door.
“But Mark was the one with the real business smarts. That’s what I’ve always heard anyway.”
“Bye-bye,” waved Drayton, hoping to move Delaine along. “See you later.”
Once Delaine had made her reluctant exit, Theodosia joined Drayton behind the counter where he fussed about, pulling down colorful tins of tea. “What’s on the docket for today?” she asked him.
“I feel the need for a somewhat strong cup of tea,” Drayton told her. “So I’m considering serving the Ching Wo black tea from Fujian Province. Oh, and probably a nice oolong, too.”
“Which oolong?” asked Theodosia, hoping their customers were also in the mood for a bracing cup of tea. Although Drayton was always happy to brew whatever kind of tea they requested.
“The Ti Kuan Yin,” said Drayton.
“Ah, the monkey tea,” replied Theodosia. “Love that amber color and earthy flavor.” She had hoped to cajole a smile out of Drayton, but no luck.
Haley finished lighting several small tea candles and came over to join them. “I’ve got sweet potato scones, apple muffins, and raisin spice bars about to come out of the oven,” she told them. “So my breakfast breads should be the perfect compliment to your tea choices.”
“Thank you, Haley,” said Drayton, still looking upset.
“Gosh, Drayton, you look awful,” said Haley, who sometimes spoke her mind a little too plainly.
“Exactly what I need this morning,” responded Drayton in a cranky tone. “Moral support.” He peeled off his dove-gray jacket, hung it on a nearby peg, and carefully rolled up his shirtsleeves so they both corresponded to the millimeter.
“I didn’t mean it
“Of course you didn’t,” said Theodosia. “You were just trying to be solicitous, weren’t you?”
“I sure was,” said Haley, nodding in the affirmative.
“Really.”
“Then pardon my prickly nature,” said Drayton, softening his words a bit. “I just wish there was something we could do to help Angie.”
“What if I fixed a nice tea basket for her?” offered Haley.
“You know, put in some tins of tea, a dozen scones, some honey, and a jar of Devonshire cream. Maybe include some of that lavender-peppermint tea, too, that’s supposed to be such a stress buster. You guys could run it down to Angie’s place after lunch. We usually have a bit of a lull then.”
“It’s a start.” Drayton shrugged.
“I think it’s a superb idea,” said Theodosia as the door to the tea shop flew open and a half dozen eager customers pushed their way in.
Business was as brisk as Drayton’s teas this Monday morning. Theodosia and Drayton, clad in long, black Parisian waiter’s aprons, found themselves rushing about the tea shop, pouring tea, delivering scones and muffins, bringing extra dollops of Devonshire cream, strawberry jam, and lemon curd to their customers.
At ten o’clock Harlan Noble shuffled into the tea shop and glanced around imperiously.
“Mr. Noble?” said Theodosia, eyebrows slightly raised.
He was the last person she expected to see here this morning. Dressed in a black sport coat and black shirt, Harlan Noble looked both stern and austere. A fragment of Edgar Allan Poe’s poem “The Raven” suddenly floated into Theodosia’s head. Probably, she decided, because Harlan
Instead of answering, Harlan Noble lifted his chin and gazed past her.
“May I help you?” Theodosia asked, a little more insistently this time. “Are you here to pick up a take-out order? Or perhaps I could show you to a table? We have one left.”
Harlan Noble finally focused dark eyes on Theodosia. “I need to talk with Drayton,” he told her. His voice seemed as brusque as his manner.
Theodosia put a hand on Harlan’s arm, hoping to impart a little courtesy by osmosis. “Drayton’s busy with customers at the moment, but if you’d like to be seated, I’ll send him over as soon as he’s free.”
“I suppose,” said Harlan, rather ungraciously.
“Right this way,” said Theodosia. She guided him to a small table next to the stone fireplace, normally one of their coziest tables. Today it was elegantly laid out with a cream-colored damask napkin, a flickering tea candle, polished silverware, and a floral cup and saucer.
Just as Theodosia was pouring a cup of Darjeeling for Harlan Noble, Drayton ambled over. “Mr. Noble,” he said, an inquisitive look on his face.
Harlan Noble wasted no time. “Drayton,” he said, suddenly looking more than a little sheepish. “I wanted to apologize for my harsh words yesterday. Especially in light of what’s happened . . .” Harlan’s voice trailed off and he shook his head. “Such a tragedy about Mark Congdon.”
“Indeed it is,” agreed Drayton.
“We’re all rather heartsick,” added Theodosia, who’d stuck around to see exactly what Harlan Noble had on his agenda.
“Mark was a lovely person. So talented,” said Harlan. “We were actually in a book discussion group together . . . Greek classics.”
“He will be greatly missed,” intoned Drayton.
“What . . . uh . . . do you know what happened to Mark’s orchid?” Harlan asked. He’d stumbled over his words, but his eyes glowed clear and bright.
Theodosia stared at Harlan Noble for a few long seconds, then decided the man was a lout of the first magnitude. Here he was, nosing around on the pretense of feeling bad, but really trying to figure out what happened to Mark’s monkey-face orchid!
“I have it,” said Drayton, his tone just this side of frosty.
“Good, good,” said Harlan, hunching his thin shoulders up, his dark eyes darting between the two of them. “I was just concerned . . .”
“In fact I’m going to take it to Angie this afternoon,” said Drayton. “So you need not concern yourself.”
3
“Two entrees today,” Haley told Theodosia as she darted about her small kitchen, stirring and tasting. “Lavender-infused egg salad on croissants and roast chicken breasts stuffed with root vegetables.”
“Wonderful,” declared Theodosia. “Honestly, Haley, I don’t know how you come up with such inventive recipes.”
“Just one of the tricks of the trade,” responded Haley, clearly pleased. “Oh, and I’m baking several pans of madeleines as well. You’ll be able to take some over to Angie this afternoon.”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate your efforts,” said Theodosia, knowing that Angie might very well be numb for the next week or so and not have any idea what she’s eating or even tasting. Still, Haley’s extra efforts were both admirable and heartwarming.
“Madeleines are the new muffins,” declared Haley as she carefully sliced fresh-baked croissants, slathered them with butter, then topped them with dollops of lavender egg salad. “They’re a little more futsy to make, what with the shallow pans and the delicate little shell shapes. But in the long run, I think madeleines are incredibly versatile. Because they’re such petite cakelike cookies, you can serve them with jelly and Devonshire cream, or top them with chocolate or butterscotch sauce, or just serve two on a plate with a nice scoop of sorbet.”
Theodosia leaned against the doorway and listened to Haley’s friendly chatter, watched her spin and pirouette from oven to counter, doing her intricate little chef’s ballet. As heavy as Theodosia’s heart was over Mark Congdon’s death, it was reassuring to be in the place she loved most—her beloved Indigo Tea Shop.
Theodosia knew she’d made the smartest move of her life when she’d bid sayonara to her job in marketing and gambled her savings on establishing the Indigo Tea Shop. What had started out as a dusty little diamond in the
