The bell above the door of the tea shop tinkled merrily, announcing the arrival of another customer. A waitress, dressed in a lace-trimmed uniform, hurried to greet the newcomer. "Good afternoon, madame. Have you come for tea?"
Mrs Bergen glared at the unfortunate teenager. "Of course I have, you silly thing. Why else would I be here?"
The waitress hitched up her smile. "Can I show you to a seat then, madame?"
"Hmmph." Mrs Bergan looked over the waitress's shoulder. "My friend is over there," she said, and neatly sidestepped the girl before threading her way between the tables. The waitress scurried nervously after her, following Mrs Bergen to another table that was occupied by a woman of a similar age and style of dress. "Here," Mrs Bergen said, then allowed the waitress to seat her.
"Esme!" The woman who was sitting at the table held out a gloved hand towards Mrs Bergen.
"Charlotte." Mrs Bergen returned the acknowledgement. She momentarily turned the full force of her glare on the waitress, who tried to make herself as unobtrusive as possible. "How are you?"
"Could be better," Charlotte replied. "I've been having some trouble with my legs." She leaned across the table. "It's the old trouble, you know," she said in a stage-whisper.
"Really?" Mrs Bergen sat back in her chair. "Is it the knees or the ankles this time?"
"The knees, Esme. It's my knees."
"Ah." Mrs Bergen nodded in understanding. "Sharp, stabbing pains?" She didn't wait for an answer. "I've been having the same problems."
"Really?" Charlotte raised her eyebrows in response to her friend's revelation. "You don't show it dear. What's your secret?"
Mrs Bergen undid her overcoat and flashed her stockinged legs at her companion. "These," she said, pointing at her hosiery. "They're elasticated."
"Really? I have a pair just like that at home."
"Trust me, Charlotte. They'll work wonders for you. They do for me."
"Then I shall have to give them a try," Charlotte declared. She pointed at the waitress, who stepped forward with no small amount of trepidation. "We wish to order," Charlotte began, then turned to Mrs Bergen. "Now, what will you have my dear?"
Mrs Bergen glanced up at the waitress. "I will take the afternoon tea. But I do not want any cream on my scone. It plays havoc with my digestion."
"Yes madame." The waitress turned towards the other woman at the table. "And you, madame?"
"I will have the same."
"Yes madame."
The waitress hurried away to the rear of the tea shop, eager to put as much distance as she could between herself and the two, hateful old women.
