On instruction from Chef, Sasha hurried over with a frying pan and all the ingredients I’d need, lining them up neatly.
‘Good luck!’ she whispered as she placed down the bowl of flour.
‘I need it!’ I whispered back.
‘No conferring with Sasha,’ Cal said, finding his ability to talk again. ‘And no googling the recipe. Pass me your phone so there’s no cheating.’
I slapped my phone into his palm and then put on the apron that Sasha passed me. I hesitated at the next piece of apparel handed over.
‘Really?’ I asked Chef, dangling the hair net from my finger.
‘Really.’
I rolled my eyes and then shoved it on my head, letting Sasha help me tuck in all the bits of hair round my face and looking daggers at Cal as he burst out laughing.
‘It suits you,’ Sky declared through giggles.
Ignoring the lot of them, I rolled up my sleeves and began to attempt a pancake, while the rest of the kitchen got back to work and Chef got back to bossing them all about. Regaining his composure, Cal started asking Sky about her latest album, leaving me to get on with it without the pressure of the two of them watching the process.
Miraculously, I remembered how to make the batter and couldn’t help but feel extremely proud of myself as I poured some of it into the hot frying pan.
‘Very impressive!’ Sky cheered as I stood aside to let her and Cal admire it. ‘Now, flip it.’
‘Your wish is my command,’ I said, grabbing the handle of the pan with both hands and tossing the pancake with gusto.
Unfortunately, it was a little bit too much gusto. The pancake flew high into the air, over my head and landed with a splat on Chef ’s head.
I gasped and Sky clapped her hand to her mouth. The whole kitchen froze as we waited for Chef ’s reaction.
‘What?’ he said finally, looking round at his staff. ‘You guys don’t like my new hat?’
We exploded into a fit of giggles and applause, as Chef did a twirl.
‘I stand corrected,’ Cal said, still laughing, ‘you can cook . . . something.’
‘Wow.’ I put down the pan triumphantly. ‘Did you just admit you were wrong? Has that ever happened in your entire life?’
‘There’s a first time for everything.’
‘Looks like I’m going hungry.’ Sky sighed, watching Chef remove the pancake from his head and throw it in the bin. ‘I better go upstairs and get some breakfast in the dining room.’
‘It will be the best breakfast you ever had!’ Chef yelled across the kitchen, as Sky got ready to leave.
‘I don’t doubt it.’ She smiled.
‘It’s been nice talking to you,’ Cal said quickly. ‘Hope the tour is a big success.’
‘Thanks. Hey,’ she said, flashing him a gleaming smile, ‘you should come to my party if you’re free. It’s before I fly back to LA.’
Cal gulped. ‘Huh?’
‘Flick’s coming, if she’s not still grounded. You should come too. Right, Flick?’ she said, turning her attention to me. ‘Don’t you think he should come?’
‘Um –’
‘It’s OK,’ Cal said quickly, reading my expression, ‘thanks for the invite, though.’
‘Well, feel free to come along if you change your mind.’
Sky waved and breezed back through the kitchen, thanking the team for having her before disappearing up the stairs.
I felt awkward as Cal began clearing up the pancake ingredients. I tried to think of something to say to break the uncomfortable atmosphere – something like how the party would be rubbish anyway and he wouldn’t be missing out. But something stopped me as I formed the words in my brain and I felt . . . guilty. Maybe because he’d been nice about my spectacular culinary skills.
‘Hey,’ I said quietly, picking up the butter, ‘you should come.’
He lifted his eyes to meet mine but didn’t say anything.
‘I’m serious,’ I insisted, sensing his confusion. ‘You should come to the party.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’ I shrugged.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah. It will be . . . fun. BUT,’ I added sharply, making him jump, ‘on the condition that you stop making that stupid joke about us dating.’
‘Deal.’
He smiled at me and I smiled back.
‘Right, then.’ He rolled up his sleeves. ‘You hungry?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ He grinned, taking the butter from me. ‘Because I make a mean pancake.’
The forks came back to haunt me. But this time, a week since my kitchen experience, I was ready for them.
I was pretty confident that learning which fork went where on a place setting would be easier than having to pluck a pheasant, which by the way is DISGUSTING . . . and at the same time, very satisfying. Chef even said I was a natural at it, a comment I was sure to repeat to Mum that evening. She came in to find me lying on the sofa with my feet up and a cold compress on my head, and went, ‘Ah, so you really did spend the day in the kitchen,’ in this knowledgeable voice, like some kind of wise wizard.
After telling her that all the chefs deserved a raise and a medal for how much stress they experience every day, I informed her about Chef noting my innate talents at plucking poultry, thinking that she might reply like a normal parent and say something about how wonderful I am.
That did not happen.
Instead, she just raised her eyebrows and said, ‘Well, you’ve always been good at tearing things apart,’ and then went into her study, telling me not to disturb her as she was about to make an important conference call. I was too exhausted to tell her off for being so dismissive of her star child and ended up falling asleep on the sofa a few minutes later, giving Fritz the perfect opportunity to unwind the toilet roll all over the flat, undisturbed by either of us.
Matthew had taken some days off to spend time with Cal during half-term, so my next ‘Royale education’ day, – aka the Day of Forks – wasn’t until the following Saturday, which left me with nothing to do all week, considering I wasn’t allowed to leave the hotel, except to walk Fritz. Jamie, the sommelier/dog walker, accompanied me most days to the nearest park and I used the opportunities to ask him exactly what a sommelier does.
Turns out, it’s quite a lot. I don’t know how he finds time to walk Fritz.
He has daily meetings with Chef to learn about the menu and make sure the wine list will complement it, and he knows everything about every bottle of wine in the cellar. Nothing gets selected for the wine list without him going to the vineyard where it’s made, meeting the owner and tasting the wine.
‘Great perk of the job,’ he told me, even though it sounded like a very long process just for one type of wine. ‘I get to travel the world.’ When I pressed him to say at least one bad thing about the job, he mentioned the exams were quite hard work. But even then, he kind of enjoyed them as he loved tasting the wine, thinking what food he would pair it with, and ‘finding its notes’. I told him not to be so cringe about the whole thing but he just laughed at me.
When I wasn’t throwing sticks for Fritz and learning about mouthfeel from Jamie, I spent most of my half-term annoying Audrey. She palmed me off to Matthew’s second-in-command, Harry, for a couple of days, and it turns out that, when you put your mind to it, the booking system is the easiest thing in the world. Harry and I laughed about Matthew glorifying what is essentially a spreadsheet leading to another spreadsheet, and he even let me book in a couple of reservations, which he highlighted in yellow so that he could show Matthew the ones I had done when he returned.
‘Why yellow?’ I asked, as he picked the colour.
‘Yellow suits you. It’s the closest to gold.’ He smiled charmingly.
Mum could really take a leaf from Harry’s book.
I started to get into a little routine throughout the week – first thing in the morning, I’d drop by the kitchen to grab breakfast, and say hello to Chef, Sasha and the t
eam; I’d help Timothy make coffee for the early-rising guests and then would take a cup to Harry (flat white), Audrey (one-shot latte) and, if I could find her, Mum (double espresso). Then I would help Harry with bits and bobs at the front desk, aided greatly by Fritz, who was really starting to work his winter wardrobe.
Fritz’s Instagram page had always had a good following but recently it had gone stratospheric since Sky mentioned it on her own feed. He now had more followers than any other pet on Instagram and he was getting sent more freebies than ever. Lewis Blume sent me and Fritz matching jumpers, which went down a storm, and I was starting to be a bit more creative with his headwear, although I could only put hats on him for the few seconds that it took for me to take the photo. He tried to eat the flat cap sent to him from Chanel.
But the best gift of all came from Prince Gustav Xavier III: a brand-new selfie stick, with tiny little bones and sausage-dog silhouettes engraved in gold all along in it.
Towards the end of the week, Audrey finally let me tag along with her, so I left Fritz front of house in Harry’s capable hands, and joined her in her daily meetings with the heads of department. When we were in a meeting with Ellie, the head of events, Audrey was torn between two different ideas to present to a client for their party theme. She listened as Ellie took her through them both, and then swivelled in her chair to look at me.
‘What do you think?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think the floral one.’
‘Why?’ Audrey asked.
‘Um . . .’
‘Just say what you think,’ she encouraged.
‘I think it suits the hostess of the party better. I met her when she came to the hotel the other day for her meeting with Ellie. We were chatting and I don’t know –’ I shrugged – ‘I just think that floral theme suits her personality.’
Audrey and Ellie shared a glance, before a smile spread across Audrey’s face.
‘I completely agree. It does suit her. Thank you, Flick.’
I couldn’t believe that Audrey had actually been interested in MY opinion. The only other time that had ever happened was a couple of years ago when she was going to the hairdresser’s and I’d said she would look good with a fringe. She came in with one the next day.
I was very wrong about the fringe.
On Saturday morning, I found Mum in one of the meeting rooms, checking that everything was in order for her first appointment. I put her double espresso on the table and went to leave.
‘Flick,’ she said, as I reached the door, ‘I spoke to Audrey this morning. She told me you’ve been wonderful this week. Helping Harry and the staff. She also mentioned that you greatly helped her with a very important client event.’
‘Not really –’ I shrugged – ‘Audrey just asked for my opinion, which was nice of her.’
‘She told me what happened and I have to say, I’m extremely pleased. Making an event special and unique to the client is all about taking into account what they are like as a person. Your instincts were spot on.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Off you go, then,’ she said, returning to her papers.
I scurried out and closed the door. For the first time in a long time, I felt that I had really made Mum proud of me. I couldn’t work out if that was a good thing or not. I mean, it felt nice and everything but if I kept this whole making-parents-happy thing up I was in danger of turning into Cal Weston.
‘I don’t believe it.’
Timothy blinked and slowly lowered himself into a chair to let the shock sink in.
Cal chuckled. ‘It’s truly a miracle, isn’t it?’
I sighed. ‘Ye of little faith! I have mastered the forks.’
Timothy ran his finger across the line of forks, the perfectly folded napkin, the knives and the spoons. He shook his head.
‘It’s perfect. You did it!’ Timothy exclaimed. ‘You were actually listening.’
‘It took me ages, though,’ I admitted, looking down at my handiwork. ‘You do it in a matter of seconds.’
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘that’s just practice.’
We were interrupted by a waitress, Poppy, who shyly asked Timothy for help with a difficult table upstairs. He excused himself and rushed out after her.
We were in Chef ’s office – it had taken me all morning to get the place settings just right, and we’d had to move downstairs from the restaurant because guests began arriving for the lunchtime service. I’d kept putting the forks in the wrong order, or mixing up the white wine glasses with the red or dessert wine glasses, and don’t even get me started on how to fold a napkin. Who decided napkins should be so flimsy?
‘Never again will I be intimidated by forks,’ I announced, sitting down.
Cal was sitting at Chef ’s desk, studying the new menu. ‘The world can rejoice,’ he commented, before a look of disappointment washed over his expression. ‘The strawberry mousse is gone!’
‘Yes, Chef felt that was a summer pudding. But don’t worry, the plum and almond cake he’s introduced to the menu is incredible,’ I enthused. ‘You’ll love it.’
Watching him as he ran his eyes down the menu, I guess I could kind of see what Sky meant when we talked on Wednesday – I’d been sitting in her room while she got ready to go to the stadium for one of her tour concerts, and she’d turned the conversation to Cal.
‘So, that guy in the kitchen –’ she began, pulling her hoodie over her head. Her costumes, hair and make-up were all done at the venue so whenever she left for her concerts, it just looked as though she was leaving to go to the gym. ‘He’s cute.’
‘Chef ?’ I wrinkled my nose, flicking through a magazine with Sky on its cover. ‘Isn’t he a bit old for you?’
‘No, not Chef !’ She laughed, picking up her trainers. ‘That Cal guy. You’ve talked about him but you never mentioned that he was tall and handsome.’
I lowered the magazine to watch her doing up her laces. ‘Really? You think he’s hot?’
‘He’s got that cute vibe going for him. His dimples are adorable.’
‘He’s also SUCH a nerd,’ I pointed out. ‘He reads books about tanks and London architecture. In his free time.’
‘Geek chic.’ She shrugged.
‘I’ve never really thought about him like that. He’s always just been there, lurking around the hotel like a loner.’
‘He seemed nice,’ she said, attempting to tame her wild hair, clipping it back from her face. ‘Anyway, whatever, let me tell you about my date to the Christmas Ball.’
‘The dancer?’
‘No, he fell through. But I’ve managed to bag myself a European prince.’
With Cal distracted by the menu, I took the opportunity to really look at him. I guess it was quite cute the way his thick hair was always sticking up at odd angles, and he did have nice green eyes. A gentle, olive green. And I suppose he did have those dimples, which some people might find attractive.
‘OK, what is it?’ He suddenly sighed, bringing his eyes up to meet mine.
‘Nothing,’ I said quickly, straightening up and knocking all my forks out of place.
‘You’re looking at me weirdly,’ he pointed out. ‘Do I have something on my face?’
‘No, no, your face is good. I mean, it’s fine. It’s got nothing on it.’ I moved the forks back into position, feeling flustered. ‘I wasn’t looking at you. I was looking . . . at something else. Anyway, how was your half-term?’
‘It was good. I heard you were kept busy.’
‘Yeah, I learned a lot. Hey, did you know that your dad once stepped in as a film producer’s assistant? The producer was staying here and freaked out when his assistant quit on the first day of filming, so your dad offered his services and got Harry to cover him.’
Cal smiled. ‘Yeah, that’s a great story.’
‘Typical of your dad, always going the extra mile.’
‘Typical of the Royale, you mean.’
I looked at
him quizzically.
‘Everyone here goes above and beyond,’ he explained, putting the menu down on the desk. ‘They make sure that everything is perfect. Don’t you think?’
‘Yeah, I guess. How do you know so much about them? And the hotel?’ I asked, leaning back in my chair.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know everything and everyone in this place, and they all know you. How?’
He ran a hand through his hair and fidgeted with the corner of the menu.
‘I don’t know, I just hang out here a lot. And because of Dad.’
‘It’s more than that,’ I insisted. ‘That’s why Audrey told me to ask you to help me learn about everything – she said that, apart from Mum and maybe her, you were the person who knew how the whole operation worked.’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve done a bit of extra research recently.’
I opened my mouth to probe him further but Timothy popped his head round the door.
‘How would you like to learn about serving a table?’
‘Great idea.’ Cal jumped to his feet, looking relieved at the interruption.
I rolled my eyes. Only Cal Weston would think learning how to serve a table was a great idea.
We lined up with the other waiters and took the plates that Chef passed to us, after he had scrutinised each one. Timothy explained how each seat around a table was numbered in the heads of the waiters, so they could remember which dish went to which diner without having to ask them what they’d ordered. My dish was for guest number three.
I followed the other waiters into the centre table of the dining room, carrying a goat’s cheese and walnut starter. Then I saw who guest number three at the table was.
Ella.
She was looking decidedly bored, with her mum and three other ladies, who must have been her mum’s friends. Our eyes met and after looking momentarily surprised, a thin, satisfied smile crept across her face.
I hadn’t heard from Ella once throughout half-term. Grace had messaged almost every day but I hadn’t heard one peep from Ella, and I hadn’t really considered texting her. Seeing her now, it dawned on me that I hadn’t missed her at all.
‘Flick,’ she said curiously, as I placed her starter in front of her, ‘what are you doing?’
Secrets of a Teenage Heiress Page 14