"Thank you," Jordan said as Ducky placed the porcelain teacup on the table before her. The dainty cup was white with a gold trimming around the rim. Bright purple lilacs were painted along the side, winding out and around the handle. "This is a lovely cup."
"Yes," Ducky said as he took his seat, "these are part of my mother's tea set which she inherited from her Great Aunt Mildred. Each cup is painted with a different flower and the teapot has an entire garden painted on the side." He took a tentative sip from his own teacup—that one painted with tulips—and set it back down. "Actually, our family has a funny little anecdote about this set. You see, back in 1901, when Great Aunt Mildred acquired the set…" He stopped short and looked at her abashedly. "My apologies; I often tend to go off on these long tales. I know it drives my colleagues crazy."
Jordan smiled pleasantly. "Oh, I don't mind, Dr. Mallard."
He returned the smile. "Please, call me Ducky, or Donald, if you wish."
"Of course, Donald. And please, call me Jordan." She took a sip of her tea. "You were saying?"
"Ah, yes. It was 1901 and Great Aunt Mildred was living in Glasgow. She had spent the summer in France, learning etiquette and music and painting. Of course, what her parents had not realized was that her art teacher—a man by the name of Marcel Pellier—specialized in nude drawings. Somehow, he convinced Great Aunt Mildred to pose for him one day…"
As the story unfolded, Jordan sat there listening intently. Her eyes didn't dart around or glaze over the way his co-workers' eyes did when they were tiring of his endless stories, nor did she lazily lean her cheek against her hand, sighing restlessly. She sat there with a soft smile (not a forced one), listening attentively and only looking away when she reached to take a sip of tea.
It was refreshing for Ducky to finish a story without being interrupted or feeling he was wasting someone's time. When the listener was a woman as attractive and quick-witted as Jordan was, it made for a very enjoyable afternoon.
"…and so the man in the China shop gave her the set as a gift when she and Great Uncle Archibald became engaged."
Jordan laughed. "It sounds like your family has quite an interesting history."
"Yes, my mother's family was especially on the eccentric side. Sometimes I worry that it's hereditary, so consider yourself forewarned."
"I'll keep that in mind," she said, though she continued to smile pleasantly. "My paternal grandfather was a bit on the unusual side. I remember when I was twelve he took me and three of my cousins to the local production of The Nutcracker. We were seated near the back and had trouble seeing…"
How strange to have discovered such a kindred spirit such as this, one who enjoys relating past stories, some that have been handed down from generation to generation. Ducky found himself enraptured in her story, enjoying the sound of her voice, the way her eyes alit as she fell comfortably into her role as storyteller, and the way her hands flew gently around her to properly paint a picture of the event.
"…so after that, my cousin Vivian was terrified of nutcrackers," she concluded as she placed her teacup on the table. "Her mother had to throw out all of the ones she'd put up for the holidays." When Jordan looked back up she saw Ducky looking at her with a strange smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't bore you, did I?"
"Not at all," he assured her. "I enjoy talking with you, Jordan. Since I had to place mother in a home things have become so quiet, save for the dogs, so I like having company when I can." Ducky took their empty teacups and brought them into the kitchen to wash them. "It's funny; when mother was living here she often drove me crazy, asking the same question ten times within an hour and relating stories of her past that had never happened. Now, though, I often wish she was here to tell me all about how she and Clark Gable had a sordid love affair, or at least how she has convinced herself that they did."
"We don't appreciate what we've had until it's gone," she theorized, following behind him. She grabbed a towel from the counter and began drying one of the teacups
"Yes, exactly. I'm sure the way I felt about mother's ramblings is the same way my friends feel about mine."
"I find what you say very fascinating, Donald."
Ducky gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you for that. It's always nice to be appreciated, especially for one's words." He placed the teacups back in their proper place and turned to her. "I know it's getting late and forgive me for being so forward, but would you like to have dinner with me tonight? Nothing fancy, but I'm quite handy in the kitchen."
"I would love to join you for dinner," she said, "but only if you'll let me help you cook."
With a flourish, he offered her his arm. "You know, this reminds me of something that happened in 1963. It was a cold March night and mother was here alone…"