Bill Paxton paid me a visit last night and confided that Brendan had manifested in his dressing room. They’d shared a bottle of bourbon. ‘I knew Brendan wouldn’t see death as more than a temporary hindrance. He makes a splendidly handsome thirty-year-old. All that burnished gold hair of his. He oozes virility and youthful mischief. No doubt the ladies are even more besotted with him. Just as well he’s retained the wisdom of his old age or he’d be getting a swollen head.’ Bill rubbed his hands together and grinned. ‘By God, Sasha, it will be bloody marvellous having him up there onstage with me. Brendan’s a brilliant director and I’ll be able to stay on track even when I’m totally ossified.’
Now there’s something to look forward to.
Brendan and I came to the conclusion that it would be beneficial for me to have a male figurehead overseeing the Dasher Empire. Unmarried women of my age can only get away with so much. Hopefully that situation will change in the coming years.
He said, ‘Tim O’Flaherty is a man you can trust completely. And he’s demonstrated fiscal brilliance in the creation of his own wealth. I suggest you immediately seek him out and offer him the job. I’ve been doing a little snooping and Lil reckons he’s got no desire to go back to America. He’d rather live in Wolfftown for fuck’s sake. Just as well our Lil can scamper off to Paris whenever the mood takes her. There’s something to be said for the way she and I can now span continents in the blink of an eye.’
Tim will shortly step into the breach and take full charge of the Dasher Empire. Thank God. Financial matters bore me to tears.
I will eventually resume full control of the patisserie. But first I want to travel and experience what it’s like to be a free woman. Perhaps I’ll sail away on the Sasha with Viola in tow. Lily’s very taken with the idea of coming along too. I’m not yet finished with travelling. Indeed, I don’t think I’ll ever get weary of traversing the globe.
Viola has come up with the perfect excuse for our next grand tour. ‘We can announce that we’re going on a study tour. You know, visit training schools all over Europe to work out how we want to initiate our training projects.’
Despite our good fortune Alphonse has become rather gloomy. He communed this morning, Sasha, a major world war is brewing, involving countries such as Great Britain, Germany, France, Belgium and Russia. You must become more circumspect and think about the practicalities of our future.
Naturally I haven’t mentioned any such nonsense to Viola. She’s impatient to be off. ‘We need to get the hell out of Tasmania for a while. We can celebrate our independence, knowing that nobody back home will have any idea of what we are up to. Then we can come home invigorated and refreshed, and get down to work establishing our philanthropic projects.’
I’m determined not to be spoilt by the astonishing wealth I’ve acquired. There’s a real danger that I could become quite obnoxious. I suppose it’s never too late to consider Buddhism as an option. After all, I’ve got the shining example of Alphonse before me.
I don’t anticipate that our philanthropy will go down well in some quarters but I don’t give a shite. Viola and I will not be put off by Wolfftown’s naysayers and gossip-mongers. A daring, wicked and glamorous life shall be our revenge.
And so my story draws to its close. I was standing alone in the wings at the Baudelaire Theatre last night, when Marcus Olive was making his final curtain call with the cast of The Tempest. Tim had kindly invited me to join his friends in the Royal Box but I’d declined, even though there was a possibility Lil might manifest. I much prefer lurking around backstage. As it turned out, Lil joined me there for most of the play. We love the fact there’s always as much drama backstage as there is onstage. Particularly when Bill Paxton is getting in the mood for a performance. He fully inhabits his characters and I’ve actually seen him transform before my very eyes. A bottle or two of bourbon usually helps facilitate the transformation. Small wonder that Bill has to empty the contents of his stomach into a bucket before he goes onstage. But there’s no denying the man is a goddamn genius.
As I stood in the wings I became aware of someone watching me. I knew who it was. I glanced around backstage and sure enough there was Captain Adam Dasher standing quietly in the shadows. I surmised he’d just made port. He was still wearing his heavy steel-capped seaman’s boots, hands deep in the pockets of his Russian greatcoat. Adam grinned at me and tapped his watch, indicating that we should meet when the curtain came down.
I’d been anxiously awaiting his return. But when I moved towards him, the captain cautioned me by placing his finger on his lips. I then understood that he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Often when a mortal acknowledges a ghost, other mortals sense the shade’s presence. I respected my love’s wishes and turned my attention back to the stage.
The Tempest is the first play to be performed in our current Shakespeare season and it’s a brilliant production. Bill Paxton played Prospero to the hilt and a new classically trained British actress distinguished herself as Miranda. Marcus Olive of course knocked everybody’s socks off playing Caliban.
The cast’s performances brought the house down and the audience vigorously demonstrated their approval. A thunderous standing ovation broke over the stage in waves. I could feel it reverberating through my body.
Marcus raised his eyes and discreetly nodded to someone hidden high above the stage. I followed his gaze. Seated on a sturdy beam and hidden from public view, was Brendan Kane attired in a sleek black tuxedo. And sitting close to him was Becky, looking ravishing in the new magenta evening gown I’d planned on wearing that night. Her delicate earlobes glittered with Rose’s ruby earrings. I had to smile. I wasn’t annoyed, despite knowing that Shirley had nearly gone mad trying to locate the missing gown.
Marcus bowed graciously. He looked downright devious in his costume and sinister stage makeup. Peering up at the audience from under heavily blackened eyebrows, he grinned wickedly.
‘The time has come to take our leave. It’s been a pleasure having you all here tonight at the Baudelaire.
‘I’d like to dedicate this evening’s performance to the man who created the Baudelaire Theatre, the late great Brendan Kane. Allow me to tell you about the first time I experienced this wonderful theatre.
‘I was a raw young actor, fresh from the boat and wet behind the ears. I walked into the crowded Baudelaire bar and there was the most imposing man I’d ever seen, standing on top of the bar. It was Brendan Kane. And standing opposite him, on a table, was a young Bill Paxton. I asked myself, what are these two bad boyos up to?
‘It turned out they were having an impromptu discourse on the nature of true love. They were hurling Shakespeare’s powerful words at each other with great ferocity. I’d never seen anything like it in my life. I shall leave you now with the same words Brendan Kane spoke, the very first time I clapped eyes on him.
‘Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.’
Marcus stepped forward to the front of the stage.
‘I bid you adieu. Goodnight, ladies and gentlemen. Goodnight.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to acknowledge Ian Kelly’s wonderful book, Cooking for Kings: The Life of Antonin Carême, the First Celebrity Chef (Walker Books, 2004). Kelly’s biography of the eighteenth century French pastry chef provided essential information about Sasha Torte’s culinary hero, Antonin Carême. The biography also gave me an insight into the creative processes behind the production of sugar sculptures, pastries and gateaux.
The Grand Budapest Hotel with a dash of Gatsby . . .
When a laughing baby is found among the Hotel du Barry’s billowing sheets, tucked up in an expensive pair of ladies’ bloomers and neatly pegged to the laundry line, the hotel staff resolve to keep the child. The hotel’s owner, Daniel du Barry, still mourning the loss of his lover in an automobile accident, adopts the little girl, name
s her after his favourite champagne and seeks consolation in fatherhood. Cat du Barry grows up beloved by both hotel staff and guests, equally at home in the ninth-floor premium suite as she is in the labyrinth below stairs.
Years later when Daniel du Barry dies in sinister circumstances, Cat determines to solve the mystery with the assistance of her extended hotel family.
From hotel detective to roguish Irish gigolo, from compassionate housekeeper to foxy chamber maid, each will play their wicked part in this novel that will charm, amuse and delight.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LESLEY TRUFFLE is devoted to Method Writing. For her second novel she immersed herself in the dark art of pastry making and undertook an intrepid journey across the wild, wild West Coast of Tasmania. She also researched Tasmanian history and culture while stoically working her way through the fine wines and delectable produce of the island.
Lesley currently lives in inner-city Melbourne. Her first novel Hotel du Barry was published in 2016.
PRAISE FOR HOTEL DU BARRY
‘This is a delicious romp filled with such memorable characters, witty, snippy asides that had me laughing out loud, heartfelt scenes that make your soul ache, and characters you want to sit back and swill gin with. The tone is marvellous – light and yet not at the expense of beautiful writing or deeper meaning. What I also found really stimulating was the fact that not all threads are neatly tied together at the end of the story. Truffle (what a great name) allows the reader to make their own minds up about some of the characters’ pasts and, indeed, their futures beyond the pages of the book and I simply loved that.
‘This is a sizzler of a read that I cannot recommend highly enough for those who love to be emerged in a past they can smell, see, feel and taste, like a good mystery packed to the brim with three-dimensional characters with personalities you love and loathe, or for those who simply enjoy great writing.
‘Unexpected and simply delightful.’
Dr Karen Brooks, author and social commentator
‘This is a wonderful romp of a novel that brilliantly evokes the attraction and the dangers of the Jazz Age. There is plenty of fabulous fashion and empathetic characters – it cries out to be made into a film.’
NZ Women’s Weekly
‘From hotel detective to roguish Irish gigolo, from compassionate housekeeper to foxy chamber maid, each will play their wicked part in this novel that will charm, amuse and delight.’
Sunshine Coast Daily
ALSO BY LESLEY TRUFFLE
Hotel du Barry
COPYRIGHT
HarperCollinsPublishers
First published in Australia in 2017
by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
ABN 36 009 913 517
harpercollins.com.au
Copyright © Lesley Truffle 2017
The right of Lesley Truffle to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
HarperCollinsPublishers
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ISBN: 978 1 4607 5144 2 (paperback)
ISBN: 978 1 4607 0611 4 (ebook)
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry
Truffle, Lesley, author.
The scandalous life of Sasha Torte:
revenge, redemption . . . and pastry / Lesley Truffle.
Subjects: Women – Fiction.
Detective and mystery stories.
Prisoners – Fiction.
A823.4
Cover design and illustration by Daniel Valenzuela and Hazel Lam, HarperCollins Design Studio
Cover images by shutterstock.com
Author photo by Lesley Truffle
The Scandalous Life of Sasha Torte Page 38