Tea & Antipathy by Anita Miller Page A

but I am afraid that is an object I
never
use!” There was a good deal more in the same vein. Shortly after we finished reading the letter, the telephone rang. Jordan spoke genially for a few minutes, and then hung up. “It’s Miss Pip,” he said. “The lodger. She wants to bring a few things in. I told her someone would be here until two o’clock, so don’t forget to tell Mrs. Grail.”
    â€œThey’ve already driven us crazy with the telephone,” I said, “dragging dust and fluff all over the stairs, and them twisty bits of rag …”
    â€œWell, we said she could move a few things in,” Jordan said reasonably.
    I took the children to see a Jerry Lewis movie in Piccadilly. It was in color: we watched the California sun beat down on everyone, and it was an adjustment emerging into the gray London streets.
    â€œLet’s go and have a nice lunch,” I said enthusiastically. “We’ll go to Fortnum’s Fountain Bar.” This had been recommended to me as one of the best places in the city for lunch.
    We established ourselves at the bar and tried to attract the attention of the waitress, who was lounging against the counter,chatting with a blond chinless youth. “I really hate it here,” she was saying. “The kitchen is filthy.”
    I cleared my throat.
    â€œAre you going to Boopsie’s on Saturday?” the waitress asked wistfully. The youth said he was thinking of it. “I wish I could go,” she said. “I’m so exhausted all the time. It’s so difficult here, and the other girls …”
    â€œHow about some scrambled eggs?” I asked Eric, who sat droopily beside me, his chin resting on the counter.
    â€œI’m not hungry,” he said faintly.
    â€œYou haven’t had anything to eat all day,” I said, puzzled. “See? It says here, ‘Scrambled Eggs, Prawns, on Toast with Green Salad’… You don’t like prawns or salad, so we’ll just have the eggs and toast. Doesn’t that sound good?”
    â€œAll right,” he said.
    â€œI want the stuffed Canadian bacon with cheese sauce,” Bruce said. He fell off his stool, which collapsed on top of him. Eric continued staring moodily into space. I climbed down and helped Bruce up, righting his chair.
    â€œI want to go home,” Bruce said.
    â€œIf I
am
able to go to Boopsie’s on Saturday…” the waitress was saying.
    â€œMiss,” the woman sitting next to Eric said apologetically, “I’m afraid my lobster’s full of sand.”
    â€œI’ll be back in a minute,” the waitress said reluctantly to her friend. She turned to the woman next to me, inspected her lobster, and agreed that it was full of sand.
    â€œCould you take our order?” I asked.
    â€œOne moment,” she replied frostily, and went off with the sandy lobster.
    â€œI never had sandy lobster before,” the woman said to me. She was a compatriot of ours, and very embarrassed about making a fuss. Another waitress came up to us. “Yes?” she asked.
    â€œHe wants the Canadian bacon with cheese sauce,” I said. “And he wants the scrambled eggs. Can he have it without prawns, please?”
    â€œWe don’t have scrambled eggs,” the waitress said.
    â€œYes, you do,” I replied. Eric sat drearily next to me, his chin still on the counter. “Here,” I said, pointing to the menu. “Scrambled eggs and Prawns on Toast, with Green Salad.”
    â€œOh, scrambled eggs with
prawns,”
the waitress said. “Yes, we have that.”
    â€œCan he have it without prawns, please?”
    There was a pause.
    â€œAll you have to do is take the prawns off,” I said encouragingly.
    She hesitated. Finally she made a decision.
    â€œI can take the prawns off,” she said firmly, “but you’ll have to have the green salad.” “All right,” I