Monster Chef

by Margaret McHeyzer

  MONSTER CHEF

  Copyright 2014 Margaret McHeyzer

  All rights reserved.

  This book is copyrighted. Apart from the fair purpose of private study, research or review as permitted by the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced without written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  isbn: 978-0-9925621-7-5

  Formatted by: Max Effect

  Honour the past –

  but write your

  own future

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Also by the Author

  PROLOGUE

  “You do understand the opening here is for the maître d’?” Angus, the owner of Table One, asks me.

  “Oh, I thought it was for wait staff,” I reply as I smooth my pencil skirt down my legs. Fidgeting, I look around his office. It’s clean and tidy with a few papers in his out tray.

  “I was particularly impressed with your resume, Holly. You’ve been in restaurant management positions before, and I think you could handle this,” Angus says, returning my attention to him.

  “I’ve not been in the industry for a few years, so it would probably take some time for me to get back into the swing of things. I’m not sure I’m the person you need for maître d’,” I answer as honestly as I can.

  It wouldn’t be fair to them, for me to take on such an important role, given I’ve been out of the industry for seven years.

  “If I didn’t think you’d be able to handle the job, I wouldn’t have said anything to begin with. But with your extensive experience, you could bloom here,” he says as he sits back in his chair. “I took the liberty of asking our head chef to drop on in to introduce himself, and perhaps you can see for yourself who you would be working with.”

  Wow – talk about getting thrown in the deep end. I applied for a simple wait staff job and he’s trying to talk me into taking the maître d’ position.

  Wait, why is there no maître d’ here? Table One was awarded a Michelin star, only to lose it within the last twelve months. A red flag is waving in my mind.

  “The head chef?” I ask, slightly curious to meet the man I might be working with. Truthfully, I should probably have done some research on the restaurant, more than just seeing it was awarded and stripped of its Michelin star.

  “Yes, Pierre LeRoux. Have you heard of him?” he’s challenging me, to see how much I know about Pierre LeRoux.

  And holy shit, have I heard of Pierre.

  His reputation as an arrogant arse precedes him; I’ve heard horror story upon horror story about him. He’s made both his female and male sous chefs cry. The wait staff hates him, and the turnover at this restaurant is incredibly high.

  There are also rumours about his personal life, though other than his wife’s death four years ago, I’ve not really paid attention to anything else I’ve read or heard.

  “Yes, I know of Pierre,” I say. At the moment I speak, the door to the office flings opens, and the sound of the handle hitting against the wall startles me.

  I’m startled, but I don’t turn to look at the man who’s made such a grand entrance, because I know that’s what he wants me to do.

  I straighten my back, sit taller in my seat and hold my head up, waiting for the pompous arse to walk around to face me. I’m not going to give him the time of day.

  “Who is this?” he asks in an angry, thick French accent.

  “This is Holly. She’s interviewing for the maître d’ position,” Angus answers, steepling his fingers and tapping them against his lips.

  “Non!” Pierre says emphatically.

  “I beg your pardon,” I say, still seated with my back to him.

  “Who are you to question me?” he says, without even coming into my line of sight.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Pierre, but I am interviewing for the position.” I smile at Angus and place my hands in my lap.

  “Non, she will not do.”

  “Excuse me?!” I stand from the chair and turn my body quickly around to see Pierre leaning up against the wall. He’s tall, over six feet, and his arms are crossed over his chest in a belligerent posture.

  “Non, I do not want you,” he says and flicks his wrist at me dismissively.

  My shoulders straighten and I hold my head up high, smiling at his stupidly smug expression. His brown hair is long and flops over his eyes, his big broad shoulders are slightly slumped, trivialising me. And his eyes look at me with contempt.

  I pick my purse up, put the strap over my shoulder and turn to Angus.

  “When would you like me to start?” I ask.

  No temperamental chef is going to get the better of me.

  “I said non!” Pierre asserts, pushing off from the wall.

  “It’s not your choice, Pierre,” I say, putting a hand on my hip.

  Screw him and his God complex. He can’t tell me what to do. If he doesn’t like me, that’s his issue to get over.

  “You take her, you lose me,” Pierre spits out, giving Angus an ultimatum.

  What. The. Hell!

  “Really? You think someone will hire you? Guess what? You’d be lucky if you landed another job in a month. Your reputation is well known. No one wants a chef who built this place up to a Michelin Star then had it stripped twice as quickly. Go ahead, make your damn threat,” I spurt. Where the hell did that come from?

  “You… you… insufferable woman!” he almost screams at me.

  I turn to look at Angus then swing my head back to Pierre.

  “Do you mind leaving now? Angus and I need to talk about a package and that’s private information you have no need to know.”

  “Angus?!” He looks at Angus, his face ashen, his eyebrows knitted together. If this were a cartoon, I believe steam would be coming out of his ears and scorching hot flames out of his eyes.

  Angus looks amused. His eyes travel between Pierre and me, down to his desk, and back to us again. I get the impression he’s trying very hard not to laugh out loud.

  “Thank you, Pierre. You can go back to your kitchen.”

  I try to hold the smile in, but I really can’t. I turn to Pierre and give him a smirk, just to piss him off even more.

  “Imbécile,” he murmurs under his breath, as he walks out and slams the door behind him.

  I slump my shoulders, embarrassed about my own conduct, “I’m so sorry, Angus. I don’t know what came over me, but his behaviour was something I wouldn’t even tolerate from my seven-year-old. I apologise for my outburst, but if you don’t mind I’d like to wait another moment or two before I leave. I’d like to retain
a little of my dignity.”

  “A moment or two won’t be enough time for us to talk salary and benefits.”

  Did he just say he’s going to hire me?

  “I’m sorry?” Did I hear right?

  “No one has ever spoken to Pierre like that. I think you’re exactly what he needs. And furthermore, exactly what I need for my restaurant. Please, sit so we can discuss a package which will suit us both.”

  As I sit, my mind ticks. Did this actually happen?

  Looks like I landed a job as maître d’ at Table One, with an arrogant Frenchman as the head chef.

  Great.

  ONE

  Holly

  “Hey Peanut, how was school today?” I ask Emma as I come in through the front door of our home.

  “Did you get the job?” she asks, eagerly looking at me with her big brown eyes.

  “I want to know how school was first.”

  “It was good. Ebony said she’s going to invite me to her birthday party, but she’s not going to invite Saxon ‘cause he was being mean to her. I told Saxon we’re all friends and he shouldn’t say mean things to Ebony. He told me I was being a sticky beak. What does he mean, Mum?” she asks almost in one breath.

  “A sticky beak is someone who puts their nose into other people’s business.”

  “I wasn’t being a sticky beak. I was just sticking up for Ebony ‘cause she’s my friend.”

  “And you keep sticking up for your friends. Don’t worry about what Saxon says. As long as you’re doing the right thing, then it doesn’t matter.”

  “Okay, Mumma.” She goes quiet for a moment, then her energy returns and she jumps up and down on the spot. “Did you get the job?” she squeals.

  “Yeah, I did. It means Nanna is going to look after you on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights while I go to work.”

  “I know, and I’ll try and be really good for Nanna so she doesn’t get mad at me.”

  I kiss Emma on the head and go into the kitchen, where Stephen’s mum is making dinner.

  “Hi Bronwyn, how’s your day been?” I ask her as I come around and grab a piece of cucumber from the salad she’s chopping.

  “Great. I took Em to the library after school and she got a book, then we finished her homework. She’s had her bath and I’m just making dinner.”

  Stephen and I always had a great relationship with Bronwyn. Her husband died before I met and married Stephen, and when Stephen passed away, it made sense for us to move in with her. Not that we couldn’t manage on our own. Stephen left us a huge life insurance policy so we would be comfortable for the rest of our lives.

  But Bronwyn lost her husband, and her son, I lost the only man I’ve ever loved, and Emma lost her Daddy.

  We were each other’s pillars of strength, and Emma needed it as much as Bronwyn and I needed it. His accident was nothing short of tragic, and it ripped us apart from the inside for the longest of times.

  It’s been nineteen months since his accident, and I need to regain that small part of me that died the day the police came to our door, hats under their arms, with a sorrowful look in their eyes.

  I knew something had happened before they even spoke. When they asked to come inside, everything started moving in slow motion.

  I didn’t hear a word they said after that. They sat on the sofa opposite me and their mouths were opening and closing. I couldn’t hear them, I could barely register they were there.

  “Car accident,” they said.

  When my eyes dragged away from the invisible spot on the carpet and finally saw the sadness in the police officers’ eyes, I knew. That morning, Stephen got up, got dressed, had his breakfast and left for work.

  He would never return to his family again.

  The last words that were spoken between us were, “Can you pick up some milk on the way home?”

  I didn’t tell him I loved him; he didn’t tell me he loved me. He simply walked out the door and disappeared. He was killed on his way home from work.

  Just thinking about Stephen’s death has made me go quiet.

  Bronwyn understands, because I catch her wiping at a stray tear. When that happens, we both just hug the other without words being exchanged.

  “Mummy, I’m hungry.” Emma’s interruption into my glumness is most certainly welcome.

  “Nanna’s just finishing dinner now; it shouldn’t be too much longer,” I say as I embrace her and kiss the top of her head. “Can you go get your homework book for me? I want to see what you’ve done before you hand it in tomorrow.”

  Her little body goes limp against me, her shoulders slump and I feel an impending argument coming on.

  “Do I have to?” Emma says, drawing out the word ‘to’.

  “Yeah, because you have to hand it in tomorrow, and I’d like to see what you did today.”

  Emma pulls away from our warm hug and trudges toward her bedroom to get her homework.

  “How did the interview go?” Bronwyn asks as she begins dividing the salad onto three plates.

  “I got the job, but I don’t know how long I’ll last there. The head chef, he’s something else,” I say, shaking my head just at the thought of the arrogant Frenchman.

  “Why, what happened?”

  “He came into the interview, and without even acknowledging me, told Angus, the owner, he didn’t want me.”

  “Oh dear, sounds like he’ll be a difficult man to work with.”

  I nod in agreement. I have a feeling he’s going to either get me fired, or I’ll resign.

  “But you’ve never backed away from difficult situations,” Bronwyn says as she begins bringing our dinner over to the table. “Look at my son. You wouldn’t even date him. You made him work for it for six months before you decided to give him a shot.”

  I smile, knowing exactly what she means.

  “Here you go, Mummy,” Emma says, handing me her homework book.

  “Let’s have a look.” I flip it open to this week’s homework, and start looking over her work. “How do you spell ‘garden’?” I ask Emma.

  “Mum, Nanna already did this,” she whines.

  “You may have done it with Nanna, but now I want to hear how smart my little girl is. You can spell garden, because it’s here on your list words for the week.”

  “G-a-r-d-e-n,” Emma says, beaming, knowing she has it right.

  “Not bad at all, let’s see if you know how to spell ‘laugh’.”

  “We learneded at school that g and h makes the F sound.”

  “Learned not learneded,” I correct her.

  “We learned at school g and h makes F. L-a-u-g-h.” She stands tall and proud.

  “I think you’re alright at this spelling business,” I say as I drag her in for a cuddle.

  “I don’t have to go to school anymore, Mummy, ‘cause I learneded everything I need to know.”

  “Not everything, because it’s learned, not learneded.” I smile against her soft, berry-smelling hair.

  “Oh yeah.” She pauses for a moment, takes a deep breath, then continues, “I’ll go to school for another week then,” she says, innocently. Both Bronwyn and I chuckle, knowing by the time she goes to bed, she will have forgotten all about it.

  ***

  “Mummy, will you tell me a story?” Emma calls from her bedroom as she settles in for the night.

  I walk into her room, and it looks like there’s been an explosion, with clothes and toys all over the floor.

  “You need to clean this room, Emma,” I say as I manoeuvre through the mine-field.

  “It is clean,” she says, staring at all things on the ground.

  “Missy, you need to clean this room by Saturday, or you’re not going to Skyla’s birthday party on Sunday.”

  Emma rolls her eyes, Little Miss Attitude already, and she’s only seven.

  “Mummy,” she says as she burrows further under her thin blanket.

  “Yes, Peanut.”

  “Do you think Daddy misses us?” Emma ask
s as she looks up into my eyes, my own strength depleting quickly. Though I hate talking about this with her, I still need her comfortable enough to talk to me about her dad whenever she wants to express herself.

  “I think so, because I know how much we miss him; Nanna, you, and me. And he loved us so much, I can only imagine wherever he is right now, his heart would still be filled with love for us.”

  “Do you think Daddy’s happy where he is?” Her big brown eyes gloss over as tears fill them; she’s doing her best to be strong. Sometimes we need to know when to let go, and now’s one of those times.

  “Aw, Peanut,” I say as I move closer to her and wrap her in my warmth. “I think Daddy is really happy where he is, but I also think if there were a way, he’d be standing next to you, watching over you and making sure you’re happy.”

  “I never want to forget Daddy,” she says as the tears spill down her cheeks.

  “We’ll never forget Daddy. We love him too much.”

  Emma hugs me tightly. Her little body, filled with so much sadness, begins to get heavy. We’re in this tight embrace until she totally relaxes in my arms. When her head lolls back and her mouth falls open, I know my beautiful brown-eyed, brown-haired beauty is fast asleep.

  I lay her on the bed, cover her with the thin blanket and kiss her forehead.

  “I hope you’re watching over us, Stephen,” I whisper, praying he’s close enough to hear me.

  TWO

  Pierre

  I walked into Angus’s office and the first thing I noticed was the long, thick, dark brown hair that fell evenly, in perfectly straight strands down her lower back.

  No way was she going to be right for the job. Her hair alone told me she worried too much about her appearance, which means she probably wouldn’t follow my instructions as I needed her to.

  Then, she stood and turned to face me. Her eyes were fierce with anger and her body straightened, completely challenging me.

  Who the hell does she think she is?

  When I looked to Angus for support, the fool was sitting back in his chair smirking at me.

  I will make her life hell. I’ll call her on everything she does wrong, I will embarrass her until she quits. No glorified waitress is going to stand over me.