The River Flows On by Maggie Craig

concentrated hard on her surroundings. She’d been in tearooms once or twice before but never in one as grand as this.
    The Clydebank ones she knew were nice enough, with flowery curtains and comfortable cushions on the chairs, but the design here was entirely different. It was all stained glass and mirrors - simpler somehow, and cleaner in its lines. She could see that the stained glass was designed to look like a stylized willow and there was also, she saw, a rose pattern all over the place, but nothing like the roses you saw on flowery chintzes. This rose was purple, or sometimes a dusky pink like the flowers on her dress.
    The chair in which she sat was tall and painted silver, with a design of small glass squares set into its high back, three squares across and three squares down forming a larger square. The glass was purple too. It made a beautiful contrast with the silver-painted wood.
    ‘Kathleen?’ came Miss Noble’s voice. ‘More tea, my dear?’
    ‘Th-thank you, Miss Noble.’
    Her teacher smiled at her and waited expectantly. ‘Put your milk in first, dear. I find it tastes better that way, don’t you?’
    ‘Perhaps Kathleen is not a pre-lactarian, Frances.’
    Frances Noble smiled at the other woman at the table. ‘Miss MacGregor is always ready for a debate, Kathleen. On the most insignificant of subjects.’
    Kate smiled a little uncertainly at the two women. Her teacher, Miss Noble, had arranged a Saturday afternoon visit to the Art School on Garnethill. Not only that, she had then announced that they would go on to afternoon tea at Miss Cranston’s, to the Willow Tearooms in Sauchiehall Street. Although, as she’d said with a sigh, Miss Cranston had sold all her tearooms a few years previously, when her husband had died.
    Her teacher didn’t wait for an answer on the milk question, picking up the jug herself and pouring it into the cup. Kate’s father drank his tea out of a saucer. A dish of tay, he called it, and there was never any discussion as to whether or not the milk should go in first. They did have china cups and saucers at home. They were kept in her mother’s pride and joy, the display cabinet in the front room, but they were hardly ever used; only when the minister came round. The children were never allowed to drink out of them. They had to make do with ugly green Delft cups and saucers.
    There was nothing ugly on this table. The china cups had gold edging, there were dainty little plates with even daintier little knives on them. In the middle of the table was a three-tiered silver cake-stand. China plates slotted into it. On the bottom, there were sandwiches, in the middle biscuits and on the top iced cakes. The table itself was covered with a lace tablecloth. Kate thought the whole place was beautiful, and plucked up the courage to say so.
    I’m glad you like it, dear,’ said Miss Noble, beaming at her protegée. ‘Although I’m not sure that Kate Cranston - or Toshie - would have approved of the lace tablecloths. Plain white damask would have been more in their line, I fear.’
    ‘Toshie?’ asked Kate.
    ‘Charles Rennie Mackintosh, my dear,’ said Miss MacGregor. ‘A man ahead of his time, and unappreciated in Glasgow.’ She sighed. ‘Ah well, they do say that a prophet is always without honour in his own country, don’t they? He and his wife Margaret - a gifted artist in her own right - went off to live in France. What, about five years ago, Frances?’
    ‘About that, I believe,’ murmured Miss Noble.
    ‘He’s the man who designed the Art School?’ asked Kate.
    ‘Yes, it’s easy to spot the similarities, isn’t it?’
    ‘Oh aye,’ said Kate enthusiastically, waving one hand towards the rest of the tearoom in illustration. ‘The stained glass, the purples and pinks, the rose design-’
    She broke off, suddenly embarrassed. Both women were smiling at her.
    ‘Miss Noble says that you have a good eye,’ went on Miss MacGregor.
    Kate blushed. ‘Well, I do