by H. Y. Hanna
“Eh?”
I put my hand into the bag again and drew out a large cardboard box. Owen’s eyes widened in surprise and delight as I handed him the gift. “It’s sort of a house-warming present.”
“Cor! For me?” He turned the box over, staring at the picture of the sleek coffee machine.
“I remembered you saying how much you love your coffee,” I said with a smile. “Well, now you can make your own… in your own home.”
He seemed speechless for a moment. “This… it’s wonderful… wonderful…” He looked back up at me and blinked rapidly. “Thank you, miss… it’s real kind of you.”
“You’re welcome. And please call me Gemma.”
“I’ll look forward to makin’ you a cuppa when you come to visit Ruby and me, Gemma,” he said with a nod and a smile.
The music in the room changed suddenly and I heard the distinctive opening piano flourish of ABBA’s “Dancing Queen”. Several people rushed into the empty space in the middle of the floor and began swaying and spinning, singing loudly with the song. I laughed as Owen grabbed my hand and urged me to join the crowd.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Cassie standing at the edge of the dance floor, tapping her foot eagerly in time to the music. Seth was standing next to her, looking from her to the dance floor and then back again wistfully. I saw him hesitate, make as if to speak to her, then waver and turn away.
Argh! I wanted to march over and shake him. Then suddenly I saw him swing back and lean close to Cassie, saying something in her ear. She turned to him, a smile lighting up her face. The two of them joined the crowd of dancers. They didn’t touch and Seth shuffled self-consciously next to Cassie, but something in the way they moved together made me smile. Rome wasn’t built in a day, I reminded myself. But I had a feeling that the first stones had been laid in place…
***
A couple of nights later, I found myself at a very different sort of evening: this time at my parents’ house, with Helen Green, her husband Charles, and Lincoln as the guests of honour for dinner. The table was laid with the best china and gleaming with silverware and crystal glasses, and my mother had pulled out all the stops with the food. Although I noticed, as we sat down, that many of the dishes had a distinctly odd appearance and smell. I yelped as I took a bite of the orange-coloured roast chicken and found my mouth on fire.
“Water!” I gasped, grabbing my glass and gulping down the cooling liquid.
“I think you’ve used far too much sambal oelek, dear,” said Helen, eyeing the chicken disapprovingly.
“Nonsense,” my mother said. “It was only a bit in the marinade.”
I spluttered and took a shuddering breath and said to my mother, “What have you put on the roast chicken?”
“Oh, darling, it’s the most wonderful traditional Indonesian hot sauce, made with chili peppers, ginger, garlic, shrimp paste, fish sauce, shallots, lime juice, palm sugar, and lots of vinegar. Isn’t it marvellous?” She picked up a bowl and thrust it towards me. “I’ve put some on the Brussels sprouts too. Here, try some.”
“Er… I’ll… I’ll help myself later,” I said.
“Have some tamarind roast potatoes, then,” said my mother. “Or how about some gado-gado green salad?”
I looked around the table in despair. Wasn’t there any normal English food?
“Mother, I thought we were having a traditional British roast?”
“Well, you see, darling, Helen and I had such interesting food in Indonesia, we decided that we simply had to get more adventurous in the kitchen! And you know that there is Dutch-Indo fusion cuisine—from the time when Indonesia was a Dutch colony—so we decided: why not British-Indo cuisine?” My mother beamed at me and Helen nodded in agreement.
“Lincoln, you haven’t had any yet! Here you go, have some sambal Brussels sprouts…” My mother started heaping green vegetables covered in hot sauce on his plate.
“Er… thank you, Aunt Evelyn… no, no… that’s… that’s quite enough…” Lincoln said desperately.
I saw his eyes bulge and tears spring to his eyes as he took his first bite but, ever the gentleman, he ate a few mouthfuls valiantly under his mother’s proud eye. The two fathers watched us apprehensively, like condemned prisoners who knew their turn was next. Somehow, we got through the rest of the meal by eating as sparingly as possible and drinking copious amounts of water. Finally, we were released from the dining table and escaped gratefully to the living room.
“I’m afraid I’ve only got normal tea and coffee,” said my mother and there was an audible sigh of relief around the room.
“It’s a shame we didn’t bring back any kopi luwak,” said Helen. “You would have loved that.”
“What’s kopi luwak?” said Lincoln.
“It’s a type of traditional Indonesian coffee and it’s one of the most expensive coffees in the world!” said my mother excitedly. “It’s made from coffee beans which have been eaten by a type of Asian cat-like creature called a civet and then passed through their stomachs and defaecated. Oh, don’t worry—they clean the beans before roasting them,” she said, seeing my expression. “We tried some, Helen and I—it’s really lovely—much less bitter than ordinary coffee. It’s the enzymes from the civet’s bowels, you see, that do that. But we forgot to bring some home.”
Thank God for small mercies. I was pretty sure I could happily go through life without experiencing coffee made from beans pooed out by some weird Indonesian cat.
As my mother and Helen went off to make the tea and coffee, and my father and Charles became engrossed in a discussion of the next Parliamentary election, Lincoln came over and sat down on the sofa next to me. I hadn’t seen him since the fiasco by the canal and I thanked him again now for coming with me.
“I checked at the hospital and it seems that the Old Biddies came through fine,” he commented.
“Yes, thank goodness! Ethel in particular—it was a miracle that she didn’t break any bones when she hit the side of the bridge—and I was sure Glenda would develop hypothermia or something… but they all seemed to be all right. They were treated for shock and kept in overnight, but insisted on going home the next morning.” I shook my head and chuckled wryly. “In fact, they rang me to make sure they had the biggest table reserved when the tearoom re-opened on Tuesday because they’d already organised for all their friends in the village to come and hear their story of how they captured the deadly ‘Wadsworth Cloisters Murderer.’ It was absolute mayhem. Even a few reporters turned up. I was run off my feet catering to them all.”
“Sounds like some kind of senior citizen press conference,” Lincoln laughed.
I rolled my eyes. “I have a feeling the Old Biddies are going to live off the celebrity of this murder for a long time.”
“Well, I have to admit—that day by the canal was probably the most exciting day I’ve ever had,” said Lincoln, his eyes twinkling. “And I’m including the day we had three cardiac arrests, an acute renal failure, and a patient come out of a sixteen-year coma on the ICU ward.”
I laughed. “It was a bit much for me too. I don’t know how Devlin does his job—he seems to take it all in his stride.”
“Yes, danger and excitement seem to follow Devlin O’Connor around,” said Lincoln. His eyes met mine. “It’s hard to compete with that.”
My heart gave an uncomfortable stutter. “Lincoln…” I started to say.
“It’s okay,” he said, holding a hand up and giving me a rueful smile. “You don’t need to say anything. I knew the minute I saw your face.”
“My… my face?”
“When you thought Devlin had gone under in the canal. You looked as if your world had ended.” Lincoln’s smile turned wistful. “Maybe one day I’ll meet someone who can look like that for me.”
I squirmed, feeling terrible. “Lincoln—”
He waved his hand. “It’s okay, Gemma. Honestly. I’ll admit that I’m disappointed but you haven’t broken my heart or anything. And i
n the meantime…” He held his hand out to me with a smile. “I hope we can remain friends?”
I felt a rush of affection for him. Putting my hand in his, I returned the smile. “Yes. Friends. Very good friends.”
“Meorrw!” came a plaintive little voice next to us.
We looked down to see Muesli rubbing herself against a corner of the sofa.
“Hey, Muesli, want to come up and say hello to Lincoln?” I said, patting the empty space on the sofa next to us.
The little tabby cat eyed Lincoln suspiciously, then came closer and sniffed his ankle.
“Meorrw!” she said. She gave me a disgruntled look, as if to say, “Not this one. I want the other one!” then turned and stalked off.
I smiled wryly to myself. I hated to admit it but, as usual, Muesli was going to get her own way.
EPILOGUE
The air was crisp and cold, and the moon bright in the starlit sky as I stepped out of the Jaguar XK whilst Devlin held the door. He shut the door behind me, then put a gentle hand under my elbow as he walked me up the front steps of my parents’ house. A sense of déjà vu swept over me. I had been here a little over a week ago—coming back after a romantic dinner, with a different man by my side…
“Would you like to come in for a drink?” I said softly. I felt suddenly shy and couldn’t look Devlin in the eye.
He raised a teasing eyebrow. “I think it was hard enough for your mother watching me pick you up for dinner. I don’t think she could cope with a nightcap as well.”
“They’re not in,” I said. “My parents have gone out for dinner with friends. In any case…” I stood up a bit taller. “My mother will just have to get used to it.”
A slow smile spread across Devlin’s face. “That’s not what you would have said eight years ago.”
“I’ve changed since then.”
“Yes. I’d noticed.” Something in the way he said that made my pulse quicken.
I let us into the house and we stood facing each other in the darkened hallway. My heart was pounding. It had been a wonderful, magical night—the night I had been dreaming of ever since Devlin came back into my life: the romantic candle-lit dinner, the warm conversation and easy laughter across the table, and the sense that we were slowly, slowly, finding each other again. There was just one thing left to make this night perfect.
A kiss. Our first kiss. Again.
Devlin came closer and I felt his arms slide around me. I caught my breath, my pulse racing now like a wild thing. I was very conscious of the clean, male scent of him, the way his body felt, hard and warm against mine, and the look in his blue eyes—a look that caught me and held me captive. My lips parted. He lowered his head. I held my breath, waiting, yearning—
“Meorr-eeoorrw!”
Devlin faltered, but I reached out and yanked his head down to mine. This time, I wasn’t going to let Muesli ruin the moment.
Our lips met. Softly and tentatively at first, then bolder, deeper, more urgent. It was everything I had dreamt of and more. I didn’t want the kiss to end. Then, somehow through the haze of passion and longing, I became aware of the persistent cries at our feet.
“Meorrw… meeeeorrw… meeeeorrw-orrw…”
Finally, we could ignore it no longer. We broke apart and glanced down. Muesli was sitting next to Devlin’s legs, looking up at us, her little tabby face indignant.
“Meorrw!” she said again and raised up slightly on her haunches.
Devlin chuckled. “I think she doesn’t like being left out.”
He bent down and scooped the little cat up in his arms, then drew me close again. Muesli looked up from where she was wedged snugly between us, a complacent expression on her face as she began to purr loudly. She was happy now.
I scowled at her. “This isn’t a threesome, Muesli.”
“Meorrw?” she said, giving me a challenging look which clearly said: “Oh, yeah?”
FINIS
Catch Gemma’s (and Muesli’s) next adventure in
Book 4 of the Oxford Tearoom Mysteries
COMING JUN/JUL 2016
Sign up to my mailing list to be notified when it is released: http://www.hyhanna.com/newsletter
***
GLOSSARY OF BRITISH TERMS
At loggerheads – in a violent disagreement over something, usually when neither side will give in
Bin (Dustbin) – container for rubbish (American: trashcan)
Biscuits – small, hard, baked product, either savoury or sweet (American: cookies. What is called a “biscuit” in the U.S. is more similar to the English scone)
Bloody – very common adjective used as an intensifier for both positive and negative qualities (e.g. “bloody awful” and “bloody wonderful”), often used to express shock or disbelief (“Bloody Hell!”)
Bollocks! – an expression of dismissive contempt or disagreement, same as “Rubbish!”
Bob (“spare a bob or two”) – a pound; (historically, a bob was slang for a shilling but inflation has raised its value!)
Bugbear – something that is a source of obsessive anxiety or irritation, a thorn in your side
Bugger! – an exclamation of annoyance
Bum – the behind (American: butt)
Carpark – a place to park vehicles (American: parking lot)
Cheers – in everyday conversation, a casual way to say “thank you”, also often used in farewell
Chum – close friend (American: buddy)
Chuck – throw
Cuppa – slang term for “a cup of tea”
Flat-out – very busy, doing something as fast and as hard as you can
Flutter – a small bet or wager, eg. “have a flutter on the horses”
(to) Fob someone off – to appease someone by evasion or deceit
(to be) Having you on – to delude or dupe you, to pretend something is true when it is not, usually as a tease or a joke
Git – a despicable person
(to) Give a toss – to care
Go down a treat – be very well received
Hobnob – a type of traditional British oat biscuit, often dunked in tea. Also used as a verb – to “hobnob with someone” meaning to hang out / spend time in a friendly manner (usually used in the context of being with celebrities or other rich/power/famous personalities)
Lie-in – when you remain in bed, lazing around, even after you’re awake, often done as a special treat on weekends (American: sleep-in)
Knackered – very tired, exhausted (can also mean “broken” when applied to a machine or object); comes from the phrase “ready for the knacker's yard”—where old horses were slaughtered and the by-products sent for rendering, different from a slaughterhouse where animals are killed for human consumption)
Nappies – a piece of disposable absorbent material wrapped round a baby's bottom and between its legs to absorb waste. (American: diapers)
Plonker – an annoying idiot
Prat – idiot, often a superior, condescending one
Porter – usually a person hired to help carry luggage, however at Oxford, they have a special meaning (see Special terms used in Oxford University below)
Pudding – in the U.K., this refers to both “dessert” in general or a specific type of soft, jelly-like dessert, depending on the context.
Queue – an orderly line of people waiting for something (American: line)
Row – an argument
Sodding – am adjective used as an intensifier, usually in a negative context
(to be) Stuffed – to be in deep trouble (milder form of the F-word version)
Ta – slang for “thank you”, more often used in the north of England
Torchlight – light from a torch, a portable battery-powered electric lamp. (American: flashlight. NOTE – different from the American usage of “torch” which is a blowlamp
Tosser – a despicable person
Tuck into – to eat with great enthusiasm
Yonks – a very long time, “ages”
***
Special terms used in Oxford University:
College - one of thirty or so institutions that make up the University; all students and academic staff have to be affiliated with a college and most of your life revolves around your own college: studying, dining, socialising. You are, in effect, a member of a College much more than a member of the University. College loyalties can be fierce and there is often friendly rivalry between nearby colleges. The colleges also compete with each other in various University sporting events.
Don / Fellow – a member of the academic staff / governing body of a college (equivalent to “faculty member” in the U.S.) – basically refers to a college’s tutors. “Don” comes from the Latin, dominus—meaning lord, master.
Fresher – a new student who has just started his first term of study; usually referring to First Year undergraduates but can also be used for graduate students.
High Table – refers to both the table and the actual dinner for the dons of a college and their guests. Often situated at one end of the dining hall.
Porter(s) – a team of college staff who provide a variety of services, including controlling entry to the college, providing security to students and other members of college, sorting mail, and maintenance and repairs to college property.
Porter’s Lodge – a room next to the college gates which holds the porters’ offices and also the “pigeonholes”—cubby holes where the internal University mail is placed and notes for students can be left by their friends.
Quad – short for quadrangle: a square or rectangular courtyard inside a college; walking on the grass is usually not allowed.
S.C.R. – the Senior Common Room, for the Fellows
***
CHELSEA BUN RECIPE
First created in the 18th century at Bun House in Chelsea, London, these delicious buns were a favourite with the Hanoverian royal family. They have a distinctive square spiral shape and are made with a rich yeast dough, flavoured with mixed spices or cinnamon, and lemon zest. Inside the swirls, the bun contains a mixture of brown sugar, butter and dried fruit such as currants, raisins, cranberries and sultanas. An iconic product in British baking, Chelsea buns are a bit similar to the more well-known cinnamon roll.
