The Art of Purring (The Dalai Lama's Cat 2)

“You’ll find me at yoga,” he said.

“You’re always so conscientious,” she told him. “But I may not be there regularly this week.”

“I won’t be missing any classes.”

There was a curious pause before she persisted. “If I could just have a phone number or something?”

After a moment, and perhaps with some reluctance, Sid reached into his jacket pocket, took out a black leather wallet, and retrieved a card.

“It doesn’t have your name on it,” observed Serena as he handed it to her. “Just an address and phone number.”

“Ask for Sid.”

“They’ll know who you are?”

Sid chuckled. “Yes, they all know me.”

Serena was distracted for the rest of the day. There were moments when I looked up to see her behind the counter staring into the mid distance—something I’d never seen her do before. On one occasion she carried a bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc from the wine cellar to the kitchen instead of to the customer’s table. On another she waved good-bye to a customer without giving him his change. She was going through the motions of being maître d’, but her thoughts were evidently elsewhere.

Sid’s visit had been as much a shock as a joy. How could she have missed it? Her own feelings had been etched in the delight on her face as he had reached out to touch her. And she had been unusually self-conscious as she realized just how much careful thought he had devoted to her situation. But now that he was no longer there, her thoughts were clouded by doubt. The news of Franc’s imminent return, the revelation of Sid’s interest in her, his bold but scary business proposals—it was a lot to take in. Why did everything always have to happen at once?

Shortly after lunch, a succulent feast of tender sole meunière that I devoured gratefully, I heard her replaying some of Sid’s suggestions to Sam, but veiled in reservations. “I’m not sure Franc would be will

ing to let me use the mailing list,” she said, confiding her doubts. “Seems he doesn’t want the café to have those associations.”

Sam was silent.

“Even if Gordon Finlay did open doors for me,” she continued, “it’s a long way from that to a steady flow of retail orders. How would I pay the bills in the meantime?”

It was a strange afternoon. The Himalaya Book Café was usually such a convivial place to spend time, but today it was as though the familiar music of the café had been transposed into a minor key. Dark clouds rolled across the sky, and the breeze grew so chilly that by three o’clock, Kusali had to swing the glass doors shut.

For my own part, I remained only because I was so afraid of what I might encounter if I returned to Jokhang during working hours. The very idea of the giant monk setting finger on me sent a shudder through my fluffy, gray boots. Though His Holiness’s arrival was only days away, the threat of the giant monk dampened my excitement.

For Serena, it seemed that whatever excitement she might be feeling after Sid’s visit was more than tempered by her worries about Franc’s imminent return.

And that evening’s hot-chocolate session seemed to confirm how dangerously unsteady things had become. After the usual exchange of signals between Serena and Sam, she had made her way to their spot, followed soon afterward by Kusali. On his tray were three mugs of hot chocolate—Bronnie had also become a regular—along with the dog biscuits and my milk.

Marcel and Kyi Kyi were soon attacking their biscuits ravenously, as though it was the first food they had seen all day. I attended to my milk with somewhat more decorum. Sam came over from the bookstore and sat down heavily opposite Serena.

“Bronnie coming down?” Serena asked, nodded at the third mug of chocolate on the tray.

“Not this evening,” Sam said wearily. Then, after a pause, “Maybe never.”

“Oh, Sam!” Serena’s face filled with concern.

He took a long sip of chocolate before glancing at her only briefly. “Big argument,” he said.

“Lovers tiff?”

He was shaking his head sadly. “More.”

Serena remained silent before he told her, “Says she’s always wanted to go to K-K-Kathmandu. A volunteering job has come up there. She doesn’t seem to understand that I can’t just walk away from the bookstore to go with her.”

Serena pursed her lips. “Difficult.”

Sam sighed deeply. “The job or my girlfriend. Great choice.”

There was no one in the bookstore by now, and only one table of diners remained in the café—four regulars idling over the remnants of their crème brûlée and coffee. With Kusali still on duty, neither Serena nor Sam was paying much attention to what was happening beyond their table, which was why they were caught completely off guard by the arrival of a visitor who seemed to materialize out of nowhere. As Franc’s teacher and self-appointed adviser to Sam, he was no stranger to the café, but he hadn’t been seen here in quite a while. This visitor only came here for a specific purpose.