Read The Traveling Tea Shop Online

Authors: Belinda Jones

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Literary, #Contemporary Women, #Family Life

The Traveling Tea Shop (20 page)

BOOK: The Traveling Tea Shop
4.8Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

“Excuse me, madam?”

Am I hearing this right? This surely can’t be happening.

“It’s got bad associations for me. I’d like you to have it.”

Ravenna takes the bag from me, then tries to present it to the maid, who backs away as if it’s on fire.

“No, no, I couldn’t!”

“Yes you can!”

“Noooo! They check us when we leave. They’ll say I stole it.”

“No they won’t. Laurie will make sure of that, won’t you?”

I nod. “Of course.”

This wasn’t quite the plan. The bag was supposed to be a gesture, reminding her she has someone on her side.

Her eyes narrow at me. “I can’t believe you had it all along.”

I shrug.

“So who paid for the cupcakes in Newport?”

“I did.”

She nods. I wonder if she might thank me but no.

“Okay, I’m leaving. Don’t wait up.”

I say I won’t but I know I will.

•   •   •

As soon as everything is settled with the maid’s two-thousand-dollar tip, I reach for the phone.

“Hi Pamela, it’s Laurie.” As I speak I press at the headache forming on my brow-bone. “Did you want me to come to you to go through the itinerary or—”

“Oh no! No need,” she cuts in. “I was just saying that to get you off the hook. I’m sure you’d rather just relax tonight.”

I can’t believe it!

“The evening is yours to do as you please.”

Is it really?

I bid her good night, put down the phone and then press my face into the pillow and scream.

Chapter 35

I never usually have a problem with being alone in a big city. I’ve done it so many times. But it’s a little different when you are part of a group and everyone pairs up and heads off in different directions. Without you.

I wonder where Harvey has taken Ravenna? I would have guessed Newbury Street, but she’s already covered that today. I toy with the idea of staying in—renting a movie, ordering room service. But I know I’ll just end up clock-watching and wondering what everyone else is doing. No. I’m heading out. Maybe I’ll find myself a nice piece of scrod . . .

•   •   •

Saturday night is not the night to be dining alone in a crowded restaurant where every place setting is at a premium. So I head to Quincy Market, famous for being America’s first open market and home to a barrage of food options: Bangkok Express, Ueno Sushi, El Paso Enchiladas, Pizzeria Regina; every nation is accounted for. Local might be a good choice—I could have clam chowder. Or oysters. Or pull up a seat at the Cheers bar where nobody knows my name. But no. I order a hefty, oozy chunk of moussaka from Steve’s Greek Cuisine and then can’t find anywhere to sit to eat it. Darnit! Why didn’t I just get a hot dog?

It’s a warm night so I keep my food wrapped and retrace my steps, passing the hotel and the Freedom Trail and crossing over to Boston Common, the local equivalent of Central Park.

A concert is being set up in the first dell. It looks as if it could get loud so I keep walking, past the carousel and the unsavory-looking individuals gathered by the Soldiers and Sailors Monument, settling in a family-friendly area beside a lake with giant swan boats. I find myself smiling as I watch them gliding beneath the weeping willows. I’d like to try that with Harvey. Actually, I think I’d like to do just about anything with him! He’s got that way about him that makes you really engage with your surroundings. He knows so many interesting things. And he’s so playful—

My phone rings. I virtually send it flying into the water in my eagerness to answer it.

“Krista!”

“Gosh. You sound pleased to hear from me!”

“I thought you were Cirque du Soleil-ing tonight?”

“I am, we got here early. I just wanted to see how you’re getting on. What’s the scoop?”

Where to begin?

I bring her up to speed, at speed, including a rapturous account of my time with Harvey.

“Should I worry that the most romantic encounter I’ve had with a man involves watching him dancing with another woman?”

“Not at all!” she tuts. “I would have felt exactly the same way. He sounds so masterful-yet-cute!”

“He is! And his
mind
 . . .”

“You fancy his mind?” Her voice lowers.

“I really do!”

“Now we’re in trouble!” Krista laughs.

“The thing is, I’m being ridiculous really. It’s not like he’s a real possibility . . .”

“Why ever not?”

“Well, let’s be frank. He is rather out of my league.”

“You know, I don’t even think that’s a thing anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, ever since I got together with Jacques, I’ve realized you can’t say someone is out of your league because you don’t know what they are looking for. You might presume certain things based on their looks or their status, but in actual fact you could be the very thing that is missing from their life.”

I smile. “I suppose you’re right. All the same, I probably should try not to get too carried away. I don’t want to set myself up for another fall.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks to that! Why shouldn’t you enjoy this stage, no matter where it leads? At least he’s an improvement on your usual taste—I mean, with Charles as a father, he practically comes with a Certificate of Excellence!”

“I know!” I laugh. “Oh, I wish I could trade places with Ravenna right now!”

“Do you feel at all weird about him being out with her?”

I pause. “I did have this moment when I first saw her go all googly-eyed at the sight of him and I thought, ‘Oh no, he has this effect on everyone, I’m just another sucker!’ but, you know, honestly, the weirdest part of all is how nice she’s being. She’s like a different person!”

“Huh,” Krista muses. “And you think Charles is the key?”

“I don’t know how else to explain it! I think he must be having an impact on her on some deep genetic level.”

“She feels safe with him, cared for . . .” Krista continues the theory.

“He’s got this way with her.”

“Brings out the best?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Krista is quiet for a moment and then says, “Can you imagine if our dads came back into our lives at this age?”

“It’s pretty unfathomable, isn’t it?” I reply. “I think I’d be even more mad if he was as nice as Charles—all those years missing out on a positive male role model!”

“Yeah, at least our dads are duds to the end.”

“Consistent,” I laugh.

“Oh! Music’s starting! Gotta go!”

“All right, enjoy the show and say
Bonjour
to Sebastien for me!”

“Will do! Bye!”

Sebastien is Jacques’ half-brother and one of the featured acrobats with Cirque du Soleil. I am utterly in awe of his talent. All the miracles his honed, toned body can perform.

I look down at my foil tin, dripping with red oil and minced beef debris, and drop it into the bin.

Where to now?

I decide to have a mooch down Newbury Street, buzzing with young people having fun. The boutiques are open late but for once I don’t feel like shopping. Instead I find myself drawn down the quieter side streets, feeling as though I’m stumbling onto the set of
The Age of Innocence.
I stop to take in the iconic elegance of the brownstones, picturing Harvey coming down the steps to greet me in a wing collar and jaunty felt hat, maybe even carrying a cane. And then I feel oddly sad because, whatever Krista says, I know I’m reaching for the moon with him.

Yes, he did ask to see me tonight and it would have flowed so effortlessly from our afternoon together, but now what? To see each other again would require advance planning and travel and way too much thinking on my part. I run my hand along the black gloss railings and sigh. I despair of myself at these times—turning a perfectly lovely encounter into a source of anxiety. I think it might have something to do with getting a taste of something I’ve convinced myself I don’t want anymore. It just brings up all this
wanting
in me. Well. No more on this topic tonight. I have to move on . . .

I walk and walk some more. It’s dark now and not a little chilly. Perhaps it’s time to head back? Tired and throbbing of feet, I attempt to hail a taxi, but each one I spy is occupied. I take out my phone to find out exactly where I am and discover the battery has died. Oh great. There’s no one around here to approach for directions and all the shops I pass are shuttered closed; I must have crossed over into some kind of business district. I’m getting a teeny bit spooked now, but try to act nonchalant while lengthening my stride. I just can’t believe I didn’t pack a map as backup. Or my phone charger. Or a cardi.

It really doesn’t do for the travel expert to get lost. I wonder for a moment if I might cry. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to do so. To just let go and let it all out. I feel it welling up inside of me now. If I think of how much fun everyone else is having while I’m wandering the streets like a stray dog, I think I could push myself over the edge . . .

But then I see a glimmer of hope in the distance: chocolate-brown lettering and a cupcake motif.

“Sweet”—the sign cuts to the chase.

As I draw closer I see a haven of tufted pink banquettes and white marble tabletops. My pace quickens. I open the door and, once inside, heave a sigh of relief. All is well with the world. Nothing bad can happen to you when you are surrounded by cupcakes. And these are pristine with plump rounded frosting and innovative flavors like Honey Blackberry (filled with blackberry jam and New England’s Carlisle honey) and Peach Cobbler (laced with cinnamon sugar and topped with streusel crumbs). Oh, this one is so Krista: Pina Colada—pineapple filling and coconut-cream icing, with its own paper umbrella! There’s even cupcakes for her dogs—or should I say
pupcakes!

“May I help you?”

“Could I just have one of the Boston Cream Pie cupcakes, please?” Well. When in Rome . . .

“For here or to go?”

“Well, that depends,” I begin. “I don’t suppose you could direct me to the Omni Parker House Hotel from here?”

The server grimaces. “It’s tricky,” he says, coming out from behind the counter and leading me to the door.

I brace myself for a sequence of “left at the statue of Benjamin Franklin, third turning on the right after City Hall, if you get to Bunker Hill you’ve gone too far,” when he says, “It’s there!”

“What?” I squint up the street. “Oh my god!” I laugh. “The cupcakes led me home!”

The question now is: will there be anyone to come home to?

Chapter 36

The answer is no.

I get into my pajamas, make a cup of hotel room tea (which always tastes weird), grab my cupcake and
Charlotte au Chocolat
book and climb into bed.

For the most part I am cozy and absorbed, reading about the charmingly eccentric characters that worked Upstairs at the Pudding. Not least Charlotte’s mother, eternally sporting giant sunglasses, moving in a haze of Joy perfume and Coco Pink kisses. The description of her shoe collection seals the deal: “Jeweled satin evening boots . . . stacked Lucite slippers, heels with feathers, heels with ribbons lacing ballerina-style up the ankles.”

She would even cook in them: “Her heels dug into the cutout holes of the rubber mats behind the stoves as she swept through the grease and flames and grunting men.”

I am so there!

But every now and again, my eye strays to Ravenna’s empty bed and I get a “She’s still not back!” jolt of anxiety.

What if the truth accidentally slipped out? How would she react? I just hope she’s not traipsing the streets alone like I was. Not that Harvey would let anything bad happen to her, I’m sure of that.

It can only have been a matter of minutes after I give in and switch off the light that the door creaks open.

“Laurie? Are you awake?”

“Mmmmf.” I decide to play groggy in case she starts telling me a bunch of things I don’t want to hear and thus can pretend to have fallen back to sleep.

“I had such a brilliant time!” she trills. “He took me to an old prison!”

“He what?” This statement rouses me a little too much.

“A hotel that’s an old prison. We went to the restaurant there, it’s called Clink!” she giggles. “I’ve even got pictures in one of the cells.”

She perches on the end of my bed and shows me her jailbird poses.

Oddly my mind goes back to Consuelo Vanderbilt, but Ravenna is clearly a far more willing prisoner.

“Do you know that in the 1930s the mayor of Boston was incarcerated there and he actually got reelected
while he was still behind bars
?” Ravenna hoots. “And Frank Abagnale Junior, you know, the con artist from
Catch Me If You Can
? He was there in the Sixties. Harvey knows all the most interesting stuff!”

If Krista were here she’d say I’d met my tour-guide match in Harvey. And listening to Ravenna quote him I almost feel like I am reliving the evening with them. I can even picture his expressions and get a warm feeling hearing that he ordered the chocolate fondue for dessert. When she says, “I think he’s got a sweet tooth!” I think, “I
know
he has a sweet tooth.” As if I have prior claim just because we shared afternoon tea. I can’t help it! She’s reminding me of his loveliness and how much fun he is to be with.

“He’s just such fun to be with,” Ravenna echoes, making me feel a teeny bit foolish.

It’s then I remember my mum telling me that you don’t want a man with obvious appeal or everyone will be after him. I’m sure every woman who meets Harvey is instantly smitten—what’s not to love? Maybe he’s just universally charming? I mean, even his own flesh and blood seems to have a crush.

Of course Pamela could be right, Ravenna could be admiring him in a purely platonic way. Lots of people hum while they’re taking off their makeup. I turn away from the bathroom light and settle back down into bed, reminding myself that this is not my concern. But as I lie there I finally put a title to the song she’s humming—“I Could Have Danced All Night . . .”

BOOK: The Traveling Tea Shop
4.8Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The New Wild by Holly Brasher
The Indian Bride by Karin Fossum
Following Ezra by Tom Fields-Meyer
Intrinsical by Lani Woodland
Just a Little Surprise by Tracie Puckett
Tender Fury by Connie Mason