by Vicki Delany
I heard the roar of Simon’s motorcycle heading down the driveway toward the highway, and I had just enough time to wonder where he was going at this time of day before an enormous crash shook the foundations of the old stone building that housed Tea by the Sea. A moment of total silence fell, and then the screaming and yelling began. Chairs scraped the floor as they were pushed back and footsteps pounded on the wide-plank old floorboards. I threw the piping bag I was using to decorate cupcakes into the sink and bolted into the dining room. Teapots and plates abandoned, people were streaming through the small vestibule heading outside. Someone shouted, “Call 911!”
The people at Rose’s table had also leapt to their feet and were hurrying into the garden. As I rushed by, Rose said, “What’s happening?”
Sandra got to her feet with a speed that belied her years and feeble frame. “Sounds like there’s been a car accident.”
I dashed across the main room, through the vestibule, out the door, onto the garden patio, and pushed my way into the excited crowd. Everyone on the patio had stood up to get a better look. Marybeth was holding a tray full of dirty dishes, openmouthed, and Cheryl had stopped laying a table. Phones were out, as some people called 911 and others snapped pictures. “Is he dead?” someone shouted.
I still didn’t know what had happened. Fortunately, the crashing sound hadn’t come again after that initial bang.
“I’m a doctor,” the woman standing next to me said. “Let me pass.”
The crowd parted for her. I fell in behind her and pushed my way through the excited, chattering onlookers and out the garden gate.
My heart stopped and I let out a gasp of horror. Simon’s motorcycle had crashed into the low stone wall surrounding the tearoom patio. The big machine lay on the ground at the end of a long streak of tire marks carved through the gravel and sand of the driveway. A man lay next to it, facedown, unmoving, wearing the black helmet with the Union Jack decal on the side. Bernie crouched beside him, but she hesitated, not knowing whether or not she should turn him over. The doctor dropped to her knees next to Bernie, and I stood behind Bernie and laid my hands on her shoulders.
With a shudder of relief, my mind pulled itself out of its panic, and I realized this couldn’t be Simon. It was his bike and his helmet, but the legs were too short and the body far too thin. Whoever it was wore jeans and a T-shirt and untied sneakers.
Julie-Ann ran through the gate, followed by some of the others in her party, screaming, “Tyler!”
I looked up and caught my grandmother’s eye. Rose was resplendent in a long purple dress, yards of red beads wrapped around her neck, and a huge crimson hat that wasn’t much smaller than the umbrellas shading the patio tables. I gestured to the woman standing next to her and mouthed, “Take Sandra inside.”
Rose plucked at her friend’s sleeve, but Sandra didn’t move. Her eyes were wide and she held her face in her gnarled hands.
The body on the ground twitched and then groaned. The doctor said, “Try to lie still,” but the boy rolled over, sat up, and pulled the helmet off. Tyler’s head popped out. He saw the circle of people watching and gave us a sheepish grin. Bernie pushed herself to her feet.
“What the heck do you think you’re playing at?” Brian yelled.
“I’m okay, Granddad,” Tyler said.
“Good one!” Amanda gave her brother a thumbs-up. Julie-Ann slapped the girl’s hand down.
“You shouldn’t move until you’ve been checked out,” the doctor said.
Sandra gave her head a shake and turned to Rose. “You’re right, as usual, Rose. Let’s leave them to sort this out.” The two women turned and walked away. The onlookers moved aside to let them pass.
Simon broke into the circle. “That’s my bike!”
“Sorry.” Tyler started to stand. His legs wobbled. The doctor grabbed his arm. Judging by the look on Simon’s and Brian’s faces, I thought the boy would be better to play dead. “Sorry,” he said again.
Other than Rose and Sandra, no one seemed inclined to return to what they’d been doing. Brian kept yelling at Tyler, while Julie-Ann waved her hands in the air and Amanda chuckled. In the distance, a siren sounded, getting closer.
“You’re not helping, Dad,” Lewis said. “Let me take care of this.” He started yelling at Tyler.
“I’m okay,” Tyler insisted.
“Will you be quiet!” Julie-Ann shouted at Lewis. “Can’t you see my boy’s in shock?”
“About all I can see,” Lewis shouted back, “is that you’ve babied him for far too long.”
Brian turned and walked away with firm, angry steps.
“You might be okay,” Simon said, “but my bike isn’t. You’re going to pay for that, mate.”
I don’t know much about motorcycles, but even I know the front wheel isn’t supposed to be at that angle.
“Let’s not worry about that now,” Julie-Ann said.
“I’m going to worry about it now,” Simon replied.
“What’s going on here?” Matt Goodwill arrived at a run. We share part of the long driveway with his house.
“Little sod stole me bike,” Simon growled. His English accent got stronger when he got angry.
“How’d he get the keys?” Matt asked.
“He must have snuck into the garden shed and taken them off the hook. I don’t lock the door when I’m on the property. I will from now on.”
“Hi,” Bernie said to Matt.
“Hi,” Matt said to Bernie. “You look, uh, nice. What’s the occasion?”
“Afternoon tea.” Bernie did look nice—more than nice—in a dress made of layers of ivory and gray silk that drifted softly to a couple of inches above her ankles. Gray lace trimmed the neckline and bodice, and the sleeves fell to her elbows. She wore short white gloves, a string of pearls that reached her waist, and a white fascinator with gray beads and a pert white veil.
“That’s quite the outfit,” I said. “Where’d you get it?”
She preened. “A little something that’s been in the back of my closet for years.”
As nothing more exciting seemed to be happening, a handful of people headed inside to finish their tea or resumed their seats on the patio, but a substantial crowd remained. Heather pushed her way forward. She looked beautiful and, in contrast to Bernie, very modern in a white cotton shirt cut just above her belly button and white denim shorts worn under a loose blue silk shirt that fell past her knees. Too much mixing of styles for my taste. But then again, what do I know? I’m a pastry chef, not a socialite. Her hair fell in waves around her shoulders and her long bare legs were in high-heeled sandals tied with blue ribbons up to her calves. Her blue and silver bangles tinkled as she moved. She gave Simon a smile full of brilliant white teeth. “You’re the owner of the bike? I’ll see you’re reimbursed for the damage.”
“Did you pinch it?” Simon snapped at her.
She blinked. “No.”
“Then you shouldn’t be paying for it, should you?”
“I just want to help,” she said.
“What on earth were you thinking?” Lewis bellowed at Tyler.
“Chill, Dad. I wasn’t going to take it far.”
“Thank heavens, you weren’t going very fast,” Julie-Ann sobbed.
“I saw it all,” a man said. “The dumb kid couldn’t control a bike that powerful. I’m surprised he made it this far.”
Tyler flushed, more offended at the insult to his motorcycle-driving skills than being caught red-handed.
An ambulance pulled up next to the tearoom and two EMTs jumped out.
“I’m not going to the hospital,” Tyler said.
“It’s your choice,” the doctor said, “or your parents’, depending on your age, but I’d advise you to get yourself checked out.”
The teenager shook his head.
“In that case, I’m going inside to finish my tea.” She walked away, and Lewis and Julie-Ann gathered around their son.
Julie-Ann pulled him close. “I
’ll go with you to the hospital.”
“We don’t need the expense,” Lewis said. “You’re sure you’re okay, son?”
“I’m okay.” Tyler wiggled out of his mother’s arms.
“We’ll need you to sign this form saying you’ve refused treatment,” one of the EMTs said.
“Julie-Ann,” Lewis said, “why don’t you go inside and join Mom and Grandma and the others? Everything seems to be under control here.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Julie-Ann snarled at him. “Tyler, honey? Are you sure you’re okay?”
Tyler stared at his feet. Julie-Ann muttered something about knowing when she wasn’t wanted and slipped away as a police car pulled up to the tearoom.
“No need to mention that he took the bike without your permission, now is there?” Lewis said to Simon. “No harm done. We’ll pay for the damage.”
Heather turned to the crowd and lifted her arms. “I am so sorry this silly incident interrupted your enjoyment of your lovely afternoon tea. A glass of champagne for everyone. It’s on me.”
People cheered.
I gulped. “Heather,” I whispered to her. “I don’t know that I have enough.”
“No problem,” she said. “I’m paying.”
“Doesn’t matter who pays, if I don’t have it.”
“Do what you can.” She gave me a big smile and then sailed back into the tearoom, her long shirt flowing behind her.
People began to resume their places and their excited chatter filled the restaurant. I wasn’t quite sure if they were disappointed that there had been no high drama, such as a dead body and a police take-down, or pleased that no one had been injured.
As I passed, I heard more than a few comments about “horsewhipping,” “in my day,” or “ban those horrid machines.”
“Lewis needs to get control over that boy,” Sandra was saying as I reached the center table, “or someday he’s going to get into real trouble.”
“At least he had enough common sense to steal the helmet and wear it,” Trisha said.
Ed reached for the white teapot with the green trim. “Maybe a night in the hospital would have been a good thing. Knock some sense into him.”
“That’s hardly funny,” Julie-Ann said.
“I wasn’t making a joke.” Ed poured tea into his cup. It really did smell like grass.
The family, minus Lewis, resumed their seats.
“All’s well that ends well.” Sandra poured herself some tea. Judging by the rich fragrance of the scent, she’d ordered the Darjeeling.
I went into the kitchen, where Cheryl was taking crystal flutes out of the cupboard and handing them to Marybeth. “Finish serving what people ordered first,” I said. “Rose’s guests don’t have their food yet.” I stuck my head in the fridge. “Blasted Heather. Making promises I can’t keep. We don’t have enough wine for everyone. I’ll have to make a run into town.”
“Bit of excitement to liven our day.” Cheryl lifted two food trays by the handles at the top.
“Excitement I don’t need,” I said.
The back door opened and Simon and Matt came in. “I could use a cuppa,” Simon said.
“Then you’ve come to the right place. Are you okay?”
“I’m madder than a wet chicken—” Simon said.
“Wet hen,” Matt interrupted.
“What?”
“The saying is ‘madder than a wet hen.’ Not chicken. I don’t know why, but that’s what it is.”
“I’m trying out my Americanisms, trying to fit in, like.”
“Never mind the state of damp fowl,” I said. “Back to the original question. Are you okay, Simon?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks. I didn’t want to, but only because these people are Rose’s guests and I don’t want to give her any grief, I told the police no harm done. I’ve been promised the boy’s family’ll pay to have my bike fixed.”
“Kid should be sent up the river,” Matt said. “I sense a life of crime that needs to be nipped in the bud. I don’t want to be writing about this boy someday.” Matt was a true-crime writer, successful enough to have been able to buy his family property when his father wanted to sell it, but not successful enough to be able to pay for all the renovations it needed. He was a lean, trim six-two, with dark hair and dark eyes and a square jaw. Very New England spoiled-rich-kid preppy-looking, which might be part of the reason Bernie had disliked him on sight. But we’d come to learn, he was anything but.
“Maybe Tyler got a scare,” I said.
“Scared straight,” Marybeth said. “Do you have to stand right there, Matt, in front of that platter?”
Matt looked around. “I don’t see anywhere else to stand.”
“My point exactly,” she said.
Matt tried to make himself smaller. It didn’t help. My kitchen was crowded when I was the only one in it.
“I’ve called a repair shop,” Simon said, “and someone’s coming to pick the bike up. Miserable little sod.”
“As you’re okay,” I said, “I need a run to the liquor store. Say, ten bottles of prosecco. Cold if you can get it. As well as the thirsty hordes out there, I need to have some on stock in case we have more people coming in for Royal Tea today.”
“Allow me to point out,” Simon said, “that I don’t have a mode of transportation.”
“I’ll go.” Matt dodged Marybeth and her tray. “As my presence doesn’t seem to be needed here.”
“You can say that again,” Marybeth said.
“Before I do that,” Matt said, “I’m thinking of having a tea party at my house one day next week. Do you do that sort of thing, Lily?”
“Catering? No, I simply don’t have the time.” I took prebaked tart shells out of the fridge and prepared to add strawberry filling and decorate them with fresh cream and one perfect red berry. “How many people will be coming to your party?”
“Two.”
“Two?” I looked up.
“Bernie looks so fabulous in that outfit, I thought she’d enjoy another chance to wear it.” He gave me a wink and left.
“Do I have to make my own tea?” Simon asked.
“Yes,” I said, “you do.”
* * *
Matt successfully completed his errand and the Great Prosecco Crisis was resolved. Sandra and Heather sent their compliments to the chef into the kitchen, and Heather paid for the tea with a handsome tip. A truck came for Simon’s motorcycle, and I didn’t see Tyler again that day. He was wise to stay well out of Simon’s way.
“How’d it go?” I asked Bernie when she came into the kitchen to say good-bye.
“Good. The food was great, and everyone enjoyed it. The snide cracks and backbiting were kept to a minimum, although Trisha did suggest that maybe Julie-Ann’s a bit overindulgent with her children, and Julie-Ann replied that at least her children came on vacation with their parents rather than make an excuse to stay home.”
“Ouch.”
“Ouch, yes. Amanda wasn’t served any prosecco, so she grabbed Darlene’s when Darlene wasn’t looking, and Rose snatched it out of her hand. Heather thought that was dreadfully funny. She made sure we all knew she was leaving a huge tip because your staff were so inconvenienced by Tyler’s little escapade.” Bernie wiggled her fingers and made fluttering signs in the air with her hands.
Marybeth paused emptying the dishwasher to laugh. “Yeah, that’s the way she talks. Love your dress, by the way.”
“Thanks,” Bernie said. “I found it at the vintage-clothing store in town. Lily and Rose taught me that afternoon tea is an occasion. An indulgence. And so I dressed the part.”
“You impressed Matt Goodwill,” I said.
She grinned. “I did?”
“So much so, he wants me to cater a tea for just the two of you.”
“He does?”
“Don’t get too excited. I told him I don’t do catering.”
“I’m not excited.” Her eyes danced.
“Coulda fooled
me,” I said.
* * *
I decided to rest on my laurels and take the evening off. At five-thirty, I locked the tearoom behind Cheryl and Marybeth and went home.
It had been a good day, and I was pleased with myself.
A good day, other than the stolen motorcycle incident, that is, but Tyler was unharmed and Simon’s bike could be fixed. I gave Bernie a call as I walked across the lawn. “I’m finished work. Feel like coming around for dinner tonight?”
“Yeah, that’d be good. I got some great ideas down for an afternoon tea scene in the book. Rose’s mother puts on a tea party, and it descends into an argument about women’s suffrage.”
“Does this scene fit the trajectory of the book?” I asked. Bernie had a tendency to get distracted by the latest shiny object that flashed in front of her.
“No, but I’m thinking it will help establish the dynamic between Rose and her family.”
“Haven’t you done that already?”
“It needs embellishing.”
“If you say so. As you’re coming this way, anyway, will you stop at the supermarket for a ready-made chicken and ingredients to make a salad?”
“The only reason I’m not going to complain about being invited to dinner and then asked to bring it is because you fed me so well once today already. See you soon.”
“A bottle of wine would be nice, too.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
A handful of guests were admiring the gardens, and Rose and Sandra had taken their usual places on the veranda. They waved at me, and I trotted over to say hello. “How’s Tyler?”
“A few bruises, his mother tells me,” Sandra said with a shake of her head, “but otherwise, none the worse for wear. A couple of weeks in a full-body cast might have taught him the error of his ways.”
“What are your plans for this evening?”
“None of us need much for dinner,” Sandra said, “because of your beautiful tea, so we’re going out for something light. I asked your grandmother to join us, but—”