Tea and Talk
"Good morning, Ms. Hughes," chimes Alice Neal as she sweeps into the hair and makeup room at the studio. The statuesque blonde extends her hand to Elsie, who sits in a chair being fussed over by a young woman applying yet another coat of mascara to her lashes. "I trust everyone has been attentive to you this morning?"
"Yes, very much so," Elsie replies. Too much so, she thinks. Elsie Hughes is not one who likes an atmosphere, especially people fussing over her. She likes nice clothes, likes to feel pretty and made up but not overly so; does not like the feeling that she's being made into something that she isn't. Some sort of overdone imitation of who she really is.
She casts an appraising eye over Ms. Neal, the host of Tea and Talk, the nation's most popular teatime chat show. She is pretty enough, quite attractive really what with her perfect hair and perfect makeup. Her figure all perfectly proportioned. Not that Elsie minds those who want to look this way, Miss Neal is in front of a camera five days and week and often more when she is conducting interviews other than those on her show. Elsie isn't jealous of Ms. Neal; her mother taught her to have more confidence in herself than that. And it isn't as if men have not paid Elsie attention, found her attractive.
"We're on for thirty and you'll wait in the wings while I introduce you, then you'll make your entrance and then, we'll just chat like we are in your living room. Just forget the camera is there," Miss Neal says quite chipper before she turns to check herself in the mirror. Satisfied that she is camera ready, Alice turns back to Elsie with a practiced smile, "You'll do just fine," she tells her with a pat to her arm. Elsie has to muster all of her strength not to roll her eyes, wonders if Ms. Neal thinks that this is her first on camera interview. Though not by Alice, she has been interviewed before and in this very building. She wonders if Ms. Neal realizes that they have the same employer. That Robert Crawley's Downton Media owns both Downton Publishing and Downton Television, who produces Ms. Neal's show. Surely the woman cannot be this daft? Elsie's brow furrows, she looks away for a moment and wonders if this Ms. Neal is Charlie Carson's Alice?
Waiting just off-stage, Elsie smoothes her skirt, checks to make sure that she is wearing both earrings and that they are secure. She smoothes a hand over her cropped locks, her mother was mortified when she took the chance and told the hairdresser to cut her long curls and give her something fresh and youthful. Her mother quoted off something about a woman's hair being her crown, Elsie laughs at the thought now. As she watches, waiting for her introduction, she looks over the crowd, notices the myriad of faces in the audience. The young women who are just beginning their lives, those women who are her own age, professionals trying to balance home and family with their profession. She wonders how they manage it. Then there are the women her mother's age, the women who lived through the last war, women on whom the nation depended. Women, who loved their men, bore their children, built the machines of war that they fought in, kept the country afloat while they were gone, and loved them when they returned home. Strong women like her mother. She begins making mental notes; her next book is underway.
"We have a real treat for you today on Tea and Talk," Alice begins, her voice crisp, clear, and very posh. "Today we welcome the author of the nation's bestseller, For Queen and Country, the sweeping tale of life, love, and loss on the eve of the Boar War. Please help me to welcome, EM Hughes." Elsie cannot help but to roll her eyes this time. Boar War? Did the woman even read the book? Bloody Crimean War. It even says it on the dust jacket. Nevertheless, Elsie plasters on a smile makes her way to the stage.
"Good afternoon Ms. Hughes."
"Good afternoon."
"Now, Ms. Hughes, you are an archivist by experience and I understand that many of your stories come from the papers and stories that your came across while there. But you don't look at all like what I think an archivist might look like," Alice begins. Elsie suppresses the urge not to laugh in irritation at the statement that is phrased more like a question. Instead, she smiles politely, tilts her head demurely, and decides to ask Ms. Neal to explain herself.
"I'm not sure what you mean? What does an archivist look like?"
Alice shifts in her chair, daintily picks a piece of imaginary lint from her skirt, and finally answers into the camera. "Well, you know. A dowdy little thing with her hair in a bun, no makeup, thick glasses, and absolutely no fashion sense." The audience laughs at Alice's assessment and Alice seems pleased with herself, thinks that she has paid Elsie a compliment. Elsie, smiles, laughs with the crowd for a moment but not for the reasons that everyone thinks.
"Well, I do try to scrub up when I venture out. You know, brush the dust from my clothes, and tidy my hair. Pull the pencil from behind my ear," Elsie replies and the crowd roars with laughter and applause. They love her all the more for her wit. Too bad that the sarcasm is lost on the woman sitting opposite her.
Elsie spends the next ten minutes answering questions about her interests, her private life. Alice Neal tries her best to unlock the writer's secrets, but Elsie holds fast, refuses to reveal anything much. She gives the audience just enough. The public craves knowledge of her personal life and devours every morsel or crumb that might fall their way. She allows them a few tidbits, careful not to give too much away. She tells them of her family from Argyll; of growing up on her family's farm and of her father who told her stories of their ancestors and his time in of service during the war. She tells of her mother, who did her bit for the war effort as a "Lumberjill" with the Women's Timber Corps. Elsie reveals that though she, herself, was mediocre in at school she excelled at university earning a Master's degree in History specializing in the religion and society of the Victorian Era. The audience learns that her love of research lead her into archival work where she stayed, working at The University of Glasgow, her alma mater before moving on to the University of York.
What they do not know, what she keeps to herself is that when her beloved father died a horrible death from cancer at the age of forty-five she questioned her faith; questioned how a loving God could let a kind and loving man like Michael Hughes suffer when his family needed him. She does not speak about her crisis of faith, how she left her church behind while she grieved and that it took some time before she came back, felt whole again. She grieved that he never saw her graduate from university or go on to live the dream that he had for her; the dream to rise above her roots. He had thought it might come in business or politics from the basement of a university, but she looks back now and knows he'd be pleased nonetheless. He had been her greatest encourager, protector, and defender but it is from her mother that her strength comes. Her mother who cares for the sister that she rarely mentions, not because she is ashamed but because people are less accepting of those who are different. The mother, who widowed young, is the standard-bearer for their family, holds her head high, and carries on in the face of discouragement. With each passing year, Elsie has come to realize that she is more and more like her mother and thanks heaven for it.
The interview ends and all in all, it has gone well. Alice made up for her earlier faux pas and they finally spoke of the book. Her generic questions allow Elsie to answer them without making Alice look foolish, though Elsie realizes that Alice likely hasn't read the book. Nevertheless, the interview is over and Robert always tells Elsie that any publicity is good publicity and she hopes that he is right. Both women leave the stage and as they make their way into the wings, Alice feels hands on her waist and a man pulling her into an embrace.
"Hello, love," Charles says placing his hands on Alice's waist and dropping a kiss into her hair.
"Charlie, you'll ruin my hair," Alice protests, shrugging her shoulders forcing Charles back. Charles steps back, raising his hands in mock surrender. He apologizes for infraction and Alice seems moderately placated." She turns to Elsie and introduces her to Charles. "Charlie won't you meet Elsie Hughes. She was today's guest."
"We've met," Charles announces with a charmingly crooked smile.
"Nice to see you again," Elsie replies with a bright smile of her own, extends her hand to meet his. As she shakes his hand, she sees the sadness in Charles Carson's eyes. It is then that she realizes that not only did Alice Neal not read her book, she never even opened the cover to see that Charles had made the effort to have it personally inscribed. If she had, Alice would have known they had already met.
"I've come to see if you'd like to join me for lunch, nothing special but I am on my way to do some voice over work for some adverts and thought if you had the time….."
"Oh, Charlie I can't. I have a meeting in an hour," Alice cries. "But," she pauses in thought, "perhaps Ms. Hughes could join you?"
"Oh, I wouldn't want to impo…" Charles begins.
"You don't have to…." Elsie protests.
"…please, Ms. Hughes. Charlie doesn't like to eat alone and he loves to talk history and battles and such. He can spend hours at the Imperial War Museum. It bores me stiff, honestly," she laughs.
"If you're sure, then?" Charles asks Alice.
"Of course."
"Ms. Hughes?" Charles asks turning to Elsie.
Elsie feels her bottom lip sting; she has pulled it between her teeth and she is anxious but doesn't know why. It is not as if she is going out on a date with this man. It is simply lunch and Alice has given her permission. "Sure, why not," Elsie replies, a confident smile belying the nerves she feels in the pit of her stomach. Alice bids them goodbye, tells Elsie that her interview will air next Thursday afternoon, and then bustles off after giving Charles a quick peck on the cheek.
"I hope this is all right," Charles begins tentatively as he carefully slices through the steak that sits before him. "All Alice wants me to eat is twigs and grass," he says in a near whisper. Elsie notices the shy look on his face, as if he thinks that he's said too much; revealed something personal.
"No, this is marvelous," she soothes, slicing across her own cut of beef. "I've not eaten here before."
"Well, I've not brought Alice here, she's not one for hearty fare like this," Charles says raking his fork through his carrots and parsnips. Charles feels a blush creep up his cheeks; he has said too much this time. Why would this woman care if he's brought Alice here or not?
"Well, then, I'll count it as a privilege that you've brought me here," Elsie assures him, taking a sip of her wine.
"Your book is very good…."
"….you've read it?"
"Mmmm, yes," Charles admits. "I did buy for Alice but when I dropped by her flat last night to drop it off she wasn't home." Elsie notices the sadness behind the smile that he is offering. "She's very busy. Always in demand, you see. So I took the book home and read it. I enjoyed it very much. I always liked adventure stories since I was a lad. *Five on a Treasure Island, Robinson Crusoe, Lord Jim."
"I was always partial to the Victorian novels myself, tales of the dark side of nature," Elsie laughs, slicing through her parsnips with precision. "Dracula, Frankenstein. But then I do love to curl up with a cup of tea and some Austen or Bronte."
"A romantic," Charles looks up from his plate to find Elsie blushing. He is hard pressed to remember the last time that he made Alice blush or the last time that they talked about anything other than the next cinema or theatre premier they she is required to attend. He tries in vain to remember the last time it was easy with Alice, just to relax with her. "So your mum was a Lumberjill, hum? My mum was a Landgirl. Sounds like we have something in common," Charles begin before coughing a little, embarrassed.
"Yes, I'd say that we do then," Elsie replies with a smile. "I was just thinking that my next book may be about those women who worked on the homefront during the war."
"Perhaps you'd like to talk with my mum," Charles offers proudly. "She has plenty of stories to tell," he laughs.
"I'd love to," Elsie replies sincerely. She pauses. He has complimented her book and she wants to return the favor, to show him that she is interested in what interests him. "So, I understand that you were a cricketer."
Charles places his fork down, sits back in his chair. Elsie has hit upon something that pleases him, something that he is interested in sharing. Since his retirement, Alice is no longer concerned with discussing his playing career, since his step away from field, from the spotlight. For the next half hour, Elsie listens attentively as Charles regales her with stories of his playing career. She watches as he becomes animated, his large hands gesture as he tells of his exploits, tells of those of his teammates. He tells her of the injury that brought him to retirement, the shoulder that hurts him still; how it gets stiff on rainy days. Something in his voice tells her that it is not just the injury that hurts, but the thought of what might have been.
He mentions his broadcasting partner, Charlie Grigg, tells her that they played at Yorkshire together; that they are known as the "Cheerful Charlies." Elsie laughs and asks why. Though Charles seems pleasant enough and he has a nice smile and warm, inviting eyes, she cannot see him as a "Cheerful Charlie." He seems a bit traditional in his three-piece suit, crisp white shirt, and tie. In the way he phrases things, the way he enjoys an elegant table and nice conversation. He tells her the name comes from his and Griggs' days entertaining their fans, singing – slightly inebriated – in pubs after winning a match. It is too bad, she thinks, that this man is taken; he is someone that she would like to know better. She wonders what he sees in a superficial woman like Alice Neal; perhaps it is what all men see in women like her. Perhaps it is the conquest, the thrill of the chase.
Another hour passes before either of them realizes the time. Charles is the first to check his watch; she thinks him so old-fashioned in a nice, steady sort of way. He pulls the watch from his waistcoat pocket and flips open the lid. She smiles; not many men carry a pocket watch anymore. She wonders if there is a story there; if it perhaps belonged to his father or was a gift from someone special.
"Oh, Ms. Hughes, I am sorry. I've kept you too long," he apologizes.
"No, Mr. Carson. Not at all," she assures him with a smile. "I've enjoyed our lunch very much." As Charles turns to call for the bill, Elsie glances out the window. She has had a fine lunch, almost hates to leave. Her eyes narrow as she thinks that she recognizes someone in the distance. She tilts her head, leans a little closer until she is sure. She does not know the man but she recognizes the woman. Standing next to a cab, is Alice Neal, her arms wrapped tightly around a man's neck, her lips covering his in a passionate kiss.
Elsie hurriedly turns back to Charles, does not want him to catch her gawking at the spectacle across the street. The waiter brings the check, lays it down. Elsie makes to retrieve it and finds Charles reaching for it at the same time; they smile at one another.
"I'd never ask a lady to lunch and allow her to pay for it," Charles rumbles, voice smooth as silk.
"You didn't invite me, Mr. Carson. Remember?" Elsie purrs. Charles tilts his head, smiles.
"I think that you can call me Charlie."
"Charles," she corrects him. "And I'm Elsie. Shall we split the bill?"
"If that is what you'd like, Elsie. But you must promise to let me pay next time," he replies. Next time. Oh, if only he means it she thinks. If he had only he seen that little minx and the man across the street. Elise pulls pen and paper from her purse, scratches something down.
"My friends own a pub and they are throwing a party to celebrate the book's success and such. It is next Friday night if you would like to come," she says handing to him the paper with the address. "Bring your Ms. Neal with you if you like."
He thanks her for the invitation, takes the paper, folds it, and places it into his wallet. She doubts that he will come, doesn't really know why she invited him. After all, she barely knows him and Ms. Neal probably has plans for them; a visit to the theatre or something much more important than a night at a local pub. They shake hands and say goodbye and Elsie wonders if she will cross paths with him again.
Key:
*Five on A Treasure Island – a novel by famous children's author Enid Blyton. It is the first of the Famous Five series. A man Charles Carson's age (in this AU; our Charles here is born in 1950) would have been quite familiar with Blyton's novels. She was active from the late 1930s – the 1960s writing the Secret Seven series and the Famous Five series along with many others. She was one of Charles Carson's alter ego's favorites.
*The Women's Timber Corps (WTC) was set up in 1942. The 'Lumberjills' felled trees, made pit props (necessary for the mines), sharpened saws, tended horses for hauling logs, and prepared wood for telegraph poles, road blocks and crosses for soldiers' graves. The Land Girls worked on farms doing all manner of farm jobs from driving tractors, planting and reaping, tending livestock, etc.
TBC…Next chapter, Elsie and Beryl discuss the lunch date and Charles thinks about Ms. Hughes. Thank you for reading. Reviews are always appreciated.