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

We followed a short, paved path to the house. There was a flight of marble steps to the front entrance, which was under a portico. With its columns and double French doors with polished brass hardware, the entryway had an air of formality.

Serena opened one of the doors, and we found ourselves in a large foyer with wood paneling, Indian carpets, and a long, very old-looking table that smelled of furniture polish. Otherwise, the room was empty. But it wasn’t immediately apparent what sort of building we had stepped into. The entryway had neither the cold impersonality of an office foyer nor the welcoming warmth of a private home. Straight ahead was an open door leading into a corridor. To the left was another door that opened into a reception room. On the right was a flight of stairs.

While we were contemplating all this, a middle-aged man in a shirt and tie emerged from the corridor and walked toward us.

“May I help you, ma’am?” he asked, glancing with a somewhat startled expression at me sitting beside her.

Serena nodded. “Is Sid available, please?”

He looked bewildered.

“Sid,” she repeated, seeking to dispel his confusion. “Perhaps he has something to do with IT?”

“IT?” he repeated, as if this was the first time he had heard the term. He shot a worried glance toward the stairs, before starting out in their direction.

“I will make a request,” he said.

Before he had crossed the foyer, we heard a door opening somewhere above us, and then Sid appeared at the top of the stairs. Just as on the day before, he was wearing a dark suit and looking distinguished and important.

“I was glancing out the window a moment ago. I thought it was you,” he said, sounding surprised. Pleased, too. But was there also a certain reserve?

“Thank you, Ajit,” he said, dismissing the man who had greeted us.

Ajit bowed briefly before scurrying away.

As Sid descended the stairs, Serena glanced down at me and said, ‘‘I hope you don’t mind, but it seems I was followed. I don’t suppose you allow cats in here.”

Reaching the bottom, Sid gestured with open arms. “Of course we do! Any time! An establishment that has no cat has no soul.”

“I have some news I wanted to share with you in person,” Serena told him. Her eyes were bright. “I hope it’s all right coming to your office.”

“Perfectly,” he said, smiling. “Let’s go somewhere where we won’t be disturbed. I am, however, expecting a phone call any minute, which I will have to take.”

He ushered us into a room with sofas, bay windows, and gilt-framed paintings, then continued through a set of glass doors to a veranda overlooking the lawns and gardens I had seen before, from a very different perspective. The veranda was furnished with comfortable cane furniture.

For a moment, Serena stood looking out, taking in the beauty of the grounds. There was a driveway hugging the perimeter of the property, shaded beneath tall pines. A flicker of movement through the trees caught her attention.

“Oh, look,” she said, gesturing toward the white Mercedes moving toward up the driveway at a gracious speed. Behind the wheel was a distinctive figure in a dark jacket and gray cap. “Does he work from here?” Serena asked.

“He does,” replied Sid, inviting her to sit.

“A drink?” he offered.

She shook her head. “I won’t be long.”

As he pulled up a chair opposite where she was sitting, I sniffed at the legs of the furniture, which had a tang of wax about them. Standing on my hind legs, I inspected the fabric on the cushions, worn with use. Even though I had never been here before, I felt immediately at home. I hopped up on the chair next to Serena’s, so I could survey the scene around me.

“Franc made a surprise appearance at the café late last night,” Serena began.

“So soon?”

She nodded. “He didn’t give advance notice because he doesn’t want to come back as manager. Not immediately. In fact”—a smile lit up her face—“he’s talking about job sharing. He’d like more time outside the café.”

“Really?” Sid sat forward in his chair.

“It gets better,” Serena confided. “The whole thing about him not liking the curry nights and spice packs was a misunderstanding.”

“What?”