I continued down the High Street and, just out of curiosity, I popped into the Paddy Power betting shop and asked for their odds for the Derby. Orion’s Glory was again quoted at 33–1.
‘Are these your very best odds?’ I asked the man behind the counter. ‘I got fifty-to-one for Orion’s Glory at Ladbrokes.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ he replied matter-of-factly. ‘Even thirty-threes is too generous in my view, but it’s head office, not me, that sets the prices.’ It sounded like he didn’t think much of head office. ‘I reckon he’ll be down in the twenties by tomorrow night, after the Dante. Orion’s Glory is a better horse than many people think.’
‘But he’s not running in the Dante,’ I said.
‘No, but others are and that will whittle some of them out of the market. I’d take the thirty-threes now if I were you before you miss the boat.’
‘Have you backed him yourself?’ I asked.
‘I take bets, mate, not make them.’
How pragmatic, I thought. And less expensive.
My next stop was Marks & Spencer — no, they haven’t opened a betting shop — I was also in need of some fresh socks and pants.
It was all well and good having a cabin-sized suitcase always on standby for an immediate departure, but it didn’t really contain enough for a whole week’s stay away. And I was fed up of having to wash out my socks each night and hang them to dry on the heated towel rail in the bathroom.
True, I could have sent them to the hotel laundry service. Indeed, ASW would have expected me to. But even I baulked at paying more to get a pair of socks washed than it cost to buy new ones, whoever was picking up the tab.
I bought two shirts and a pair of khaki chinos, as well as the new socks and pants. I also acquired a small cheap suitcase from Argos, as I’d need something to put my new clothes into, along with the wellington boots and coat that I’d purchased the day before.
My phone rang as I was paying for the suitcase.
‘Hi,’ said a voice. ‘Kate here.’
My heart went flip-flop.
‘Hi,’ I replied. ‘Where are you?’
‘At work.’
‘Where’s work?’ I asked.
‘Tatts.’
The way she said it made me think I should know what Tatts was, and where. And I was loath to show my ignorance by asking. I looked at my watch. It was five past four.
‘What time do you finish?’ I asked.
‘Any time from now on,’ Kate said. ‘It’s been a quiet day.’
‘Would you like to meet for a drink?’ I asked, fearing she’d have a million other things to do.
‘It’s a bit early for a drink,’ she said. ‘Even for me. How about tea at Nancy’s?’
‘Great. Who’s Nancy?’
‘Nancy’s Teashop. On Old Station Road. Say, in about twenty minutes?’
‘Lovely,’ I said. ‘Meet you there.’
‘Do you know where it is?’
‘I’ll find it,’ I said.
‘I’m sure you will. Bye.’ I could hear her laughing as she hung up the call.
‘Where’s Old Station Road?’ I asked the shop assistant in Argos.
‘Top of the high street and turn right at the roundabout,’ she replied. ‘You can’t miss it.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, and scuttled away with my suitcase, stuffing the dark green M&S bag inside it.
If I’d had a bounce in my step earlier, I was now floating on air as I hurried back to the high street and then up to the clock tower roundabout. I turned right into Old Station Road and easily found Nancy’s Vintage Teashop about a hundred yards down on the right-hand side.
I was there ahead of Kate and I sat down at a table close to the door so as not to be missed.
There were several groups there, including one of mothers with toddlers camped out on a big pink sofa in the window. Indeed, pinkness was the overriding perception, with pink napkins on the tables and pink aprons on the staff. But pink wasn’t the only colour; there were also pastel blues and yellows among the eclectic furnishings.
Four large cake stands, each covered with a voluminous glass bell-top, stood on the service counter with delicious-looking delights within, and there was a line of old-fashioned teapots on a shelf behind, each decorated with roses and other flowers such that they reminded me of chintz.
I studied the menu in its pink-and-white-striped folder and ordered Nancy’s Classic Afternoon Tea for two.
Kate arrived running and slightly out of breath.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said. ‘I got held up by a call.’
‘You’re not late,’ I said, standing up. ‘Perfect timing.’
In fact, perfect in every way, I thought, but decided it was far too cheesy to say so.
We sat down opposite one another with the table between us and I enviously eyed the mothers on the sofa sitting side by side.
‘I’ve ordered the classic afternoon tea for two,’ I said.
‘I hope you’re hungry. Janie and I usually order just one between us, with a second cup, and we can rarely finish everything even then.’
The waitress arrived with what could only be described as a feast fit for Henry VIII himself. A triple-decker plate piled high with finger sandwiches, fresh-baked scones and fancy cakes, plus a huge pot of strawberry jam, and enough clotted cream to feed the biblical five thousand.
‘I’ve given you a few extra scones,’ said the young waitress. ‘We close at five and we’ve got plenty left.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, and watched as she went back out to the kitchen.
I looked at the mountain of food in front of me, and then at Kate, and we both burst out laughing.
‘Know of any starving children in the locality?’ I said.
We had both just about managed to stop giggling by the time the waitress returned with a silver tray on which sat two teacups, two saucers, a large teapot, milk jug, sugar basin and a strainer with stand, all of them in white china with pink roses on the sides. Just like the ones my grandmother used to own.
‘What an amazing place,’ I said to Kate. ‘Like stepping back fifty years.’
She looked down to the suitcase standing on the floor next to me.
‘Not leaving are you?’ she said with concern in her voice.
‘No.’ I laughed. ‘Quite the reverse. I’ve had to buy more clothes as I only arrived with an overnight bag. So I had to get something to put them in.’
‘Good,’ she said, and smiled broadly. ‘Don’t go away, ever.’
Wow! Thunderbolt City squared.
13
When the teashop closed, we walked up the Bury Road to the Bedford Lodge for a drink and, halfway there, I took her hand in mine. She said nothing, just looked up at my face and smiled.
At Nancy’s, we had talked mostly about the food, the weather or the traffic, and certainly nothing about ourselves, but that all changed as we drank champagne in the hotel bar, sitting, this time, side by side on a couch.
‘Is that a uniform?’ I asked.
She was wearing a dark-blue two-piece suit over an open-necked white shirt, with a burgundy-red scarf tied like a cravat inside the collar. The scarf was decorated with multiple blue bridle bits and numerous strange white logos that looked to me a bit like round-top tables with three legs. The same logo was embroidered in blue on the vees of her shirt collar.
‘Certainly is,’ she said. ‘I came straight from work, remember.’
At Tatts, I thought — whatever that was.
‘What’s the logo?’ I asked.
‘It’s meant to represent the rotunda up at Park Paddocks.’
I was none the wiser and it clearly showed in my face.
‘The sales,’ she said. ‘I work for Tattersalls, the horse auctioneers.’