Finally, she carried the card back to her computer, sat down, and composed a short E-mail message to Burt Tidwell. It was both an invitation and a request to stop by the Indigo Tea Shop tomorrow to discuss an important concern.
She paused for a moment, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Then she clicked “Send.”
Chapter 6
“Mariage frères teas,” Theodosia told her three guests, “are blended in France. This particular tea, Mirabelle, is a Chinese black tea scented with the tiny but exquisite mirabelle plum that grows in northern France. Hence the mildly sweet aroma.”
It was Drayton, for the most part, who conducted tea tastings. But this group of women, all women of a certain age and residents of the historic district, had specifically requested Theodosia’s assistance. The three had met her while serving on a committee for Charleston’s Garden Fest Tour and had been enthralled with Theodosia’s knowledge of tea, her vibrancy, and her sweet nature.
That was just fine with Drayton this morning. Working as a backup for Haley, he’d been holding down the fort at the little table nearest the counter where the old cash register and various sweetgrass baskets filled with tea tins and tea goodies sat. Working diligently, he’d been able to put the finishing touches on all his ideas for summer teas.
“Need any help?” he asked Haley as she brushed past him with a second plate of apple tartlets for a group of five giggling tea shop regulars who seemed to be enjoying their morning tea immensely.
“Oh please,” said Haley as she put a hand on her hip and tossed her head. “This is child’s play.”
Haley was incredibly task oriented and competitive, and once she’d decided to handle the morning’s customers single-handedly, it was woe to anyone who tried to interfere.
“Just checking,” Drayton assured her. “I wouldn’t dream of interfering.”
“Oh Drayton,” she commented dryly, “I love your oratorical excess, but not as much as you love my cranberry scones.” It was a pointed reference to the fact that Drayton had already consumed two of the giant pastries.
“When you get to be my age, you don’t have to watch your girlish figure quite so much,” quipped Drayton.
Drayton swiveled his head suddenly as Theodosia’s group of ladies rose from their chairs and headed his way. He got to his feet immediately and stepped deftly around the counter to face them. “Ladies,” he greeted them.
“I am in need of a tea press,” said a lady in a yellow straw hat.
“And I have several marvelous ones to show you,” replied Drayton as he plucked samples off the shelf and placed them on the counter.
The other two ladies immediately picked up sweetgrass baskets and began to coo over them. “These are wonderful,” exclaimed one. “I had a sweetgrass basket that I used for years as a summer handbag. When it got tattered and worn, my granddaughter begged me to give it to her. She said they have some of these baskets on display at the Smithsonian.”
“Indeed, they do,” proclaimed Drayton. “A collection of South Carolina sweetgrass baskets resides in the Smithsonian’s permanent collection, a fitting tribute to our low-country craftspeople.”
Drayton held up one of the elegant, woven baskets that had been resting on the countertop. “These,” he said enticingly, “were made from a sweetgrass crop cultivated on Johns Island. Would any of you ladies care to take one home?”
Two heads nodded, and Drayton beamed.
“You’re a natural-born salesman, Drayton,” Theodosia told him with unabashed admiration as she sat down across from him. Even though they’d been together almost three years, she was still slightly in awe of Drayton’s prodigious sales talent. True, she had huckstered food products and computer peripherals on a national scale when she’d been in the advertising business. But selling one-on-one was still slightly disconcerting to her. She tended not to sell an item per se but, instead, let the item speak for itself.
Theodosia reached a hand across the table and tapped the black leather-bound ledger that Drayton had come to regard as his bible. It contained most of his tea-tasting notes and all of his ideas for tea blends, special events, and tea promotions.
“You’ve been working on the summer teas,” Theodosia said with appropriate seriousness.
Drayton nodded.
“Your White Point Green was certainly a hit at the picnic, so we’ll want to package that for sale,” Theodosia said.
Drayton nodded again. “I agree. And I came up with one more iced tea.” He paused. “I call it Audubon Herbal, a tribute to our nearby Audubon Swamp Garden.”
Theodosia nodded. “Where John Audubon chronicled South Carolina’s waterbirds.”
“Right. The tea’s a scant amount of black tea with hibiscus, lemongrass, and chamomile added. Mild, refreshing, not too stimulating.”
Theodosia’s eyes sparkled. “I like it. The tea and the tribute. What else?”
“Two more teas that veer decidedly toward the exotic,” said Drayton. Then he added hastily, “But we’ve seen time and again that people like exotic teas.”
“You won’t get any argument from me, Drayton.”
“The first one I call Ashley River Royal. It’s a Ceylonese black tea with a pear essence.”
“You’re right, it is exotic.”
“No, this one’s the coup de grâce. Swan Lake Iris Gardens. Again, an homage to the elegant gardens that are home to... what? Seven species of swans? And you know how much everyone enjoys visiting the gardens in spring when the Dutch and Japanese iris are blooming.”
“Of course,” said Theodosia. “And what’s the blend?”
“Four different teas with a top note of smoky lopsang.”
“Drayton, you’re not just going to capture the hearts of tea lovers, you’re going to endear yourself to bird lovers and gardeners, too. And in Charleston, that’s just about everyone.”
“I know,” smiled Drayton.
“Hey,” interrupted Haley, “we’re not going to package this stuff ourselves, are we? Remember last fall when we did holiday teas? My back gets sore just thinking about it.”
“No, we’ll have Gallagher’s Food Service handle all that,” said Drayton. “Frankly, I thought it was fun when we all worked together, but apparently no one else shared my enthusiasm. You all seemed to have mutiny on your minds.”
“Last fall we had an extra pair of hands,” said Haley. “But now that Bethany’s moved to Columbia, who else could we shanghai? Miss Dimple?”
“Now she’s a sport,” said Drayton. “I bet she wouldn’t complain half as much as you did.”
“Drayton, don’t you dare ask poor Miss Dimple to package tea,” laughed Theodosia.
“One more thing,” said Drayton, closing his book and getting up. “New packaging.” He reached around to the back of the counter and pulled out a shiny, dark blue box with a rounded top that folded over. “Indigo blue boxes,” said Drayton.
“They’re the exact same color as the gift paper we use!” Theodosia squealed with delight. “Aren’t you clever. Where did you find them?”
“Supplier in San Francisco,” said Drayton. “We can have Gallagher’s package the tea in our regular foil bags, then pop those bags into the blue boxes. From there we just need to add a label. I took the liberty of getting samples of gold foil labels from our printer. All you have to do is pick a label style and a typeface,” said Drayton. “Then it’s a done deal.”
“Easy enough,” said Theodosia.
“Don’t look now,” said Haley under her breath, “but that boorish cop just came in. Wonder what he wants?”