by Nancy Warren
Also on the menu was a ploughman’s lunch, a never changing selection of sandwiches and two kinds of salad. Frankly, it was part of the charm of the tea shop that nothing ever changed, and now I was staring at a chalkboard that promised prawn crepes and, even more shocking, a quinoa salad. I would have sworn the Miss Watts wouldn’t know what quinoa was.
As I looked around I noticed that several people were partaking of the specials. Of course, they were mostly tourists and outsiders, but still, this entrepreneurial branching into new menu items seemed to be as successful as it was startling. When Miss Watt came within speaking range, I said, “I see you have some new items on the menu. And they seem to be quite popular.”
Miss Watt’s lips pressed together, causing tiny wrinkles to sunburst around her mouth. “It’s that young fellow in the kitchen,” she said. “As bold as brass, he tells me our menu’s too old-fashioned and if I let him he could make the food service more profitable.”
She shook her head. “Whoever heard of quinoa salad in a tea shop? To tell you the honest truth I didn’t even know how to pronounce it. Chef had to tell me. But, the world is changing too fast, and now food and people travel all over the globe so you don’t know where you are.” She leaned close and said conspiratorially, “I blame the internet.”
I nodded gravely and decided not to order the prawn crêpe next time I came in as I had intended in order to show solidarity. “Well, at least the new chef is interested in profits. That must be nice.”
“I only hope he can make enough extra to pay for his salary. In the old days, Florence and I used to run this place ourselves. Now—” I waited as she fought an internal struggle and then, as though she couldn’t keep her feelings bottled up another second, she said, “She’s too busy with her fancy man to give proper care and attention to the shop.”
I love a good gossip is much as the next woman and, more importantly, I knew that Gran would grill me for information when I got home. One of the things my grandmother found so difficult about being undead was still being interested in the everyday comings and goings of her friends and neighbors without being able to show herself. So, I was able to indulge in a good gossip and still pretend virtuously that I was only doing it for Gran. “It sounds like you don’t like him very much.”
Her gaze met mine and her normally placid blue gaze sharpened into what looked like fury. Once more, she pressed her lips together as though to hold back the words she longed to say and then finally managed, “He makes her happy. I suppose that’s what really matters.”
“It must be nice to have the extra help, not only in the kitchen, but out front.” I motioned toward the Polish girl who was balancing a tray rather precariously as she walked toward a table by the window where a stiff, military-looking older gentleman watched her through hard eyes. With him was a nervous-looking woman who was speaking softly to the man.
Miss Watt didn’t look particularly thrilled with her new hire. “They arrived together. Asked was I hiring? He’d been a cook first in Poland and then in Prague and Paris. Well, Florence was out with her friend until all hours. I had all the cooking to do and the front of house to manage. I couldn’t do it all.
Florence’s beau had come into my shop only four days ago. A lot had happened in a short time.
“That young man came to talk to me as I was at my wit’s end. He said, ‘let me help you today, and my sister Katya will waitress out front, and if you don’t like what we can do, you don’t have to pay us.’”
“Like a free trial,” I said. Smart.
“I was so desperate that I said yes. And, to give him credit, he makes a lovely scone. If only he didn’t insist on these new-fangled foods. Still, people seem to like them.”
“A brother and sister team? That’s unusual.”
She nodded, glanced at Katya who looked around, as though she was lost. “Oh he’s been a chef all right and he’s well-trained, but if that girl’s ever waitressed before, I’m the Queen of Sheba.”
I had to admit, she did seem a bit clumsy. “Maybe she’s just nervous.”
“Perhaps. Anyway, I need the help, and these days beggars can’t be choosers.” She’d been watching the progress of Katya on the tray and suddenly stepped toward the waitress. “No, Katya, not that one. You want table number four.”
The poor girl looked completely confused and stood in the middle of the room glancing around. Miss Watt shook her head and, almost under her breath, said, “She’s getting all the table numbers wrong. It’s hopeless.” And then she left us and in a low voice directed the new waitress to the correct table.
Rafe and I chatted as I finished off my scone and poured a second cup of tea. I was disappointed not to see Florence, but at least I now knew that she hadn’t sent her lost love packing and that Mary wasn’t a fan of the match.
I felt a sudden prickling in my fingertips, like a mild electric shock, and I looked over to see that Katya had returned from the kitchen with an overloaded tray. She was looking around the room and I could see her lips moving as she counted tables.
A sharp word from Miss Watt startled her. I watched the tray wobble, as though in slow motion, and I knew it would fall and everything on it would smash if I didn’t do something fast.
I focused my attention on the tray, on the cups, on the large teapot that was even now beginning to slide. Hold steady, I said under my breath and to my absolute shock the tray obeyed me. Even as Katya’s mouth opened in an O of horror, she’d regained control of her burden. I felt a glow of triumph—I had taken on gravity and won.
Rafe was watching me from across the table and he said, in a low voice, “Well done.”
The vampire saw altogether too much, but there was no point pretending I hadn’t done what he had so clearly seen me do. “I think it was beginner’s luck.” I kept my gaze on Katya in case she needed my help again, but she managed to unload her tray without disaster. “Honestly, I’m a useless witch. I can’t get any of the spells in the grimoire to come out right. I have no idea why I was able to get it right this time.”
“You had success because your emotions were involved. You genuinely wanted to save that woman from breaking the crockery and probably being fired.”
No doubt he was right, still, I was pleased to see I could do a simple spell if I had to.
“I wish Miss Watt and her boyfriend were here. Her sister obviously doesn’t approve, and I want to see for myself whether he’s good for her or not.” I took a sip of my tea. “Actually, I know Gran will be full of questions and I want her to feel as though she’d been here herself.”
He nodded and, looking down, ran the tip of his index finger along the rim of the saucer underneath his untouched tea. “We need to talk about your grandmother.”
My stomach clenched at the words. “Why? Everything’s all right, isn’t it?” I’d already lost Gran once. I didn’t want to lose her again.
“Agnes is adjusting fairly well, but it’s not good for her to remain too connected with daywalkers.” That would be me. “Under normal circumstances I would suggest your grandmother move away. That’s what most of us do when we first get turned. It’s difficult to stay in the same neighborhood where you daren’t be seen or recognized. Of course, after a generation or two have passed, we can return to our homes. No one recognizes us anymore.”
I felt coldness in my chest as though my heart had frozen. “You can’t send Gran away.” Even though what he said made sense, I couldn’t imagine losing her again. Our relationship wasn’t always easy, since she was undead and trying to teach me how to be a witch, but I loved her and I still needed her. As well as witch lessons, she gave me good advice on running the shop.
He regarded me steadily. “It’s not my decision. I can help her, but she must decide her own future.”
I put my thumbnail to my mouth, a habit I have when I’m nervous. “You think I’m being selfish, keeping her here. I can understand that it would be easier for Gran to go somewhere else as she becomes accustomed to her n
ew reality. But I’d miss her so much.” I felt almost panic stricken at the thought of running the shop and dealing with my witchy relatives without Gran, but I wanted to do the right thing. “Have you talked to her about moving?”
His smile was rueful. “She won’t hear of it. So long as she feels you need her, she’ll stay.”
I was relieved, of course, but I also felt guilty. “Maybe we should both go somewhere else. If we could find someone sympathetic to run the knitting shop—”
I was about to say more but I glanced towards the entrance and felt my eyes widen. Miss Watt and her boyfriend were just entering the shop, not a minute after I had voiced a wish to see them here. Rafe, followed my gaze. When I looked back at him I said, “I’m on fire today. I wished for them and here they are.”
He appeared unconvinced. “I think that might have been coincidence.”
I pulled down my mouth in a pout. “Party pooper.” He probably didn’t know what the term meant, but before he could question me or I elaborate, Miss Watt had seen me and come forward to our table.
CHAPTER 3
“L ucy, how lovely to see you.”
She was the one who looked lovely. She appeared at least ten years younger than her normal age, was wearing makeup and, I think, a new dress. She’d definitely had her hair done in a much more modern style and her normally gray hair was now an age-defying ash blond.
A lot had happened around here in a few days.
“It’s nice to see you, too.”
“And I believe you’ve met Gerald Pettigrew?”
“Yes.”
The old man grinned at me in a cheeky fashion. “You’re the young woman from next door.” He turned to Florence. “Lucy encouraged me to be bold enough to seek you out.” Not entirely true, but nice that he’d given me matchmaking credit.
She then introduced him to Rafe and the two men shook hands. She glowed with happiness and he glowed with pride. It was nice to see this golden age romance taking off, and I felt a personal interest in the outcome. I hadn’t made the match but I felt that in my small way I had helped it along.
“You must have been surprised to see Mr. Pettigrew again, after so long.”
She put a hand to her heart—she’d sprung for a manicure, too, and her nails were a soft pink and shaped like ten perfect candied almonds. “I can’t describe what it was like. He walked into the kitchen and surprised me with my hands covered in flour, my hair a mess—”
“You looked beautiful. Exactly as I remembered you,” he said, reaching for her hand.
“It was such a shock,” she continued, “but a lovely one. I felt as though the years fell away and I was young again.”
“I’m a much older man, but I hope a wiser one.” He winked at me. “I won’t be letting her out of my sight a second time. And—” He wagged his index finger at me. “You must call me Gerald.”
“I’m so happy,” Florence said simply. Not that she needed to say the words; she absolutely glowed with happiness.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t even recognize me,” Gerald said. “The years haven’t always been kind.”
She smiled up at him. “You look older, yes, but I knew you instantly. I’d have known you anywhere.”
“And I, you.”
They stood by our table for a couple of minutes chatting about how they’d been going back to their old haunts and seeing things through new eyes. “Of course, things haven’t changed in some ways, but there was no Harry Potter fifty years ago. Christ Church College was just a college. Now? The place is overrun with tourists wanting photos of the Hogwarts dining room.” He threw up his hands in mock outrage. “I ask you.”
She put her hand on his arm when she described their outing to the Perch, a riverside pub where they had enjoyed their first date half a century earlier. He rested a hand on her shoulder as he said, “The pub’s changed a bit, but you, my dear, haven’t changed at all.”
She shook her head and blushed, then giggled. A very odd sound coming from this woman I had been certain was a confirmed spinster.
It seemed as though they couldn’t bear not to be connected in some physical way. If one didn’t have their hand touching the other they stood so close that their arms brushed and they shared each other’s personal space. Miss Watt told Gerald that Rafe was an expert in old book restoration. Gerald shook his head. “Everyone in Oxford is so clever. I always feel such a dreadful fool when I come here.” He pointed to his own head. “Thick as two short planks.”
“Nonsense,” Florence Watt cried. “You’re as clever as anyone. You’re very intelligent just not an intellectual.” Then she beamed at us. “I told Gerald I’d take a busman’s holiday today and treat us to the full cream tea. I can’t remember the last time I acted like a customer in my own tea shop. Probably never.”
The other Miss Watt had been keeping us in her peripheral vision. As the two lovebirds turned away from our table she came up. “Joining us for tea?” she asked in a shrill, overfriendly tone, as though they were tourists down from Manchester. Her sister looked taken aback and said, “Yes. If it’s convenient?”
There was an edge to her voice. My instinct had been right that her sister wasn’t entirely happy with this love match.
“Of course.” She made to lead them toward an empty table beside the wall but her sister stopped her and said, “We’d like table six.”
I saw her sister pinch her lips together. If Gerald Pettigrew’s return had taken ten years off Florence, it seemed they’d been handed off to Mary. Her hair looked grayer, her complexion more colorless and a general air of trouble seemed to hang about her. “As you wish.”
“And there’s no need to escort us there. I know my way around the tea shop.”
Her sister turned on her heel and stalked back into the kitchen. I suspected she disapproved of her sister acting like a customer and certainly one taking one of the best tables during a busy time. I also doubted that Mary had ever taken a busman’s holiday and sat down to an afternoon tea.
The two lovers made their way to the recently vacated table by the window. Two bright spots of color burned on Miss Watt’s cheekbones and she muttered something to her partner who reached out a hand and placed it over hers reassuringly. Immediately, her color ebbed and her smiles returned.
I imagine I imitated her posture as I leaned in towards Rafe and said in a low voice, “I’d say there’s trouble in paradise.”
“Definitely an old fox in the hen house.”
A moment later Katya crossed the room with her heavy tread and her notebook. Miss Watt ordered the champagne afternoon tea for the pair of them. “I’ll have the English breakfast tea with it.”
“And for you, sir?” Katya asked Gerald Pettigrew.
“A pot of Earl Grey for me, if you please.”
Katya hadn’t yet learned the trick of constantly scanning the tea shop. Where the owner would have offered fresh hot water to one table, removed an empty plate from another and always been on the lookout for any hint that she was needed, Katya turned and headed straight for the kitchen with her order, oblivious to the fact that the old man in the other window table was red-faced and beckoning to her. Finally, he barked, “Girl, I say, waitress,” in a commanding and irritated tone. He sounded as though he might once have been a military man. Katya certainly sprang to attention at his tone. I think we all did.
She turned toward his table and he said, “You’ve brought me the wrong tea. I don’t know what this muck is but I ordered Earl Grey. This is some sort of fruit tea and you can take away this honey, I’ll have proper milk and sugar.”
“Very sorry, sir,” she said, and picked up the pot and his cup. Bessie Yang, the yoga teacher, said, “I think that was my tea, my dear. That’s all right. You can leave that pot with me, and the honey. I’ve got a cup here.”
Poor Katya was beginning to look quite bewildered. She dropped the pot of tea and the honey with the yoga teacher who said gently, “And the quinoa salad when you get a moment.”
The waitress smiled at her in gratitude and promised to check with the kitchen and then walked swiftly out of the room. The old man watched her go with a frown pulling his white brows together. His moustache bristled to attention when he spoke to the mousy woman I assumed was his wife. “Foreigners!”
Rafe leaned in and said, “And to think I imagined afternoon tea would be a dull affair.”
“We’ll have so much to tell Gran. I’ll just run to the loo and then I’d like another cup of tea if that’s all right with you.”
“I have no pressing engagements.”
I’d never thought much about vampires before moving to Oxford. But now that I’d met Rafe and the other members of the vampire knitting club I sympathized with being doomed to walk the earth forever, always in the shadows, an animal of prey, terrifying to the race of humans to which they used to belong. At least modern vampires had blood banks and other ways to get the blood they needed, and, thanks to the rise in skin cancer, modern technology had invented all sorts of fabrics to keep sun off the body. It must be much nicer being a vampire now than in the past, but I still thought it was melancholy to have to plan a future that had no end.
I excused myself and went upstairs to where the bathrooms were. I had to pass Mary Watt and I thought she’d been crying. She looked far from well. “Miss Watt, are you all right?”
She jumped when I spoke. “Oh, I was miles away. Just feeling my age, really. Running Elderflower is too much for one person, I’ll have to think about retiring. It’s impossible to find decent help and I can’t manage on my own.”
I made a sympathetic noise. She was obviously stressed about her sister’s rekindled love affair and what it might mean for their future. She pulled a handkerchief from beneath her sweater cuff and wiped her eyes. “Look at them. My sister’s completely lost her head over that silly man. She’s certainly stopped doing anything useful since he arrived. Well, if she wants to be a customer at Elderflower, perhaps it should belong to someone else.” Her logic was a little garbled but I understood the sentiment.
