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ones.” History repeating itself, he thought as he took a healthy bite of toast and washed it down with tea. Of course he wanted Kitty to feel at home here and make it her own, but he saw no need for added expenditure. “Kinky, what do you think of them?”
    Kinky abruptly stopped lifting a plate from the table and cast a speculative eye from O’Reilly to Kitty. “Well, sir—”
    â€œDear Fingal, don’t put Kinky in an awkward position.”
    â€œNo, I’d like to know her opinion. Kinky is the soul of practicality. She’ll know if the dining room needs new curtains. Kinky?”
    â€œWell, sir, in truth, they do look a bit the worse for wear, so. And you know how her ladyship liked to climb them when she was a wee kitten. I hadn’t really noticed until Doctor Stevenson said—”
    â€œDoctor Stevenson, is it? That’s why you’re suddenly so eager to redecorate, Kitty—”
    â€œRedecorate? Nonsense,” Kitty said, a steely look in her grey eyes. “I just think the dining room needs some new curtains. I’d got used to them too, but Doctor Stevenson mentioned them to me after the last time she was in here.”
    â€œI see.” He could feel the tip of his nose turning cold and probably white. Nonie Stevenson was a member of his practice, a professional colleague, but she had no business meddling in the affairs of this house, and he’d tell her so the next time he saw her.
    â€œI’ll be running along, back to my kitchen,” said Kinky, quickly finishing loading up her tray and leaving without a backward glance.
    â€œThank you, Kinky,” Kitty called to the woman’s retreating back.
    Kitty, Nonie, and even Kinky seemed to be ganging up on him. Lord, he thought, preserve me from this monstrous regiment of women. Then he grinned. Don’t be such an old bear, he told himself. In a minute he’d be growling “Bah, humbug” if he wasn’t careful.
    â€œReally, Fingal. Doctor Stevenson just mentioned in passing to Kinky and me what a charming old house it was and were the curtains original. It was a joke. There was no malice in it, but it made me think. And while I’m quite sure you do like them, they are going. And don’t forget, I earn my own keep. I’ll be happy to pay for the new ones.”
    The front doorbell trilled. Unusual, he thought, taking a sip of his tea. Patients normally came to the waiting room door at the side of the house unless there was some crisis. “I’m very fond of those curtains,” he said. “I don’t think they need to go at all. In fact I’m sure of it.”
    He heard Kinky’s voice and some other very familiar female tones.
    Outside the window, flakes were dancing and whirling, clinging to the branches of the old yew trees in the churchyard across the road, lying on the windowsill, and sticking to the glass of the panes. “Would you look at that,” he said, pointing out through the window. As far as he was concerned, the subject of new curtains was closed. “First snow this winter.”
    â€œBrrr, I hope it blows over soon.”
    Kinky peeked into the dining room, looking from Kitty to O’Reilly. “Sorry to disturb you,” she said, “but I do have a very anxious Maggie Houston and one of their dogs in the hall, so. You’ve known Maggie forever and Doctor Stevenson does not. I think the poor woman needs to see a friendly face. Would you speak to her, sir? She’ll tell me nothing.”
    Through the years, Kinky had become a triage officer par excellence, and if she thought a patient should be seen at once O’Reilly knew better than to demur. “Bring her in here,” he said.
    â€œI think I’ll go and get a tape measure,” Kitty said, and made an obvious wink to Kinky, “and measure the windows here when Maggie’s gone.”
    Maggie MacCorkle, as she had been before