Sisterchicks Go Brit! (18 page)

K
ellie made a glorious discovery
at the Victoria and Albert Museum when she asked at the desk if any William Morris items were open for viewing.

“There is an entire room, the Morris room, that he decorated,” Kellie reported to me, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “It’s at the back on the ground floor. I want to go there first. I also found out they have a chair and a chest he designed. Those are upstairs.”

“Lead on.”

We wound our way through an elaborate display of women’s dresses from the past several centuries. Many of the garments we looked at through the glass cases were original dresses. I thought they were fascinating, especially because of the way they showed the changes in styles over the years.

But Kellie thought the Morris room was breathtaking. I stood beside her and gazed at the warm harmony of greens, blues,
and golds. The style was beginning to look familiar. Nature’s bounty of vines, birds, and leaves seemed to be the foundational theme in the elaborate work that covered the walls. But interjected into that overall sense of nature were beautiful paintings of women in flowing gowns with untamed hair and faraway expressions, as if an ethereal world of classic Greek statues had posed for the paintings.

“Think of the typical Victorian décor,” Kellie said. “Heavy tapestries, fringed cloth, ornately carved furniture, lots of bric-a-brac …”

I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant.

“Into the decorating world, Morris and his Pre-Raphaelite brothers introduced these fresh colors and simplicity. They brought the natural world back inside with their wallpaper and tapestry designs that were in harmony with nature, yet they added this romantic dash of medieval mystery. Think of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.”

She pulled out her camera and asked me to take a photo of her in front of the vine relief wall next to an inset painting of one of the captivating, stately women in a flowing gown. Several visitors were seated at a table nearby, sipping tea that could be purchased along with other snacks from the lunchroom located next to the Morris room.

“Would you both like to be in the photo?” a bald man asked us. His accent was French.

“Sure. Thanks.”

Kellie and I stood close and grinned broadly with our lovely makeup giving us a boost in camera confidence, I think. We meandered through the room, taking a few more pictures before dashing to the other end of the museum to view more original Morris designs. This display included handmade chairs and an amazing chest painted by Morris with scenes from the legend of George and the Dragon. The colors were black with dark orange and warm brown shades. The depth and dimension drew me to the figures.

If we hadn’t been in such a fury to get to our tea date on time, I’m sure we would have lingered at the museum until it closed. I loved hearing Kellie’s hidden knowledge of decorating styles and seeing her passion for art and color.

A ready taxi with its trademark spacious backseat transported Kellie and me and all our shopping bags to the front entry of the Ritz Hotel. The entrance wasn’t nearly as dramatic as the front of our hotel, but once we stepped inside, we were taken in with the charm of this five-star hotel. We checked our shopping bags and coats and took a minute to freshen up in the rest room, which had a definite French feel to it as well as another towel-offering chambermaid with her tip dish.

Approaching the Palm Court inside the lobby where the afternoon tea was served, Kellie and I lowered our voices, took inventory of our outfits, and fretted over not being as up to code as we should have been. I had on my only pair of pants, which were a dressy, dark brown, with a cream-colored cable-knit sweater and
a long-sleeved T-shirt underneath. The sweater made the outfit lean toward the casual side; yet I was afraid that if I stripped down to the plain white T-shirt, I would look more like an over-the-hill soccer mom than my desired identity of Lady Flo of the Palm Court Tea Room.

“Kellie, I need nicer clothes,” I whispered.

She looked much more suited for her role as Lady Ebb. I hoped the hostess would let me in since I was with the well-dressed woman in the black pants and pressed, royal blue, long-sleeved blouse. Kellie’s silver necklace and earrings helped to pull off a more polished look than my turquoise clip-on earrings that didn’t exactly match anything. I truly did own nice outfits. But when it came to winter wear, I was limited.

“You look great, Liz. The dress code is no jeans or tennis shoes, so you and I are just fine.”

“Then it’s a good thing Opal isn’t with us wearing her hot pink tennies!”

“I’ve been thinking about Opal and Rose today too. I wonder how they’re getting along.”

“I wonder how Opal and Virgil are getting along,” I said with a grin.

“Do you really think there was something between them?”

“Yes, definitely. Love knows no limits. Not even age or testy twin sisters.”

“Do you think we should call them just to check in?” Kellie asked.

“That would be a good idea. Should we try calling tonight before the play?”

“Sure.”

By the time we were seated in the padded chairs at a round table with a smoothly pressed tablecloth on it, I wasn’t thinking about Opal and Virgil or my appearance any longer. The Palm Court itself was the best dressed in the house. Next to her marble pillars, explosive, golden, glowing chandeliers, and exultant palm ferns that stretched to the elevated glass ceiling, all of us were underdressed. The buttery seashell color of the walls worked perfectly with the soft light from the sconces and chandeliers and the natural light coming through the spider-web design on the glass ceiling. In the center of the main wall was an alcove, complete with a life-size statue of a golden woman reclining by a fountain. Who could compete with any of that?

We ordered the Ritz traditional English tea to accompany our very expensive but very sumptuous selection of sandwiches and pastries. Our efficient middle-aged waiter in his dark suit and bow tie seemed to take great pride in describing for us the variety of sweets on the sterling silver tiered tray.

The orderly British mind-set was at work with the presentation of our afternoon tea. The items were appropriately grouped. If we chose to start on the lowest level of the three tiers, we could work our way from the sandwiches up to the scones on the second level and finish with the sweets on the top level.

With masterful motions of his hand, our server pointed out each of the treats. “Your assortment of tea sandwiches includes smoked salmon, egg mayonnaise with watercress, ham, chicken with mayonnaise, and the traditional cucumber with dairy butter.”

The perfectly cut, crustless sandwich squares were lined up on their sides, making it easier to see the layers as he described them. Even the sandwiches were better dressed than Kellie or I.

“It’s a good thing they’re so small,” Kellie said in a low voice.

I nodded but already was eying the scones on the second tier.

“Here we have our freshly baked raisin and apple scones with Devonshire clotted cream and organic strawberry preserves,” he said.

“May I ask,” Kellie turned her chin up to the waiter, unintentionally interrupting him, “do we put the clotted cream on the scone first or the strawberry jam?”

Without a change in expression, he stated, “The choice is entirely yours, madam. Many of our guests enjoy the cream first and then the preserves.”

“Thank you.” Kellie gave me a silly side grimace, as if she had been caught passing notes in class during the lecture.

“To conclude,” our expert waiter said with a sweeping gesture at the top tier, “you will find an assortment of our pastries and cakes here. The fruits of the forest compote with English cream is one of our specialties. Now, have you any questions?”

Neither of us could think of anything intelligent to ask.

“If there are no questions, may I pour your tea?”

“Yes, please,” we said in Lady-Ebb-and-Lady-Flo unison.

With my hands folded in my lap, I pushed my shoulders back in an effort to sit up straighter. The elegance of the Palm Court had that effect. The fragrant amber liquid came steaming out of the sterling silver teapot’s spout into the delicate china cup in front of me. The waiter used a silver strainer as he poured the tea. Only a few squiggly black tea leaves were caught by the strainer, which was then placed in its own silver nest until it would be called on to strain my refill.

Being served so expertly by a uniformed waiter felt like another form of pampering. As soon as he stepped away, I told Kellie I didn’t know how much more of this extravagance I could take.

“This is pretty over the top, isn’t it?” She picked up the intricately decorated silver tongs and reached for one of the cucumber sandwiches. “It’s amazing how the décor of a room can affect how you feel about yourself and your surroundings. Maybe that’s why I love decorating so much. I love elevating people’s environment so that it elevates their feelings about themselves.”

“Sounds like the princess mentality again.”

“Yes, but in a good way. In a way that makes you remember that you are fearfully and wonderfully made. That’s what God says of us. I think we suppress our appreciation for the ‘wonderfully made’ part far too often.”

“We have so much,” I said. “While we were in Harrods, I was thinking we are so, so blessed. Both of us have husbands who are
at a place in their careers where they are able to provide everything we need as well as a good amount of what we want. Do you realize how many women would love to be in our situations?”

“Yes, I do.”

“It’s almost an embarrassment of riches.”

With a calm expression, Kellie leaned over. “We are extravagantly, incredibly blessed. This is a rare abundance. It is. But it wasn’t always this way for either of us.”

“You’re right.”

“I don’t think we should be embarrassed about the goodness in this season of life simply because it seems so extravagant. Our heavenly Father is extravagant with His children sometimes. He gave us this trip. He’s provided all of this. I think we can honor Him best by receiving these gifts and letting ourselves overflow with gratefulness.”

“I’m beyond grateful at this point,” I said. “I’m in awe. Amazed. It’s just so much grace. So much goodness.”

“And don’t you think it delights our heavenly Father to pour out such an ‘amazing grace’ gift on two of His princess daughters?”

I took another sip of tea, and together we quietly made our way through the savories and sweets on the silver-tiered tea tray.

“The way I see it,” Kellie said, “this whole trip is a gift in much the same way that you made the reservations for us to have tea here and said it was my birthday gift. What if I said, ‘No, it’s too much. I only gave you a card and a pedicure for your birthday last year. I can’t enjoy this because it’s too extravagant,
and it’s more than I could return in a gift to you for your birthday next year’?”

Kellie sipped her tea, poured in a little milk, and took another sip before concluding her thought. “I think God is best honored and pleased when we simply receive His abundant gifts.”

I nodded and tucked another nibble of the egg sandwich into my mouth.

A pianist had been filling the open room with lovely music since we had arrived. In the stretch of quiet between Kellie and me, my ears tuned in to the melodic chords, and I sat back to listen.

At the table next to us an elderly woman in a blue silk sari spoke a language I had never heard. Across from us I picked up a few—very few—French words from two young women in stylish business suits. They were much more invested in their conversation than they were in the barely touched food on their tiered tray.

I replayed some of Kellie’s comments in my mind. Could it sometimes be as easy as that with God? Does He merely want us to receive His goodness and be thankful? The verse I had read from Jeremiah lilted over my thoughts lightly, like the chords on the piano in the background: “I will give them hearts that will recognize me as the L
ORD
. They will be my people, and I will be their God, for they will return to me wholeheartedly.”

I wondered if being grateful in seasons and in moments like this was part of what happens when a heart is bent toward recognizing that God is the Lord of all. He gives, and He takes away. Today He was giving. A lot.

“You have to try one of these.” Kellie took another dainty bite of a gorgeous berry tart in a flaky pastry shell.

The berry tart dissolved slowly on my tongue. I sipped just enough cream-laced tea to let the sweet and tart sensation linger on my taste buds. In an odd little private ceremony, I closed my eyes and thought,
You provided all this, Father God. My heart recognizes Your abundant goodness in this, and I receive it with deep and humble thanks
.

The rest of the afternoon and evening I moved around inside a quietness of my spirit. We decided to walk part of the way back to our hotel where we planned to leave our shopping bags before going to the theater at seven. It felt good to stretch our legs after all the delicious tea treats we had eaten.

For such an unassuming collection of dainty, one-bite foods, both Kellie and I couldn’t believe how full we felt.

“I think something happens in one’s stomach when the tea mixes with the pastry flour,” Kellie said. “I think it all expands.”

I smiled.

“Don’t you feel like we ate twice as much as we really did?”

“At least twice,” I agreed. “Maybe three times as much.”

Neither of us wanted any dinner before the play. We freshened up and took a taxi to the theater district, thinking we had allowed plenty of time. However, the cab bogged down in an area where the streets were narrow. So many people were walking on either side of the sidewalk that it appeared to be a march, with everyone moving as one.

“We must be near the theater district.” Kellie pulled out our tickets and checked the name of the theater. She leaned forward to get the driver’s attention. “Is the Queen’s Theatre within walking distance?”

He rattled off the directions, and we made the decision to pay him and hoof it the rest of the way. Our cab seemed to be at the epicenter of the vehicle bottleneck.