by Nell Hampton
I put on the apron. “Any questions?”
“No, Chef,” they said in unison. They looked at me with trust in their gazes.
Let’s hope I lived up to it.
Chapter 3
First order of business: we had to prepare a light lunch for the children and their nanny. Next was tea for the children and the duchess. Last was the impromptu party for the children.
“The duchess usually prefers to eat lunch with the children, but she has a charity luncheon to attend today,” Michael informed me. “The nanny oversees lunch with the children to teach them proper table manners, otherwise she eats with the staff.”
“What about dinner?” I asked. “There is only a menu for the children.”
“Nanny watches them eat at dinner as well, but she does not eat with them,” Michael continued. “This way, she can correct them.”
“I see,” I said and looked at my staff. “What about you? Do you eat with the staff?”
“No, Chef,” Michael said. “We eat with you in the kitchen. Well, I will eat supper with you. Frank has a family. He eats supper with them after the kitchen is cleared and you let us go for the night.”
“You have a family?” I asked Frank.
“Yes, Chef,” he said. His eyes lit up with pride and his chest puffed up. “I have two boys in grammar school.”
“Oh, how nice,” I said. “I understand raising boys is a lot of work. Let me know if you need extra time for school functions or whatever comes up.”
“Yes, Chef,” Frank said. “Thank you.”
“Mr. Haregrove, do you live in the palace?”
“No ma’am, I live just down the street from Mr. Deems in my mum’s house. She had to go into a nursing facility last year, and so I keep her place up for her.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said and opened one of the two refrigerators to take out the produce that was meant for the children’s lunch. “You must be very busy between your mother, her house, and work.”
“Oh, no, Chef,” he said and took the carrots and asparagus from me to cut and prep them. “My mum actually likes the nursing home. She orders people about as if she were the queen herself.” He laughed. “My job is to stay out of the way and say, ‘Yes, Mum, that’s fine with me.’”
The three of us laughed. I felt that things might just work out with this staff.
The lunch menu consisted of blanched carrots and asparagus in a mild white sauce, slices of lean beef with mashed cauliflower, warm rolls, and stewed apples for dessert. Each was to be cut small enough for little forks and knives to handle. It made me smile, as back home my nephews would be eating with their fingers at this age. Not because they couldn’t eat with a fork, but because my sister was too overwhelmed to think about teaching table manners to three-year-olds.
The day flew by. For the birthday party, we needed courses that appealed to children but were sophisticated enough for adults. Shrimp cocktails were first. I made fresh pea soup for the second course. Next was a salad. For the adults, I planned a sophisticated mixed green and onion salad with vinaigrette.
Frank came in from the greenhouse with a frown on his face and a bowl of freshly cut greens in his hands.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“You look angry,” I stated as he dumped the greens into the sink to be washed and sorted.
“It’s that Jasper Fedman,” Frank said as he washed the greens, placed them on a linen towel, and dried them. “He thinks that because he is in charge of the greenhouse, we have to do whatever he says.”
“What did he say?” I drew my brows together. The last thing I needed was to alienate a member of the household staff on my first day.
“Never you mind about that,” Frank said and mixed the salad. “I set him straight, I did.”
I glanced out toward the greenhouse but didn’t see anyone.
“I should go talk to him. I don’t want anyone giving my staff a hard time.”
“No worries, Chef,” Frank said. “I took care of it.”
“Frank and Jasper get on each other’s nerves,” Michael said in a low voice beside me. “They have been fighting over the smallest things since Frank worked for Chef Butterbottom. I wouldn’t let it concern you.”
I watched as Frank plated the salads for the adults and frowned.
“I don’t like people bullying my staff,” I said. “I’ll have a talk with Jasper first thing in the morning.” Right now, I had to get this dinner ready.
The next course for the children was a pretty plate of cucumber and carrot with a buttermilk drizzle. Then came a lemon sorbet. After that was fish. The children had finger filets in a cracker crust, while the adults had seared mahi-mahi. The meat course was grilled lamb chops. I made a banana cake with vanilla bean frosting and fresh strawberry filling for dessert. The cake was something children would love but had sophisticated flavors for the adults. When it was all taken up to be served, I wiped my hands on a towel and looked around with relief. I’d done it. I’d completed my first day. It was a bit like running a marathon, but I was satisfied with all the dishes.
I glanced out to the greenhouse. What I didn’t like was a greenhouse bully. It was nearly ten at night and Mr. Fedman was long gone. I made a mental note to talk to him tomorrow. If nothing else, he needed to know that I took care of my staff.
Penny came by with a note from the duchess. I had let Frank and Michael go home and was just finishing cleaning the kitchen myself.
“Well, someone has gotten off to a good start,” Penny said and handed me a piece of official stationery.
I opened it to see a simple note of thanks from the duchess. It was handwritten. I slowly looked at Penny, who was munching a carrot stick and trying but failing to look bored. “She wrote this?”
“That’s her signature,” Penny said and sat down at the small kitchen table near the greenhouse entrance. “You made a very good impression.”
I sat down as well, stunned to have the note. “Wow. It was a good first day.”
“Until Chef Butterbottom finds out. He thinks he should be cooking for the family as well. In fact, he took his complaints to the queen herself, but she told him it was the duchess’s household, and if she wanted a private chef, then she would have one.”
“I didn’t think I was so controversial,” I said and unbuttoned my chef’s coat. “You look tired. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“American tea or British tea?” Penny asked with a twinkle in her eye.
“British, of course,” I said and stood. “I spent a week learning how to make proper tea from Mrs. Warwick at the Chicago Tea Room.”
“Chicago offers proper tea?”
I smiled. “Mrs. Warwick is from London. She worked for the prime minister in the seventies.”
“Whatever is she doing in Chicago?”
“She followed her daughter to America to see her grandchildren grow up.” I started a kettle of fresh water and spooned tea leaves into a sterling tea ball. I turned to face my new friend. “She went straight to the tea room and gave them a good talking to about how to make tea. The owner hired her on the spot. Mrs. Warwick has worked there ever since.”
Penny laughed. “You tell a good story.”
“You should have seen her,” I said. “She was quite insistent that I get all the details of proper tea making correct. Slapped my hand a couple of times.”
“Oh, dear, she makes us seem rather uptight, doesn’t she?”
I smiled and put the ball in the teapot and poured the boiling water gently over it. Then I put the lid on the pot and wrapped it in a cozy. “I’ve met a couple just like her today.”
“Ah, Mrs. Worth is one of them, I imagine.”
I got out two tea cups and saucers and placed them on the table along with a small pitcher of cream and a pot of sugar cubes. “And her secretary, Mrs. Perkins.”
“Right,” Penny said and leaned back in her chair. “Of course, they are traditionalists
. The duchess keeps plenty of that sort about to please the queen. It might be the twenty-first century, but there are still proper ways of doing things.”
I placed the teapot on the table and sat down. “May I pour?”
“Sure.”
“Do you like cream and sugar? I understand the cream should be poured before the tea.”
“Very good,” Penny said. “Yes, cream and one lump of sugar, please.”
I added only cream to mine, poured the cups, and then took a sip. There was something about the British way of making tea that added flavor I hadn’t noticed before. “How’d I do?”
“Perfect,” Penny said.
The clock on the wall struck eleven PM.
“Are you always working so late?” I asked.
“I have the room next to yours,” she explained. “I work late most days. That way I’m available to the duchess if she needs me.”
“Did you grow up in London?”
Penny smiled. “I grew up in Yorkshire, actually. My father is a doctor and my mother an accountant.”
“How did you end up here?”
“I met the duchess at school,” Penny said and sipped her tea. “She was a year ahead of me. We had a few classes together and started hanging out.”
My eyes widened. “So you were there for the entire romance?”
Penny put her cup down. “I’m sworn to secrecy on all of that.” She leaned in close. “They have so little privacy, and she’s my friend.”
“Everyone here is quite protective of the duke and duchess,” I said and sighed. “I can’t imagine it’s easy to live such a public life.”
“The duchess works very hard to see that the children get as normal of a childhood as possible. It’s why she hired you, actually. She wants the family to eat fresh and healthy foods, which is not quite the standard British fare.”
“I’ve been studying classic English dishes,” I said. “When I interviewed, she told me that she hoped to have the children eat traditional foods at home, only without the fat and heavy sauces.”
“She brought you in to bring English foods into the new millennium?”
“Yes,” I sat back. “At the culinary institute, I specialized in recreating traditional foods in a modern way.”
“Oh, Chef Butterbottom is going to really dislike you.” Penny tapped her perfectly manicured fingernails on her teacup. “He thinks you should never mess with true English recipes. Traditions matter.”
“Oh, boy.” I sat back. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
“Don’t worry—you most likely won’t meet him. He likes to stick to his domain.”
“Perfect.” I picked up the tea set, rinsed the cups and saucers, and put them in one of the two dishwashers. Adding soap, I closed it up and hit the start button. “So, do you mind helping me find my room again?”
Penny stood. “Sure thing.” She linked her arm in mine and we headed toward the door. “That’s what friends are for.”
“Wait,” I said, “I forgot to take off my chef jacket. I was told no jacket outside of the kitchen unless the dinner guests request to see me.” I hung the jacket on a line of hooks just inside the door. “Now we can go.”
I put my arm back through Penny’s and we headed toward our rooms. The door at the top of the stairs was locked. “Really? I didn’t even know there was a door here,” I said.
Penny pulled off her identification badge and swiped it. “It’s locked from eleven PM until six AM to ensure security for the family. The family is a target for kidnappers and such.”
“Wow, I never thought of the downside of being royal.”
She stepped through the door and stopped me. “You need to swipe your badge as well. There is a security camera above the door.” She pointed it out for my benefit. “It is household policy that everyone swipes their cards before they enter. They double check. The first time you forget, you are docked a week’s pay. The second time, you are escorted out of the household for good.”
“It wouldn’t do to lose a full week’s pay on my first day,” I said and swiped my card. “I really want to keep this job.”
“That’s why the consequences are so steep,” she said as the door closed behind her. She leaned in close. “There are cameras in all the hallways. Security wanted them in the nurseries, but the duchess put her foot down. There was quite the argument that the cameras would keep the babies safer, but with so many hackers, the duchess was afraid someone would steal pictures of her children playing or sleeping. Tabloids pay huge sums for that kind of thing.”
“Poor things,” I said. “I can’t imagine.”
“With great wealth and power comes great responsibility,” she said. “Well, this is my door. Room two-twenty-six. Feel free to knock any time. Once you get settled, I’d love to take you around town.”
“Sounds perfect. Thanks, Penny.”
“You’re welcome,” she said and unlocked her door. “Oh, and pay no attention to the ghosts.”
“Ghosts?”
“It’s an old palace,” she said with a wink. “There are bound to be all manner of spirits around. I generally give them a wide berth and just go about my day.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, unafraid of such silliness. “Good night.”
“Sleep tight,” she said and disappeared inside her rooms. I got to my door, inserted the key, and unlocked it. I suppose modernizing the servants’ apartments with swipe key cards was too expensive. It was a big household, and they had to cut costs somewhere.
I turned on a light and headed straight for bed. Jet lag had taken its toll. I laid down fully clothed, only taking the time to slip off my shoes and pull a throw over me. I figured I’d get up in an hour or two to shower, change into pajamas, and check my e-mails.
I closed my eyes. I thought I heard footsteps in the hallway, and the last thing I thought of before falling asleep was Ian Gordon standing in front of me, unsure of what to do with an American chef in Kensington Palace.
Chapter 4
Jet lag had me wide awake at four AM, and I realized that my tiny kitchen didn’t have a coffeepot or any coffee. I stumbled around in my clothes with my hair at a funky angle from sleeping on the bed without combing it out.
If I wanted coffee, I would have to go to the family kitchen. I knew there was a pot there. It was a twenty-five cup peculator, but at this point, I didn’t care. I stripped off my clothes, leaving them in a pile, making a note to buy a hamper. Then I walked into the bathroom to find the duchess’s thank you card stuck to my right cheek by sweat and drool. I peeled it off and saw that any value it might have had was now lost; her signature had transferred to my skin.
Hopefully a shower would fix that. Right. All the scrubbing in the world would not budge the ink. I looked as if I had asked her to autograph my face. Not exactly proper etiquette. I sighed.
By then it was four thirty AM, and I was dressed for work. This time I carried two chef jackets. One was on a hanger to be cleaned and pressed if I was ever called out to the dining room. The other would be one of the two I would keep in the kitchen to wear while I prepared meals.
Going down the hall, I was thankful that my shoes had thick soles and were therefore silent on the wooden floor. I swiped my card at each door and went down to the kitchen without seeing anyone. I turned on the kitchen light and took a deep breath. The room smelled of herbs and spices, with the lingering scent of banana cake.
Alone in my kitchen for the first time, I glanced around to take everything in. The black-and-white linoleum floors were old but clean. The tall white cabinets had porcelain pulls. There were two ovens and a gorgeous Viking six-burner stove and grill along with two refrigerators, a vegetable washing station, and, blessing of all blessings, a French press I hadn’t noticed yesterday. I wouldn’t have to use the giant perc.
A window over the sink looked out onto the black morning. There was a light on a nearby building corner that illuminated the parking lot. I chuckled as I put water in the kettle an
d put it on to boil. I had before me all the glamour of working in the royal household. Scooping out coffee beans, I poured them into the grinder and ground them coarse for the French press. I had picked up the habit of making French press coffee in college when I couldn’t afford one of those K-Cup machines. There was something about grinding beans; adding boiled, filtered water; and letting it steep like good English tea that made me happy.
The time in the kitchen was my own. My assistants wouldn’t arrive until six AM to help make a fresh but simple breakfast for the family. I pulled out my cell phone, plugged in earbuds, and turned on my favorite music.
As I sipped my coffee with cream, I went through the menus for the rest of the week. I had been given lists of the family’s favorite breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner foods. There was a list of fresh vegetables and fruits available from the greenhouse garden along with the arrival times for the daily deliveries of meat, fish, seafood, and dairy products.
My favorite song came on, and I started dancing to the music. I poured over the details I would need to create a varied, colorful menu for the week as I shuffled and shook to the beat.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. Startled, I screamed, turned, and kicked without thought. That someone was Ian Gordon, who rubbed his shin and yelled something. I pulled out my earbuds.
“You shouldn’t sneak up of people,” I said. “You scared me.” I could still feel the rush of adrenaline and hear my music pouring out of the earbuds at a high level.
“You kicked me,” he grumbled.
“It could have been worse,” I said. “My usual startle reflex is to hit the person in the nose with the flat of my hand, knee them in the groin, and push them away. Lucky for you, my reflexes are off due to jet lag.”