The Morning After

The wedding cake was lemon.

Ella remembered that afterwards because everything else about the evening seemed too large to have room for something so ordinary. Sophie handed her a plate. James stole a forkful from his wife's slice and was promptly accused of having no manners.

The music started again.

People looked at Ella as they passed. Some smiled too warmly. One man who had watched her struggle out of the fountain offered to find her a chair.

"I've got one, thank you," she said.

He moved on.

Sophie sat beside her, her dress spread over two chairs.

"Were you really just helping out?"

"Yes. I came down early for tomorrow's meeting. We had two cancellations on the service team."

"And you didn't think to introduce yourself?"

"Harris asked me to. I thought I'd be in the way."

Sophie looked at her.

Ella put down her fork.

"I can hear how that sounds now."

"A little."

"My grandmother never minded carrying a tray. I suppose I wanted it to be that simple."

"Maybe it could have been. Victoria made it complicated."

They sat for a moment, listening to James argue cheerfully with the band about a song request.

"Thank you for coming out to find me," Ella said. "Before Clara arrived."

Sophie glanced at her wrist.

"You were hurt."

There was nothing else in her tone. Ella found herself blinking again.

"I know. Thank you anyway."

Later she danced one careful dance, keeping the weight off her sore knee. She went upstairs before the last guests left, carrying the abandoned canvas shoes in one hand.

In her old bedroom she finally cried.

Not for very long. Long enough to stop pretending the cold water had been the worst of it.

Then she washed her face, put her dressing beside the mirror and slept.

At nine the next morning, Richard was already in the library.

Ella wore a blue dress she had brought in her overnight bag. Her wrist was freshly dressed. Harris set coffee beside the papers and remained when she asked him to take a seat.

Clara opened the alternative proposal.

"You've been busy."

"Four months," Ella said. "There are still gaps. I've marked them."

Richard turned several pages.

"Limited guest rooms. Events. Training partnerships. This returns less than a full conversion."

"At first. Probably for some time."

"And you've assumed continued use of the west kitchens."

Harris leaned towards the plan.

"That would be possible if the service entrance were repaired. We stopped using it because the ramp floods."

Ella picked up her pen.

"That isn't in the maintenance summary."

"No," Harris said. "I'll get the estimate."

The discussion stayed practical. Where would students stay? Which rooms could earn income without altering the old house? What work could be done during the winter closure?

They did not solve everything before lunch. Ella had not expected them to.

Richard closed his copy at last.

"May we submit a revised offer?"

"Yes. On the same basis as the others. I won't agree to a plan before the staff have had an opportunity to discuss what it means for them."

He nodded.

"And Victoria?"

Ella set down her pen.

"What about her?"

"She is writing to you."

"Then I'll read it when it comes."

He seemed about to say more. Instead he gathered his papers and thanked Harris for the coffee.

After the visitors left, Harris stayed by the window.

"Do you want my resignation?"

Ella turned in her chair.

"No. I want you here when Anna tells you something you don't want to hear."

He looked down.

"I thought I was protecting the place."

"So did I, sitting in London and approving reports."

"You can't be here for every booking."

"Neither can you. We need people to be able to speak when we're not."

She pushed a blank sheet towards him.

They began with the agency staff, who had no clear person to contact after a shift ended. Then they wrote down how complaints would be recorded, who would follow up, and how a worker could be moved away from an abusive guest without losing pay.

Harris's handwriting grew firmer as the page filled.

Victoria's letter arrived on Thursday.

It was short. She named the push, the accusation and the threat to Anna. She did not mention silk, champagne or Ella's identity.

Ella read it twice and placed it in a drawer. She wasn't ready to reply. For once she did not turn that feeling into another task to complete.

By September, the first training partnership was running on a trial basis. The Hall still needed money. The roof over the east wing still leaked in hard rain. Richard's revised proposal remained one of several being considered.

Anna joined the paid programme while continuing her shifts. When Ella offered her a place, she asked for the hours and conditions in writing before answering.

"Good," Ella said, reaching for a pen.

On the first afternoon of the autumn reception season, Anna supervised the courtyard service. She checked the glasses herself, then passed the count to a nervous new waiter.

Ella was setting out place cards near the fountain when she heard a sharp clink.

A drink had tipped across a guest's sleeve.

The young waiter froze. His tray tilted dangerously.

Harris stepped forward and steadied it. Anna brought a cloth. The guest looked down at his wet cuff, checked that the boy hadn't cut himself and moved his chair so they could reach the spill.

A minute later, the waiter was carrying an empty tray back to the kitchen. Anna walked beside him, speaking quietly. Nobody followed them with a phone.

Ella watched until they reached the door.

Harris came over to her table.

"You're putting those in the wrong order."

She looked down at the place cards.

"Am I?"

"The table plan is upside down."

She turned it round. He was right.

From the doorway Anna called for another tray of clean glasses. Harris went to help, leaving Ella to move the cards.

She finished the last setting, lifted the stack of empty boxes and carried them into the house.

The End