High Tea

by Harper, Sandra

• ISBN13: 9781416580621
• ISBN10: 141658062X
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2008-11-11
• Publisher: Gallery Books

Summary

Society meets superficiality in this delightful debut, set in a tea room in an ultra-trendy Los Angeles neighborhood and run by a middle-aged proper British lady who finds herself caught between two worlds.

Author Biography

Sandra Harper is the author of the play, Magpie's Tea Room, which enjoyed a successful run in Los Angeles at The Ventura Court Theatre. She has written a cooking column, "The California Cook" for the newspaper, Skirt. A script reader for Pathe Studios and Springcreek Productions, she also wrote and produced fashion and rock videos for Elvis Costello, Chaka Khan and Vidal Sassoon, amonf others. Ms. Harper recieved her B.A. in Journalism from the University of Southern California and has completed a children's book, The Witches Club.

Excerpts

Chapter OneMagpie's Tearoom was a lovely refuge from modern life.Nestled between a travel bookstore and a vintage clothing boutique, it had survived Nouvelle Cuisine, Low Carbs, and Raw Food. Although there were few damp, drizzly days in Los Angeles, there was always a warm welcoming fire at Magpie's to suggest otherwise.Pictures of sporting dogs and the bucolic English countryside hung on the rosy pink walls. A towering china hutch displayed dainty cups and saucers with storybook patterns like Tally Ho and Chelsea Gardens. Sometimes, while relaxing in one of the worn armchairs and sipping a cup of Earl Grey, a customer would tell Margaret that owning a tearoom like Magpie's must be the most wonderful job in the world.Of course Margaret would smile graciously.And then pour them more tea.On this Thursday in February, it actually was raining and Margaret Moore was late. Stepping off the porch of her tidy cream-colored bungalow, she hurried across the soggy lawn and then slid behind the wheel of her old Volvo. Winding down to Fountain Avenue, she immediately discovered that traffic was jammed all the way to Crescent Heights. Remembering the days of the ten-minute commute, she groaned. Now it took at least forty minutes to get anywhere in the city.Just before 3rd Street, she turned left into the alley and pulled into one of four spaces marked Tearoom. A satin-blue Prius was parked beside her.Lilly's on time, she thought gratefully.With the expertise of an Englishwoman, she unfurled her umbrella and reached the back door with nary a spot of water landing on her raincoat. Her shoulder-length chestnut hair hung perfectly in place.Marching briskly into the kitchen, she stowed her purse and umbrella on a stainless steel baker's rack. Shrugging off her coat, she noticed dirty bowls littering the counter and a pan in the sink filled with something resembling amber crystals. Then she heard the rush of running water.She knocked on the bathroom door. "Lilly?"A rotund woman of fifty emerged, dabbing her wet face with paper towels. "Hope you don't mind. I crashed here last night," she said.Margaret did mind but decided not to engage in what she knew would be a lengthy conversation about Lilly's domestic problems. "As long as you don't make a habit of it," was all she said.Several aprons and a crisp white shirt hung on hooks next to the bathroom door. Margaret exchanged her coat for a black-and-white plaid apron that complemented her narrow black slacks and long-sleeved T-shirt.Lilly squirted some gel into her palms and spiked up her short gray hair. "Deborah and I had a fight."She's too young for you, thought Margaret, examining the pot of burned crystals in the sink."Just let that soak," said Lilly. "I thought a butterscotch pudding would make an interesting trifle, but the caramel seized."Margaret's blue-gray eyes clouded. "How can I possibly go to England and leave the tearoom under your command?""You're going to England?" Lilly scrubbed at an egg stain on her soiled chef's jacket. "When did this happen?""Nothing's planned. But my mother's getting on, you know. She's almost eighty.""I thought you hated your mother."Margaret drew herself up. "Where did you get that idea? Just because we're not...overly fussy with one another. I have enormous respect for her."Quickly turning her attention to the kitchen, she surveyed it with dismay. Although she employed a daily cleaning service, they never seemed to scrub the sink to her satisfaction. And Lilly was the messiest chef on earth. She never closed drawers or returned utensils to their proper hook on the overhead rack. Dishes were jammed willy-nilly on the open shelves below the counters and teacups were stacked precariously in the cabinets above. It wasn't as if this were a grand restaurant, either. They were a medium-sized tearoom with a dwindling inventory of china and flatware. It wa