The Tea Chest

by Josephine Moon

  ‘Come on,’ Victoria said. ‘I’ve made coffee.’

  Leila chomped down on her ham and cheese croissant and flicked through last night’s Evening Standard. Muggings, global warming, British PM losing face with the public, Harry up to no good again. Much like reading the paper at home, really.

  She heard Kate swipe the card in the door and push it open.

  ‘How’s Mark?’ she asked.

  Kate shrugged. ‘I decided just to text instead.’

  ‘Oh.’ She watched Kate’s face. There was a deep line on her forehead from frowning and she looked pale. And not just hung-over pale, but worried pale. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘It’s just that I don’t really know what to tell him,’ she said. ‘I mean, we haven’t achieved anything yet.’

  She was right. ‘Sorry if I led you astray last night,’ Leila said. ‘I think it was the shock of it all. New country, new city, new job, the sight of the shop.’

  ‘No, it’s okay. We needed a chance to catch our breath and find our feet.’

  ‘We found our dancing feet at any rate.’

  Kate held her hands out, palms upwards. ‘What am I going to say to Mark? The tea shop is a rat-infested hovel, we’ve no idea where the contractors are, and he was right in the first place: I’m no good at this.’

  To fill the hours on the flight, Leila had completed a risk assessment for The Tea Chest’s success. She’d come up with three key areas of concern: the alarmingly short timeframe of six weeks to get a whole shop up and running; the tight financial situation, compounded each day by the rent they were paying on the empty shop; and the lack of following and brand-name recognition to get the money rolling in quickly once the shop did open. She had ideas for how to manage those three areas.

  But now she saw clearly that there was one more area of risk she hadn’t considered: Kate. She was nervous and lacked confidence in herself. She was clearly a wonderful artist but was intimidated by the size of this task.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, jumping up and clapping her hands to motivate Kate. ‘Let me pull myself together and we’ll get on to it. Then you’ll have something to report to Mark and the delightful Judy.’

  Forty-four years earlier

  Judy strode down the mahogany hallway of Brisbane Anglican Ladies’ College, smoothing her messy hair and hastily thrown-on uniform. She blinked through sleepy eyes and the dim night lighting as she passed the door to each dorm room. She’d only been asleep for a few hours when the deputy headmistress woke her, summoning her to Headmistress Kenny’s office.

  Judy’s Latin test—not her strongest subject—was tomorrow. History and bookkeeping were her strengths and she was on track to win the annual prize for them again this year. Not so for Latin.

  She paused outside the heavy wooden door of the headmistress’s office and took a breath to quieten the racing of her heart. Whatever Simone had done now was obviously serious enough to warrant Judy’s removal from her bed in the middle of the night.

  She rapped on the door.

  ‘Enter,’ the headmistress called.

  It was a wood-panelled room, lined floor to ceiling on three sides with bookcases bulging with books. The fourth side of the room displayed a white and green flag—the school colours—bearing their motto.

  Ferreus opus semino prosperitas: hard work breeds success.

  There were bronze rowing trophies. And there were framed black-and-white photographs of past pupils who’d become successful, including one who was now the headmistress of her own college, a scientist and an opera singer.

  ‘Take a seat, Miss Knight,’ Headmistress Kenny said, pointing to the leather-backed chair across from her neat desk. Judy sat stiffly, back straight, knees together and hands clasped at her thighs. To her left sat her stepsister, slumped, rumpled, her cinnamon hair hanging loose, her eyes directed to the ceiling and her lips pursed. Judy shot her a glare but Simone’s eyes remained focused elsewhere.

  ‘Let me get straight to the point,’ the headmistress said, leaning back in her chair and looking down her nose at Judy in order to see over the thick bifocal lenses.

  ‘Tonight, your stepsister was caught drinking liquor in the gardens, along with Mary Montgomery, from a bottle they’d stolen from the private quarters of one of our teachers.’ Headmistress Kenny squirmed with irritation.

  Judy’s chest tightened.

  Simone snickered. But at the headmistress’s sudden glower, her head dropped down, teeth set on her bottom lip to control her laughter.

  Judy fixed her eyes on the headmistress.

  ‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that, as the college captain, your behaviour, and the behaviour of your relatives, is on display at all times and is judged accordingly.’

  The headmistress tightened the belt of her thick grey wool cardigan against the winter chill that seeped through the towering glass windows at her back.

  ‘Normally, in a situation as serious as this, we would call in the parents. But as your mother and stepfather are currently in Mount Isa, and—’ here she paused, tilted her head and considered the pale-faced captain in front of her ‘—and as your parents are generous benefactors of this college, the last thing we want to do is to suggest to them that we are in any way ungrateful.’

  Judy’s fingers reached for the captain’s badge on the collar of her uniform and twisted it back and forth.

  The headmistress’s eyes flicked to the movement and Judy pulled herself up again, returning her hands to her thighs.

  ‘This incident is the third of its type this semester,’ she said. She indicated a piece of paper on the desk in front of her on which notes were jotted in shorthand. Judy couldn’t read them from where she sat, but she was sure they were about Simone.

  Beside her, Simone had begun to tap her foot.

  It was all Judy could do to restrain herself from reaching over and pinching her stepsister’s skinny arm. Didn’t she realise how serious this was? Didn’t she care about Judy at all? Everything Simone did in this school affected Judy. Why couldn’t she control herself? She was such an ungrateful wretch.

  ‘We would prefer to keep this incident quiet,’ the headmistress went on. ‘Once a faculty member is involved it can become quite a sensitive issue. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’

  Headmistress Kenny rose, towering over Judy and casting a shadow across both her and Simone.

  ‘So I am releasing Simone into your care, Miss Knight. Do you understand? We are washing our hands of her for the remainder of this year and we won’t be accepting her back after she’s finished Junior. Until then, we expect to see behaviour worthy of her sister’s highly regarded position in this school. And we’re certain you will ensure it is so, or risk losing that position.’

  Judy longed to protest. Simone wasn’t even related to her, not really. It was only by bad fortune that Judy was now stuck with her. It simply wasn’t fair to place this sort of responsibility on her when she was working so hard to finish Senior and maintain her duties as college captain and captain of the rowing team. It wasn’t her fault her mother had sent them both to this place while she travelled around to be with Dennis, a man Judy didn’t even like, Simone hated, and even her mother seemed barely able to tolerate.

  At least that was one thing they had in common. Simone had dubbed him Desperate Dennis and it did give Judy a small boost every time she saw him having to look up to her mother’s face as she glided effortlessly around him. Every now and then, Simone would catch Judy’s eye and snicker and Judy would smile inwardly, knowing she wasn’t alone.

  She could complain to her mother, but she knew it wouldn’t get her anywhere. Elaine was busy with the Country Women’s Association in Mount Isa and her tennis club in Brisbane and already thought Judy should have left school after Junior. What was the point in a Senior education when she would only marry and have children? Judy had had to work hard to convince her mother to let her stay on. The last thing she needed wa
s to give her an excuse to pull Judy out of school when she was this close to finishing.

  So she remained silent and simply nodded her understanding. Like it or not, she was stuck with Simone and her stepsister was her responsibility now.

  Fullerton Frat House report: Beds made. Green(ish) vegetables consumed. Fingernails clean. Hair brushed. All is well. xx

  ‘Oh. My. God.’ Kate punctuated each word with increasingly panicked facial expressions.

  Leila’s heart skipped a beat but she managed to control her gasp of horror. The shop was worse, much worse, than either of them had anticipated.

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ Leila lied. ‘Look. There’re marvellous red bricks behind that . . . that . . . whatever that is.’ She reached a hand to snap away a section of tattered wall covering. ‘What is that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Kate said, wheezing through the dust. ‘I don’t even have any building language to describe this. I’ve no idea what to even call this mess.’

  Leila wiped her hands. ‘Some sort of plaster, I imagine.’ She picked her way over piles of dirt and rubble and skipped out of the way of a drip from the ceiling. She looked up. ‘And look, there’s wonderful big beams up there.’ She didn’t know what sort of wood it was but it looked solid, old and sturdy. ‘That’s something.’ She trailed off, noting the large spreading of damp that had pooled over a smoke-damaged section.

  ‘It smells like there’s been a fire in here,’ Kate said. She’d released her hands from her face and was trying to inspect the shop, ducking out of the way of cords and electrical wires dangling from above. Light filtered in from the corner of a dirty window.

  There were no obvious signs of any form of tradesman having been in the place. No ladders or scaffolding, no wheelbarrows or hammers, no bags of cement or stacks of tiles. Kate’s lip trembled and her eyes shone.

  Leila was used to working under pressure. She was used to four-hundred-page tenders—completely untouched by an editor—landing on her desk with a day to go before printing. She was used to wading through absolute crap and finding the solid structure underneath in order to work with it, to straighten, tidy, delete, add impressive flourishes, use the right words to call out to an investor, and make it shine.

  This was no different.

  She felt the thrill of the challenge charge through her veins. She was an editor and a bloody good one at that. No document had ever got the better of her, no matter how bad.

  She pulled Kate outside to the street.

  ‘Look,’ she said. ‘The placement couldn’t be better.’

  The shop was cradled between Elegance fine china on the right and Roulette imported gourmet produce on the left. Spinning around to the other side of the street, they could see Lady Heavensfield’s tearoom opposite their own shop. Indulge beauty salon sat to her right. On the other side of Heavensfield House was Kylie’s of London, selling high-end fashion. And Bartlett’s handmade chocolates, imported coffee and fine teas was two doors down.

  ‘This is all brilliant,’ Leila affirmed. ‘There’s nothing better than being placed with similar stores that attract a similar clientele.’

  Kate nodded, agreeing, though doubt still flickered in her eyes.

  Leila took her back inside and walked around the store. ‘But it’s wonderful really,’ she said kindly, trying to coax Kate into trusting her. She gestured to the overhead beams, the brickwork behind the walls, and the uneven but charming stone floor beneath their feet.

  ‘The structure is sound,’ she said. ‘Really solid. All we need to do is to release its beauty.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Absolutely. Kate, you’re a designer. You see beauty and opportunity in the world where there wasn’t any before. You take ideas and make them into reality. You’ve done it for years. This is the same, just a bit different.’

  ‘I appreciate your enthusiasm.’

  ‘We can do this, Kate. I know it. Underneath all this chaos is your new creation just waiting to be released. We need to give it wings. That’s all. You can’t turn away from her now; she’s ready to be born.’

  ‘She?’

  Leila shrugged and placed her hand to the wall. ‘She just feels right.’ She was speaking Kate’s language. Kate was intuitive and sensitive and believed in the life-force energy of the world. If she could just use the right words to tap into that, to show Kate that she was in sync with her vision, she might be able to convince her they could make a go of this. And Leila needed her to make a go of this.

  Kate took a long, controlled breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, her face had changed. There was a spark in her eye that had replaced the doubt.

  ‘It’s the new era,’ Kate said quietly. ‘It’s what Simone said to me when she offered me a job. She said we’d entered a new era and she needed me to lead the way.’

  Now that was the kind of language Leila liked to hear.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Kate said. ‘This shop does have feminine energy.’ Now Kate was moving around the space, peeling off paint flakes and rubbing them between her fingers. ‘And she’s been neglected for far too long.’

  Leila smiled. ‘Shall we rescue her then? Get her to the day spa for some pampering? Help her remember who she is?’

  Kate held her hands out to the side and spun slowly in a circle, as though delighting in winter sunshine or summer rain. ‘Absolutely.’

  They sat down to tea made in a fine china pot, detailed with hand-painted roses and gold-leaf trimming, and a three-tiered cake stand of goodies. Leila pulled her notebook and her favourite pen from her leather satchel.

  ‘I love this part,’ she said. She wobbled the pen in between her index and middle finger, balancing its weight. She revelled in fresh stationery. And as nutty as it sounded, only her favourite pen could really pull the good ideas from her mind.

  Kate chomped down on tiny sandwiches, moaning with joy. ‘Real high tea.’

  Leila murmured in agreement. ‘You know, I was all prepared to hate London, but there is something so utterly charming about a tearoom with a real fireplace and real silver teaspoons with pictures of the royal family on them.’

  ‘The tea tastes better too,’ Kate said. ‘English breakfast tea really does belong in England.’

  ‘Right, let’s get this sorted. We’ll start with a list of things to be done.’

  Just then, Kate’s phone chirped to life. She hastily replaced her cup on its saucer and answered.

  ‘Oh, Mr Evans, thanks so much for . . .’ Kate’s face fell and she nodded silently. ‘Yes, I understand. Thanks so much for calling.’

  She returned the phone to her bag and took a deep breath. ‘Well, that was Clive, confirming there would be no compassionate release other than the full payment of the five-year term.’

  Leila sucked in air between her teeth. ‘Well, that’s that then, isn’t it?’

  Kate took a moment to think about it. ‘Yes, I guess it is. Onwards and upwards. We can’t turn back now.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ Leila said. ‘You just became the proud owner of a shop.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. First things first—we have to find the contractors.’

  ‘The email,’ Leila mumbled, pushing the last of a butterfly cake into her mouth and wiping at the crumbs on her lips. ‘We completely forgot about it.’

  Kate dived back into her handbag to dig it out.

  She spread it out in front of her while Leila reached for a rosewater cupcake with tiny pink and white sugar roses on top.

  Dear Mr Evans,

  RE: Kings Road Lease

  Thank you for the contract for the shop space on Kings Road as discussed. You will find a scanned copy of the signed lease attached to this email and the original copy is in the mail.

  Please note that I have contracted the Holy Trinity to begin work on the shop immediately.

  Kind regards,

  Simone Taylor

  ‘Who’s the Holy Trinity?’ Leila asked through a mouthful of
cake. She pushed some crumbs into her mouth with her thumb. ‘Are they religious types? Was Simone religious?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘No. She had a great distaste for religion after boarding school.’

  ‘Well then . . .’ Leila dusted her palms together and drained the last of her tea. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘To find the Holy Trinity.’

  A quick scan through the White Pages UK revealed many Holy Trinity businesses—primary schools, churches, parishes and hospitals. And one building contractor business.

  Leila punched the numbers into the phone inside the ageing red phone box and held the mouthpiece away from her for fear of inhaling germs. She deliberately avoided looking at the paper cup on the floor filled with something suspiciously like urine in colour, or the blobs of green and white chewing gum on the glass next to her shoulder. Kate stood outside, waiting.

  ‘Holy Trinity, how may I serve you?’

  It was an Indian accent.

  ‘Is this the number for the Holy Trinity building contractors?’

  ‘How may I serve you?’ the man repeated.

  ‘I want to speak to the person in charge of the contracting job for The Tea Shop on Kings Road.’

  There was a startled squawk, a short pause, and then the voice was back. ‘I’m sorry but we cannot help you. Have a nice day.’

  The phone clicked off.

  ‘What happened?’ Kate said, wedging open the door with her shoulder.

  ‘They hung up.’

  ‘What? Why? Try again.’

  Leila dialled the number again but this time it went to an answering service. She hung up without leaving a message.

  She looked again at the listing in the White Pages. ‘No address listed. Just the mobile number.’

  She tried to call once more but this time the phone rang out without even going to a message service.

  ‘Crap.’ Kate’s jaw muscles clenched and unclenched as she took deep breaths.

  Leila exited the grimy phone box. ‘Let’s go back to the hotel and try to find them online. Then let’s get a UK sim card for our mobiles asap so I never have to set foot inside a phone box again.’