The Concealers

by Janet Pywell

  ‘Thank you.’ I hold out my hand, but he ignores it and reaches for my wheelie suitcase.

  ‘Can you manage your other bag?’ he asks gruffly.

  I hitch my rucksack over my shoulder. ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Follow me.’

  Outside the summer air is cold, and there’s a smell of plane fuel on the breeze that floats across the car park.

  ‘It’s a beautiful day,’ I say.

  He points at a grey Range Rover. ‘We’re over there.’

  Mac opens the boot and doesn’t look at me as he speaks. ‘It’s thirty minutes to Castle Calder.’

  ‘Thank you. Have you lived here all your life?’

  ‘No.’

  I climb into the passenger seat and on the journey, Mac rebuffs my questions and doesn’t speak. I study his profile; deep-set eyes, short brown hair and tidy beard. He’s older than me; probably late forties but I’m soon distracted, and I gaze out of the car window at the glorious countryside, rich with green ferns in the early morning sunshine. I’m wondering what kitchen facilities the castle has when Mac says, ‘It’s another ten minutes.’

  ‘Thank you for collecting me.’

  ‘You couldn’t walk.’

  ‘That’s true. Not if they want their dinner tonight and not on Monday.’

  He grins, revealing a small gap between his front teeth. ‘Do you know Scotland?’

  ‘Not this part.’

  I’ve only been to Scotland once before, to Glasgow, with James. It had been a disaster. I should have realised after he left his credit card at home, and I’d paid for the hotel, dinner, shopping and treats, that he was deceitful and a liar.

  ‘Castle Calder is one of a kind.’ Mac indicates and turns the steering wheel of the Range Rover with ease to overtake a lorry heading north.

  ‘Have you worked there long?’

  ‘My mother is the housekeeper.’

  ‘Mrs Long?’ I ask.

  She was the woman I spoke to on the phone. Her manner was brusque to the point of rudeness. I was dreading meeting her and worse still, working in her kitchen.

  ‘That’s her. She can be short, and it sometimes seems as if she’s rude, but she isn’t. Don’t take anything she says personally, Ronda.’ He smiles and gives me a sidelong glance. ‘I hope you’re made of stern stuff.’

  ‘I’m like the Tin Man – only I’m a woman.’

  He laughs. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

  ‘How many are in the kitchen?’

  ‘Erm, let’s see.’ He frowns. ‘There’s Mum, Julie, and Dan. He’s not from around here either.’

  ‘What do you do, Mac?’

  ‘Everything. I’m the estate manager so I’ll be carrying their bags, I’ll organise the grouse hunting in the morning and just about anything else that needs doing. We all have to pitch in. You’ll have to help too.’

  ‘I’ll be helping, Mac. I’m cooking, remember? I’m not on holiday.’

  Mac grins. ‘I think you’ll get on alright with Mum.’

  ‘What do you know about the guests?’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Schiltz? Nothing really – apart from they’ve more money than sense. They’re paying over the odds for everything – a ridiculous sum of money for the weekend – and they don’t care. They don’t even notice the money. It’s as if they know they’ll never run out of it. I can’t imagine how that must feel, you know – to be able to buy what you want without a thought, without worrying about the price of anything. It doesn’t fit with our Scottish way.’ He grins.

  ‘Ah yes, you’re notoriously thrifty, you Scots – if it’s still politically correct to say so.’

  Mac’s laugh is a deep rumble. ‘You can say it with me, but I’d bide your tongue in the kitchen with Mum. Now, here we are, this is the start of the long drive that leads to the front entrance.’ He nods at a narrow sandy-coloured driveway, with manicured lawns on each side leading to open fields and a forest beyond. ‘Do you want to walk it? We normally let the guests off here, and John, the gardener, plays the pipes to welcome them.’

  ‘No, that’s fine. You can drive me to the front door, thanks. It looks a pretty long drive.’

  ‘It’s a quarter of a mile.’

  ‘It looks like a fairy tale castle – a French château.’

  ‘That’s why it’s a popular corporate and wedding venue. The turrets, gables and balustrades date back to 1575. There are over eighty acres of gardens and woodlands, and in the gardens, there is space outside for outdoor activities, picnics and alfresco dining. Are you listening to me, Ronda?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I reply, but my heart is hammering with excited, child-like enthusiasm. It is simply beautiful. It’s striking. I hadn’t realised how lovely it would be to leave London and leave all my worries behind. As I step out of the car and into the sunshine, I gaze up at the grey-walled castle with the turrets shining majestically in the sunlight, and a sense of wellbeing and calmness fills my body. Regardless of what the handsome inspector said, and the warnings and caution he gave me, nothing bad could happen here. I suddenly have a very positive feeling. Even the thought of Herr Schiltz and Mrs Long isn’t going to faze me. This will be a new beginning.

  Chapter 3

  ‘It is the merit of a General to impart good news, and to conceal the truth.’

  Sophocles

  Mac explains that the French-styled château has four turrets. ‘Three of them each contains three bedrooms, a total of nine bedrooms for the ten guests, the chauffeur and the secretary. The fourth turret, nearest the kitchen, has access from the Grand Hall on the ground floor, which is used as the dining room. Above that, is the library. At the top of each turret is a small hall and a corridor which leads out onto the battlements.’

  Mac pulls up at the back of the kitchen. The Land Rover stops on the gravel, and I take my bags and follow him along a pretty garden pathway smelling of delicious herbs; thyme, rosemary and sage.

  ‘It’s like a secret garden,’ I say, feeling excitedly optimistic.

  A rugged stone wall protects it, and the winding path leads us to a row of low buildings.

  ‘We converted the stables a few years ago,’ Mac explains, pushing open a wooden door. ‘But don’t hold your breath. They’re not luxury.’

  He’s right. My narrow room has a single bed, a small fridge, a two ringed camping gas stove and a kettle – and there’s a miniscule bathroom with a shower cubicle that would barely fit a small child.

  ‘It’s not equipped for you to stay here forever.’ Mac laughs as I open cupboards with disappointment. ‘You’re only here for a couple of nights, Ronda.’

  ‘I’m glad this isn’t my annual holiday.’ I wipe a finger of dust from the mirror hanging on the wall at the foot of the bed.

  ‘The cleaners didn’t have time to get to this room. They’ve been busy preparing the rooms for the big arrival tonight, and between you and me, we’re understaffed.’

  ‘And underpaid?’ I don’t hide the sarcasm in my voice, and he laughs.

  ‘You don’t have time to unpack, Mrs Long wants you in the kitchen as soon as possible.’

  That’s curious. Now we’re on the castle grounds he’s referring to his mother as Mrs Long.

  I close and lock the stable door behind me and pocket the key. ‘Who’s living in the other four luxury apartments?’ I grin.

  Mac doesn’t smile. ‘Julie, the sous chef, is staying here for the weekend, the sommelier Hugo, and Dan, the kitchen boy, until he finds something more permanent in the village.’

  ‘And you?’ I smile.

  ‘I live in the converted pig barn over there.’ He points to the far side of the estate.

  ‘Living in the height of luxury, are you?’ I tease.

  He points to a small block of three units. ‘It’s behind the barn and out of sight and no more luxurious than this.’

  ‘Don’t get too used to it then.’ I can’t hide the sarcasm from my voice.

  ‘I won’t, but it’s a haven after separat
ing from my ex-wife. I love the peace of it all.’

  We walk back through the gardens wordlessly. I’m wondering if the castle is in a similar state of repair and how inadequate the kitchen facilities might be.

  He stands aside to let me enter the kitchen, and I’m still absorbing his words as I walk inside and gaze around at the scene before me.

  ‘It’s like Downton Abbey,’ I say before I have time to think and the words are out of my mouth. I want to ask, where are the modern kitchen appliances? But I manage to stop myself in time as a flustered redhead in her late sixties appears.

  ‘So, you’re Ronda,’ she says quickly.

  There’s a lot in the tone of a voice that can make you feel warm, fuzzy or welcome, or it can chill you to the bone with rejection. In this case, Mrs Long, I can sense is not willing to adopt me as her daughter over the coming days, and I’ll need to keep my wits about me. I glance for similarities in her and her son, but he’s tall and healthy, and she’s short and round. They do however share the same straight nose.

  ‘Hello, it’s lovely to meet you.’ I put on my sincere voice, my best smile and hold out my hand.

  ‘I thought you’d have been here earlier.’ She barely takes my hand, but she manages to clasp the tips of my fingers for a second before dropping them as if I’m the devil about to burn her soul.

  ‘The plane was delayed,’ Mac lies easily. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  I raise an eyebrow, but he winks back at me before sliding out of the kitchen and back toward the garden.

  ‘I’ll show you around quickly, but I’m in a hurry there’s a lot to do – we’re preparing the vegetables, but we need to sort out the meat and the fish.’ Mrs Long’s rough voice and harsh accent distract me. ‘Oh, this is Dan. He’s been here a few months. He’s an apprentice too.’

  Dan is busy peeling potatoes and chucking them into a large pot with a heavy plop. On closer inspection, he’s not as young as he looks. There are laughter lines at the corner of his blue eyes, and a patchy beard conceals his narrow face.

  I smile wondering what Mrs Long means by saying, he’s an apprentice too – but Dan responds with a cheeky wink and I grin back.

  ‘Julie is a cook,’ Mrs Long explains.’ She’s been here a few weeks, and she’s promising.’

  A ruddy-faced woman with a sparkle in her eyes glances up at me. She’s hiding a smile, and busy prepping fish, filleting the salmon with neat professionalism. She waves the blade at me. ‘Hello, Ronda.’

  ‘Hi, Julie.’ I grin back and raise my hand.

  ‘And Martin helps out washing up.’

  Martin waves wet fingers from the sink. He doesn’t look sixteen, and I assume it’s a summer job where he can earn pocket money in the castle before heading off to university sometime in the future.

  ‘Come on. I’ll show you the pantry and the storerooms.’ Mrs Long beckons me to follow her down a narrow cold, stone corridor. She points at three doors. ‘Pantry. Store. Store.’

  In the various storerooms, she pulls out the deliveries and holds them up for inspection. ‘Fish – fresh salmon from the harbour, vegetables, fruit and strawberries from the market.’ She pops one into her mouth. ‘The meat is through here.’

  I follow her to the large fridge where she pulls out racks of lamb. ‘There’s more,’ she says. ‘There’s enough to feed a German army.’

  I frown. It’s not very PC, but I don’t say anything.

  Back in the kitchen, I pull my notes from my bag; a detailed notepad, and printed menus and drawings that I’ve sketched to help me with presentation ideas, all neatly filed in plastics labelled breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner and supper – the listed ingredients will all be turned into culinary masterpieces.

  I lay the menus on the long wooden table in the centre of the kitchen. ‘Perhaps we can look at these together, Mrs Long,’ I suggest, ‘and then we’ll both be aware of what needs to be done and we can plan a strategy?’

  ‘I’ve told the kitchen staff what to do, and we’re already organised for tonight’s buffet. They know what they’re doing.’ She folds her arms and stares at me.

  ‘That’s good, then let’s go over the main points together like, which dishes are proteins, starches, vegetables and salads – and of course, finger food. How many of our guest have confirmed as vegans or vegetarians?’

  ‘I’ve got a list somewhere,’ she replies.

  ‘Great, let’s take a look at it. And let’s work out how we’ll keep the hot dishes, hot.’ I smile.

  Mrs Long scowls. ‘I’ve been running buffets like these for years, with my eyes closed. We know what we’re doing. I’ve given them all a job.’ She waves her arms at Julie, Dan and Martin.

  ‘Fantastic, I can go home then. I gather up my notes.’ My patience is getting the better of me. I haven’t even been offered a cup of coffee, and my previous good humour has been replaced by one of increasing frustration. I shove my notes inside my bag. ‘You can explain to Herr Schiltz why I’ve left.’

  ‘Well, no, lass, don’t be so hasty—’

  I raise my voice. ‘I haven’t been employed specifically by Herr Schiltz to come here and watch you. I am here to make a difference, and if any of you are interested, you may even learn a few things. Now, I left very early this morning, so it might be a good idea to show me some traditional Scottish hospitality and offer me a nice cup of coffee.’

  * * *

  ‘According to Herr Schiltz’s weekend itinerary, the guests – upon arrival – will be piped up the long driveway to enjoy welcome drinks in the library. Tonight is to be an informal gathering with a buffet supper laid out in the Grand Hall on the ground floor. The terrace doors will be open as it’s forecast to be a beautiful weekend.’ Julie’s accent is a soft burr, and she leads me into the Grand Hall. ‘I’ll show you.’

  I contemplate the large mahogany panelled walls on the far side of the room and stone-walled room to my right with its massive fireplace that would once have roasted venison or a whole lamb on a spit.

  ‘This is incredible,’ I say.

  ‘I felt the same when I came here a few weeks ago,’ she whispers. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’

  Above us, around the inner walls, is an interior corridor decorated with numerous tapestries, family portraits, and old painted landscapes in gilt frames.

  ‘Fortunately, Mrs Long has hired some additional local staff. They’re helping; carrying tables and chairs and organising plates and cutlery.’

  I watch Mrs Long bustle around the hired staff as she issues instructions.

  ‘She likes to oversee the flower arrangements, tablecloths and that sort of thing.’

  ‘Are you from Aberdeen?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m from Edinburgh originally, but I’m thinking of moving here.’

  Mrs Long sees us and makes her way over to stand beside me.

  ‘The main staircase.’ She points to the nearside wall. ‘Will take you upstairs to the library and small hall and then the battlements. The guests can access their bedrooms along the inner corridor, or there’s a separate entrance in each corner of the Grand Hall.’ She points up at the inner corridor and then at three solid wooden doorways at the end of the hall. ‘The north tower, south tower and east tower.’

  ‘I hope I can explore the castle later,’ I say.

  ‘There won’t be time,’ Mrs Long replies.

  I look at Julie, but she turns quickly away without meeting my gaze.

  Mrs Long continues, ‘The guests will be dining inside on both nights. Presumably, Herr Schiltz dislikes eating al fresco, and so tonight is a buffet, and we’ll set the table up along the far wall. Tomorrow for the formal dinner they shall be inside sitting down at the main table in the centre of the room for Mrs Schiltz’s birthday celebration. The staff will move the table after the breakfast buffet in the morning back to the centre of the room.’

  ‘The flowers smell magnificent,’ I say admiring a large arrangement of stocks, roses and lilies.

  Mrs Long
looks at her watch. ‘Where’s Mac?’ She walks back to the kitchen, and Julie and I follow her. ‘Where’s Mac?’ she calls.

  Dan walks past, carrying two stacked up chairs. ‘They want extra chairs,’ he explains. ‘At least if they dine at the big table tomorrow it’ll save all the hassle of carrying these in and out.’

  ‘Yeah, and keep all the flies away,’ Julie says.

  Dan gives me a lopsided grin. ‘It’s normally my job to stand beside the buffet table, swatting them away from the food, and I’m supposed to pretend I’m doing something else.’

  ‘Dan, stop prattling and do something useful. Get out the linen tablecloths, as I’ve shown you before. You know where they are, go on.’ Mrs Long pulls up the sleeves of her white tunic and back in the kitchen, Julie begins to roll vegetables into round balls.

  ‘I’ll taste those before you finish the seasoning,’ I say to her, and she smiles back.

  I nip to the bathroom, and I pull out my white tunic and wrap a colourful blue and white bandana around my hair. Afterwards, I consult my notes and then take myself off to the storerooms to check the ingredients against what I’d ordered.

  I work my way through the storerooms, pantry and fridges, and it must be an hour later when I return to the kitchen with the fresh lamb. I pull out my own set of Japanese knives in a brown leather roll and a canvas storage case. The collection includes paring, utility, small and large santoku, small and large chef’s, bread and carving knife with canvas storage case.

  ‘Are they authentic?’ he asks.

  I smile, pleased he’s impressed. They were a gift from Tina after I left the army and began my new career. I select the meat knife.

  ‘Mrs Long has gone for a break,’ Dan explains, standing beside me and I’m conscious of his nervous energy as he moves from one foot to the other.

  ‘I watched you on Masterchef, Ronda. Didn’t you train with Monica Galetti?’

  ‘That was a while ago,’ I reply, not looking at him but concentrating on slicing the lamb into cubes.

  He watches me while I prepare the marinade: garlic cloves, fresh rosemary, Dijon mustard, pepper and fresh lemon juice.