"Here," Renton's arm appeared under her nose. He held out an umbrella and Merceline gave an unappreciative sniff.
"Well it's no good going out now! I'll get knocked unconscious by a falling hailstone!" She turned and walked into the living room, where a fire was roaring and a sleepy-looking cat lay curled up on a fat and fluffy rug.
Renton thought it was very unlikely that Merceline would get hit by the hailstorm on the account of her wearing such a sturdy hat. Merceline sat herself on one of the plump armchairs and called out: "Do we have any of that old brandy left? Renton? The brandy!" all at once without waiting for his answer.
Renton detached himself from the umbrella (brown with a splatter of artistically drawn water splashes making it look permanently wet) and went upstairs to run a bath. What bliss a bath could be. What heaven! Renton, on the odd occasion he took one, would fall into a sort of rigid trance and would lie for such a long time underneath all the bubbles and rubber sailboats, existing in peace, until he would suddenly remember something important he should be doing and leap out of the cool, grimy water looking like a bleached prune.
"I said Renton!" came a shout from down below.
Merceline stared about the room as if she'd suddenly appeared and hadn't the foggiest idea how she got there. She looked at the portrait hanging above the fireplace. She didn't know who the figure was, and she didn't care, but she liked it. Yes, she thought approvingly, I like that painting. She turned her gaze to the small square table with a set of sparkling crystal glasses that sat near the window. There were small squat round glasses and tall elegant wine glasses, skinny glasses that could hold a single flower and tiny shot glasses with a bubble pattern all the way around, all arranged neatly on a silver tray. Well, yes, I believe I like those, too, she thought, although this thought made her tired.
She then looked at the cat. No, she thought sharply as she watched it sleep, I don't believe in the slightest that I like that.
Renton came wandering in at this point. He was wearing a maroon bathrobe.
"We have to get rid of that cat," said Merceline. She pointed a long finger at the fluffy orange ball and sent it a look of pure disgust. "That cat has to go."
"What? Get rid of Terpentin?" Renton asked incredulously, "but love, we've had her almost four years."
"Now! It's attitudes like that..." she started, but stopped when Terpentin suddenly stretched, opened her eyes, climbed gracefully to her feet and walked off in the direction of her food bowl.
"No," said Merceline,"I don't like it."
Renton said, "I made sausages earlier on."
Merceline declared she was a vegetarian and Renton frowned, trying to work out exactly when she had claimed this.
"Yesterday before last," she offered unhelpfully, "just as I witnessed the horrible massacre of all those poor horses."
"That was Wild Stride, the cartoon. And anyway, there's no meat in the sausages because I had them made especially." He didn't cross his fingers behind his back when he said this and he felt odd. He had a feeling of rebelliousness. Why, maybe he should open his bathrobe and walk around, just for the fun of it. His trembling hands had just touched the fuzzy bathrobe cord when Merceline said: "Sausage-less sausages?" and they jumped back to his sides like guilty school children.
"Oh dang it all!" he grumbled. He undid the cord in one swift motion and said loudly, "I'm putting them on! They like to cook for seven minutes only."
Merceline stood up. "Good lord, Renton, your bathrobe is open."
"Enjoy the show, lassie!" and he turned around just as Merceline reached out to close his robe. Her hands grasped air, she stepped awkwardly, stumbled over Terpentin, who meowed softly, and fell onto her left arm.
There was a crunching sound.
Renton would have looked over to check if she was alright, but he had turned down the hall at high speed in his haste to aid his rumbling, naked stomach and skidded on a puddle. He slid a few feet before crashing into the phone table.
"Renton!" called Merceline, "I think-"
Oh, dang it, Renton thought as he stared at the growing stain on the ceiling, left the bath running again.
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