time, and he’d never do anything underhanded.”
“Young lady, when you have lived as long as I, you will know that even people you think you know can surprise you, and not in a good way. He and Dean Asquith do not get along; Dale has told us all about it. It sounds like spite or revenge to me. I’d be more careful who you back.”
Sophie stifled the urge to snarl, and simply said, “He didn’t
do
anything, and if Dean Asquith says differently, then he’s the one who will look like a fool.” She took a deep breath; there she went running her mouth again. Judging by the woman’s angry stare, it hadn’t gone over well. Stiffly she added, “If you’d like to go in, my grandmother, Rose Freemont, and her business partner, Laverne Hodge, are inside giving tours and talking about her teapot collection.”
“That would be lovely,” the woman replied, her tone frosty. “I may want to hold a tea here one day for my sorority sisters. I went to Cruickshank, you know, in the sixties, and now I am
chairwoman
of the Board of Governors.” Sophie opened the door and held it for the group. Vince and Brenda surged in after the board members. The dean’s gaggle had lingered at Belle Époque. Cissy was doing her best to help them, but itdidn’t look like it was going well, and it didn’t help that Gilda appeared to be berating the dean.
What on earth?
Dana slunk across the lane to listen in, then scooted back, her eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. “Gilda is telling them what horrible people they are for sidelining Thelma and ignoring her. She told the dean’s wife that Thelma Mae Earnshaw was twice as good as Rose Freemont, but that Rose was always stealing her thunder and copying her ideas.”
“Oh, lord, Dana, we have to
do
something!”
The dean waved Gilda off and led the way to Auntie Rose’s. He cast a long, steady look back, and Gilda, eyes wide, shot into the tearoom.
“That is one exceptionally strange woman,” he was saying to his wife, as they strolled up to Sophie’s tea table. He eyed Sophie. “I know you. You’re Jason’s young friend.”
Jason moved forward. “Sophie Taylor, sir. You met the other night at the basketball game reception.”
Sophie glanced at him; his voice was tight with tension. What was up?
The dean leveled a long, steady look at Jason, his heavy-lidded eyes expressionless and his mouth turned down. “Yes. Just so. Why was that . . . that
woman
saying you steal all their ideas?” he asked, turning to Sophie.
How to explain? She took a deep breath. “That’s Gilda Bachman, sir. She works for Thelma Mae Earnshaw, the owner of Belle Époque. She’s, uh . . . overly loyal and imagines schemes where there are none. Julia Dandridge and my grandmother, Rose Freemont, got together to plan our Fall Fling offerings. We tried to include Mrs. Earnshaw but . . .” Sophie shrugged. “She wasn’t interested.”
“Dale, enough chitchat,” his wife said. “We came to sample the tea.”
Sophie served tea and told the dean that the Board of Governors members had gone inside. He and his wife entered Auntie Rose’s to look around; Sophie was relieved, knowing that Nana and Laverne would soothe the gentleman and make a good impression. But the couple was only in there a few minutes when he came out and shoved his cup at her, splashing tea over her clean white chef’s coat. “Is this your idea of a joke?” he bellowed, his words echoing in the crisp evening air.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My tea is
salty
. Is this because of Jason and his troubles at Cruickshank? If that’s the case, you have chosen poor timing for a joke or some . . . some petty revenge.” His voice was carrying. They were joined by the board members and the others, who drifted out the door and toward the dean. “This is outrageous!” he declared, as his audience grew.
The chairwoman sniffed, clutched her purse to her chest and said, “I’m not surprised.”
“I’m so sorry,”
“Young lady, when you have lived as long as I, you will know that even people you think you know can surprise you, and not in a good way. He and Dean Asquith do not get along; Dale has told us all about it. It sounds like spite or revenge to me. I’d be more careful who you back.”
Sophie stifled the urge to snarl, and simply said, “He didn’t
do
anything, and if Dean Asquith says differently, then he’s the one who will look like a fool.” She took a deep breath; there she went running her mouth again. Judging by the woman’s angry stare, it hadn’t gone over well. Stiffly she added, “If you’d like to go in, my grandmother, Rose Freemont, and her business partner, Laverne Hodge, are inside giving tours and talking about her teapot collection.”
“That would be lovely,” the woman replied, her tone frosty. “I may want to hold a tea here one day for my sorority sisters. I went to Cruickshank, you know, in the sixties, and now I am
chairwoman
of the Board of Governors.” Sophie opened the door and held it for the group. Vince and Brenda surged in after the board members. The dean’s gaggle had lingered at Belle Époque. Cissy was doing her best to help them, but itdidn’t look like it was going well, and it didn’t help that Gilda appeared to be berating the dean.
What on earth?
Dana slunk across the lane to listen in, then scooted back, her eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. “Gilda is telling them what horrible people they are for sidelining Thelma and ignoring her. She told the dean’s wife that Thelma Mae Earnshaw was twice as good as Rose Freemont, but that Rose was always stealing her thunder and copying her ideas.”
“Oh, lord, Dana, we have to
do
something!”
The dean waved Gilda off and led the way to Auntie Rose’s. He cast a long, steady look back, and Gilda, eyes wide, shot into the tearoom.
“That is one exceptionally strange woman,” he was saying to his wife, as they strolled up to Sophie’s tea table. He eyed Sophie. “I know you. You’re Jason’s young friend.”
Jason moved forward. “Sophie Taylor, sir. You met the other night at the basketball game reception.”
Sophie glanced at him; his voice was tight with tension. What was up?
The dean leveled a long, steady look at Jason, his heavy-lidded eyes expressionless and his mouth turned down. “Yes. Just so. Why was that . . . that
woman
saying you steal all their ideas?” he asked, turning to Sophie.
How to explain? She took a deep breath. “That’s Gilda Bachman, sir. She works for Thelma Mae Earnshaw, the owner of Belle Époque. She’s, uh . . . overly loyal and imagines schemes where there are none. Julia Dandridge and my grandmother, Rose Freemont, got together to plan our Fall Fling offerings. We tried to include Mrs. Earnshaw but . . .” Sophie shrugged. “She wasn’t interested.”
“Dale, enough chitchat,” his wife said. “We came to sample the tea.”
Sophie served tea and told the dean that the Board of Governors members had gone inside. He and his wife entered Auntie Rose’s to look around; Sophie was relieved, knowing that Nana and Laverne would soothe the gentleman and make a good impression. But the couple was only in there a few minutes when he came out and shoved his cup at her, splashing tea over her clean white chef’s coat. “Is this your idea of a joke?” he bellowed, his words echoing in the crisp evening air.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My tea is
salty
. Is this because of Jason and his troubles at Cruickshank? If that’s the case, you have chosen poor timing for a joke or some . . . some petty revenge.” His voice was carrying. They were joined by the board members and the others, who drifted out the door and toward the dean. “This is outrageous!” he declared, as his audience grew.
The chairwoman sniffed, clutched her purse to her chest and said, “I’m not surprised.”
“I’m so sorry,”
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