That was it. She would go out to lunch. Anthony had wanted her to go out, and so she would. Today. Right now.
The Moon Is Missing was a “smart casual” pub with “black tie” aspirations. Its proximity to St. Luke’s meant it was popular for post-funeral pick-me-ups and pre-wedding loin-girders. Laura ordered a whiskey and soda, and “herb-crumbed goujons of cod served with hand-cut wedges of King Edwards and a lightly frothed tartare sauce,” and took a seat in one of the booths that lined the wall facing the bar. Her bravura had deserted her almost as soon as she had left the house, and what should have been a treat had become something to endure, like a visit to the dentist or a crawl through rush-hour traffic. Laura was glad she had arrived early enough to bag a booth, and that she had remembered to bring a book with her to hide behind, just in case anyone tried to talk to her. On her way here, it had suddenly and rather worryingly occurred to her that Freddy and the frisky Felicity might also be lunching in this particular pub, but much though the thought horrified her, she was too stubborn to turn back. And so here she was, drinking in the middle of the day, which was unheard of, and pretending to read a book she wasn’t really interested in, while waiting for a lunch that she didn’t really want. All in order to prove a point to herself and not let Anthony down. And to think that she could have been at home cleaning the cooker. Even Laura couldn’t help but crack a wry smile at her own ridiculousness.
The pub was filling up, and just as the waitress brought her posh fish fingers and chips, the booth next to Laura’s was occupied with a great deal of huffing and puffing and shedding of coats and shopping bags. As her new neighbors began reading aloud from the menu, Laura recognized the imperious alto of Marjory Wadscallop accompanied by the dithering descant of Winnie Cripp. Having decided upon and ordered two “poussin and portobello potages,” the pair chinked their glasses of gin and tonic and began discussing the production of Blithe Spirit currently in rehearsal by their amateur dramatics group.
“Of course, technically, I’m far too young to play Madame Arcati,” asserted Marjory, “but then the part does require an actor of extraordinary range and subtlety, so I suppose, considering the dramatis personae at Everard’s disposal, I was the only real choice.”
“Yes, of course you were, dear,” agreed Winnie, “and Gillian’s an absolute pro at costumes and makeup, so she’ll have you looking old in no time.”
Marjory was unsure whether to be pleased about this or not.
“Well, she absolutely looks like a ‘pro’ with the amount of slap she normally wears,” she replied tetchily.
“Naughty!” Winnie giggled and then fell guiltily silent as the waitress arrived with their chicken and mushroom soups accompanied by “an assortment of artisan bread rolls.” There was a brief hiatus while they salted their soups and buttered their bread.
“I’m a bit nervous about playing Edith,” Winnie then confessed. “It’s the biggest part I’ve had so far and there’s an awful lot of lines to remember, as well as all that carrying of drinks and walking on and off.”
“You mean ‘stage business’ and ‘blocking,’ Winnie. It’s so important to use the correct terminology.” Marjory took a large bite from her granary roll and chewed on it thoughtfully before adding,
“I shouldn’t worry too much, dear. After all, Edith is only a housemaid, so you won’t be required to do very much real acting.”
Laura had finished her lunch and asked for the bill. Just as she was gathering her things to leave, the mention of a familiar name caught her attention.
“I’m sure Geoffrey will be a perfectly serviceable Charles Condomine, but in his younger days Anthony Peardew would have been ideal for the role; tall, dark, handsome, and so very charming.” Marjory’s voice had taken on an almost wistful tone.
“And he was a writer in real life too,” added Winnie.
Marjory’s tongue sought to dislodge a grain from her roll which had become caught under her dental plate. Having succeeded, she continued:
“It does seem rather odd that he left everything to that rather prickly housekeeper of his, Laura.”
“Mmm. It’s a funny business, all right.” Winnie loved a side order of scurrilous gossip with her lunch. “I shouldn’t wonder if there wasn’t a bit of ‘funny business’ going on there,” she added knowingly, delighted at her double entendre.
Marjory drained the last of her gin and tonic and signaled to the waitress to bring her another one.
“Well, I expect she did a little more for him than just the dusting and hoovering.”
Laura had intended to try to sneak past them without being seen, but now she turned and faced them with a brazen smile.
“Fellatio,” she announced. “Every Friday.”
And without another word, she swept out.
Winnie turned to Marjory with a puzzled expression.