Read The Diva Serves High Tea for Free Online

both Victorian and appropriate for tea.
    Shortly before three, I walked across the street and knocked on the front door of my best friend, Nina Reid Norwood.
    She opened the door, ready to go in a floral dress and a glamorous hat that tilted forward over her face.
    We walked along the streets of Old Town, feeling wildly overdressed. I filled her in on the developments between Natasha and Mars.
    â€œThe only part that surprises me is that it took him so long,” Nina said. “No one could ever say he didn’t give that relationship his best shot.”
    â€œYou don’t think it’s peculiar that she’s already dating?”
    â€œThere is nothing that Natasha values more than saving face. She would do anything to make it seem as though the split was her decision, and we should pity Mars.”
    We approached the tearoom, where clusters of people were gathered on the sidewalk.
    The Parlour had opened during the summer. Located on King Street at the end of a block, it had taken over the space of two shops. Large windows allowed for sidewalk gazing—both in and out. The owner and brainchild behind The Parlour, Martha Carter, had decorated it like an upscale European tearoom. While there were a few small dining tables where one could sit, most of the tearoom was arranged in little parlor-type groupings. Sofas and comfy chairs clustered around coffee tables where tea and goodies were served. Antique accents imparted elegance. It was comfortable while maintaining a hint of formality. I had only been there once before so I looked forward to an afternoon of tea and pastries.
    I pulled the door open and stepped into a different world. A string quartet played soothing classical music. I smiled when I saw them, pleased that they had made it.
    The room was already filled with patrons, many of whom had dressed in the Victorian spirit that Natasha requested. Ladies wore hats of every imaginable color and a couple of the gentlemen wore top hats. I heard my name being called and looked around. My neighbor Francie had already snagged one of the best tables by the window.
    â€œOver here, Sophie.” With a wrinkled and age-spotted hand, Francie patted the loveseat where she sat. “I’ll share my sofa. Nina, you take the chair.”
    Opinionated and outspoken, Francie had lived in Old Town for most of her adult life. Widowed many years before, she spent her days gardening and bird watching. She wore a high-necked lacy beige blouse with a large cameo at her throat. She hadn’t bothered with a hat to cover her straw-yellow hair. “Do you girls know Velma Klontz?”
    A woman in her late sixties who could have stepped out of a Victorian photograph nodded at me. “Francie has told me so much about you, Sophie. And I know Nina from the shelter.”
    Nina chimed in. “Velma is always saving homeless cats.”
    Like us, Velma wore an extravagant hat. But hers was sky blue and matched her Victorian gown. It sat on teased silver hair that had surely been sprayed in place by a beautician. Wide blue eyes regarded me with curiosity.
    Francie didn’t have a stitch of makeup on but Velma wore it artfully, like so many Southern women. I wasn’t sure about the blue-gray eye shadow, but her foundation was thick enough to cover any blemishes.
    â€œVelma and I met at a book club a hundred years ago,” Francie said. “She’s a wonderful cook, just like you.”
    Velma clearly enjoyed the flattery but flapped her hand modestly. “I don’t cook as much anymore since my husband passed, but you can tell by looking at me that I cannot pass up good fried chicken or apple fritters, though they’re not easy to find these days. Seems like all the restaurants shy away from traditional Southern food.”
    Francie nudged me. “What’s Robert doing with Natasha?”
    I looked toward the entrance where Natasha chatted with a tall man whom I put in his mid-sixties. He