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.

Part II

--------------------------------

I'm almost feeling the love she's feeling. Though the scandal has me intrigued.

'I want that kind of love.' I find myself saying.

'Scandal and all?' He says and sits back down.

'Scandal and all.' I repeated.

'But you don't know what the scandal was.'

'Did you see how she radiated when she was talking about him?'

'See now, this conversation has turned onto Fredric's Avenue.' He taps on the table and stands again. 'Come on.'

I look over to James. He's hugging the Fevershams, saying something to them who are leaving. Catches my eye mid-sentence. Doesn’t look away. When I turn back, Fredric is watching me. Glass tipped towards me. 'You coming, or not, Jess?'

I'd said yes without realising it. I just hadn’t moved yet.

'You do like him, don't you?'

'Fredric, what does it matter to you?'

'Something about you, Jess is getting into my bones.'

I faltered in my steps. 'You know, that sounds cancerous, right? So let's hope you've caught it in its very early stages'

'Its a little too late for that.'

'How so?'

'It needed to be addressed when I first glimpsed you by the fountain today. Only, by the time I got there, you'd disappeared. And tonight, I find out you're here with James. Speaking of...'

James is heading for us. The Fevershams wave from across the table. Charlotte waves too. I wave back, though I am generous in thinking it includes me. There is too, a subtle nod of her head towards the door. It is Fredric who responds, makes his way over to her. Prisoner cartel comes to mind. But who's in on the collaboration? Who or what is being swapped? I feel like the pawn in this game. Then Charlotte leaves with her family but Fredric is still here. James, he is here with me, if even in the gents. I'll admit to wanting to phone a friend because I didn't recognise that move. Although the time would have expired long before I'd be done relaying this scenario to Anastasia. Fifty-fifty isn't an option. There are however three guests standing by the door, perhaps I could ask them. Unless of course they're part of the collaboration.

The cars were called but Fredric wanted us to walk. I might have said yes, if it weren’t a fifteen minute walk. If I weren’t in four-inch heels. Had I not consumed near two bottles of champagne. If the one-degree air hadn’t frozen me quiet when we opened the door.

Outside another two guests (one of whom is Fredric's friend from earlier) stood smoking. James gave me his jacket, he and I, the only two to want to drive back. So when they sent a car back to get James his coat and me, my Chelsea boots, we no longer had a good reason not to.

While we waited for the return of the car, someone had the idea to take from the bar, remaining bottles of wine and champagne for the walk. It didn't stop there. Mini burgers, fish, chips and slices of pizza were loaded into the take away boxes the kitchen gifted us. Sweet mustard went on everything. I gave in settled on two slices of pizza and James another burger and yes sweet mustard. The driver returned and I swapped my heels. Swapped James' jacket for his coat which wrapped me one and a half times and warm. Someone invited the driver to join us on the walk back but he declined. Graciously, declined the burger they'd made him too.

It’s true what they say, 'there’s no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing.' Out in the biting cold of the Hampshire countryside, we chattered and laughed between our pizzas and burgers. Red wine breath turned into frosty clouds of laughter. We downed more, seeing who could make the biggest clouds. Even Fredric gave me breathing space. I hung to James’ arm, the most time we'd spent together since leaving the room. Takeaway box in that hand, I fed myself pizza with the other and finally tasted some of James' sweet mustard.

Near the inside gate, someone slurred that they might have had too much to drink. Instead of sympathy they were swept into locked arms and a spontaneous chorus of 'What shall we do with a drunken sailor?' Contagious, all eight of us tipsy, loud, linked arms, spun into a sing-song whirl. What was left of my pizza went flying. Champagne sprayed mid spin as we went faster and louder until it all broke apart.

One person toppled, taking the rest of us. We landed in a heap, breathless, wheezing, laughing.

Drunk on wine.

Drunk on life.

Every last one of us.

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