As Kellie paid for her chocolate, I lingered over the variety of teas in beautiful tins. One of the teas was named “Lady Grey,” and I decided to buy it, thinking of Lady Jane Grey, whose name we had just seen carved in the Tower of London.
Kellie picked up a tin of Darjeeling tea, and I teased her, saying, “You’re copying me. You’re buying everything I’m buying.”
“Well, Lady Flo, what can I say? You have good taste.”
We made our way into the very fragrant fragrance department and were amazed at all the shoppers buzzing around the nectar hubs. It really felt as if we were removed from any sense of time of day as we wandered from one department to the next. Outside it could be rainy or sunny. It didn’t matter. In here, all was alive with color and scent and a pervading sense of Victorian ornamental poshness.
I don’t know if Kellie meant to take so much time at the shelf that was lined with boxed sets of fragrances and lotions, but she caught the eye of one of the salesclerks, who came over. The well-dressed woman described the benefits of a particular product and the added value of buying the promotional gift box.
“I really am only interested in buying the lotion,” Kellie said.
I found the sample atomizer of the fragrance Kellie was considering and gave my wrist a spritz. “Kellie, you should get the set.” I came alongside her and let her sniff my wrist. “It’s a nice fragrance.”
She hesitated.
“Do I need to buy one first so you’ll copy me?”
I remembered what Martin had told me a few days before we left. He said my job on this trip was to make sure Kellie spent a little extra on herself. He was afraid she would hesitate over something she really liked and then would come home and regret she hadn’t bought it when she had the chance.
With best-friend audacity, I said to the salesclerk, “She needs to buy the set. Don’t let her get only the lotion. Keep telling her what a great deal it is.”
Kellie laughed and gave in without further debate. I told her I had just done my job for the trip and Martin would be pleased. She had no idea what I was talking about. While she paid for the fragrance gift set, I peered at the makeup display.
“Are you going to buy something too?” Kellie asked.
“Of course. We’re having a contest, or didn’t you know? You’re two items ahead of me.”
The salesclerk tilted her head and looked at me from under the long lashes of her perfectly made-up eyes. “Have you considered using an eyebrow pencil?”
“I do sometimes.” I automatically touched my brows. “I know my eyebrows are fading away, but I don’t like them to be too dark.”
“We have a lovely pencil in a soft brown that comes with a smudger. I think it would work nicely for you.”
“A smudger?”
She showed me the sample item with the soft tip at one end and the retractable eyeliner pencil on the other. “This allows you to blend the color and make it more natural. Would you like me to demonstrate on you?”
“Do you mean have our makeup done?” Kellie asked.
“If you like, yes, my assistant and I would be glad to do that for both of you.”
Kellie looked excited. I knew she loved this sort of thing but rarely allotted time or money for such extras. While she had spent the last fifteen years driving her three sons to football practice, doing their mounds of laundry, and launching them out of the house, I was getting my fill of teenage-daughter times, indulging in long makeup sessions and toenail-painting evenings. Kellie missed out on all that. This would be a nice treat for her.
“We’re going to tea at the Ritz.” Kellie took a seat on the high stool. “We have to be there at three. But we wanted to have a quick tour of the V and A since it’s so close.”
“Lovely,” the makeup artist said. “We have plenty of time to get the two of you looking your best for your afternoon events. Do you have plans for the evening as well?”
Kellie leaned over and touched my arm. “I think tonight is the night we should go to the theater. Les Misérables.”
“Why not?”
“We can arrange the tickets for you here in guest services, if you like,” the cosmetician said.
Once again my answer was, “Why not?”
“I’ll make a quick call and be right back.”
From there on, Kellie and I were sitting ducks. But I must say, we were the most content of all sitting ducks because it had been a long, long time since either of us had been so pampered. Besides, it was easy to comply. The London Princess Syndrome was taking effect on me. I supposed if I had to sit in the cushy chair and have my makeup done at Harrods, then I would. And if we had to go to tea at the Ritz, so be it. Such are the obligations when you take on the role of princess for the day.
Kellie made a glorious discovery at the Victoria and Albert Museum when she asked at the desk if any William Morris items were open for viewing.
“There is an entire room, the Morris room, that he decorated,” Kellie reported to me, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “It’s at the back on the ground floor. I want to go there first. I also found out they have a chair and a chest he designed. Those are upstairs.”
“Lead on.”
We wound our way through an elaborate display of women’s dresses from the past several centuries. Many of the garments we looked at through the glass cases were original dresses. I thought they were fascinating, especially because of the way they showed the changes in styles over the years.
But Kellie thought the Morris room was breathtaking. I stood beside her and gazed at the warm harmony of greens, blues, and golds. The style was beginning to look familiar. Nature’s bounty of vines, birds, and leaves seemed to be the foundational theme in the elaborate work that covered the walls. But interjected into that overall sense of nature were beautiful paintings of women in flowing gowns with untamed hair and faraway expressions, as if an ethereal world of classic Greek statues had posed for the paintings.
“Think of the typical Victorian décor,” Kellie said. “Heavy tapestries, fringed cloth, ornately carved furniture, lots of bric-a-brac …”
I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant.
“Into the decorating world, Morris and his Pre-Raphaelite brothers introduced these fresh colors and simplicity. They brought the natural world back inside with their wallpaper and tapestry designs that were in harmony with nature, yet they added this romantic dash of medieval mystery. Think of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.”
She pulled out her camera and asked me to take a photo of her in front of the vine relief wall next to an inset painting of one of the captivating, stately women in a flowing gown. Several visitors were seated at a table nearby, sipping tea that could be purchased along with other snacks from the lunchroom located next to the Morris room.
“Would you both like to be in the photo?” a bald man asked us. His accent was French.
“Sure. Thanks.”
Kellie and I stood close and grinned broadly with our lovely makeup giving us a boost in camera confidence, I think. We meandered through the room, taking a few more pictures before dashing to the other end of the museum to view more original Morris designs. This display included handmade chairs and an amazing chest painted by Morris with scenes from the legend of George and the Dragon. The colors were black with dark orange and warm brown shades. The depth and dimension drew me to the figures.
If we hadn’t been in such a fury to get to our tea date on time, I’m sure we would have lingered at the museum until it closed. I loved hearing Kellie’s hidden knowledge of decorating styles and seeing her passion for art and color.
A ready taxi with its trademark spacious backseat transported Kellie and me and all our shopping bags to the front entry of the Ritz Hotel. The entrance wasn’t nearly as dramatic as the front of our hotel, but once we stepped inside, we were taken in with the charm of this five-star hotel. We checked our shopping bags and coats and took a minute to freshen up in the rest room, which had a definite F
rench feel to it as well as another towel-offering chambermaid with her tip dish.
Approaching the Palm Court inside the lobby where the afternoon tea was served, Kellie and I lowered our voices, took inventory of our outfits, and fretted over not being as up to code as we should have been. I had on my only pair of pants, which were a dressy, dark brown, with a cream-colored cable-knit sweater and a long-sleeved T-shirt underneath. The sweater made the outfit lean toward the casual side; yet I was afraid that if I stripped down to the plain white T-shirt, I would look more like an over-the-hill soccer mom than my desired identity of Lady Flo of the Palm Court Tea Room.
“Kellie, I need nicer clothes,” I whispered.
She looked much more suited for her role as Lady Ebb. I hoped the hostess would let me in since I was with the well-dressed woman in the black pants and pressed, royal blue, long-sleeved blouse. Kellie’s silver necklace and earrings helped to pull off a more polished look than my turquoise clip-on earrings that didn’t exactly match anything. I truly did own nice outfits. But when it came to winter wear, I was limited.
“You look great, Liz. The dress code is no jeans or tennis shoes, so you and I are just fine.”
“Then it’s a good thing Opal isn’t with us wearing her hot pink tennies!”
“I’ve been thinking about Opal and Rose today too. I wonder how they’re getting along.”
“I wonder how Opal and Virgil are getting along,” I said with a grin.
“Do you really think there was something between them?”
“Yes, definitely. Love knows no limits. Not even age or testy twin sisters.”
“Do you think we should call them just to check in?” Kellie asked.
“That would be a good idea. Should we try calling tonight before the play?”
“Sure.”
By the time we were seated in the padded chairs at a round table with a smoothly pressed tablecloth on it, I wasn’t thinking about Opal and Virgil or my appearance any longer. The Palm Court itself was the best dressed in the house. Next to her marble pillars, explosive, golden, glowing chandeliers, and exultant palm ferns that stretched to the elevated glass ceiling, all of us were underdressed. The buttery seashell color of the walls worked perfectly with the soft light from the sconces and chandeliers and the natural light coming through the spider-web design on the glass ceiling. In the center of the main wall was an alcove, complete with a life-size statue of a golden woman reclining by a fountain. Who could compete with any of that?
We ordered the Ritz traditional English tea to accompany our very expensive but very sumptuous selection of sandwiches and pastries. Our efficient middle-aged waiter in his dark suit and bow tie seemed to take great pride in describing for us the variety of sweets on the sterling silver tiered tray.
The orderly British mind-set was at work with the presentation of our afternoon tea. The items were appropriately grouped. If we chose to start on the lowest level of the three tiers, we could work our way from the sandwiches up to the scones on the second level and finish with the sweets on the top level.
With masterful motions of his hand, our server pointed out each of the treats. “Your assortment of tea sandwiches includes smoked salmon, egg mayonnaise with watercress, ham, chicken with mayonnaise, and the traditional cucumber with dairy butter.”
The perfectly cut, crustless sandwich squares were lined up on their sides, making it easier to see the layers as he described them. Even the sandwiches were better dressed than Kellie or I.
“It’s a good thing they’re so small,” Kellie said in a low voice.
I nodded but already was eying the scones on the second tier.
“Here we have our freshly baked raisin and apple scones with Devonshire clotted cream and organic strawberry preserves,” he said.
“May I ask,” Kellie turned her chin up to the waiter, unintentionally interrupting him, “do we put the clotted cream on the scone first or the strawberry jam?”
Without a change in expression, he stated, “The choice is entirely yours, madam. Many of our guests enjoy the cream first and then the preserves.”
“Thank you.” Kellie gave me a silly side grimace, as if she had been caught passing notes in class during the lecture.
“To conclude,” our expert waiter said with a sweeping gesture at the top tier, “you will find an assortment of our pastries and cakes here. The fruits of the forest compote with English cream is one of our specialties. Now, have you any questions?”
Neither of us could think of anything intelligent to ask.
“If there are no questions, may I pour your tea?”
“Yes, please,” we said in Lady-Ebb-and-Lady-Flo unison.
With my hands folded in my lap, I pushed my shoulders back in an effort to sit up straighter. The elegance of the Palm Court had that effect. The fragrant amber liquid came steaming out of the sterling silver teapot’s spout into the delicate china cup in front of me. The waiter used a silver strainer as he poured the tea. Only a few squiggly black tea leaves were caught by the strainer, which was then placed in its own silver nest until it would be called on to strain my refill.
Being served so expertly by a uniformed waiter felt like another form of pampering. As soon as he stepped away, I told Kellie I didn’t know how much more of this extravagance I could take.
“This is pretty over the top, isn’t it?” She picked up the intricately decorated silver tongs and reached for one of the cucumber sandwiches. “It’s amazing how the décor of a room can affect how you feel about yourself and your surroundings. Maybe that’s why I love decorating so much. I love elevating people’s environment so that it elevates their feelings about themselves.”
“Sounds like the princess mentality again.”
“Yes, but in a good way. In a way that makes you remember that you are fearfully and wonderfully made. That’s what God says of us. I think we suppress our appreciation for the ‘wonderfully made’ part far too often.”
“We have so much,” I said. “While we were in Harrods, I was thinking we are so, so blessed. Both of us have husbands who are at a place in their careers where they are able to provide everything we need as well as a good amount of what we want. Do you realize how many women would love to be in our situations?”
“Yes, I do.”
“It’s almost an embarrassment of riches.”
With a calm expression, Kellie leaned over. “We are extravagantly, incredibly blessed. This is a rare abundance. It is. But it wasn’t always this way for either of us.”
“You’re right.”
“I don’t think we should be embarrassed about the goodness in this season of life simply because it seems so extravagant. Our heavenly Father is extravagant with His children sometimes. He gave us this trip. He’s provided all of this. I think we can honor Him best by receiving these gifts and letting ourselves overflow with gratefulness.”
“I’m beyond grateful at this point,” I said. “I’m in awe. Amazed. It’s just so much grace. So much goodness.”
“And don’t you think it delights our heavenly Father to pour out such an ‘amazing grace’ gift on two of His princess daughters?”
I took another sip of tea, and together we quietly made our way through the savories and sweets on the silver-tiered tea tray.
“The way I see it,” Kellie said, “this whole trip is a gift in much the same way that you made the reservations for us to have tea here and said it was my birthday gift. What if I said, ‘No, it’s too much. I only gave you a card and a pedicure for your birthday last year. I can’t enjoy this because it’s too extravagant, and it’s more than I could return in a gift to you for your birthday next year’?”
Kellie sipped her tea, poured in a little milk, and took another sip before concluding her thought. “I think God is best honored and pleased when we simply receive His abundant gifts.”
I nodded and tucked another nibble of the egg sandwich into my mouth.
A pianist had been filling the open room wi
th lovely music since we had arrived. In the stretch of quiet between Kellie and me, my ears tuned in to the melodic chords, and I sat back to listen.
At the table next to us an elderly woman in a blue silk sari spoke a language I had never heard. Across from us I picked up a few—very few—French words from two young women in stylish business suits. They were much more invested in their conversation than they were in the barely touched food on their tiered tray.
I replayed some of Kellie’s comments in my mind. Could it sometimes be as easy as that with God? Does He merely want us to receive His goodness and be thankful? The verse I had read from Jeremiah lilted over my thoughts lightly, like the chords on the piano in the background: “I will give them hearts that will recognize me as the LORD. They will be my people, and I will be their God, for they will return to me wholeheartedly.”
I wondered if being grateful in seasons and in moments like this was part of what happens when a heart is bent toward recognizing that God is the Lord of all. He gives, and He takes away. Today He was giving. A lot.
“You have to try one of these.” Kellie took another dainty bite of a gorgeous berry tart in a flaky pastry shell.
The berry tart dissolved slowly on my tongue. I sipped just enough cream-laced tea to let the sweet and tart sensation linger on my taste buds. In an odd little private ceremony, I closed my eyes and thought, You provided all this, Father God. My heart recognizes Your abundant goodness in this, and I receive it with deep and humble thanks.
The rest of the afternoon and evening I moved around inside a quietness of my spirit. We decided to walk part of the way back to our hotel where we planned to leave our shopping bags before going to the theater at seven. It felt good to stretch our legs after all the delicious tea treats we had eaten.