In spite of her normally polished lady-like exterior, Victoria had a very keen interest in adventuring. If not race car driving, flying planes, or competing in a karate tournament, she could be found learning how to hang glide, sky dive, or maneuver class-five rapids in a kayak. In other words, she was nothing like she appeared to be.
Archibald responded, “House of Lords stuff, I’m afraid.” To his daughter, he inquired, “What do you have on the schedule today, darling?”
“Just lunch with the girls and a little shopping.” Philippa had never been expected to gain actual employment, as she was considered by her father to still be frail and a bit odd after her childhood illness. Happily, her mother knew differently and had become a dedicated believer. She knew her daughter already had full-time employment assisting the dead.
Victoria turned the page on her newspaper before suddenly looking up. “I forgot to tell you both, I heard from Elliot last evening. He’s in America doing research for his new book. He’s spending his time in some dreadful-sounding suburb of Chicago called Pipsy. Can you imagine?” Victoria scoffed. She wasn’t a fan of Americans and couldn’t understand why her son was going to stay there for several months when all he had to do in order to research the place was turn on his computer.
The earl, who quite liked America, laughingly teased his wife, “Those Yanks are quite charming, aren’t they? I wonder if Beatrice will be joining him.”
Addressing both of her parents, Pip replied, “I know you don’t believe me, but Elliot and Beatrice are only good friends. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
“Pish posh,” Victoria replied. “If they’re just good friends, why do they go to all their functions together? They’re certainly both attractive enough to find real dates if they didn’t consider each other such.”
“Mother,” Pip explained, “Beatrice has been sick, on and off, with cancer for years. She doesn’t have the energy or inclination to look for a real partner, and Elliot is so loyal and accommodating, he’d never leave her high and dry. Trust me,” —she added for her mother’s benefit— “they aren’t meant to be anything other than good friends.”
Even though the countess did trust her daughter to have greater knowledge than she due to her unconventional abilities, she didn’t want to consider someone else for Elliot. She loved Beatrice and would have been more than happy to have her as part of the family. Of course the downside was that Beatrice most likely couldn’t have her own children due to all the chemotherapy she’d endured, but no one had said the earldom couldn’t be passed down to an adopted child, had they?
“Speaking of beaus,” the earl said, “how are things progressing in your love life, Pippa? Any new suitors we should know about?”
Victoria looked up from her newspaper and asked, “Yes, dear, how was your outing with Sephra’s cousin?”
Pip shook her head and took a sip of coffee before replying, “He’s gay.”
The earl sputtered, “What do you mean he’s gay? You mean he’s a-lively-young-chap-with-a delightful-sense-of-humor gay, or he’s fond-of-the-fellows gay?”
“The second,” Pip replied. “He had a message from his dead lover before our date even began.”
“How exciting!” the countess replied at the same time her father shot to his feet and pleaded a forgotten appointment.
“He’s never going to believe in my abilities, is he?” Pip asked her mother.
Victoria shook her head, “I’m afraid not, dear. Not until he gets a message of his own, anyway. Why do you suppose none have ever come through for him?”
“I couldn’t say, Mum. None have ever come through for Elliot either, and I find it quite annoying. It’s hard to have the two men in my life think I’m strange. Kind of hurtful, really,” she added.
Victoria patted her daughter’s hand, “Well now, let’s not give up hope. I wasn’t a believer either, until your grandmother decided to get in touch.”
That was a conversation Pip would never forget. Her grandmother had wanted her mother to have a spot checked on her lower back. It was one Victoria couldn’t even see, so she didn’t know it was growing. The doctor told her it was a good thing she came in when she did, as the mole was definitely cancerous and would have become very serious if she hadn’t had it removed immediately. That incident made Victoria her daughter’s biggest fan and instant champion.
Pip walked briskly up the High Street to meet her friends Sephra and Cressida. She’d been late the last three occasions they’d gotten together due to urgent messages that needed attending to. For once, she wanted to be timely, even though both women understood the nature of her calling.
It was a relief to have friends who knew of her gift, as it wasn’t exactly an occupation she could share with everyone. Most people either didn’t believe her when they learned she was a medium or they hounded her incessantly for messages of their own. Pip had learned to be very discreet about her calling.
When she complained about it to Sephra, who was a massage therapist, her friend replied, “Oh, don’t I know! As soon as people find out what I do for a living they start to complain about every little ache and pain they’re having, like I’m going to bloody start massaging them for free.” Then she laughed and added, “I’m tempted to start carrying a cricket paddle and beating them with that instead.”
Cressida worked at a posh hair salon as one of the most sought after colorists in London. The friends met while Sephra was making an appointment and Pip was walking by. She was sent into the shop to deliver a message to one of Cressida’s clients. The communication did not go well and Pip found herself in the midst of a rather hairy scene.
The woman who’d just heard the news that her dead husband was accusing her of murdering him, screamed, “You bloody, bollocksy cow! How dare you make up such a thing? I don’t even know you!”
Pip had quietly replied, “I didn’t make it up and I’m not going to the police. But Collin wants you to know if you don’t make things right and turn yourself in, there will be a hefty price to pay on the other side.”
Pip knew the dead weren’t allowed to make false claims against the living. All of their messages needed to be of pure intent, so she was confident the woman had, in fact, killed her husband. What she didn’t know was how she did it or what her motivation had been. What she did know was that murder was not taken lightly by the gate keepers of the great beyond.
Upon hearing that, the woman turned white as a ghost and promptly fainted right at Sephra’s feet. Cressida came running to help, and the rest, as they say, is history. Philippa, Sephra, and Cressida left the salon for a nearby pub, which is where Pip shared the nature of her ability with the other women.
Both were eager to hear what the message was that resulted in the woman causing such a scene before unexpectedly losing consciousness, but Pip disclosed she wasn’t at liberty to share it. When asked why, she confessed a few of the rules of her job. “If I don’t pass on a message, I break out in horrible spots which get worse and worse until I finally do as I’m bid. If I tell someone about a message meant for another, well,” she stammered, “I’m afflicted with explosive diarrhea. You only do that once, let me tell you.”
Pip ran into the restaurant and immediately noticed Bertram sitting in the entry. As he approached, she pulled an earbud out of her purse and put it in place. She’d learned to use it as a cover in hopes anyone who saw her would think she was on the telephone and not just chatting to herself like a Bedlamite.
“Hello, love,” her new contact greeted. “Don’t you look a treat today?”
“Bertram,” Pip grumbled. “I’m here to meet my friends. Any chance whatever you want me to do can wait until we’re done eating?”
“No chance, love. But the good news is the person you need to talk to is right here.”
Philippa rolled her eyes. Good news, nothing. If things didn’t go well, they could kiss the reservation it took them three months to get, goodbye.
Bertram pointed, “You see
that bloke over there, the one fidgeting around, jingling coins in his pocket?” Pip nodded as he continued, “He’s meeting a woman who he’s head over heels in love with. Sadly, she treats him like rubbish. You need to tell him that if he plays it a bit harder to get and quits acting like such a forlorn sop, she’ll start to look at him differently.”
“How in the world is he to do that? Do you want him to start flirting with the waitress right in front of her?”
“Nothing so obvious,” Bertram replied. “I want you to make a point of flirting with him during your luncheon. Make eyes at him and wave, maybe go over and chat him up a bit.”
“What am I supposed to tell Sephra and Cressida? I mean, they know what I do, but how am I going to explain trying to seduce a strange man during our luncheon?”
Bertram replied, “Go ahead and tell them, love. It might make for a bit of a lark if you’re all in on it together.”
So Philippa shared the message with the stranger, who received it better than she’d expected, and she and her friends put on quite a show for the woman who’d previously shown little interest.
By the time Sephra walked by and asked the man for his autograph, claiming he was a dead ringer for Chris Pine, his lunch partner was definitely looking at him through different eyes. What sealed the deal was when Cressida stopped by to run her fingers through his hair and swear her clients would kill for thick gorgeous locks like his.
The friends had a wonderful time playing Cupid and were surprised to find the man they helped had picked up their lunch tab in gratitude.
New York
Chapter 7
Richard and Eliza sat at a sidewalk table at a charming restaurant on Madison Avenue. They sipped cappuccinos and the conversation flowed seamlessly. Their companionship was so easy it felt like they’d known each other for years.
After two hours, Richard got up to go inside and purchase some sustenance by way of assorted pastries. He returned to the table carrying a plate of scones, mini-muffins, and madeleines, only to find his date talking to another man. As he got closer, he recognized the man as Spencer.
“Spence!” he called out. “What are you doing uptown, my friend?”
Spencer looked at the beautiful woman, who’d drawn him toward her like a magnet from across the street. Then he looked at his longtime friend. “I’m picking up a birthday gift for my mother. What’re you doing here?”
Smiling at Eliza, he replied, “Having coffee with a friend.” He’d tell Spencer later that Eliza was a setup from his matchmaker, but he didn’t want to say anything in front of her and cause any embarrassment.
“A friend, really?” Spencer perked up. “Why didn’t you tell me you had such a delightful friend?” Pulling up an extra chair, he sat down and continued, “One would almost think you didn’t want me to meet her.”
Richard had no idea how to get rid of Spencer subtly, so he offered, “We’re new friends, actually.” Then with a sledgehammer-like hint, he added, “Rachel introduced us.”
Not taking the clue, Spencer turned to Eliza and said, “What do you do, Eliza? If I were to guess I’d say you were a model.”
Eliza, who was no more than five feet four inches with her boots on, beamed, “You flatterer. Of course I’m not a model, I’m too short.”
“Too pretty, more like. I think you’re possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Trying to cool his friend’s interest, Richard added, “And that’s saying something being that you’ve already been married to three models.”
Spencer shot Richard daggers before responding, “So sue me, I love beautiful women.” Then turning to Eliza, he continued, “None of them could hold a candle to you, though.”
Richard was about to come straight out and tell his friend to get lost when Eliza interjected, “Three wives? That’s seems a bit extreme, even if you do have a soft spot for pretty women. Don’t you think?”
“I’m a serial monogamist,” Spencer replied. Then with a twinkle in his eye, he added, “I’m a romantic, really. I love moonlit walks on the beach, champagne, and love.”
Richard interrupted, “You sound like a sleazy personal ad.”
“Hey,” Spencer replied, “I’m not the one so hard up that I had to hire a matchmaker.” Then to Eliza, he added, “Did he tell you about his iron-girdled yenta yet?”
Caught completely off guard, Eliza nearly spit out a bite of partially masticated scone. She laughed, “Yes, yes, I do believe I know about her.”
Richard interjected, “She’s a very smart woman, Spencer, and you’d be advised to make use of her services for yourself. Perhaps you could finally find a quality woman to marry so you could settle down once and for all.”
“Psh, quality woman, my ass. I bet the only babes she has in her books are gold digging bimbos looking for a sugar daddy.”
At that, Eliza really did choke. Once she stopped sputtering, she offered, “I’m sure she has some lovely women who aren’t quite so Machiavellian in their pursuits, Spencer.”
“Why would you think that?” he asked.
Eliza simply answered, “Because I’m one of those women.”
If the whole scene hadn’t been so darn uncomfortable, Richard would have enjoyed the stunned expression on his friend’s face much more than he did. He decided the best way to get rid of Spencer once and for all was to say, “That’s your cue to leave, buddy.”
At a loss for words, Spencer stood up, pushed in his chair, and offered a contrite look before apologizing, “Eliza, Richard, I’m very sorry I’m such an idiot. Seriously, I wish you both luck. I’ll just move on now.”
After he left, Eliza sighed, “A lot of my friends feel the same way. Of course they don’t seem to have very high standards, so I try not to take it personally.”
Nodding his head, Richard agreed, “I know exactly what you mean.”
Eliza and Richard had two more dates before confronting the truth about their feelings. They really did like each other, and were never at a loss for something to talk about. They both appreciated the opera, were passionate about action movies, and loved pineapple on their pizza. The problem was they felt more like good friends than potential love interests.
After another fully enjoyable encounter, they walked out of the swank new restaurant in Chelsea, and Richard boldly asked, “So, do you want me to kiss you?”
Eliza was under no illusion that a love connection was transpiring, so she answered, “Not particularly.”
“Crap,” Richard muttered. “What do we do now?”
“Well, we have to tell Rachel,” Eliza answered. “She’ll need to know so she can go back to the drawing board for us.”
He replied, “I know that. What I meant was what do we do? I really like you. I don’t want to lose touch.”
“I don’t either!” Eliza exclaimed. “None of my other friends understand what I’m doing with a matchmaker. We need to stay in each other’s lives, if for no other reason than to have someone to commiserate with.”
Richard suggested, “How about if we get together for brunch or coffee once a week? It’ll be like our own little support group.”
Clapping her hands together, Eliza added, “We can even introduce each other to our friends. That way we’ll double our chances of finding love!”
“That certainly sounds like wonderful idea, but I have to warn you, you’ve met the kind of men I call my friends.” He added, “I actually do have some buddies who are higher on the food chain than Spence, though. Give me a couple of days and I’ll pick a few out for you.”
Eliza smiled shyly, “I wouldn’t be opposed to going out with Spencer. I mean, why not give him a shot?”
Richard gasped, “Really, Spencer? He’s been married three times! He’s a bit of a buffoon.” Then he repeated, “And he’s been married three times.”
Eliza laughed, “Well, clearly, if it works out we won’t be able to tell my mother that part. But maybe Spencer’s horrible track record is due to the fact that h
e’s an eternal optimist. Maybe all he needs is to be loved by the right person and he keeps thinking he’s found her, prematurely.”
At a loss for words, Richard replied, “I don’t know. If I set you up with him and he treats you like the other women he’s dated, you’ll definitely stop being my friend, and I need you.” He paused and added, “Not to mention, I’d miss you.”
Eliza promised, “I’ll still be your friend and you can even say, ‘I told you so,’ if it doesn’t work out.”
“Spencer, though? Really?”
“He’s cute,” Eliza replied. “I want to give him a try.”
Richard went home feeling like the earth was tipping off its axis. He was the one who’d spent several thousand dollars to hire the best matchmaker in the city and Spencer was the one benefiting? It just didn't seem right.
London
Chapter 8
Pip lay on the overstuffed sofa in Sephra’s living room and complained, “I’m never going to find a proper boyfriend. I’m too weird.”
Her friend tilted her head to the side and stared at her as though examining a piece of meat hanging in the butcher shop window. “You are different,” she agreed. “But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Everyone has their perfect counterpart. Look at me.”
“Yes, look at you,” Pip grumbled. “You’ve found a lovely man, with a great job, and the perfect family. You make the rest of us despair we’ll never find anyone to equal him. I mean, what if Liam is the last decent chap on the face of the earth and you got him?”
Liam chose that moment to join them. He strutted through the room like a peacock on full display. With shoulders back and head high, he preened, “Here I am, lovelies, the last perfect man in the world!” Then he pumped his arm muscles and wiggled his behind, “Who’ll start the bidding?”
Sephra threw a pillow at him, “Don’t let it go to your head, mister!” Then she teased, “Just because you’re a catch doesn’t mean I won’t throw you back in the pond in hopes of snagging a better fish.”
Kindred Spirits: A Romantic Comedy About Love, Life, and the Afterlife . . . Page 4
