“Ew,” Lucie blurted out before she could stop herself.
Brother and sister stared at each other for a split second, and then they both burst out laughing. The two of them stood on the corner of Forty-Ninth and Fifth for a few minutes, leaning against the gray limestone wall outside Michael Kors, doubled over in laughter. When they had recovered enough, Freddie turned and continued down Fifth Avenue, while Lucie began walking along Forty-Ninth Street toward Christie’s auction house. In the middle of the block, right outside NBC Studios, she stopped, got out her phone, and sent Cecil a text, her fingers shaking uncontrollably.
* Not to be confused with the accessories closet intern or the beauty closet intern.
XV
Tea & Sympathy
WEST VILLAGE
“Why did you want to meet here? If you wanted afternoon tea, we could have met up someplace more glam like the St. Regis or the Mandarin.”
“I like this place, Cecil. I love their scones, and this room reminds me of those little country cafés my dad used to take me to the year we lived in England. Plus, it’s near your house.”
“Oh.”
A waitress with a Cockney accent approached their corner table by the window to take their order.
“I’ll have the cream tea with the Assam, please. And could I get an extra side of clotted cream for my scones?”
“Of course. What will you have, sir?”
“Nothing, I’m not hungry.”
“House rules, sir, you have to order something if you want to stay here.”
“I’ll have a macchiato.”
“Sorry, sir, we have coffee or thirty-seven types of tea.”
“For fuck’s sake. I’ll have a Darjeeling tea. And the sticky toffee pudding.”
“You didn’t have to be rude to her, Cecil. She’s only doing her job.”
“Was I being rude? I thought she was being so condescending. Why are you laughing?”
“Never mind, Cecil.”
“Look at that woman outside. Do you think she let her roots grow out like that on purpose? Or is she just too cheap to get her color done properly?”
“Maybe she likes it like that, Cecil.”
“How could anyone possibly like their hair like that? I’d be ashamed to leave the house. Why are you handing me your ring?”
“I’m returning it to you, Cecil.”
“Ahhh! You don’t like it, do you? Mother was right. She had a feeling it might be too avant-garde for you.”
“I think it’s a very original design, Cecil, but I just can’t wear it.”
“You have such slender, delicate fingers. I’ll admit, the cabochon emerald might not be the most flattering look for them. But the stone is so special. Why don’t we turn this emerald into a necklace, and I’ll get you something more classic for your engagement ring. Admit it, you’ve always wanted a diamond from Tiffany, haven’t you? You’ve been brainwashed by decades of Audrey Hepburn propaganda.”
“Cecil, I’m returning the ring to you be…because I…I can’t marry you.”
“Oh please, we can go to Tiffany if you really want. Although maybe we should go to Paris and I can get Joel to design something more classic for you.”
“Cecil, listen to me. I cannot marry you.”