SearchingForSaviaAfter his consultation with Decuma the night before, David Lytham decided to conduct the search for a certain café waitress personally. It would take time to recruit a friend, and Decuma had impressed on him that time was in short supply. Besides, he was well equipped for the task. He had a name and description to go on; he had the money Decuma had given him in his pocket; and he had an almost infinite capacity for coffee and pastries. Which was a good thing, he reflected, because there were an awful lot of cafés in the University district. Anyone who saw the tall, slim young man strolling along one of the streets bordering the campus would be unlikely to recognize the Hellfire Club's exotic dancer, or even the stage-Badlander from the Kate Calloway reception. His open-necked shirt, faded sweater, and trousers beginning to fray at the hems could have belonged to any impecunious student, as could the battered backpack slung over one shoulder that contributed to the distinctive "student slouch." Like a chameleon, he blended into his surroundings and gave no one reason to look twice at him. Lytham scanned the nearby cafés, rejecting one that looked too posh and another that looked too arty -- though the second one was a possible and he'd come back to it if he drew a blank elsewhere. The third seemed the better prospect, though: a little shabby, maybe struggling, a place that might be willing to employ a young widow at a low wage. He sauntered through the door of the café and casually glanced around before choosing a seat. An old woman with wispy white hair sat at a table near a window where the light was good. A cup of tea and a frosted pastry sat ignored on her table. Instead her hands were busy with a metal shuttle, and a delicate lace doily was beginning to take form in her lap. The sound of someone new entering the café caught her attention, and she looked up eagerly to find the new face. She let out a dejected sigh upon discovering it belonged to a male student. Lytham noticed her look and gave the old woman a friendly grin. "Good morning, Ma'am. Do you come here often?" he asked her, while at the same time keeping an eye out for a waitress. "You look like you need to eat. Please, take my pastry. I promise I didn't touch it." She nudged the plate toward Lytham with her free hand. "And no, this is my first time here. I'm sure it's a long shot, but I was looking for someone." "Really? What a coincidence. So am I," said Lytham, hooking out a chair with his foot and sitting down across from the lady. "A waitress," he half-quipped, glancing around again. The lady bobbled her head as she listened. "I'm sure one will come along soon. I saw one pass by just a minute before you came in." "Thin? Black hair?" Lytham queried, using the description Decuma had given him. She shook her head, feeling sad for him. "Sorry. Not the one I saw. On the positive side, at least you can describe her. The one I'm looking for was wearing a disguise." She rested her work on her broad lap and reached forward to take a sip of tea. This sounded interesting. "Oh? Disguised as what?" asked Lytham, leaning forward in his seat. "She... she was supposed to look like someone from the badlands, but she was a bit more..." The elderly lady lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Can I say 'tarted up' in mixed company?" A little flush came to her cheeks. "She had this red hair, but I would swear it was a wig. I don't know what she really looks like, but I'm hoping I can find her somehow." Enlightenment came to his face, along with a muted amusement. "Oh! Are you talking about Kate Calloway?" "Why, yes! Were you at the party?" A look of concern came over her face as she looked sheepishly at the young man. "Do you know her? I shouldn't have said such a mean thing about her." "I don't precisely know her... well, not really... but yes, I was there," said Lytham. "And I might be able to help you, if... Why do you want to get in touch with her?" She seemed like a nice old lady, and she was doing the same kind of fancy work his own grandmother used to do, but it might be just as well to find that out before he spilled any secrets. The lady let out a kind yet sad smile. "It was a beautiful party, wasn't it? I had the chance to meet Kate, but I'm afraid I said something that upset her. I feel awful and am trying to find her. I need to apologize and make things right." She looked hopeful. "I don't suppose you can remember what you said? I mean ... I don't know if I could set up a meeting, but I'll bet I could get a note to her," Lytham offered. She shook her head. "A note?" That's what caused this mess. "What would I say? How would you get it to her?" He lifted his hands palms-up in a 'Who knows?' gesture. "Without knowing the circumstances I can't give you any advice on what to put in the note, but... I do know where she lives. Sort of." Or where she's going to be living, once she marries Clover. "You're being awfully protective of her," she sighed. "But that's fair. I'll give it a try." She began digging through the layers in her workbasket to find the writing supplies she hid there. "Now what about your mysterious lady?" Lytham sighed. "All I really know about her, apart from the description, is that she's a café waitress. No, I shouldn't say that, because I was given her name. Savia Torentella." A waitress had been approaching their table, noting the additional guest seated there. She stopped herself from asking, 'Did you want to order?' when she heard the name, and instead she looked at the man curiously. "Well, you're in the wrong café if you're looking for Savia. She don't work here." Lytham looked up at her, quickly and eagerly. "Do you know where she does work, then, Miss?" The girl nodded. "She's at 'La Estella' round the block. Don't suppose you'll be ordering now?" She held a pencil and pad at the ready, though she didn't look like she expected to use it. "Welllll..." Lytham's smile flashed. "If I know where she is, I don't have to be in such a hurry to find her. Anyway, this lady has a note to finish." He tilted his head toward his table companion. "So how about a cup of coffee and a slice of that nut tart I saw in the window?" There was no reason he shouldn't spread Lord Decuma's largesse around the district a bit. Plenty of time afterwards to stake out La Estella and follow Savia home. It would be better if he didn't have to come face to face with her, if he could avoid it. The waitress jotted it down, though it was doubtful she needed it to remember such an easy order. She put her hand on her hip and asked, "Ma'am? You want another?" She nodded toward the empty plate which obviously sat in front of her table companion. The elderly lady looked up from her writing. "Oh, no thank you, Miss. I don't have the appetite I used to have." She turned a soft smile to her table companion. "Did I hear you found your lady?" "Found out where she is, anyway, which is just as good," Lytham said happily. "No real need to bother her while she's working." "That's so nice," she remarked, reaching out to pat his hand. She read over her note one more time. It was short but honest, apologizing for causing so much distress at the party and asking for the chance to make it up to her. To start, she offered tea, either at her place or a place of "Kate's" choosing. In her old-fashioned handwriting, she signed her name, Gloria Greywood, and folded the note. She ran her thick fingernail over the crease. "Can I really trust you to deliver this?" "Cross my heart," said Lytham, performing this action with all the solemnity of an eight-year-old. "I'll even promise not to read it, if you want." "These days it seems promises aren't worth the paper they're written on." Gloria knew that well from her daughter-in-law. "It's your soul that you'll have to live with." "True enough, Ma'am," said Lytham. He added silently, Wherever it's hiding in there. Some days he wasn't sure. Gloria looked momentarily puzzled at her own comments, but perked up as the waitress approached their table again. The nut tart and coffee slid in front of the actor, as the waitress eyed the unlikely pair. "Can I refresh your tea, Ma'am?" She nodded toward the cooling cup. Lytham promptly picked up his fork and dug in, as if Gloria's vanished pastry were no more than a fading memory of long ago. "Oh, perhaps just a little bit before I go." she said gratefully. It didn't take Lytham very long to polish off the nut tart. "Well, I should be getting on to La Estella," he told Gloria, "if I'm going to find Miss Torentella. Thank you for your company, Ma'am, and I'll do my best to get this delivered today." He patted his breast pocket where he'd secreted Gloria's note. Then he swallowed the last of his coffee, dug out a couple of stanners to pay for his order, and rose. Gloria smiled at him. "Thank you so much. You've eased my old mind. I may even sleep tonight." With some effort, she stood and held out her hand to the nice young man. "I hope the search for your lady goes just as well." "Thank you, Ma'am," said Lytham, taking Gloria's hand briefly. He only just stopped himself from bowing over it -- that wouldn't be a studentish thing to do. "If we see each other again, we'll have to compare notes," he suggested, returning her smile. "That would be wonderful," she replied, giving his hand a soft squeeze. Releasing her hand, Lytham swung his battered backpack to his shoulder and sauntered out of the café to continue his quest. As the nice young student took his leave, Gloria began to pack her basket. Perhaps she would bring a snack to Vivien and Olivia at the clinic. That nut tart looked like something they might enjoy. |
