Christmas at Tiffany's Read Online Free PDF

bed, which was covered with a mink-coloured waffle throw and so many plumped-up cushions they practically reached the footboard. A small grey and white gingham bedroom chair was covered with clothes, mainly black, and an entire wall was given over to shelving exclusively for shoes. Her mouth dropped as she took in the rows upon rows of them. It was like Gil’s gun room!
    Back down the hall, the sitting room was similar in size to the bedroom, with just enough room for a sofa and two armchairs – no TV, she noticed – and the in-out kitchenette was squeezed between the sleeping and living areas of the apartment like a room divider.
    Cassie stood looking at the pathetic kitchen. She had bigger towels. It was pristine, that was about the best thing she could say about it: two black gloss wall units and a single floor unit, all without a smudged fingerprint anywhere. There wasn’t a grain of sugar or puff of flour or even a single crumb beneath the toaster because . . . she looked along the metre-long worktop – there was no toaster.
    Okay, she knew Kelly wasn’t big on wheat. It figured she wouldn’t have a toaster. But the thought of forgoing her customary marmalade on toast first thing in the morning was enough to trigger a panic attack.
    In fact, it alerted her stomach to the past twenty-four hours’ liquid diet and, rummaging in her handbag, she unwrapped the chocolate muffin she’d bought on the flight. As she munched nervously, her eyes began to tune in to another absence as well. Where was the kettle? She opened a wall cupboard – and found a towering pile of jeans. She opened the other one, already sensing that it would be too much to hope for cups, and, as she thought, found a jumble of bras and knickers inside.
    She looked down suspiciously at the oven, one hand on her hip. It was doll-sized, with only a single ring on the hob. It didn’t seem likely that she was going to find the kettle in there.
    She heard a key in the lock just as she opened the oven door to discover stacks of colour-coded cashmere jumpers.
    ‘. . . Obviously,’ she said wryly, turning round to greet Kelly and motioning towards her discovery. ‘Although, if you’re trying to get rid of moths, I hear it’s best to put them in the freezer.’
    Kelly dumped her bags on the floor and gave her a bear hug. ‘You made it! You actually made it!’
    Cassie nodded, somewhat amazed herself. ‘I guess I did.’
    ‘So what do you think, huh? Like it?’ she asked, taking the half-eaten muffin from Cassie’s hand. ‘No carbs.’
    Cassie watched as the muffin was dumped in the bin without further comment. ‘Uh . . . it’s so . . . cosy.’
    ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Kelly called behind her as she marched towards the bedroom, wiping crumbs off her hands. She sat on the bed and took off her shoes, placing them tenderly on the shoe wall. ‘Small. Not what you’re used to.’ Cassie heard the sounds of zips and buckles clattering to the floor.
    ‘Well, no, it’s certainly not . . . what I’m used to,’ Cassie admitted. ‘But it’s . . . charming.’
    ‘You say charming, but “poky” is what you mean,’ Kelly said, grinning as she came back out into the hall in a wheat-coloured cashmere all-in-one jumpsuit.
    ‘Oh my God!’ Cassie cried. ‘You look like one of Jennifer Lopez’s babies!’
    Kelly elbowed her, but she was giggling. ‘You’ll be begging for one of these once winter starts to bite! Just you wait.’
    ‘Oh yes, me in a Babygro! I can see it.’ Cassie giggled even harder. ‘And I can see the face Gil would make if he saw me in it even more.’
    Kelly considered the prospect for a moment and then she began to laugh even harder, setting Cassie off until both women were doubled over and leaning against the wall for support. Their ability to give each other the giggles had been legendary at school – earning them both numerous detentions – but Kelly stopped when she realized that Cassie was no longer crying