“How’s it going over there?” asked Theodosia. She had picked up the drift of Drayton’s paranoia.
“Drayton’s not exactly exuding warm, fuzzy vibes,” said Haley.
“We’re talking cold prickly?”
Haley gave a rueful smile. “You might say that.” She reached for a cup and saucer, pitching in to help Theodosia clear the table. “How was Mark’s funeral?” she asked in a low voice.
“Strange,” responded Theodosia. “Somewhere between the hymns and the final graveside benediction Teddy Vickers made a grudging offer to buy the Featherbed House.”
Haley rocked back, stunned. “What? Are you serious? What was Angie’s reaction?”
“Shock, disbelief, bewilderment,” replied Theodosia. “I think the one-two punch of Mark’s death and the terrible fire yesterday have hit her so hard she’s still operating in trauma mode.”
“Poor Angie,” said Haley. “So the funeral was . . . pretty awful?”
“Aside from Teddy dropping his little bombshell, the funeral was actually quite lovely,” said Theodosia. “Music, flowers, program . . . everything was planned and carried out perfectly. Right down to the smallest detail.”
“Drayton always was a superb event planner,” said Haley, carefully gathering up the lace placemats. “Must be that little touch of obsessive-compulsive disorder that spurs him to greatness.”
Theodosia glanced across the tea room to where Drayton was still hovering and fidgeting. “Now if we could just get him to relax where Charlie is concerned.”
“Are you still open?” called Delaine. “And do you have any food left?”
The little bell tinkled above them as Delaine Dish and Bobby Wayne Loveday stood in the doorway. While Delaine posed gracefully, looking all the world like an entitled duchess, Bobby Wayne was clearly unsure about entering an environment that was generally foreign to most men.
“Yes to both counts,” Theodosia told them. “Haley made the most wonderful bacon and red pepper quiche for lunch. And I just this minute finished setting up a fresh table.” She waved a hand and pulled out a chair at one of the tables for four. “Sit here. Give you plenty of room.”
As Delaine and Bobby Wayne took their seats, Charlie was at Theodosia’s side in a heartbeat. Looking like a real pro, she handed Delaine and Bobby Wayne the small luncheon menus that were laser printed daily, then set tall glasses of ice water in front of them.
Delaine regarded Charlie with open curiosity. “You’re new here, aren’t you, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” responded Charlie.
“Charlie is Drayton’s intern,” explained Theodosia. “She’s learning all about tea as well as the business of tea.”
“There’s that much to learn?” asked Delaine, wrinkling her nose.
“More than I ever thought,” responded Charlie.
“So Drayton’s actually a
Charlie didn’t hesitate. “The best.”
Theodosia had to check herself from doing a double take.
Clearly, she decided, Charlie deserved an A in diplomacy.
“And here I was, worried about getting enough to eat,” said Bobby Wayne, patting his somewhat ample stomach and leaning back in his chair. He had happily snarfed a cream scone, a bowl of oyster stew, and a wedge of bacon and red pepper quiche. Delaine, ever conscious of her size-eight figure, had eaten far more moderately, opting for a chicken walnut salad with lime vinaigrette.
Theodosia favored Bobby Wayne with a tolerant smile. His was a litany she heard frequently. In fact, women as well as men often expressed worry over the small tea shop por-tions. But once scones with Devonshire cream and jam were served, once a citrus salad or lovely cream soup had been offered as a starter, once the finger sandwiches, miniature quiches, tiny croissants stuffed with chicken salad, and endive stuffed with crab salad arrived at the table, it was no longer a question of
And Haley had just delivered a plate of key lime dessert scones accompanied by peanut butter truffles to the table.
“Good heavens,” groaned Bobby Wayne. “More food?” Still, his eyes roved hungrily over the golden-brown scones that had come steaming from the oven and the sinfully rich truffles covered in walnuts.
Theodosia had sat down with them and now Drayton sauntered over and joined them as well.
“These are some of Haley’s finest,” said Drayton, indicating the scones. “She always has the most amazing recipes up her tricky little sleeves. A highly inventive young lady, absolutely a whiz in the kitchen.”
“Everything here is wonderful,” Bobby Wayne rhapsodized. “The soup, the quiche, your desserts!”
Haley returned with a bowl overflowing with Devonshire cream and a tiny cut-glass bowl filled with lemon curd. “I’m probably going to be doing a recipe book,” she told Bobby Wayne, after he’d lavished her with compliments.
Bobby Wayne stuck his spoon into the Devonshire cream and dropped another frothy spoonful onto his half- eaten scone. “When will that be?” he asked. He looked like he was ready to buy a copy today. Maybe even two copies.
“Not sure,” said Haley. “I’m still . . . what would you call it? Dickering with publishers.”
It wasn’t long before talk turned to Angie Congdon and Teddy Vickers’s strange offer.
“It just came sailing out of the blue,” remarked Drayton. “Very bewildering. And highly inappropriate, too.”
“Talk about a fire sale,” remarked Delaine.
Drayton reared his head back. “Your choice of verbiage isn’t particularly amusing, Delaine.”
She waved a languid hand. “Oh, lighten up, Drayton. You know I positively absolutely adore Angie. I’m as shocked as anyone by Teddy Vickers’s offer. But there’s nothing I can
“Does Teddy even have the financial resources?” wondered Drayton. “I mean, he’s awfully young. And he was just serving as her assistant.”
“He can probably manage financing,” mused Bobby Wayne. “Even though most of the Featherbed House is in ruins, it’s still located on a prime piece of real estate.”
“Maybe the Featherbed House could be rebuilt,” offered Delaine. She glanced at Drayton, obviously trying to make amends for her flippant comment earlier.
“Smack-dab in the historic district and just a stone’s throw from the Battery,” said Drayton. “I’ll bet a lot of people would love to get their hands on that property.”
Theodosia picked up a Brown Betty teapot and poured a stream of cinnamon spice tea into Delaine’s and Bobby Wayne’s teacups. “What bothers me is his timing. Why did Teddy Vickers suddenly wait until the day of Mark’s funeral to spring this on Angie?”
“Don’t know,” shrugged Bobby Wayne, getting involved with his second scone.
“And what’s with his forty-eight-hour deadline?” Theodosia asked.
“Maybe Teddy figured he was doing Angie a favor,” said Delaine. “You know, taking the place off her hands.”
“Sometimes,” said Theodosia slowly, “actions that appear to be favors really benefit someone else.”
“Theodosia?” said Charlie, suddenly appearing at their table. “You have a phone call. A Sheriff Billings?”
“Excuse me,” said Theodosia, slipping quickly from her chair.
“I thought I’d get back to you on those plants,” said Sheriff Billings, his voice booming loudly into Theodosia’s ear.
“I appreciate it,” she said.
“Apparently, the College of Pharmacy at the School of Medicine over in Columbia has been using those plants in an ongoing research study. They extract tannins, flavones, and alkaloids for use in antiviral research, if you know what that is.”
