Invitation to Provence Read Online Free PDF Page B

smaller gold letters were three names. Franny Marten’s was the last because, Jake supposed, she was the most recent partner to be taken on by the practice. He nodded his head, thinking she must be proud of that. It was quite an accomplishment considering the odds that were stacked against her, being left alone and without financial support at age seventeen. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. He wouldn’t bet on it though. The thought of inheriting money could do strange things to even the nicest folk.
    Inside there was a line of chairs filled with people clutching disturbed-looking cats in carrying cages and anxious-looking dogs sniffing the floor and each other, growling uncertainly because this was unknown territory. The young woman behind the counter was named Lindsey—it said so on the badge pinned to her green polo shirt. She smiled nicely at him and asked how she could help.
    Jake told her he was new to the neighborhood and he’d heard that Dr. Marten was a good vet. He said he really caredabout his dog and needed to introduce himself and make sure they got along. “Make sure we understand each other” was the way he put it, and Lindsey smiled and said she understood and that Dr. Marten was almost finished with an emergency and would be glad to discuss his dog with him.
    Jake took a seat next to a wheezing bulldog with bloodshot eyes. Flipping through a copy of
Cat Fancy
magazine, he wondered what the difference was between the pampered Persian in the picture and the feral black panthers that patrolled his cabin in search of food. Somewhere along the line of evolution they were related, but looking at this prize puss, he wasn’t quite sure where or how.
    “This way, please, Mr. Bronson,” Lindsey said, showing him into a small room with the usual steel table and equipment. “Dr. Marten will be with you in a moment.”
    Jake leaned against the table, arms folded, waiting. The door to the next room was open and he could see an enormous orange cat and his equally huge and overstuffed owner.
    “Look here,” Dr. Marten was saying sharply, “a bee-sting on the tongue is very dangerous to any animal, especially a cat. Marmalade’s tongue swelled and he almost stopped breathing. Fortunately, antihistamines took care of that, plus some oxygen. The swelling’s gone down and he’s able to breathe on his own. Right now he’s moping and very sorry for himself, but he’s taken a few tentative laps of water which, trust me, is the best thing that’s happened to him today.”
    She had a low, sweet voice and Jake found himself leaning closer, trying to catch what she was saying. He caught a glimpse of her back view and smiled. His guess about her had been close. She was tall, long-limbed, and a little bit gawky in a doctor’s white coat and jeans, but her hair waspale blond and not dark like Ali MacGraw’s. She wore it pulled back in a fat braid, like a pony’s mane in a dressage show, and a thin strand of silver and turquoise stones was strung around her neck. He’d bet anything she drank chamomile tea.
    He was still smiling when she turned and caught his eye.
    Surprised, she answered his smile. “Be there in a minute,” she called and went back to her patient and his owner.
    “The thing is,” she told the owner in a sharper tone, “it’s okay if you and the cat don’t eat for a while. You both have enough body fat to get by, but water is essential and Marmalade will have to stay here until I’m satisfied he’s okay.”
    “You’re right,” the owner said meekly. “Just do whatever is best for him.”
    “I will,” she promised. “But I want you to tell me you’re going to do what’s best for you, too. You can’t go on like this, Ronnie. You have to take yourself in hand, go to Weight-Watchers, go on a diet, go to the gym, or I’m afraid Marmalade will be needing a new owner before too long.” She patted his arm and turned away. “Okay, call me in a couple of hours and I’ll let you know