AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“The literary glitterati loved the place. Twain, Maugham, Oscar Wilde, Tolkien, Orwell. Agatha Christie, of course. And Rudyard Kipling wrote much ofThe Jungle Bookthere.”
We walk down Piccadilly, enjoying the view of Green Park, and turn down Albemarle Street. Brown’s Hotel is in a white building with a façade resembling the RAF Club.
A frisson of excitement shoots through me, as if I’m entering Agatha Christie’s Bertram’s Hotel. Will there be murder and intrigue? I can’t help scanning the lobby for a glimpse of Miss Marple. But no one resembles Joan Hickson.
The English Tea Room is really three adjoining room. The walls are lined with banquettes, the upholstery alternating solid tan and red, with cream embroidered with large red and green flowers. The chairs are deep horseshoe shapes upholstered in red and comfortable armchairs, in the same flower pattern on the banquettes.
A piano sits in the corner of one room and a pianist plays show tunes, providing a lively backdrop, while the fireplaces make the high-ceilinged space appear extra cozy.
“You and Max?” Hills prompts.
“Uh, uh, uh,” I stutter.
She spirals her fingers, urging me on.
“Remember my telling you about the guy I hit with the bicycle when I first got to Oxford?”
She giggles. “Mortifying for you, but hilarious in the retelling.”
“Yeah, well, it was never particularly funny to me.” I fidget with the extensive tea menu while Hillary watches the other patrons while she waits for me to decide.
“Cress, a guide pal of mine is over there. I’ll be right back.” She trots toward the entrance. “Fiona.” Her voice is audible over the genteel murmur of the tea takers, even though she hasn’t raised her voice.
“Hillary, fancy seeing you here. Are you doing a private tour?” Hillary murmurs something back, but it’s just meaningless sound to me.
Lips pursed, I continue to contemplate the menu. I’m reluctant to order the full spread with the prospect of an elaborate dinner with Max coming up.
“Cress, this is my colleague, Fiona Lukas. She’s a guide with London Walks.” As I scramble to my feet, the chair falls silently on the thick carpet. “Fiona, this is my friend Cressida Taylor. We were grad students together at Oxford. She’s in London for a few days, so I thought, why not Brown’s?”
I hold out my hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’ve taken several walks with your company. Always excellent.”
Fiona and I shake hands. “I’m so glad you enjoyed them, Cress.”
I smile back and study Hills’ friend. Fiona has longish blonde hair, broad cheekbones, and a winning smile. We’re still all standing around the small table. Hills raises her eyebrows in a question and I nod.
“Would you like to join us, Fiona?” I ask.
“You’re sure you don’t mind? I only came in to check things out for a private tour I’m putting together. They’re keen on Agatha Christie and want to end with tea. I thought Brown’s would be perfect.” She grins. “And I’ve never been here before, so I thought I could combine business with pleasure.”
I wave over a hovering server. “No. It’s fine.”
“Thank you.” Fiona shrugs off her orangey-red coat and drapes it over her arm while we figure out the seating. Underneath, she is wearing a bright blue blouse and her blue badge hangs on a chain. Between Fiona’s bright colors and Hillary’s fashion-plate outfit, I’m the drab country mouse.
“Fiona’s been a guide for yonks and a great mentor when I was getting started. specializes in tours of the Underground. A real transport aficionado.”
Fiona’s face lights up with a grin. “Are you here on holiday, Cress?”
“Not exactly.” I hesitate, as usual balking at the idea of calling Max my boyfriend. Sounds too jejune. Finally I hit on the right word and go on. “My partner is in London for a meeting and a seventy-eighth birthday bash for his father and I’m using the opportunity to get together with Hills and meet with my editor.”
“Ah, an author. What sort of thing do you write?”
“Are you ready to order?” The server glances over at our now-expanded group.
“May we have a larger table? Or at least an extra chair.” Hillary produces one of her irresistible smiles.
Once moved, we hastily check out the menu. The tea sommelier arrives, and we decide on the Silver Needle Supreme White. I push down my misgivings as Hillary and I plump for the Traditional. Sadly, the champagne version is only available on the weekends. Fiona, being a bit more prudent, opts for tea and a scone.
Returning to Fiona’s question, I lean forward, hands clasped in my lap. “I write historical novels.”
