by Julie Hyzy
CHAPTER 22
When I returned to the kitchen, I informed Bucky and the Saardiscan chefs about Cleto’s arrival. I let them all know that we were bringing on another chef as well.
“Another chef?” Bucky asked, clearly surprised by the announcement. “To take over the dessert end of things?”
“Assuming all the paperwork goes through,” I said, happy for the cover story. I’d tell Bucky the truth about the “new chef” being a translator, later. Continuing to address the group, I said, “With Marcel out and Kilian gone, we’re shorthanded. I’m hoping this temporary assistant will guide us and come up with an appropriately fabulous dessert.”
Bucky seemed confused by this turn of events. “Is this someone we’ve worked with before?”
“I don’t know,” I said, wanting to change the subject before he pressed for too much clarification. “The request is in, and I think it will be approved. We won’t know who we get until that person shows up.”
“I hope it’s Marcel’s first assistant,” Bucky said. “She’s great.”
“Fingers crossed,” I said.
Tibor had waited for us to finish our conversation before asking, “What did you say the name of the Saardiscan liaison is?”
I told him, “Cleto Damar.”
I couldn’t tell whether the name seemed familiar to Tibor. “I do not understand why they have sent him to the kitchen if he is not a chef.”
Providing the same explanation I was given, I said, “He’s to be a liaison between us and your government.”
“Bah,” Tibor said, thrusting both hands down in disgust. “He is here to report on our progress. If we fail to impress this man, we will suffer for it.” Turning to his colleagues, he spoke in Saardiscan.
“Do you know Cleto?” I asked.
Tibor flexed his jaw before answering. “I have not met him, no. He is the man Kilian submitted reports to.” Shaking his head, he turned away. “Kilian led us to believe that this Cleto Damar is a harsh critic. Kilian made sure to always write his reports to give us the best advantage.”
I hadn’t talked with Cleto long enough to get a read on his true personality, but I thought Tibor’s fears might be exaggerated. “You’ve all worked very hard, and gone above and beyond—especially in light of all that’s happened these past few days.” I felt a momentary wash of guilt about telling Cleto that Tibor was unpleasant, but I brushed it off. “I’ve told him how impressed I am with all of you. Let’s not worry about his reports just yet.”
Tibor had crossed the kitchen while I was talking. I expected him to add more to the discussion, but he folded his arms and remained silent.
“Cleto will join us later. For now, let’s get started on our next project, shall we?” I said. “Bucky, what’s on our schedule for today?”
He grabbed a handful of the papers strewn before him. “You mean the newest new schedule? Or the newer newest one?”
* * *
We were in the middle of making a batch of homemade granola when Margaret arrived with Cleto. He’d been outfitted with a White House smock that matched all of ours and as I welcomed him to the kitchen, I pulled out an apron and handed it to him. He seemed confused about how to tie it from behind, so Margaret did the honors.
I introduced Cleto to Bucky, but as I began to present the three chefs, Cleto stopped me. Turning to the men he said, “I have studied all your dossiers. You are very talented individuals. It is my pleasure to meet you in person.”
One by one, the men shook hands with their new leader as he addressed them by name. Tibor was the last to greet our new guest. It may have been my imagination, but I swore Tibor winced when he and Cleto shook hands.
“I need to head back upstairs now,” Margaret said. “If you need anything further, Mr. Damar, you know where my office is.”
He thanked her warmly. “It has been my pleasure to work with you.”
Her cheeks were pink, her smile wide. “I feel the same way,” she said. She wiggled her fingers at all of us and left the room.
I hoped no one noticed Bucky roll his eyes.
Cleto was the tallest of the Saardiscans and when Margaret was gone, he folded his arms and studied the others. “We were saddened to hear of Kilian’s death,” he said somberly. “He was a fine man and an admirable Saardiscan. He served his country proudly and well.”
There were murmurs of assent from the other men. Cleto went on. “He and I had been in constant contact since your arrival here, so I am fully apprised of all your skills and I have been kept informed of your progress.” He nodded to me and then Bucky. “We owe a debt of gratitude to Ms. Paras and her staff for welcoming us into their kitchen.”
“Please, call me Ollie.”
His eyes crinkled up as he smiled. “I have now completed my speech, which means that I should probably get out of your way.”
“You’re welcome to help out if you like, but don’t feel pressured to do so. Before you arrived, we were in the process of making homemade granola. It seems to be a new experience for your chefs, and it’s a particular favorite with the president’s children. We’d be happy to show you how it’s done.”
Nate, Hector, and Tibor exchanged uneasy glances.
I decided to add a boost. “These chefs have been a wonderful addition to our kitchen.” Okay, that was a stretch, but it wouldn’t hurt to let them all think I was on their side. “They have very generously taught us how to make a few traditional Saardiscan dishes and we have been delighted to learn.”
Cleto’s eyebrows rose. “I am happy to hear that, despite the tragedy of losing Kilian, this diplomatic mission is shaping up to be a success.”
“It most certainly is.”
Bucky kicked me in the ankle. I ignored him.
* * *
The next morning, there was a message from Tom telling me to meet him in his office at eight o’clock.
I’d finally had a chance to bring Bucky up to speed on the news that we’d be getting a translator. When I let him know that I’d been summoned to talk to Tom, he wished me luck. “I hope he hasn’t had a change of heart.”
“Me, too.”
The Secret Service’s receptionist ushered me in the moment I arrived. Tom was behind his desk, a young woman seated across from him.
Tom said, “Ollie, I’d like you to meet Stephanie Zhang. Stephanie, this is Olivia Paras, the White House executive chef.”
Stephanie Zhang was young. Younger, even, than Cyan. She had a narrow, angular face, jet-black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, and a timid smile. She offered her hand and we shook. “Nice to meet you,” she said. Her voice was soft and clear.
Tom continued. “Stephanie has agreed to join your kitchen for a couple of days to monitor your Saardiscan guests.”
“Wonderful.” Turning to Stephanie, I asked, “Are you an agent with the Secret Service, too?”
“No.”
Tom piped in. “Stephanie is a freelance interpreter. She’s fluent in eight languages and comes with the highest of recommendations. The service has used her talents in the past. She can be trusted to keep matters confidential.”
“That’s great,” I said. “When will you be able to join us?”
Her shy smile grew a fraction. “I can start immediately,” she said. “But I do need some direction as to expectations.” Glancing between me and Tom, she added, “I’ve never translated in this manner before—where the subjects didn’t know they were being understood. I confess to being a little worried that I’ll be able to remember everything they talk about without being able to take notes.”
Tom and I assured her that she wouldn’t be expected to recite, verbatim, every Saardiscan interchange throughout the day. We gave her several key topics to listen for, including discussion about chocolate, or drugging, or poison, and anything regarding death.
“Use your instincts,” I said. “If something feels important, I’m sure it will be.”
She nodded uncertainly. “I’ll do my best.”
> I had a thought. “Let’s come up with a code word.” Pretending not to see Tom’s look of derision, I went on. “If something does seem important, or they discuss a matter with details you may not remember later, use a word to alert me. I can call you out of the kitchen and you can tell me what it is immediately.”
The idea seemed to alarm her. “Are these men dangerous?”
I smiled, wishing we’d gotten a more seasoned individual for this job. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
* * *
By the time I returned to the kitchen, the Saardiscan chefs and Cleto had arrived for the day. I greeted them all, then turned to Cleto. “How was your first evening in Washington, D.C.?”
“I had a great deal of paperwork to complete,” he said with a wry smile. “And I was exhausted from travel, so I have not had the opportunity to do much more than sleep. I am told by my colleagues, however, that there is much to see in your fair city.”
“I hope you find time to explore,” I said.
“As do I.”
Niceties behind us, I called an impromptu kitchen meeting. “I have good news to share,” I told the group. “The assistant I requested will be joining us this morning.”
“Is this Marcel’s first assistant?” Tibor asked. “You believed it was she who was to be assigned here.”
“Unfortunately, she wasn’t available. Instead, we’re getting someone new.”
“New?” Tibor’s tone conveyed his skepticism.
“Her name is Stephanie, and I hope you will all make her feel welcome.”
“She is a specialist in desserts?” Tibor asked.
“No,” I said. “Not especially. In fact, she’ll serve as more of a helper than an actual chef.”
He narrowed his eyes and I could sense the question that was on all four Saardiscans’ minds. If she wasn’t a pastry chef, why were we bringing her on board?
Once I’d met Stephanie, I knew there would be no way to pass her off as a trained professional. The young woman would be exposed as a fraud within minutes. Taking a deep breath, I launched into the cover story Tom, Stephanie, and I had settled on. “Stephanie is, unfortunately, very new at this. In any other circumstance, I would never allow her to join us in the kitchen. She is, however, the niece of a high-ranking official here in Washington. She will be assigned to us temporarily, as a favor to that official. I’m not at liberty to say who her relative is, but Stephanie is eager to intern with us, even if it is only for a few days.”
“So this is being done as a courtesy to the high-ranking official?” Cleto asked.
“Exactly,” I said. “The timing works out very well, as Bucky and I are learning how to prepare Saardiscan dishes while we’re sharing our favorites with you. I can’t think of a better opportunity for a new chef than to have so many instructors at once.”
When Nate said something under his breath to Hector, I wondered if I’d oversold the story, thereby making Stephanie’s sudden hiring even more suspect.
Hector replied to Nate in Saardiscan. The two men shared a knowing look, as though some suspicion of theirs had been confirmed. Or maybe I was so on edge that I was imagining things.
Overhearing the two men, Cleto turned to them. “While you are in the White House, you should speak only English.” He held a hand out toward me and Bucky. “It would be rude to leave our hosts out of our conversations, would it not?”
I knew my face betrayed my surprise. The very thing I’d been working toward—knowing what was being said in the kitchen at all times—was now being handed to me via direct order from Cleto.
Nate ducked his head, then nodded. He answered in English. “My apologies.”
Hector murmured assent.
Cleto turned back to me. “I hope Kilian did not allow such behavior.”
I chose not to answer the implied question. “I appreciate your perceptiveness,” I said. Returning to the matter at hand, I began providing additional instructions about what we intended to accomplish today. As I was talking, two Secret Service agents arrived, escorting Stephanie Zhang.
As prearranged, I acted as though this was the first time we were meeting. “Welcome to the White House kitchen, Stephanie,” I said, after one of her attendants introduced us. “Let’s get you a smock and apron, and get you started.”
The Secret Service agents left us to make further introductions among ourselves. Cleto greeted her warmly, but the rest of the Saardiscan men provided perfunctory handshakes and a cool reception. They’d done the same with me their first day. Whether it was because they were naturally reticent, or because Stephanie was female, I couldn’t tell.
To me, Stephanie seemed nervous. That wasn’t entirely out of character for a person’s first day at a new job, but I worried that her tension would hinder her ability to listen and translate accurately.
With Cleto’s directive to refrain from speaking Saardiscan in the kitchen, however, Stephanie’s talents might not be needed, after all. Nor the use of our code word. We’d settled on pencil, an innocuous-enough word that wouldn’t sound out of place.
* * *
An hour later, after a rocky start, I was instructing the group on the steps necessary to make pecan-crusted pork tenderloin with orange-maple glaze.
After slicing the pork into one-inch-thick medallions, I flattened them with the heel of my hand. “This happens to be one of the president’s favorite dishes,” I said. “I think part of the reason is because we use pure maple syrup and freshly toasted pecans.”
I went through all the steps necessary for preparing the pork entrée, discussing how we juggled preparing multiple courses while ensuring everything was perfectly done and ready to be served at the appointed time. “I’d like you all to get a chance to try browning and turning these. It can get messy, and we can all use the practice.”
As I plated my finished example, I turned to Stephanie, who was farthest away from me and closest to the countertop. I had a supply of chopped pecans next to the stovetop, ready for use, but I’d kept a spare container of pecan halves, for garnishing the finished dish. “Could you hand the pecans to me?” I asked her.
“The what?”
“Pecans.”
She turned, looking directly at the container of nuts. “Aren’t these walnuts?”
I bit my lip to keep from reacting. Any chef, even an aspiring one, ought to know the difference between pecans and walnuts. “Pecans,” I said stiffly.
Recognizing her gaffe, perhaps, she hurried to grab the container and hand it to me.
Bucky tried to cover. “I used to make that mistake all the time, too,” he said, which I knew was a complete fabrication.
Tibor scowled. “How long have you been studying to be a chef?” he asked Stephanie.
“Oh, I’m only starting out. It’s what I . . . uh . . . always wanted to do, always . . . uh . . . dreamed of doing but I never had a chance before.” Panicked, she glanced at me, her face growing red. She tried to laugh it off, but it came out more as a stammer. “I’m learning new things every day.”
“Oh? Even a beginner has mastered some skills.” Tibor crossed his arms. “What is your preferred method for making a roux?” he asked her.
“Now, now,” I said, before this could go further. “This is Stephanie’s very first day. We shouldn’t put her on the spot.” I shot Stephanie a smile of encouragement. The girl looked like she wanted to bolt.
Nate and Hector exchanged a glance.
Cleto seemed oblivious to the food references, but tightly attuned to the men’s observations. He lifted his chin as though about to ask a question, when Bucky chimed in, “Who wants to try it?” Pointing to the slices of raw pork on the platter before us, he said, “We all need to practice.”
“Tibor, how about you go next?” I said.
He huffed, but stepped up to take over and I stifled a deep breath of relief. Backing up, I allowed the other chefs to move in closer, giving me a chance to stand nearer to Stephanie. With everyone else’s back
to me, I surreptitiously patted her on the arm. “It’s fine. Just relax.”
Her jaw was clenched, but she nodded.
For the next few interminable hours, Stephanie stumbled through task after task, proving her ineptness in the kitchen with every misstep. I’d assumed that she was a woman living on her own. How she could exist and feed herself with so few basic culinary skills boggled the mind.
I could tell it was similarly baffling our Saardiscan guests. They regarded her with blatant interest and I couldn’t help noticing their expressions of disbelief when she struggled with simple things like releasing blades from a hand mixer, or being able to distinguish zucchini from eggplant. Her cover story was failing fast.
With all the Saardiscans speaking English, eliminating the need for a translator, I was tempted to say the code word, pencil, take her aside, and absolve her from her responsibilities. Instead, as long as she was here, I asked Bucky to take Cleto and Tibor up to the pastry kitchen, on the pretext of doing an inventory.
I didn’t have a solid plan. All I knew was that Nate and Hector had been the two who had most often lapsed into Saardiscan when we were all working in the kitchen. With Cleto out of the main kitchen, I hoped to give them the chance to converse freely again.
Stephanie and I were on one side of the countertop, Nate and Hector on the other. The two men were hard at work slicing zucchini into uniform wheels, while Stephanie and I went over a recipe we planned to use later.
She and I kept our voices low, and it wasn’t long before Nate and Hector started talking between themselves. In Saardiscan.
Stephanie gave a little start. I was half-turned away from the men, so I couldn’t tell if they’d noticed her reaction. If they had, I hoped they assumed she was responding to something she’d read.
“Easy,” I whispered. I didn’t want to confuse her, or mask the men’s conversation with words of my own, so I pointed to the recipe, as though we were both reading silently together.
Nate and Hector continued to converse, their voices growing slightly louder. Whatever they were saying had both men riled up. I thought I detected the name Cleto in their discussion, but I couldn’t be sure.