8 - Sweet Mustard Night x Call Me Blair

She'd walked off.

I mean, I should have guessed from that tone, it was never going to be anything nice. But lucky for her, I'm her guest. I put the mustard down and bite my tongue.

Because...

The all of me

...wanted to tell the all of her

...that if it is as she says, she wouldn't need to say it.

The all of me

...was gonna tell the all of her

...James is free to do as he please.

Rest of me

...wanted to tell the rest of her

...she should be telling it to him, not to me.

But I am her guest.

I swing from Charlotte's walk off to James. That onesome is now a threesome with the Chef himself holding court. I've seen him a few times. On the tv. Saturday mornings. When nursing a coffee after a hard night on the tiles and eating cotton candy grapes because I am too delicate for the sourdough taste. Wondering too, why I studied Interior Design instead of something useful... like plumbing. I mean, you never hear of a plumber caught up in a love triangle now, do you? Though knowing my luck, I’d still end up in someone’s fantasy. Burst pipe and a flange key. I laugh but its to myself.

Its in that state of woe, I'd find myself ordering another of his utensils in hope. In hope, I'd one day make one of his dishes. In my last purchase, I added his soup ladle to the fluted flan tin and his family sized non-stick wok I already own for my singledom. At least the soup ladle has a fighting chance. Unlike the flan tin, which mostly holds fruit. Of the stale kind.

On another day, I'd happily drifted over and in on that conversation.

Today? Sweet Mustard. No.

The sweet mustard is back in my hands and considering.

I don't know, maybe I heard her all wrong. Maybe she said James is allergic to sweet mustard. I gasp at my own joke but whatever it is, someone needs to tell me why my encounters with Ms Charlotte Feversham, smacks of hostile takeover.

I keep the mustard and make my way towards my place at the table.

'Ah the lady wishes to sit' Fredric calls as I saunter off. I'd like to be rid of him for just a little longer when his chair becomes occupied. But it isn't Fredric, it's Mr Feversham making sure everyone's enjoying themselves. Being sufficiently catered for. That the food is to my satisfaction because if it isn't he'll have to have a word with him. He points across the table to where the chef is now standing between both of his daughters and I catch Charlotte's face. She's got a smile on but I can tell it isn't what she wants to do. For someone I have only ever met/crossed paths with, what? Once, twice, three times and all fleeting, this woman has got all the beef she didn't put on her plate. One wonders if Gabrielle foresaw this kind of behaviour. Perhaps. But certainly not while draped in her tweed and double 'C's.

'Ahh Freddie my boy,' Mr Feversham says. I look back to where Mr Feversham has now stood up. Gives Fredric a tap on the shoulders and they exchange positions. Fredric to his seat and Mr Feversham to Pandora. My brain doesn't recall seeing him anywhere else around the table before or after that.

Fredric, he sits, wolfs his plate. Apart from, 'Still tastes as good as I remember,' he doesn't say much else, he does however treat himself to some pizza. The pizza looking very tempting but I didn't fancy the bloating in my wedding outfit next day.

'Nice to see you're not one of those women.'

I give him a side-eye. 'What women might that be?'

'You know' He leans in, glances Charlotte's way. 'The ones that order salad leaves on a dinner date... then go home and devour your sausages.'

I laugh out and embarrassingly so. 'See, I wouldn't have thought you'd have a problem with your sausages being devoured.'

'Ohh, Je-se-cah, Jess, Jess, Jess, what am I to do with you?'

Because a little quiet fell our way, I didn't look up from my plate anytime soon. And when no explanation was offered, the room revived itself. But I was thoroughly amused and so was he, judging by the way he leaned in and nudged my shoulder.

'I love that mind of yours. Anyway eat up. You've got a long night ahead.'

'How so?'

'No one told you? You, Miss World, are coming with us.'

'Long night doing what? With who?'

With his fork, he does a half-hearted circle around the table, though it mostly concentrated in Charlotte's direction.

I did eat up but not because I was told to more because I felt I'd need a grounded stomach to survive. However, I did skip the sweet mustard.

Skipped dessert too, though dinner finished with a confection of sweet stories. Pandora's the buttery creamiest. Her second husband, twenty years her junior when they met. The relationship raised more than just eyebrows and their age gap wasn't even the centre of it. But she'd not change any of it because that man had rubbed a sparkle back into her life.

'You know that saying, 'better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? This was it. She'd take the scandal times over than never to have known him. Than to never have experienced that kind of love. That kind of magic.

Fredric and I accept another glass of champagne, happy to settle into this story. Except Pandora declines. Disappoints us both when she apologises in the name of beauty sleep as she gently pushes her chair back. Even her apology carries a wealth of love.

Fredric stands as she does with that old-school gesture. The sort no one seems to bother with anymore. Charming or practiced? Hard to tell.

'Her chocolate layer cake. Her vanilla bon bon.' She says before bidding us goodnight.

Fredric and I could only watch as she swishes out the glass doors.

This is Part 1, remember to return for Part II in a week.

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