Chapter EightMonday morning dawned sunny and bright. Molly took her camera over to the newly-furnished pigeonnier to take some photos for her website before the light got too harsh. Bobo bounded along at her side holding a stick in her mouth, hoping for a little tug-of-war, but Molly was thinking about the photos and didn’t take the hint.
Wiping her feet on the new doormat, Molly looked around the bottom floor, pleased at how appealing it looked. Ridiculously cozy and comfortable. Unusual sunbeams coming through the tiny windows Pierre Gault had made. He was an artist, really—his mark was on the place and the feeling he had created was all good: original, but not for novelty’s sake, and stylish without trying too hard.
She ran her hand over the smooth plaster wall, pleased that the old m
