| Details for Ne'er The Twine Shall Meet |
| Summary: | Frid pops in just as Fabia and Bailey are preparing to leave for lunch. |
| Date: | November 26th, 1938 |
| Location: | Upstairs at the Three Broomsticks |
| Related: | Women Are Complicated |
| Characters |
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Fabia's Rooms
Word reaches Frid that Madam has returned from a night in London; after sparing a few gently reproachful words for the persons who have taken longer than the prescribed sixty seconds to convey this word, Frid hurries up to her.
Madam opens the door an instant before he can, and less than half-way. "Frid, sweetie!" she exclaims with vast, carrying enthusiasm. "Yes, I'm home! Did Tessa tell you? Bless her. But before anything else, I absolutely must have, oh, let me think, a length of good strong twine, about seven feet, perhaps eight feet to be on the safe side, a packet of bicarbonate of soda, two apples, and my white vicuna coat, didn't you take it away to get that spot out? I shall want it now, I shall be lunching out. Bless you." Her smile positively glitters as she shuts the door in his face.
Several minutes later Frid quietly lets himself back into the sitting room, backing up, however, and clearing his throat as he does. Just in case. Who knows what he's disturbing. He's managed to acquire, don't ask from where, the aforementioned eight feet of twine, the bicarb, and the apples, which he manages on a delicate, rather expensive looking silver tray, while her coat hangs over his arm. He does risk a quick glance around the room, despite his expectation of naked or semi-naked Fabia and guest(s).
Nothing alarming is happening. Nothing alarming appears even, lately, to have happened. His employer is standing near the coffee table, correctly attired for a Scottish afternoon in grey slacks and one of her Argyll sweaters, black socks but no shoes on her feet, apparently chatting of inconsequential things with — Miss Bailey Potter. She turns at Frid's discreet 'ahem'; and smiles pleasantly at him, beckoning him nearer with his tray. "Thank you so much, sweetie."
Bailey is also standing, none too hurried, but in preparation to leave. Frid's arrival brings a soft, restrained smile. "Hello, Frid. It's nice to see you again." She eyes the tray, and turns to Fabia with a befuddled frown. "Dare I ask what the twine is for?"
"Miss Potter," Frid responds, granting the woman a slight smile, a little more genuine with warmth than his usual dutiful, polite nod. "I'm pleased you could be here." And then the question, to which he just arches a brow and looks to Fabia expectantly.
All attention is upon Fabia. "Well," she murmurs, consideringly, gazing from her guest to her valet and back again, with an odd light in her eyes, "altogether I think I may not need the twine after all, Frid. I'm so sorry to have troubled you for it." She seizes an apple from the tray and offers it to Bailey. "Apple, sweetie?" she asks.
Bailey accepts the apple, though for the moment she merely rolls it back and forth from hand to hand. "Thank you," she says, looking to each of them. "Would…Mr. Frid, would you perhaps like to join us? We're headed out for an afternoon lunch. Is it 'Frid' or 'Mr. Frid'?" She flounders in this strange world of valets and luxurious living.
Frid glances to Fabia for confirmation. "It's just Frid, ma'am," he insists. "Frid is my given name. Usually a valet is addressed by his surname, but I think Frid is quite sufficient. Shall I bring the car round?" he suggests hopefully. After all, with moving to Hogsmeade and away from muggle London, he barely gets a chance to drive it, his pride and joy, and so it's rare he'll pass up the opportunity to at least offer.
"The car? Oh," and Fabia blinks hopelessly, "I don't know…" She takes the second apple and bites into it with a delicate but satisfying crunch as she contemplates the situation. It bears now the mark of her lips, in red. She shakes her head, chews, looks at Bailey, and swallows. "Where shall we go, sweetie? Here? London? I really haven't the faintest."
Bailey blinks in mild disbelief. "A car? In Hogsmeade?" She is duly impressed, and a little befuddled. "Well, there was that diner I'd mentioned, Fabia. In…London." London, which would mean no car. Not that there is any place within reasonable driving distance for a lunch that isn't within walking distance.
"A Bentley," Frid offers, smile broadening. "Not just any car. You must let us take you for a ride some time, don't you agree, madam?" he adds as an afterthought. In case Fabia for some inexplicable reason thinks it's her car.
"Oh, let's go to London, then," Fabia says easily, crushing Frid's every hope and dream and yearning beneath her tiny foot as though he meant nothing to her, nothing. "Perhaps we'll take the car out another time. Frid, will you put a few things in a handbag for me? I don't think I have a suitable one running at present. Bailey, would you like a drink before we go? Or have you got to go to work later or something like that?"
It is decided (when Bailey has courteously declined, and Fabia has fluttered) that there shall be no drinks just at present.
Frid thus is at liberty to pass by the drinks trolley, to select Madam's navy blue ostrich handbag and equip it with all that she might require during the course of a ladies' luncheon in London — except himself, of course. He won't fit.