Rachel shook her head. “It’s not healthy.”
“She’s never sick,” observed Pam.
“She looks great.” The three stopped, simultaneously dropping their jaws, spotting Sue in conversation with a handsome man dressed in a beautifully tailored suit. He had one hand on the back of a chair and was leaning forward, practically dripping charm all over the table.
The three exchanged glances and marched forward in unison. “Here’s your salad,” said Lucy, placing it in front of Sue.
“These are my friends,” said Sue with a graceful wave of her well-tended hand. “Pam, Rachel, and Lucy, this is Perry.” She paused, savoring the moment. “He’s an earl.”
“Nice to meet you.” Lucy felt a bit like the upstairs maid, standing there holding her tray. “Are we supposed to curtsy or something?”
“Not a bit. All that’s rather gone out of style these days.” There was a touch of gray at his temples, his eyes were blue, and his smile revealed a mess of crooked teeth. His gaze returned to Sue. “If you’re interested in my collection, just ring me.”
Then he was gone and the girls were plunking themselves down at the table, giggling like middle schoolers. “And what exactly does the earl collect?” inquired Pam. “Etchings?”
Sue was shaking her head. “I married too young. If I’d only known this day would come, I would have saved myself.” She speared a piece of lettuce with her fork. “And we have so much in common. I like castles and he has a castle. I like hats and he collects hats, with an emphasis on hats with feathers,” she said, provoking gales of laughter.
“I guess he’s safe enough, then,” observed Rachel drily.
“It’s good to know we don’t need to worry about protecting your virtue,” added Pam.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Lucy. “He seemed awfully interested.”
“No,” sighed Sue. “He’s after my feather fascinator.” Seeing their blank looks, Sue continued. “You know, the little hat I wore at Lizzy Muse’s wedding. There was one quite like it in the show, and apparently Camilla wore one at her wedding to Prince Charles. Perry says it was divine, and he tried to buy it but Camilla won’t sell. Sentimental reasons, he says.” She chewed slowly. “I might sell him mine.”
Pam was buttering a roll. “She’s obviously lost her mind.”
Lucy nodded. “There’s only one thing that will bring her back.”
“Retail therapy,” suggested Rachel.
Sue gave a shaky little sigh. “I do think it’s my only hope.”
When they joined the stream of people pushing into Harrods—Lucy was quickly learning that people from many other countries do not necessarily have the same sense of personal space that Americans do—they passed glass cases displaying all sorts of luxury items: sunglasses costing hundreds of pounds, handbags costing thousands, watches costing tens of thousands. It was a bit overwhelming until you realized that nobody was buying. This was a temple to consumerism, and the high-priced goods were designed to awe the tourists who streamed past, nudging each other and whispering the astronomical prices.
You would have thought they were in church, thought Lucy with disapproval. “Let’s start with the famous food hall.”
“I’ve heard it’s amazing,” agreed Rachel.
“I did not come to Harrods to go to the supermarket,” protested Sue. “I want to see the designer clothes.”
“And I want to use the luxury loo,” said Pam. “We need a plan.”
“I have one,” said Sue, consulting her guidebook. “They have a tearoom. Let’s meet there at four-thirty.”
The four then split up, Pam and Sue taking an elevator up and Lucy and Rachel taking one down to the cavernous food hall.
Seeing the white tile walls with their mosaics picturing foodstuffs and the refrigerated cases containing every sort of meat, Lucy felt she was in familiar surroundings. She shopped for groceries every week, and Harrods food hall wasn’t that much
“She’s never sick,” observed Pam.
“She looks great.” The three stopped, simultaneously dropping their jaws, spotting Sue in conversation with a handsome man dressed in a beautifully tailored suit. He had one hand on the back of a chair and was leaning forward, practically dripping charm all over the table.
The three exchanged glances and marched forward in unison. “Here’s your salad,” said Lucy, placing it in front of Sue.
“These are my friends,” said Sue with a graceful wave of her well-tended hand. “Pam, Rachel, and Lucy, this is Perry.” She paused, savoring the moment. “He’s an earl.”
“Nice to meet you.” Lucy felt a bit like the upstairs maid, standing there holding her tray. “Are we supposed to curtsy or something?”
“Not a bit. All that’s rather gone out of style these days.” There was a touch of gray at his temples, his eyes were blue, and his smile revealed a mess of crooked teeth. His gaze returned to Sue. “If you’re interested in my collection, just ring me.”
Then he was gone and the girls were plunking themselves down at the table, giggling like middle schoolers. “And what exactly does the earl collect?” inquired Pam. “Etchings?”
Sue was shaking her head. “I married too young. If I’d only known this day would come, I would have saved myself.” She speared a piece of lettuce with her fork. “And we have so much in common. I like castles and he has a castle. I like hats and he collects hats, with an emphasis on hats with feathers,” she said, provoking gales of laughter.
“I guess he’s safe enough, then,” observed Rachel drily.
“It’s good to know we don’t need to worry about protecting your virtue,” added Pam.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Lucy. “He seemed awfully interested.”
“No,” sighed Sue. “He’s after my feather fascinator.” Seeing their blank looks, Sue continued. “You know, the little hat I wore at Lizzy Muse’s wedding. There was one quite like it in the show, and apparently Camilla wore one at her wedding to Prince Charles. Perry says it was divine, and he tried to buy it but Camilla won’t sell. Sentimental reasons, he says.” She chewed slowly. “I might sell him mine.”
Pam was buttering a roll. “She’s obviously lost her mind.”
Lucy nodded. “There’s only one thing that will bring her back.”
“Retail therapy,” suggested Rachel.
Sue gave a shaky little sigh. “I do think it’s my only hope.”
When they joined the stream of people pushing into Harrods—Lucy was quickly learning that people from many other countries do not necessarily have the same sense of personal space that Americans do—they passed glass cases displaying all sorts of luxury items: sunglasses costing hundreds of pounds, handbags costing thousands, watches costing tens of thousands. It was a bit overwhelming until you realized that nobody was buying. This was a temple to consumerism, and the high-priced goods were designed to awe the tourists who streamed past, nudging each other and whispering the astronomical prices.
You would have thought they were in church, thought Lucy with disapproval. “Let’s start with the famous food hall.”
“I’ve heard it’s amazing,” agreed Rachel.
“I did not come to Harrods to go to the supermarket,” protested Sue. “I want to see the designer clothes.”
“And I want to use the luxury loo,” said Pam. “We need a plan.”
“I have one,” said Sue, consulting her guidebook. “They have a tearoom. Let’s meet there at four-thirty.”
The four then split up, Pam and Sue taking an elevator up and Lucy and Rachel taking one down to the cavernous food hall.
Seeing the white tile walls with their mosaics picturing foodstuffs and the refrigerated cases containing every sort of meat, Lucy felt she was in familiar surroundings. She shopped for groceries every week, and Harrods food hall wasn’t that much
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