by Nancy Warren
“Why don’t we go next door to Elderflower Tea Shop?”
I thought that tea was really working. It had certainly sharpened Violet’s brain so she came up with this excellent idea. We went off to shower and dress and then headed out. I wore jeans with a silky poppy-colored sweater that Theodore had knit for me. I tried to take turns wearing the gifts from my vampire knitters so none of them ever felt they weren’t appreciated. It could be a little trying when it came to Mabel, as she tended to knit things that would have looked great if I were a fifties housewife.
However, Theodore knitted from my current stock of patterns and usually asked me first if I liked something before going ahead and making it. We’d chosen this wool together, and this was the first time I’d worn the sweater.
Violet wore a tight black skirt and a slouchy purple sweater that she’d knit herself. Unlike me, she was an excellent knitter.
Elderflower was only next door, so we didn’t have far to go, but before we made it, I saw a curious sight. Across the street and up a little way from Cardinal Woolsey’s was Frogg’s Books. Standing in front of the window were Alice and Beatrice, and they were giggling. I’d have called out to them, but neither Violet nor I needed loud noise in our lives right now. Instead, I tugged on Violet’s arm, and we crossed the street to join the two laughing women. It crossed my mind that they might still be inebriated, but Alice at least had seemed perfectly lucid by the end of last night’s party.
In fact, Sophie Wynter announcing that she was going to marry Alice’s fiancé had acted like a combination of a freezing cold shower and a couple of cups of black coffee to instantly sober Alice up. After that, Alice had stuck to tea, and I wondered if she’d wanted to keep a cool head so as not to say or do anything she might later regret.
Sophie’s inappropriate behavior hadn’t ruined the night, but it had certainly put a bit of a damper on the festivities. Though the evening had improved when a glass of red wine fell into her lap. She’d shrieked and jumped out of her seat. She’d immediately jerked her entire body around trying to find someone to blame, but no one was standing near her at the time.
I’d glanced around to find Violet standing a few feet away, looking pleased with herself. After Sophie left, the party got a lot more fun.
I was about to ask them what was so funny when I peered through the window. Then I didn’t need to ask. Charlie was sound asleep in one of the comfy chairs reserved for bookstore patrons. He was still dressed in black trousers and the white shirt he’d worn out to dinner last night.
He looked as though he’d spent an uncomfortable night and ended up with his head on one of the stuffed armrests, while his legs were jammed against one of the bookcases, presumably to stop him sliding out of the chair and onto the floor. One of his arms was up over the back of the chair, clinging on.
“That quiet, elegant dinner last night must have ended early,” Violet said.
Whether he heard the four of us laughing at him or felt our scrutiny or just woke up, his eyes blinked a few times, and then he sat up and rubbed his hands over his face.
He waved one hand our way, and then he stood up very slowly. I suspected that Charlie was in urgent need of some of Violet’s magic tea.
He staggered to his feet and walked slowly to the door and let us in.
“Why are you sleeping in the shop?” Beatrice asked him.
He looked around as though surprised to find himself there. “I have no idea.”
Alice said, “I’ll make you some tea.”
His face twisted in pain. “Not sure I could face it.”
I glanced at Violet, who nodded her understanding. “I’ve got some special hangover tea. I’ll just run back to Lucy’s and get it.”
I slipped her my key, and she headed back out. Beatrice, who wasn’t as understanding as Alice, said, “I thought you were going for a quiet dinner last night?”
He groaned. “I thought so too. It started out quiet enough. But I think it ended up rather raucous.”
He looked around and blinked a few times. “I must change my clothes. Have a shower. Come upstairs.”
I was about to say we’d come back later, and Alice was shaking her head, but Beatrice was already halfway upstairs. Alice looked at me and shrugged, and so we followed Charlie up.
When he opened the door to his apartment above the bookstore, it became apparent why he’d slept downstairs. His flat appeared to be full of bodies. Possibly dead ones.
One guy was sprawled across the couch, and another lay on the floor wrapped in a blanket and with his head resting on one of the couch cushions. From the bedroom emerged the most powerful snores I had ever heard.
Charlie stopped for a moment and listened. Then he nodded as though happy to have a puzzle solved. “That’s why I went downstairs. The noise.”
He looked at us vaguely. “Make yourselves at home. Throw Alistair on the floor so you can sit down.”
He went into the bathroom, and I heard the shower go on and then a piercing yell. The shower turned off. A minute later, a stranger came out with his head soaking wet and his white shirt clinging damply to his skin. At the sight of us, he blinked a few times. “Good morning. I was sleeping in the bath.” He rubbed the side of his neck. “Mistake.” He walked to the stove and took the tea towel hanging from the rail and wiped it over his wet face.
He peered closely at every surface until he found his glasses sitting on top of the fridge. When he slipped them on, his face looked more complete, as though he’d worn glasses for so long, his face couldn’t manage without them. He settled the thick lenses more securely on his nose and said, “I’m Nigel Potts. Pleasure to meet you.”
An earsplitting snore came from the bedroom. The guy on the couch jumped and cried out, “What? I’m up.” Then he came fully awake and saw all of us looking at him. He was a redhead with freckles and large, green eyes. He swiveled and put his feet on the floor. He ran his tongue over dry lips, and I remembered how I had felt first thing this morning. I opened the fridge and found a jug of cold filtered water. I poured a glass and handed it to the guy on the couch, who took it and drank it all down. “You must be an angel,” he said to me.
I took the empty glass back. “Refill?”
He nodded. “Let me amend that. You must be the Queen of the Angels.”
He sipped this one more slowly. “I dreamed I was in the Old West, I think. I was tied to a train track and a steam train was headed for me.” He jerked his head toward the bedroom, where the snoring did sound a bit like a steam train. “Now I know why.” He winced. “Can somebody wake him up? It’s torture.”
Nigel, the soaking wet guy, still holding the tea towel, went into the bedroom. “Hey, Welly,” he yelled. “You’re snoring.”
There were a few snorts, and then the snoring stopped. A deep voice rumbled something, and then Nigel emerged. Following him was possibly the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. He had dark skin, close-cropped black hair, and eyes of a startling blue. No wonder he could snore so loud with that chest. He had to be an athlete. He looked around the room sheepishly. “Was I snoring?”
Nigel threw the tea cloth at his face.
When he smiled, his teeth were white and even. “Ladies,” he said.
I think we were all struck speechless, because none of us said a word. Fortunately, Charlie emerged from the bathroom in a navy blue terrycloth robe. His feet were bare and his hair still damp from the shower. He shook his head. “Well, this isn’t how I imagined we’d all meet. But this is the wedding party.” He toed the sleeping man on the floor. “Except for Giles here. He’d have been a groomsman, if needed, but he’ll do a reading instead.”
Giles sat up slowly. He had blond, tousled hair and looked delicate, yet he had a glint in his eye as he checked out the bridesmaids that made me suspect he was all grown up.
Beatrice found her voice first. “You’re the wedding party?”
Giles chuckled. “You’re the bridesmaids?”
It seemed those t
wo approved of each other.
Charlie rubbed his forehead as though he were trying to massage some sense into it. “Right. Proper introductions.” He walked up and put an arm around Alice. “Most important of all, my fiancée, Alice Robinson.”
As Nigel said, “You’re a lucky man,” the guy who’d been sleeping on the couch, Alistair, said, “It’s not too late, Alice. Don’t throw yourself away on him. Really. I’d be a much better choice.”
Alice laughed and blushed, and Charlie said, “Don’t be an arse, Alistair. A woman like Alice wouldn’t look twice at you if you were giving away free sweets with purchase.”
“No. I suppose you’re right,” said Alistair, which made me like him.
Charlie turned to Beatrice. “This is Alice’s friend from childhood, Beatrice. She’s the maid of honor.” Then he turned to me and Violet. “Lucy is a good friend of both of us. She runs the knitting shop across the street. Her cousin Violet, also a good friend, works with Lucy.”
We both said hello, and Violet put the kettle on.
“The chap on the couch is Alistair Grendell-Smythe. He’s my friend from childhood and my best man. Nigel Potts is the wet one.”
We all chuckled. In England, calling someone wet was like calling them stupid or dull. I was impressed that Charlie could be that hung over and still make jokes. “The man with the incredible snore is Wellesley Clark, and the fellow on the floor is Giles Brighouse. We grew up near each other, in Wembley, and were all up at Oxford together.”
This seemed like a good opportunity for us to get to know one another. I said, “Violet and I were just going to go for breakfast. Do you want to join us?”
Violet began passing out mugs of her magic hangover tea. “Drink this first,” she advised.
Everyone nodded or said it was a good idea. Nigel said, “I noticed Elderflower Tea Shop is still there. I wonder if the two old ladies still run it.”
I would’ve taken umbrage at hearing my friends the Miss Watts called old ladies except that he said it with such respect. And as they were both over eighty, I supposed they were, in fact, old ladies. I assured him that the two Miss Watts still ran Elderflower.
“We must go there then. Remember how they used to make us those wonderful breakfasts?”
I thought times might’ve changed. “They mostly do scones and things. Quiche is probably the closest thing you’ll get to a breakfast dish.”
He looked at Wellesley Clark in an entirely challenging way. “What do you reckon, Welly? Can we still wrap them around our little fingers?”
Wellesley Clark did not look like he had any trouble wrapping any woman in the world around his little finger. “We can only try.”
They drank their magic tea and then took turns getting ready. It was surprising how quickly they could go from slovenly and hung over to very presentable.
It occurred to me that in turning his flat into a frat house, Charlie hadn’t included Boris. I wondered if the brother had caused as much trouble at boys’ night out as Sophie had with the girls?
What was it with those Wynters? And why had Charlie invited them to his wedding?
Chapter 5
The nine of us headed out together, and we fell neatly into pairs. Charlie and Alice walked together, obviously, holding hands and catching up, since they hadn’t seen each other for hours. Beatrice and Alistair Grendell-Smythe followed. Violet grabbed the delectable Wellesley Clark as though he were a life preserver and she was drowning. That left me bringing up the rear with Nigel and Giles.
“How’s your neck?” I asked Nigel. He must have a really bad crick in it after sleeping in the bathtub all night.
He turned his neck from side to side. And then again. He looked at me in surprise. “It’s fine. In fact, I feel remarkably well. What was in the tea?”
He was clearly joking, so I laughed. Ha ha ha. “Old family recipe.”
We walked into Elderflower Tea Shop. I thought the poor Miss Watts would be hard-pressed to remember students from Cardinal College that they couldn’t have seen in over a decade. Charlie was thirty-four years old, so his friends must be around that age too. If they’d graduated when they were twenty-two, Florence and Mary Watt hadn’t seen them in a dozen years. Well, they saw Charlie regularly, of course, but surely the others would be strangers.
But either the Miss Watts had incredible memories for their customers or Wellesley, Nigel, Charlie, Giles and Alistair really had wrapped the proprietors of Elderflower Tea Shop around their manly fingers. Florence saw them first and gave a little cry. “I can’t believe my eyes.” She looked at the men, who not an hour ago had been sprawled all over Charlie’s flat and bookshop in a hung-over stupor, as though they were VIP guests of the highest order. “Wellesley? Nigel? Giles? And Alistair.” She turned and called for her sister. “Mary. You won’t believe who’s come to visit us.”
Her sister bustled out from the kitchen and made just as much of a fuss. She patted Wellesley on his magnificent chest. “I’ll never forget how exciting it was when you captained that eight and rowed us to victory.”
To the rest of us, she said, “He rowed for England in the Olympics, you know.”
“Didn’t win, though,” Nigel reminded her helpfully. “Came, what, ninth?”
She swatted him. “Ninth best in all the world? I call that a very fine showing indeed.”
So Wellesley had been a rower. That explained the broad shoulders and that chest. The men hugged both ladies, and then the sisters welcomed the rest of us less exalted customers. I wasn’t a bit surprised when we were shown to the prize table in the window. We had to drag over a second table and add more chairs, but I truly think they would have thrown existing customers out onto the street if they’d had to make room for their special guests. Fortunately, that wasn’t necessary, and the customers already there could finish their scones and tea in peace. Or whatever peace remained with a table of nine of us all getting to know one another.
My second shock occurred when Wellesley and crew didn’t even have to turn on the charm. Mary looked at him with a twinkle in her eye. “Don’t tell me, you want my special breakfast.”
Wellesley grinned at her. He had the whitest teeth I’d seen since I’d left the States. “I’ve thought of nothing else since I left Oxford.”
She looked around at us. “Breakfast for all of you?”
“Why not?” Wellesley looked around and we all nodded.
“And tea or coffee?”
We all chose coffee, and soon Mary returned with a couple of big pots and put them on the table. I don’t know how they did it, or whether they sent a helper running up to the corner grocery store, but somehow they managed to put on a full English breakfast that wasn’t on the menu. We were treated to fried mushrooms, baked beans, bacon, sausages, fried eggs, and black pudding. There were silver racks containing assorted slices of brown and white toast. The toast rack is a peculiar British invention that ensures toast is always cold before it gets to the table.
I couldn’t believe it. The Watt sisters had known me my whole life and—not to boast—but I had helped solve a murder that took place in this very tea shop, and they’d never offered me the full English breakfast. I’d never have dared to order off the menu. Still, thanks to the hearty breakfast and Violet’s magic tea, our two groups of virtual strangers were soon acting like we were all old friends.
I’d only ever seen Charlie as the owner of a bookstore and as the man who was going to marry Alice, so it was illuminating to see him with guys he’d grown up with and gone to university with. I suspected that for all of them, when they got together, the years dropped away and they felt like undergrads again.
“I’ll never forget that party at the rowing club,” Alistair said. “You remember, Welly? Where Boris Wynter got so drunk, he tried to take out one of the sculls and fell in the river? Silly fool panicked and nearly drowned.”
“Whatever made you invite him to the wedding?” Nigel asked. “He’s not really our sort.”
&nbs
p; Charlie looked uncomfortable. “I couldn’t really not invite him. We’ve been friends since we were boys. I admit we’ve drifted apart, but he’d have been so hurt not to be invited. I couldn’t do it.”
I glanced at Alice to see how she was taking this discussion of Sophie’s brother. She kept her gaze on her plate and spread marmalade on a piece of toast, making sure she was carefully scraping so it reached every edge and corner.
Wellesley suddenly laughed. “Quite a pair, those Wynters. Do you remember the time Sophie Wynter snuck into the—”
“The girls can’t possibly be interested in our old college reminiscences,” Charlie said quite firmly.
“Oh, right. Wasn’t thinking.”
I glanced once more at Alice. Now that every bit of her piece of toast was covered with marmalade, she was spreading it again with her knife, smoothing all the waves and ridges as though she were icing a perfect cake.
Alistair spoke into the sudden, awkward silence. “Boris isn’t all bad, though. He visits my dad from time to time. They’ll watch a football game on the telly or go to the pub. I’m very grateful to him and to Giles, here. He gets so lonely. He likes to see the old faces.”
“How is your dad?” Charlie asked.
“Not at all the same since we lost Mum. It’s just the two of us now.” He sliced into his sausage, piled it up with beans. “Appreciate you inviting him to the wedding. It’s good for him to get out a bit.”
“Of course. I’m only sorry your mum couldn’t be here.”
None of us women said anything and, clearly realizing that we were in the dark, Alistair said, “Mum died last year of cancer. Dad’s completely lost without her. I’ve been a bit worried about him. He’s not acting quite like himself. I can’t be there all the time. I work in Birmingham. Anyway, it was good of you and Alice to invite him, Charlie. It’s given him something happy to think about, and very kind of your parents to let him sit in their pew right up front like that. It makes him feel like family. Mum always had a soft spot for you.”
