The Diva Serves High Tea (4 page)

I blew him a kiss.

“Aw, quit cozying up to Sophie,” grumbled Mars. “You're going to help, aren't you?” he asked me.

“I'll be along shortly—I hope.” I closed the door behind the two of them and went straight to my tiny home office.

It wasn't quite the way I had planned my day. I checked my calendar. Luckily, unlike Natasha, event planning was my business, and I had everything well in hand for the upcoming Guild of Matrimonial Lawyers meeting that started the next day. I had planned to attend the auction and tea anyway, so the late afternoon had already been blocked off. Nothing urgent demanded my attention.

When I arrived at the alley, Bernie was backing in a truck from his restaurant, The Laughing Hound, and Mars was directing him.

Three body-building types whom I recognized as bartenders and a waiter from Bernie's restaurant hopped out and opened the back doors, ready to work.

I packed the smaller items, like clocks and porcelain, in boxes. After a few minutes of loading, Natasha appeared, dressed to kill and screaming, “No, no, no!”

Dear Natasha,

I always order Earl Grey tea. It just can't be beat. But what's the bergamot that's in it?

—Tea Lover in Greycliff, Montana

Dear Tea Lover,

Bergamot is an orange that grows in Calabria, Italy. The oil from the peel of the orange is used in Earl Grey tea to give it that distinctive flavor.

—Natasha

Not even a strand of Natasha's almost-black hair was out of place. She had dressed in a cream-colored dress with a boat neck that revealed her shoulders, yet had three-quarter-length sleeves. A webbed belt accented her waist, and the fabric clung to her curves. She probably would have looked great for a photo shoot, but she clearly wasn't planning to lift a finger to move furniture.

“I'm glad I caught you. Not everything goes to the auction. Some of these items are mine.”

As it turned out, most of the furniture belonged to Natasha, which came as a surprise to me.

Mars shot me looks of incredulity as Natasha walked through the garage, claiming furniture. I knew why he was amazed. Not only did they already have a fully furnished house, but Natasha loathed antiques. She much preferred sleek modern furniture.

While the guys carried a faded velvet settee off the truck, Natasha sidled over to me. I braced for the worst.

“That was close! They almost stole my furniture. Imagine if someone had bid on it before I realized that my pieces had been included in the auction.”

She didn't
seem
devastated by the breakup with Mars. Her makeup was thick enough to cover a multitude of sins but her eyes weren't red from crying. She chattered on about the auction while I looked around at huge wardrobes and exquisite sideboards. “What are you going to do with all this furniture?”

Natasha turned to me and whispered. “Sophie, I've left Mars.”

I staggered backward a step. I had not seen that coming at all. I was so surprised by her twist on the situation that my mouth actually hung open.

“Don't look so shocked, Sophie. He's not the right man for me.”

I snapped my mouth closed. Had she been thinking about leaving Mars? Or was she twisting the situation to save face? I gazed around at the furniture. “Is that why you bought all this stuff? For your new home?”

For a very long moment she stared at me, as though my question had caught her off guard. A smile crept over her lips. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

There was only one problem. “I thought you weren't a fan of antiques.”

“A girl can change her mind, can't she?”

She certainly could. But this was a huge departure for
Natasha. Still, whatever had happened between her and Mars, they both seemed to be happy to move on. Maybe their split wouldn't be the big drama I had feared.

“Load that one! It's my contribution to the auction.” Natasha grimaced. “Ugh. Have you ever seen anything so scary? I couldn't have that in my house.”

It didn't seem so scary to me. It was an old sideboard painted cream. The guys shifted their hold on it and turned it around. The front had three carved sections. Two of them were of gorgeous fruit. Very pretty for a dining room. But the middle section featured a gargoyle face that made me shudder. Who would have carved such an evil visage on a sideboard? For once, I was in full agreement with Natasha. “What possessed you to buy it?”

She flapped her hand. “I needed something to donate to the auction. It's certainly unusual.”

“In other words, you got a deal on it.”

“You like old stuff. Will you buy it at the auction?”

“I'm all for supporting literacy, especially for kids, but I don't think I would like that particular piece in my home.”

Natasha frowned at me as though I had alarmed her. “What if no one buys it?”

There was a pretty good chance of that happening. “Then I guess it's yours.”

“Ugh. I just never have understood—”

She stopped midsentence. Aha! She still disliked antiques. Something was up with her.

Bernie latched the door on the truck, and Mars climbed inside. Just before Bernie hopped in the driver's seat he said, “See you at the antiques store, Natasha.” The truck pulled out.

Natasha fluffed her hair. “That wasn't so bad.” She looked at her watch. “Now I can have lunch and relax for a few hours. See you later.” She started toward her house.

I spun around and grabbed her arm. “You're kidding, right? Those guys are going to dump everything in a big pile if you're not there.”

“But I have a lunch date.”

A date? Wow! Mars hadn't needed to agonize over leaving Natasha. She'd been planning the same thing all along. “Then you'd better cancel it.”

She tilted her head and whined. “Sophie . . .”

“No way. This is not my gig. You made promises, and I am not filling in for you. Pull yourself together and get going. They'll be arriving at the store any minute. And I'd suggest wearing clothes that can get dusty.”

“Sophie! When did you become so selfish? Can't you do me this teensy little favor?”

I walked away—fast! Maybe Natasha could wheedle other people into doing everything for her, but I had had enough of it. Of course, when I turned the corner in front of her house, I felt a little guilty. After all, she
had
been attacked the night before. But then I saw a curtain move in her living room window and the vague outline of a man drifted away.

I knew one thing. It was not Mars.

I spent the next few hours working on the upcoming Halloween ball at the Kennedy Center and trying to put Natasha and her tea auction out of my mind. It wasn't my responsibility to fix it, I kept telling myself.

Besides, one thousand family lawyers were about to descend on Old Town for their annual meeting and they
were
my responsibility. They had taken care of their own agenda but I had been hired for a few special events like the banquet on their closing night, and special trips around Washington, DC, to entertain their families while the lawyers attended sessions.

Just before two o'clock, I walked Daisy and came home to shower and dress for the Tea, Brie, and Skeleton Key auction and tea. The announcement had said something about Victorian apparel. I located an outrageously fancy cream-colored hat adorned with lush peonies, faux pearls, and a dramatic fluffy faux feather that I had worn for an event years ago. I pulled it out of the hatbox and sought an appropriate dress to go with it. A sleeveless dress of faint pink lace over cream picked up the colors of the hat nicely,
even if it wasn't exactly right for early fall. The skirt flared to mid-calf, which seemed appropriate to me. I added dangling pearl earrings and a plain pearl necklace. I wasn't sure why, but pearls seemed both Victorian and appropriate for tea.

Shortly before three, I walked across the street and knocked on the front door of my best friend, Nina Reid Norwood.

She opened the door, ready to go in a floral dress and a glamorous hat that tilted forward over her face.

We walked along the streets of Old Town, feeling wildly overdressed. I filled her in on the developments between Natasha and Mars.

“The only part that surprises me is that it took him so long,” Nina said. “No one could ever say he didn't give that relationship his best shot.”

“You don't think it's peculiar that she's already dating?”

“There is nothing that Natasha values more than saving face. She would do anything to make it seem as though the split was her decision, and we should pity Mars.”

We approached the tearoom, where clusters of people were gathered on the sidewalk.

The Parlour had opened during the summer. Located on King Street at the end of a block, it had taken over the space of two shops. Large windows allowed for sidewalk gazing—both in and out. The owner and brainchild behind The Parlour, Martha Carter, had decorated it like an upscale European tearoom. While there were a few small dining tables where one could sit, most of the tearoom was arranged in little parlor-type groupings. Sofas and comfy chairs clustered around coffee tables where tea and goodies were served. Antique accents imparted elegance. It was comfortable while maintaining a hint of formality. I had only been there once before so I looked forward to an afternoon of tea and pastries.

I pulled the door open and stepped into a different world. A string quartet played soothing classical music. I smiled when I saw them, pleased that they had made it.

The room was already filled with patrons, many of whom had dressed in the Victorian spirit that Natasha requested. Ladies wore hats of every imaginable color and a couple of the gentlemen wore top hats. I heard my name being called and looked around. My neighbor Francie had already snagged one of the best tables by the window.

“Over here, Sophie.” With a wrinkled and age-spotted hand, Francie patted the loveseat where she sat. “I'll share my sofa. Nina, you take the chair.”

Opinionated and outspoken, Francie had lived in Old Town for most of her adult life. Widowed many years before, she spent her days gardening and bird watching. She wore a high-necked lacy beige blouse with a large cameo at her throat. She hadn't bothered with a hat to cover her straw-yellow hair. “Do you girls know Velma Klontz?”

A woman in her late sixties who could have stepped out of a Victorian photograph nodded at me. “Francie has told me so much about you, Sophie. And I know Nina from the shelter.”

Nina chimed in. “Velma is always saving homeless cats.”

Like us, Velma wore an extravagant hat. But hers was sky blue and matched her Victorian gown. It sat on teased silver hair that had surely been sprayed in place by a beautician. Wide blue eyes regarded me with curiosity.

Francie didn't have a stitch of makeup on but Velma wore it artfully, like so many Southern women. I wasn't sure about the blue-gray eye shadow, but her foundation was thick enough to cover any blemishes.

“Velma and I met at a book club a hundred years ago,” Francie said. “She's a wonderful cook, just like you.”

Velma clearly enjoyed the flattery but flapped her hand modestly. “I don't cook as much anymore since my husband passed, but you can tell by looking at me that I cannot pass up good fried chicken or apple fritters, though they're not easy to find these days. Seems like all the restaurants shy away from traditional Southern food.”

Francie nudged me. “What's Robert doing with Natasha?”

I looked toward the entrance where Natasha chatted with a tall man whom I put in his mid-sixties. He wore his salt-and-pepper beard short, and his silver hair neatly trimmed. I wasn't sure whether it was the rectangular wire-framed glasses that he wore or his general demeanor that gave the impression of a studious, thoughtful man. He could have easily been a professor but I knew he owned the Robert Johnson Antiques store across the street.

“Natasha is in charge of the tea and the auction,” I said. “They're probably discussing how to bring the auction items over here.”

“That's a relief! I can't compete with a beauty queen like Natasha.” Francie surprised me. She had to be a bit older than Robert.

Velma laughed. “He was married to my sister Livy,” she said, evidently for my benefit. “Trust me, Francie. I loved my sister, but she was no beauty queen.” Velma gazed out the window at the antiques store. “That shop was Livy's dream. Pity that she never saw it come to fruition.”

“Isn't he gorgeous?” asked Francie.

I did my best not to show my amusement. “Why Francine Vanderhoosen! I believe you have a little crush on Robert.”

“Me and every woman in Old Town over the age of sixty,” she grumbled. “Will you look at Patty Conklin over there, squeezed into a girdle? That thing's so tight she's popping out on both ends and doesn't need a bustle under her dress. It's a wonder she can breathe. And Beverly Hazelwonder must have had Botox this week. Her wrinkles are puffed up bigger than a soufflé.”

Velma roared. “He's always had that sort of effect on women. I can't tell you how many of our friends have called to pump me for information about him. I think it's still too soon after Livy's death for him to date, but I suppose I'll always feel that way. He's a dear, so it's bound to happen sooner or later.”

“If it hasn't already,” murmured Nina.

I gazed around the tearoom and realized that a considerable number of the ladies taking tea were over sixty. That was probably normal for a weekday afternoon tea. They were most likely retired and had the time to enjoy a tea. I recognized a couple of other antiques dealers in the crowd. One lone gentleman wore a blazer with khakis and appeared to be working on his laptop.

My musing came to an abrupt halt when the owner of The Parlour, Martha Carter, arrived with a silver tea service and delicate teacups. As she set the tray on the table, she said, “I selected these just for you, Francie. The cups are antique. They're Royal Doulton bone china.”

Velma picked up one of the cups and examined it. It was cream on the outside but alternating panels of cream and pink laced with delicate tracings of gold lined the interior. A gold band flowed around the scalloped edge and the handle was gold as well. I was almost afraid to pick one up and drink from it.

“These are stunning, Martha,” Francie said. “I bet Queen Elizabeth doesn't drink from anything prettier.”

I glanced around. “Do you use a different pattern for every group of diners?”

Martha smiled. “I confess to being a ravenous china collector. I just love them all. Some of our guests like to choose their own favorites, which I think adds to the fun and the ambiance. By the way, Sophie, I wanted to thank you for contributing your painting to the auction.”

We had only met once before. I was surprised that she remembered me. “It was my pleasure. I bought it ages ago and never had the right place for it. I'm happy to see it go to a home where it will be displayed.”