Jane of Austin

by Hillary Manton Lodge

1 cup mascarpone cheese

  ½ cup crème fraîche

  2 tablespoons honey

  2 teaspoons vanilla bean paste

  1 pound strawberries, hulled and sliced

  Lightly flour a work space to knead the dough. A wooden cutting board, pastry cloth, silicone mat, or even a clean countertop will work just fine.

  In a medium-sized bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, and salt with a fork. Sprinkle a third of the butter pieces over the flour mixture, toss, and repeat until all of the butter has been added. Using your hands, rub the butter into the flour mixture. Continue to mix until you have clumps of butter the size of small peas and others the size of rolled oats.

  Pour the beaten egg over the butter and flour mixture, and use a fork to stir and work it into a shaggy dough that just holds its shape.

  Turn the dough out onto the prepared work space, and knead it lightly, only a turn or two to incorporate any runaway flour.

  Divide the dough into two discs. Place each dough between two large pieces of plastic wrap. Roll to 3/16-inch thickness, tuck the edges of the plastic around the dough, and refrigerate for 30 minutes.

  Butter the tartlet pans. Place a teaspoon or so of butter onto a paper towel and use it to spread the butter over the surface of the pans.

  After 30 minutes, remove the dough from the refrigerator and plastic wrap, and press into the tart pans. Refrigerate the dough inside the tart pans for 30 minutes.

  Place the oven rack at the center, and preheat the oven to 375°F.

  Cut pieces of aluminum foil to fit over the tartlet crusts, butter them, and press them, buttered side down, over the frozen crusts, pressing tight to seal.

  If you’re using a tart pan or pans with a removable bottom, place a layer of foil on the rack underneath, to catch any melting butter that may leak out.

  Bake the crusts for 10–15 minutes or 15–20 if you’re using a full-size pan instead of smaller ones. Remove the pans from the oven, and discard the foil from the tops of the tartlets. If any of the crusts have puffed up, use a spoon to encourage them back down. Bake for another 5–10 minutes, or until the crusts are golden brown. Remove; when the crusts are cool enough to handle safely, use a sharp knife to trim the tops with a sharp knife.

  While the crusts are cooling, stir together the mascarpone, crème fraîche, honey, and vanilla bean paste. Spoon the mixture into a quart-sized plastic storage bag or pastry bag.

  To assemble, carefully remove the shells from the pans. Cut the corner of the plastic or pastry bag, and pipe the cream into each shell, leaving just a little room at the top. Evenly distribute the sliced strawberries, placing them vertically in the cream. Serve immediately.

  Makes 12 mini tartlets, 4 medium-sized tartlets, or 1 large tart.

  24

  Tea is quiet, and our thirst for tea is never far from our craving for beauty.

  —JAMES NORWOOD PRATT

  Jane

  Nina’s last act of irrationally generous benevolence was to set us up in the penthouse suite of the Tribeca Grand Hotel, two blocks from the Austin Convention Center.

  Margot begged to join us. “It’s just not fair!” she wailed. “South by Southwest is so cool, and you get to stay in a hotel!”

  “You’ve got school until next week,” Celia told her. “Mariah and Pilar have very kindly offered to drive you to school and ballet.”

  “Pick two events,” I suggested. “Two events that don’t clash with school and ballet. We’ll make sure you can go, and then you’ll come join us during spring break.”

  This mollified her, at least for a time. But as I looked around the hotel room, I knew that once we brought Margot, she’d never want to leave.

  “Here you are, chickadees,” Nina said as the porter showed us into the largest hotel room I’d ever seen—even before our father’s fall from grace. “So much more convenient this way.”

  I couldn’t reply. I was too busy gaping.

  “This is too lovely,” Celia said. “Truly, we would have been fine driving to and from each day.”

  “Nonsense. There have to be some perks of owning a hotel, don’t you think? Trust me—with the traffic, the parking—no. And certainly not with your foodstuffs. There’s a full kitchen in here—double oven, subzero freezer, I don’t even know what. But I imagine you can do whatever baking and preparation you’d like to do here. At any rate, it’ll be easier than trying to do it out of Mariah’s guesthouse.”

  She had a point. Ian had offered the use of their kitchen, but I hated to get in Pilar’s way.

  “Whatever you need, chickadees, just call the concierge. They’ll arrange everything.”

  Celia and I exchanged glances, but promised to take full advantage of the hotel’s services. Arguing with Nina was like betting against the house; the house always wins.

  What to do with Dash during the duration of the festival proved a challenge; in the end, we elected to bring him with us. Margot hadn’t been happy about it in the slightest. But she’d be staying at the big house during our absence and be with us over the two weekends we’d be gone. Mariah had delicately made it clear she didn’t relish the idea of having yet another dog in the house, much less one three times the size of her three-year-old, Arabella. Our last resorts, Roy and Betsy, were out of town, visiting their grandchildren in Texarkana.

  So Nina, ever generous, offered for Dash to come and stay with us at the hotel, where he would have plenty of room and a dedicated valet to take him on walks.

  Dash bore the change in scenery nobly, watching from a generous distance as we baked and scurried around the kitchen. In truth, I was happy to have him. In the days since Sean had left, the oversized galoot of a dog had been a comfort, ready to sit as close to me as physics would allow.

  Just as at home, we placed his bed next to mine and carried on.

  I texted Sean the first night, letting him know I was at South by Southwest. I sent the text and waited.

  No reply.

  After two hours, I felt my nerves begin to vibrate. He’d always been quick to text back. Quick with a flirtatious reply and some variation of a smiling face.

  I sent a second text the following morning. We’re at the Tribeca Grand Hotel, I said. It’d be nice to see you.

  We were in and out most days, going to one party after another with Nina. Not shockingly, she had a steady stream of friends to visit. More surprising was exactly how well connected she was. App-release parties folded into panel discussions in which Nina knew—and often had pet names for—half the panelists.

  After a panel about threats to women on the Internet, we walked to the Grove for a late, light dinner. There were people everywhere, disappearing into establishments and spilling out of them. The music portion of the festival hadn’t started yet, but that didn’t stop musicians from playing in the streets anywhere they could find space. For that short time, Austin seemed to have a few hundred town troubadours on retainer.

  The next afternoon, we met in person with the organizer of the party we were catering and finalized our plans.

  Celia and I baked and prepared, and I tasted and tweaked the teas until I felt the blends were just right. By three on the afternoon of the party, Nina arrived at our door to roust us from the hotel room, insisting that we’d baked enough and had to get out and live a little, see the sights.

  She was right, at least, about the fact that we’d overbaked. Otherwise, a herd of longhorns couldn’t have dragged me away from the oven. But at this point, preparation had become excessive, to the point that even I knew enough had to be enough.

  And so when Nina arrived, we were shooed away from the kitchen and told to primp. Celia being Celia, all she needed was a spritz of dry shampoo, a dab of lip gloss, and a gentle mist of perfume before emerging from the bedroom looking—and smelling—like an angel from heaven.

  Me? I needed a shower and enough conditioner to convince my curly strands to hold hands and make friends, as well as fresh clothes that weren’t dusted with flour.


  The dress code at the festival I found perplexing at best. While I imagined things would tilt toward funky and relaxed later on, the tech portion seemed to skew to hip business casual. After all, people were here to network. Network first, and if the street noise after dark was any indication, drink by the gallon after.

  With that in mind, I twisted up my damp hair before pulling on a black jersey wrap dress. I made it interesting with a rose gold necklace I’d picked up from a boutique in San Francisco, and finished my face off with black eyeliner, mascara, and a shimmery rose gold lip cream.

  I emerged from the bedroom to find Nina in the sitting area, Lyndsay by her side.

  “You look so nice! I look so underdressed next to the two of you,” Lyndsay said, opening her arms so we could get a better look at her own ensemble, which was perfectly chic in its own right, just a little more casual.

  I opened my mouth to say something snarky—hadn’t decided what yet—but Celia beat me to speech.

  “You look perfectly dressed for the weather,” Celia said.

  “I think all of you look wonderful,” Nina said. “Let’s get out and find some nice men to admire you, shall we?”

  Lyndsay, having found an easy target for her latest compliment fishing expedition, stuck close to Celia, isolating her from the group as we made our way out of our hotel and onto the street.

  As we walked, I found myself looking for Sean. Even though he likely hadn’t arrived yet, I scanned passersby for a man with his height, stride, and golden head of hair. And I didn’t stop looking, not really. Not once we entered the Austin Convention Center, squashed into the elevator, or stepped out onto the rooftop.

  There were lights everywhere, and model waitresses in snug branded T-shirts passing out drinks and hors d’oeuvres.

  Not surprisingly, Sean wasn’t anywhere to be found. I’d seen him with his iPhone—he wasn’t a tech guy. But all my subconscious looking meant that my eyes landed on a familiar angled bob, one that had occasionally haunted my less pleasant dreams.

  Where there was one, there was likely the other…if I could just duck behind Nina to hide…

  “Jane! Celia! What a pleasant surprise!” Jonathan’s voice boomed over the heavy dance beat.

  Busted.

  We turned in unison to face our former landlord and his wife, and I couldn’t stop the flush of resentment that covered my cheeks. “Phoebe. Jonathan. Hi.” I cleared my throat, which had grown clogged with unspoken words. “What brings you here?”

  Phoebe’s expression shifted from dismayed to smug. “My brother,” she said. “This is all for him, of course. We’re very proud.”

  I shot a look at Celia. She stood very still, her face pale but lovely.

  “Your brother?” I asked. Whatever would Teddy be doing here? This wasn’t his scene, though to be honest, it wasn’t ours either.

  “Yes,” Phoebe said. “We’re here to support him. This new venture is, of course, very exciting.”

  I thought Nina had said this was an app launch, but I could have misheard. “How is he involved?”

  “He wrote the algorithm, of course. He’s so sharp; we’re very proud.”

  “He—” I squinted, and then it began to dawn on me.

  “There he is!” Phoebe raised a slim arm to hail her brother as if he were a cab. “Rob!”

  Rob. Not Teddy. I knew I couldn’t look at Celia without being indiscreet, but she was close enough that I could reach for her hand and give it a gentle squeeze without Phoebe noticing. Phoebe’s attention, after all, remained fixed on a brother I’d forgotten she’d possessed.

  Rob approached the group, grinning at the group of us. “Hello, ladies,” he drawled without any hint of irony.

  “Rob,” Phoebe said, clearly pleased to be able to show off the family’s technological prodigy. “This is Jane and Celia. They used to lease space from us, back in San Francisco.”

  I tossed a confused look at Celia after smiling at Rob. Had they never met? At any rate, it was the strangest introduction I’d ever heard—it was a feast of conveniently omitted facts.

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” said Lyndsay, who held out her hand in a manner that almost could have been considered professional if she hadn’t cocked her hip so far to the side. “I work with Teddy.”

  “Do you?” Rob took her hand in the spirit in which it was offered.

  Did she? I shot a look to Celia, but Celia’s impassive face rested on the meeting of Rob and Lyndsay.

  Lyndsay nodded, her eyes wide. “Not in the same department—I’ve been consulting with his team though.” Her gaze flicked to Phoebe and Jonathan. “I understand the two of you own some early twentieth-century buildings in the Bay Area. Is that true?”

  Where was she getting this? Had Celia told her? Teddy?

  “We do,” Phoebe said, oblivious to my growing state of bafflement. “It’s just a small part of our real estate portfolio though. Most of our holdings are quite modern.”

  Lyndsay pressed a hand to her heart. I didn’t miss Rob’s eyes following, specifically at the area between her hand and her heart.

  “Teddy always spoke so highly of you and your business acumen,” Lyndsay continued.

  I could barely contain an eye roll. If Teddy had said anything of the sort, I’d give up tea and devote my life to the cultivation of coffee beans.

  But Lyndsay’s shamelessly sycophantic lie only caused our former landlords and their Silicon Valley Lothario of a brother to be drawn in nearer. She had Phoebe laughing at an attempt at a joke before departing with Rob to the throng of dancers.

  I looked longingly at the door. Nina had brought us, and it would be rude to leave the party. If only staying didn’t mean being near Phoebe.

  The morning of Ruby Lou Shaw’s concert, I woke up an hour before my alarm went off. I was wide awake; there was no point in trying to go back to sleep.

  Not when there was so much to do.

  I dressed in a print cotton dress I’d ordered from ModCloth two years before. The dress looked like it had come from one of the early seasons of Mad Men, but managed to be both comfortable and functional, with deep pockets and a cheery floral print that hid food stains. I tied my hair up and applied red lipstick to my mouth. It wasn’t my usual look, but it was on brand for Valencia Tea Company.

  Dash set off on a walk with his valet of the day, and Celia met me in the kitchen. We checked off the items on our individual to-do lists before loading up the oversized metal food carts we had in our room for this purpose. By the time we finished loading them with the carafes of iced tea and baked goods, we had to lean hard to push them out of the room.

  Nina arrived with extra hired help just then, and we made a slow procession to the service elevator and down to the ground floor.

  The event wasn’t more than five blocks away; I felt funny taking a van for the trip, but it made more sense than pushing the food through the festival crowds.

  Vicki met us at the door to the space, and I admired her handiwork. It could fit a crowd, but the stage had been set up with Persian rugs on the floor and side tables with beaded lamps and a couple of houseplants.

  We set up our goods, using the pastry cases that had been delivered that morning. I was glad to see that the serving area had been set up with bar space in mind, meaning we had sinks and plenty of counter space.

  Celia opened up one of the containers of tartlets and offered one to Vicki. “That’s so good!” she exclaimed. “I’m very pleased. I think you’ll be a hit.” She chewed a moment longer. “I’m going to make a plate to take back to Ruby. She’ll appreciate this.”

  I nodded, opening boxes to pull out a selection of the prettiest offerings for Vicki to take back to the greenroom, as well as a cup of the chamomile tea.

  The next hour was a blur as we set up. It felt good to work like this again, me and Celia side by side. I’d forgotten how well we could negotiate a space and anticipate each other’s thoughts and requests.

  “Wait!” I said, jus
t when it looked like we were ready. “The business cards.”

  “Yes!” Celia reached into one of the canvas bags, retrieved the box of cards, and set a stack out for people to take. And then there was nothing to do but wait.

  Soon enough, concertgoers began to pour in. They were dressed for the weather but also to make a statement.

  Also? They were all thirsty.

  Celia and I worked fast, pouring iced tea, snapping lids over the cups, and jamming colorful straws into them. We handed out plenty of pastries, but the drinks were by far the most popular.

  “How are the teas holding out?” I asked Celia. “I took Vicki’s estimate into account and made more, but…”

  “I think they had a bigger response than expected. We’re running low on the black tea.”

  “No, really?” I turned around, and she was right.

  Vicki rushed toward us. “How are you girls doing? What a turnout!”

  “It’s great,” I told her brightly.

  “Show’s going to start in ten,” she said.

  When she left, I spun around to Celia. “Okay. We need a plan.”

  Celia nodded in agreement. “We can’t run out of tea.”

  “Nope. Nope, we cannot.” I looked over our prep area. We had an ice maker, but no way to boil water. “My kingdom for an instant hot water faucet.”

  “Your kingdom is a set of potted tea plants,” Celia observed, mouth twitching in a smile.

  “Yes. But there’s got to be an industrial kitchen in a place like this. If I figure out how to brew more, can you hold down the fort here?”

  “You have more tea?”

  “It’s me,” I told her, feeling confident and a bit manic all at once. “I always have more tea.”

  I’d packed an emergency stash. But my spirits sank as I realized I hadn’t packed tea bags.

  One problem at a time.

  I found a member of the hotel staff and talked my way into the empty kitchen the floor above us. Working fast, I filled pots with water and set them to boiling. While they heated, I found the hotel’s hot water pitchers and—most importantly—the cupboard full of coffee filters.