Chance Developments Read Online Free Page A

bought a small square bottle, trying, but failing, to conceal her surprise at the cost. The woman noticed, and smiled apologetically. “I know,” she said. “But it’s the ambergris, I believe.”
    She hesitated, feeling the heavy cut-glass bottle. Ambergris was something to do with whales, and she was not sure what bearing whales had on perfume. “I don’t mind,” she said. “If you like something enough, then the price is always worth it.”
    She thought: What grounds do I have for saying that—I, who have bought
nothing
for years, and
never
bought perfume?
    There were other purchases, a pair of shoes, a blouse, a mohair cardigan, an Italian leather purse to replace the functional one lent her by her aunt. The Bank of Scotland notes, barely depleted, were tucked safely into this new purse and the battered older one tucked into the bag containing the shoes.
    Now the tea room beckoned. She knew of Jenners tea room—it was legendary, even in Glasgow, and stood for everything that was refined and grand in Edinburgh. Tea at Jenners was not to be taken lightly, but seriously and with good intentions.
    She was met by a young man in a morning suit, his hair smoothed down with pomade, the creases of his trousers knife-sharp. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said, “but we don’t have any tables free at the moment.”
    She surveyed the tea room and its sea of heads. She noticed the hats, and was relieved that she was wearing her own violet one.
    “Oh dear.”
    The young man craned his neck to look for a table that he might have missed. “We’re much busier than usual,” he said, “except at the sales, of course; it’s even busier then.”
    Two women nearby saw what was happening, and one of them called the young man over. When he returned he was smiling. “Those two ladies wondered whether you would care to join them,” he said. “They have a spare place.”
    She looked in their direction. Her eye was caught by one of the women, who smiled and pointed at the empty chair.
    “Thank you,” she said. “I shall be delighted.”
    She handed her parcels to the young man for safekeeping and made her way over to the table.
    “You’re very kind,” she said. “I don’t want to intrude.”
    “Not at all,” said one of the women. “There’s no point in having an empty chair, I always say.”
    “I’ve never seen it this crowded,” said the other.
    “Except at the sales,” said Flora.
    “Of course. Except at the sales.”
    They introduced one another. Her two new companions were called Helena and Marjorie. They were cousins, they explained. Helena lived in the country while Marjorie lived in the New Town. They met at the tea room every other Monday, they said.
    They looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to tell them something about her. She noticed their surreptitious glance at her left hand, and guessed—correctly—the reason.
    “I’m from Glasgow,” she said.
    “How nice,” said Marjorie.
    “Yes,” said Helena. “How very nice.”
    This was followed by a silence.
    “I was a teacher,” Flora continued. “I only gave it up about ten days ago. I taught mathematics to girls.” She did not say where.
    “It’s such an important subject,” said Marjorie. “I was hopeless at it, although my husband is pretty good. He’s an actuary. That’s all mathematics, I think.”
    “And luck,” said Helena.
    The waiter came to take Flora’s order.
    “The sandwiches look particularly good today,” said Helena. “But they always do.”
    Flora ordered a pot of tea and a plate of sandwiches.
    “You’ve come to Edinburgh to do some shopping?” asked Helena.
    Flora looked up at the ornate ceiling. She did not enjoy small talk; she never had. And now, quite suddenly, she felt the need to talk about something that mattered. She turned to Helena. “Actually,” she said, “I’ve come over to Edinburgh in the hope that I might meet a man.”
    It was so easy to say, and yet so utterly shocking. She felt