by Janet Pywell
The Grand Hall is empty, and I check the table is ready for the plates of food. I imagine the layout as I described it earlier to Dan, who was supervising the extra waiting staff. I move a few things on the table around, the plates nearer to the cutlery, and the seasoning and sauces at the far end. Small things, but simple to make buffets easier. When I’m finished I exit the same way and bump straight into Mac. He’s carrying a rifle.
‘My goodness, you gave me a fright,’ I say.
‘The guests are all upstairs. Are you alright?’
‘I’m fine. What’s that for, intruders?’
He shakes his head thoughtfully. ‘I’ve just shown the chauffeur upstairs to his accommodation. He was asking about the guns for tomorrow.’
‘I hope you leave the safety catch on.’
He gives me a strange look. ‘I’m always careful.’
‘It’s not you that I’m worried about.’ I grin, but I’m surprised at my own words, and I’m suddenly unsettled as if this idyllic castle holds some extraordinary power over us. I watch him turn and walk away and a growing unease ripples through me. It’s like a chilled breath on my cheeks and I’m suddenly filled with a sense of foreboding, similar to the feelings I experienced in the army.
Chapter 5
‘Frank and explicit — that is the right line to take when you wish to conceal your own mind and to confuse the minds of others.’
Benjamin Disraeli
Grilled Scottish langoustines, epic lamb kebabs, vegetable balls, smoked salmon blinis, baked camembert, spatchcock chicken and wild rice. Soufflés, homemade ratatouille and chopped salad – it all takes time to prepare and the time flies along with a flurry of kitchen activity.
Julie is efficient but not professional, willing but not always capable, and Dan and Hugo liaise between us and the temporary waiting staff. I’m directing the staff as though I’m conducting a fine orchestra, waving my arms but also adding the finishing touches to sauces, rearranging plates of succulent roasted meats and plates of fish.
Ten guests for dinner isn’t a great amount but I’m conscious of the number of other staff like Paula and Mr Schiltz’s chauffeur who will eat afterwards in the kitchen. I don’t take much notice of the people coming in and out of the kitchen, or the staff employed for the evening until Paula suddenly appears in the doorway.
Mrs Long reacts first. She heads forward determinedly, but somehow Paula manages to swing past her and, circling the long central table, she’s at my side.
‘Herr Schiltz would like to see you.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes.’
‘His timing’s good.’ I use my sarcastic voice. ‘Doesn’t he realise this is my busiest time?’
Paula looks apologetic and shrugs. ‘He probably does but he wants to talk to you anyway.’
I wash my paring knife and dry it carefully before following Paula from the kitchen. I’m conscious of my stained white tunic and the colourful bandana that covers my short hair. I haven’t had time to look at my face or makeup since this morning and I guess I must look a mess; hot and sweaty.
I follow Paula across the Grand Hall where a couple of the waiting staff, dressed in black and white uniforms, are bustling backwards and forwards, carrying dishes and plates of hors d’oeuvres toward the library. Hugo hurries past carrying several chilled bottles of expensive Krug champagne and he winks.
Instead of taking me to the library, as I expect her to do, Paula heads to the far tower and we begin the narrow ascent of the stone staircase. We pass two closed bedroom doors on the first floor and we climb up to the second floor where I assume Herr and Frau Schiltz’s bedroom is.
Paula knocks tentatively and when he calls out, she enters their bedroom speaking fluent German, before standing aside to let me pass.
Herr Schiltz is standing at the window gazing down into the garden. I know some of the guests are in the library and some, I can hear, have already ventured outside. Their riotous laughter floats up through the open window.
‘They’re horsing around out there in the garden, get them into the library, Paula,’ Herr Schiltz says. ‘I’ll be down in a few minutes.’
‘Yes sir.’ Paula closes the door on her way out and I stand waiting just like I used to stand waiting for my father’s attention.
So often, I’d been summoned to his office. He’d pretend to be busy or preoccupied as if he had some difficult task, or worry or hurdle that only he could surmount. It was as if he alone could solve the problem, and I had to watch and admire him; he wanted me to think about how he could be so talented, clever and wonderful. But it never worked. I just became resentful and snide – not characteristics I’d actively pursued – until now.
‘You want to speak to me?’ I prompt, my tone bordering on the insolent.
Herr Schiltz turns from the window. He’s wearing a tartan green kilt and waistcoat and a navy jacket and bowtie. It seems pretentious. I bite my lip. I don’t smile. But once he focuses his narrow eyes on me and I see his pencil moustache my heart flips a beat and my mouth feels suddenly dry.
‘I need you to do something for me.’ He stands with his index finger and thumb in the small pocket of his waistcoat.
‘Okay.’ I swallow hard, and I have a sense of foreboding. Whatever Herr Schiltz wants from me, I know I won’t like it.
‘Have you made the birthday cake yet?’
‘I made the sponge this afternoon. The cake will be ready tomorrow, the day of your wife’s birthday, so I’ll decorate it first thing.’
‘Good. Good.’ He walks with long strides and as he draws up in front of me, he pulls something from his waistcoat pocket. ‘I want you to put this inside the cake for me.’
He holds out the biggest diamond I have ever seen. It’s a massive rock – and it’s blue.
‘It’s a very expensive ring,’ he says quietly twisting it between his fingers. ‘A blue diamond, six carats.’
‘It’s stunning.’
‘There are two smaller pink diamonds on the side, see? The band is made of platinum.’
‘It’s … it’s beautiful.’
He pulls the ring away from me. ‘Of course, it’s beautiful – and extremely valuable. If I told you how much, you’d probably faint. I want it to be a surprise for my wife. No one must know about it.’
‘I won’t say a word.’
He turns and faces me. ‘I know you won’t. It would be more than this job is ever worth to you. I’d destroy your reputation.’
I stare at him. I don’t reply that my reputation has been greatly embellished. I don’t tell him that my relationship with royalty and celebrities has been exaggerated to boost my sagging confidence. I don’t tell him I’m bankrupt and that there’s nothing to destroy. I don’t tell him that I’m prepared to walk away right now and tell him to shove his ring where the sun doesn’t shine. I refuse to look away.
‘I want you to put this inside the cake as a surprise.’
‘It might get …’ I’m trying to think of the right word. How can you say a blue diamond probably worth a couple of million pounds will get dirty? Is that what he wants? The ring filled with bits of sponge?
He grins but he looks more like a predatory wolf than a married man. ‘It’ll be fun. She won’t expect it.’
‘I’m sure it will be a lovely surprise.’
‘I must be able to cut that piece for my wife. Can you do that?’
‘Of course. I can mark it.’
I’m curious about Frau Schiltz and I wonder what her reaction will be when she is presented with a slice of cake and this ridiculously expensive blue diamond ring.
‘I’ll make sure you have the ring early in the morning. I’ll bring it to you in the kitchen. But no one, absolutely no one must know.’
‘Your secret is safe with me.’
‘Let’s put it like this, Ronda.’ He moves closer to me and there’s whisky on his breath. ‘You’re the only one that knows about this, so if anything happens to it I’ll know where to com
e.’
I blink. A sudden rush of tears runs to my eyes. ‘I wouldn’t—’
‘You’d be a very stupid woman,’ he spits. ‘If you thought of double-crossing me.’
I’m still shaking my head in denial.
‘Go, now. I’ll see you in the kitchen at six in the morning but before that, come to the library in thirty minutes, I want them all to see you.’
I nod my head subserviently as I leave, cursing myself, but feeling pathetically relieved to be away from him. I stomp blindly down the deep stone spiral staircase, drying my eyes on the back of my hand but I’m distracted by the sound of loud voices from behind the bedroom door on the floor below.
An argument?
I pause and hold my breath.
‘I’m not putting up with it – that’s FINAL!’
There’s scuffling and the shouting stops, then suddenly, the second bedroom door opens and a thick, heavy figure fills the light. Jim is standing in the doorway. He’s taken off his jacket and under his shoulder is a holster and a pistol.
I continue quickly, running, holding the rope bannister descending the stairs rapidly. The only satisfaction I have, in this whole silly place, is to think that Herr Schiltz’s secret isn’t safe with me. Not at all. I have every intention of sharing it with someone far nicer and much worthier than Herr bloody Schiltz.
Chapter 6
‘A woman, especially, if she have the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can.’
Jane Austen
Half an hour later, I’m dressed in my dirty whites, but I remove my bandana and wear my best smile when I’m ushered into the library by the unsmiling Paula. Again, she stands aside at the door to let me pass as if she’s only allowed to proceed into the first square metre of the room. Standing in the doorway and seeing the sea of unknown faces, I mutter as I pass her, ‘Once more unto the breach…’
I hear her giggle before she bows out of the room.
I’m the focus of attention for everyone in the room, their conversation dies on their lips and their curious eyes seem to feast upon me.
Frau Schiltz, the woman who had held her husband’s arm walking up the long drive, approaches me and holds out a hand. She greets me in a southern British accent.
‘Hello, Ronda. I’m Louisa, thank you so much for cooking for us this weekend. We’re really looking forward to sampling your recipes.’
She’s a slim, fair-haired elegant lady who’s had Botox. She looks far younger than the fifty years she’ll celebrate tomorrow, and unfortunately, her youthfulness only makes her husband look much older.
‘It’s my pleasure.’
A tall, angular faced, but handsome woman at her side is quick to shake my hand. ‘I’m Fran, Lou’s best friend. I saw you win Masterchef on television. It’s my favourite programme.’
‘If only you’d learn something from it!’ a short man in a beige suit quips.
‘I must have the only wife in the world that can’t make toast without burning it.’
‘Stop complaining, Mike.’ Louisa laughs good-naturedly. ‘You can’t have everything in this life. The best boss in the world and the best wife!’
‘I’m not his boss,’ Herr Schiltz frowns irritably. ‘Mike is my business partner.’
‘Oh yes, silly me, you know how I don’t understand these things very well.’
I hide a smile. By her teasing tone, I guess she’s said that deliberately. Louisa Schiltz is not to be underestimated and judging from her husband’s business partner’s sullen face, she knows which buttons to press.
‘You understand very well, Mum. You know exactly. You’ve been friends with Fran and Mike for how long?’
A skinny man, younger than me in his late twenties, drains his glass of champagne and wanders over. ‘I think you do it deliberately.’ Then he whispers theatrically, ‘I know you do.’
He wears Ray-Ban sunglasses that he’s pushed up onto his head, and they hold back his long, dark curly hair. His face is tanned. It’s an expensive tan, perfect like his manicured hands.
‘Your mother and I have been friends for forty years, Jack,’ Fran says. ‘It’s her humour.’
‘I don’t think my mother has a sense of humour, does she, Freya? Does our mother make jokes?’
Freya looks up from the sofa, her mobile in her hand that is clearly the focus of her attention. She hasn’t been listening to the conversation and when she sees Herr Schiltz, her stepfather, frowning she attempts to hide her phone behind her back.
Hugo is hovering in the background, moving almost invisibly, refilling glasses. Jack holds his glass out for a refill. Hugo doesn’t look at me.
‘Where’s Gunter? Why is he always late?’ Herr Schiltz covers his champagne glass, clearly not wanting a refill.
‘Hi, I’m Chloe – Wilhelm’s girlfriend.’ A young girl with an American accent and dark eyes set too close together appears at my side. ‘I’ve never watched Masterchef but Louisa and Fran have raved about you and your cooking. Is it true you’ve cooked for the Queen of England?’
‘I’ve only cooked for William and Kate—’
‘And Charles and Camilla,’ Herr Schiltz interrupts. He clearly fell for the exaggerated credentials I presented to him.
‘Wow! Are they like they are on TV?’ Chloe drawls.
I smile. ‘I spent most of my time in the kitchen, but they were very friendly and appreciative.’
‘Did they pay you lots?’ Wilhelm is Herr Schiltz’s son. He has the same narrow face and wide mouth but without the pencil moustache and remains seated on the sofa while he waits for Hugo to refill his glass. He’s broad-shouldered, and I can imagine women would find him attractive but he reminds me of a younger version of my father. He stares at me like I’m a child, almost as if I’ve done something wrong, and I know he could make me feel guilty and paranoid, so I gaze defiantly back at him, unblinking, directly into his eyes.
‘Wilhelm, stop it. It’s not all about the money, you know.’ Chloe bashes him playfully on the arm.
We’re interrupted as the door flies open. The man looks harassed and angry, and she looks positively miserable. Her eyes are red and swollen as if she’s been crying.
‘Sorry, we’re late, Father.’
I recognise his voice and realise that this must be Gunter and his wife Roma, who have the bedroom on the floor below his father. It was his voice that I heard shouting earlier.
‘Are you alright, Roma?’ Louisa asks.
‘Hay fever,’ Roma replies apologetically. ‘I think it must be the flowers,’ she adds to her lie.
Hugo flicks a glance in her direction, smiles, and offers them a tray. ‘Would you like champagne?’
Gunter grabs a glass and moves away, leaving Roma to stand with Chloe. Mike moves away nearer to me.
‘Now we’re all here. We can get on with things – er, Ronda, you can go now. Go back to the kitchen,’ Herr Schiltz dismisses me.
I take a step backwards, insulted by his abruptness.
Wilhelm stands up muttering. He frowns and then he asks,’ What’s that smell? Can you smell it? It’s like, aftershave, it’s like …’
He receives another blow to his arm from Chloe.
‘Stop it, Wilhelm.’
He frowns.’ No, I mean it. It’s like …’
Fran moves toward him, and there’s a heavy scent of Christian Dior.
‘This castle is a maze, and we ended up on the battlements, didn’t we, Mike? The view is amazing. Has anyone else been up there yet?’
Jack nudges his sister Freya, who is trying not to look at the screen of her mobile. ‘We haven’t been allowed. We’ve already been ordered in from the garden.’
‘Excuse me,’ I say. ‘I have a meal to finish. I do hope you enjoy it.’ I leave the library and exhale deeply in the corridor, just as Paula steps out of the shadows.
‘How did it go?’ she whispers.
‘I feel as though I survived a mauling in the Colosseum.’
She
giggles but says seriously, ‘That’s nothing. Wait until later and after they’ve all had a few drinks.’
‘Oh, joy. Well, I’ll be in bed way before all of that kicks off.’
I head toward the stairs, but I pause to look back just as Paula enters the library. I see a snapshot of the family gathering but it doesn’t look like a happy occasion. There are certainly undercurrents of resentment, anger, and I wonder what else. How will I report this all back to Inspector Joachin?
* * *
The kitchen is hot, and we’re all kept busy, so when there’s a lull while they eat their desserts, I venture outside into the cooler air.
It’s past nine o’clock and growing dark. I find a bench against the secluded herb garden, lean my head back against the hard brickwork and close my eyes. It’s been a long day. I was at the airport at six this morning, and it seems an age ago.
It’s still early enough to give Tina a ring and check on Molly, so I pull out my mobile from my pocket.
There’s a sound to my left. My body stiffens. Soft footsteps, then Jim appears walking along the path. He’s menacing and threatening. He ignores me and walks into the kitchen.
Tina doesn’t answer her phone, so I leave a message then I sit listening to the nocturnal sounds of the garden stirring, and eventually I pull myself up from the bench and wander back into the kitchen.
Julie is sitting at the table and has a bowl of untouched pasta in front of her.
‘Where is everyone?’ I ask.
She shrugs. ‘I went to the loo, and when I came back, Mac says Dan and the waiting staff have gone, and Mrs Long looked exhausted so I said I’d finish up.’
‘I was expecting Paula to eat with us and Mac and Jim – and maybe even Hugo.’
‘Paula went to her room with a sandwich, and she took one for Jim. Mac says he’s been wandering around everywhere.’