, "And now that you've seen her beloved island, what do you think of it?"

"It's not the idyllic spot we expected," said Edna ruefully. "The Bambas are a lovely family, but we doubt that we'll stay our full two weeks."

"The island isn't even pear-shaped," Edith said. "We've taken carriage rides on both beaches, and it's an isosceles triangle!"

Edna said, "You should put that in your column, Mr. Qwilleran."

As he ambled back to Four Pips, he was painting a mental picture of the royal family, brushstroke by brushstroke: the daughter who wouldn't eat ... the son who couldn't stop marrying ... the law graduate who couldn't (or wouldn't) pass the bar exam ... the doctor who preferred to treat animals ... the autocratic mother who was said to be a Harpy.

Upon arriving home he immediately wrote a brief note to Mrs. Appelhardt: "Found these on the nature trail. Hope your daughter recovers swiftly." He signed it "J. Qwil-leran." Then he set out for the Vacation Helpers once more, carrying the botany book and the silver pencil.

Shelley was at the counter. "Back again?" she said in surprise. "Was the pressing okay?"

"No complaint," he said, "except for the scorch marks on the back of the shirt."

Her look of horror melted quickly to a smile. "Oh, you're a male chauvinist comic! What can we do for you now?"

"Could you wrap these two articles and deliver them to an address on West Beach Road? Tomorrow will do."

"We'll be happy to. I have a nice box and some seagull giftwrap."

"This is not a gift," he said. "On the other hand, I don't want it to look like a homemade bomb. Here's the note to go with it, and here's the address." He looked over her shoulder to the rear of the room. "Is your cat supposed to be scratching himself in the baby's playpen?"

"No! No! Out! Out!" she screamed, chasing him and slamming a door. "Somebody left the door open. That's Hannibal, one of our resident strays."

"A "resident stray" sounds like an oxymoron," he said.

"Hannibal is foxy, but he's no moron," she quipped. "He knows a good place to eat. How did you like your box lunch?"

"The meatloaf was excellent. Could you deliver a whole one to me, say, every other day? I'd pay in advance."

"Absolutely}" said Shelley. "We'll start tomorrow. Midge makes four-pounders for sandwiches and two-pounders for snacks."

"Two-pounders will be ample."

"Is it for your roommate?" she asked, looking him stead-ily in the eye. "Your roommate is a raccoon, isn't he?"

Shelley looked so triumphant, so pleased with herself, that he said mildly, "How did you guess?"