Page 22 of The Location Shoot
“I remembered it was your favorite,” Ella replied. “Picked the berries myself this morning. Wild blueberries are the best. Lucky for us, they’re in season. The kitchen was kind enough to make a delicious-looking tart.” She paused and said, “Albie, tell them about how you met Margaret. It’s such a wonderful story. I’m sure everyone would love to hear it.”
“I would,” Finn said, as he and Ella exchanged a smile.
“Me too,” Charlotte added. “In the many years we’ve known each other, I don’t think I’ve ever heard this story.”
Albie smiled. “All right,” he said. The waitstaff returned and passed around plates, each with a slice of tart and generous dollop of freshly made whipped cream.
They all started eating and Albie began, “I met her at a party in London thrown by some aristocrat. Completely pretentious. I was the lead in a play on the West End, and the director invited me. You know how that blue-blooded set loves to have a celebrity in their midst, something to gab about when they’re at their holiday homes.”
Everyone laughed.
Albie took a bite of his tart and continued, “I brought a girl with me, some actress, can’t even remember her name. We were all dressed in absurdly formal attire, could hardly tell the guests from the waitstaff, eating catered, crustless watercress sandwiches or some such rubbish. All of a sudden, in walks a stunningly beautiful woman wearing a simple, sky-blue frock and holding a pie. It’s hard to overstate how extraordinarily out of place she looked. I was immediately transfixed. She had the biggest, most beautiful eyes, and her hair fell in waves.” He paused, as if reliving every detail. “Anyway, the host’s wife ran over, greeted her, and ferried the pie over to the dessert table. I couldn’t take my eyes off this woman. The way she moved, her smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. I watched her for hours. I asked someone about her, and they said she was an elementary school teacher who happened to know the sister of the host. Eventually, I saw her standing alone at the dessert table and decided to make my move. The table was covered in mile-high meringues and fancy chocolate tortes encased in sugar domes, no doubt from the finest bakery in London, and there was her humble homemade pie off to the side. I sidled up to her and said, ‘Everything looks good.’ She smiled at me, and I felt like I was struck by lightning. I picked up a plate and a serving utensil and said, ‘I think I’m going to try this one,’ and I took a slice of the blueberry pie. She looked at me and said, ‘I made that. To tell you the truth, I feel like a bit of a fool. I didn’tknow what kind of party it was.’ I said, ‘I’m Albie, what’s your name?’ In her angelic voice, she said, ‘Margaret.’ I’ll tell you, I fell completely in love with her then and there.”
“What about your date?” Michael asked.
“Broke up with her at the party. I called a car for her and sent her home. Felt terrible about it, but when you meet the one, you can’t let anything stand in your way. True love is the greatest gift in the world; one mustn’t squander it or be foolish enough to think it will simply wait until it obliges our schedules.”
“So, it really was love at first sight,” Charlotte said wistfully.
“Indeed. Anyone who tells you that love at first sight isn’t real, well, those unlucky bastards have just never experienced it. Take it from an old fucker like me: when you get hit by lightning, you surrender to it. All the details, the little things you don’t know about each other, you’ll learn those over time, and if you really love each other, most of it won’t matter. There’s no replacing that inexplicable, inconvenient, all-encompassing feeling of love. Standing there in that moment, holding that slice of pie, I knew I couldn’t live without her. These days, people court each other like they’re applying for a job or running through a checklist. But this is where the artists—the poets, the novelists, the filmmakers—have always known better: true love has no reason.”
“How long have you two been married?” Finn asked.
“We celebrated our fortieth anniversary a few months ago.”
“Wow,” Finn muttered.
“I told you it was a great story,” Ella said, catching Finn’s eye. They stared at each other for a moment.
“Some people say romantic love fades over time,” Charlotte said.
“Rubbish!” Albie replied fervently. “It changes, yes. Inmany ways, it grows. But I’ll tell you this much: the first time we slept together was the most earth-shattering experience of my life. Still is, when I can convince her to do it.”
They all laughed.
“Needless to say, blueberry pie has been my favorite dessert ever since. Mmm, that was scrumptious. Thank you, Ella,” Albie said, scraping the last bite of tart off his plate. He picked up his glass and took a healthy swig of bourbon to wash it down.
“Since you’ve been such a good sport about dessert, I’m hoping you’ll indulge us a bit more. What’s a party without dancing?” Ella said, rising. She set up her phone to play music through the speaker on the bar. “I think we could all use a whirl around the dance floor. Albie, I know I’m no substitute for your Margaret, but I’d love the first dance with you.”
He chuckled. “If a gorgeous young thing like you wants to dance with me, who am I to say no?”
“Good, I know just the song,” she called as Rod Stewart’s “Maggie May” came swirling into the room.
Albie laughed and rose to take her hand.
“Come on, everyone,” she said, turning to the others. “This is a party!”
“I’ll sit and watch.” Jean raised his glass. “You all have fun.”
“Come on, movie wife,” Michael said to Willow.
“Looks like it’s us,” Finn told Charlotte.
The three couples danced around the room, smiling and laughing. As the next song came on, Charlotte turned to Albie and said, “I’d like a spin with the guest of honor.”
“With pleasure,” he replied, taking her hand.
Finn looked at Ella, but Michael swooped in and said, “Dance with me,” dragging her to the dance floor before she could respond.
