Claire Gulliver #03 - Intrigue in Italics

by Gayle Wigglesworth

  “What is with that woman?”

  “Where could she have gotten poisonous mushrooms?”

  “What would have possessed her to eat one?”

  “Is she all right? Can we do anything?”

  Millie shook her head. “Chef Martin has gone after her. He was going to find Sam to take LiAnn to the hospital. And of course, get Marie Verde to go with them for translation sake.”

  “Millie, remember that day we took a walk?” George waited for her nod. “Do you remember we saw some mushrooms down there?”

  She nodded again, understanding his point. “You think she picked them there? Without knowing what they were?”

  “Well, you know how positive she is that she is always right. She probably thought they were mushrooms. I bet she never guessed they could be poison, otherwise, I’m sure she wouldn’t have eaten one.”

  Millie felt sick; that poor foolish woman.

  Then realizing time was marching on she rallied. “We need to make sure we clean the area thoroughly and then we’re going to have to throw away the cabbage rolls and start again.”

  She saw their protests and shook her head again. “George says he washed his hands before returning to the cabbage rolls, but LiAnn was working on them and she had been handling the mushrooms. We can’t take a chance on poisoning people.”

  That stopped all discussion cold.

  “Did she touch anything else?” The heads shook their reply; you could see them trying to digest what Millie had just told them.

  “I don’t think we have enough beef for another round of cabbage rolls. Maybe we can get some from Chef Geno,” Randy said.

  “If he doesn’t have any beef to spare we could use turkey or Italian sausage,” was Renee’s suggestion.

  George nodded. “I’ll go ask. What about the mushrooms?”

  “I think we just don’t serve them. They were really going to be the garnish to the lamb shanks and polenta; we’ll do without. Who will know?”

  The others nodded their agreement. George went to the other side of the kitchen to confer with Chef Geno. Renee returned to finish the fish rolls and Randy gathered up the cabbage rolls which needed to be destroyed. Millie cleaned the work station where the mushrooms sat before scrubbing her own hands thoroughly. Then she joined Randy to assess the amount of cabbage and sauerkraut that was still untouched. They were going to have to hustle to finish the dinner in time to get cleaned up for cocktails.

  * * *

  She retraced her steps, looking carefully for the street Senora Sorenson had described. There it was! But no wonder she couldn’t find it. It was but a tiny passage way between two buildings, hardly even an alley. She entered the gloom, shivering slightly with excitement at being so close to the answers to her questions. The alley curved and now she could see the sign. Obviously you had to know about this restaurant, no passers-by would stumble on it by accident. Yet, when she went through the door she found it jammed with people.

  “I’m meeting someone...” she started.

  “Your name, please.”

  “Claire Gulliver.”

  He smiled. “Ah yes, the gentleman has been waiting. Follow me please.” He led her through the entire restaurant. Claire could see it was an upscale establishment and she was glad she wore the one dress she had packed for the trip. The maitre’d led her to a tiny alcove which sat apart from the other diners. The man at the table was sitting with his back to her and hearing them approach he stood and turned toward them. She gasped, halting still in her tracks.

  The maitre’d looked at her strangely, so she smiled and nodded. “Grazie.”

  She reached out and clasped Jack’s hand. “It is really you, isn’t it?”

  He looked different. His hair was dark brown, with only a little gray about his ears. His eyes were brown instead of blue and his skin was still weathered, but now had a dark tan hue. All in all he looked like a native, even to the stylish suit and loafers he wore.

  But his smile was the same and she relaxed as she took her seat, only then realizing she still clasped his hand. She would have pulled it free, but he wouldn’t let go.

  “So, you’re not safe anywhere, are you?”

  “This wasn’t my fault. It didn’t have anything to do with me.” Then she paused, a thought hitting her. “It didn’t, did it?”

  He shook his head and she relaxed once more.

  “I checked. Of course we’re always looking for Guiness. And even now when everyone is watching for al Qaeda terrorists, we’re still keeping our eyes open for Guiness. It would be just like him to strike now while everyone is watching another arena.”

  They looked up as the waiter approached. “Chardonnay?” Jack suggested, then nodded his head toward the empty glass sitting in front of him.

  As soon as the waiter left Claire asked, “Jack, what are you doing here? I haven’t heard from you since we left D.C.” Her face fell as she remembered the terrible events which had occurred just days after she arrived home.

  He nodded. “Everything changed then. I was gone the next day. I had a complete change of assignment. Everyone is stretched to the limit. I’ve been in this area for a few months, but now that assignment is winding down. I couldn’t believe it when I heard you were here.” He paused looking at her. “And in trouble. Again! Luckily I gave you that number to call. But I didn’t really think you’d have to use it. I thought you were safe in Bayside.”

  “Well, I was. Then my mother talked me into joining her in Italy. Just a little trip to idyllic Italy she said. And..., well, you know what happened, don’t you?”

  “Aaron explained.” Then seeing her confusion, “Aaron is the man you spoke to on the phone.”

  “Thank god you gave me that number. I don’t want to think about what would have happened if I hadn’t called.” She shivered.

  “Well, to set your mind at ease, Claire. Kristen is safe, thanks to you. The mole has been uncovered. I’ll tell you the details later when we’re alone. But I know you’ll worry, so this way we can enjoy our meal.” He grinned at her. “We do seem to have trouble having a decent dinner together, don’t we?”

  She laughed softly, remembering their broken date in York and the wild storm in Washington D.C. “I think it’s you, because I usually lead a very staid existence.”

  “Sure you do. I wasn’t anywhere near you on this trip until you made that phone call.”

  She nodded. That was true. She had gotten herself into this mess all by herself. But she wasn’t sorry. Because if she hadn’t been so determined to make sure the woman she saw wasn’t her friend, Kristen, Kristen would be dead now. Goosebumps ran down her spine and she gave an involuntary shiver.

  She reached for the glass of wine the waiter had just set in front of her and took a sip. It was so good she took another, and then she felt better.

  “This restaurant is known for their fish. I suggest the fish soup, it’s famous. Then perhaps this dish.” He pointed at her menu. “It’s a local fish.”

  She nodded and the waiter smiled his approval and left. “I’m sure it will be better than last night’s meal.”

  “Where did you eat?”

  “Some tourist trap not far from my hotel called The Blue Grotto, the Fish Grotto, or something like that. The food was expensive and inedible.”

  “That’s a shame. Venice has a profusion of wonderful restaurants and you must have stumbled into the exception.”

  She changed the subject. “I got your postcards. At least I assumed they were from you as they were signed Bernie like the rest.”

  He nodded as he looked at her carefully. “You look good, Claire. I remember your laugh, your sense of humor, often your intelligence, but I guess I forgot how nice you look.

  “And you’ve done something to your hair, haven’t you?”

  “And do you think of me often?” she inquired.

  “Probably more than is healthy for me.”

  “I thought you were going to retire.”

  He nodded.
“As did I. But when tragedy struck, duty called. Suddenly it was not a good time to worry about my own plans. You know?”

  “Well, I’m sorry you’re in the middle of it again. I imagine it’s very dangerous for you. But speaking as an American, I’m very grateful you’re on the job. I know you’re good at what you do, and I’m sure we need as many people like you as we can find.”

  The waiter brought large bowls of steaming fish soup and, while the name sounded plain, the soup was anything but. Claire found she was hungry and eagerly ate smiling at Jack when she met his eyes over her bowl.

  She was really glad to see him. Twice before he had miraculously stepped in when she was in a very tight spot. She had begun to regard him as her personal knight. She had first met him on her trip to Great Britain almost a year ago. That was the trip when she had been drafted as the tour leader after her friend, Lucy Springer, had a serious accident and became wheelchair bound, so was unable to go. When the rest of the tour members had been determined to continue on the trip, she, as one of the sponsors, albeit an inexperienced traveler felt she had to support them. Little did she know what problems she would face.

  Jack had been the professional tour director supplied by Kingdom Coach Tours in London. Then he had sandy blond hair turning gray, blue eyes and an English accent. And he was cheeky. They didn’t get along at first — not openly hostile, but bristling on many occasions. Then as the tour progressed, while they worked together to overcome one hurdle after another, they somehow came to rely on each other. Then they began to trust each other. When they parted at the London Airport, both felt sad their friendship was over. Of course, it wasn’t. Because, as it turned out, the trip wasn’t yet finished.

  She paused, refusing to think about that time. She didn’t need to relive all that now.

  Then dipping her spoon back into the delicious soup she thought of Jack’s appearance in her life last September. She had been invited to Washington D.C. to attend a board meeting at Vantage Airlines. They had wanted to thank her personally for her role in adverting disaster to their company. She hadn’t been in town more than a couple of hours when someone boldly attacked her on the Washington Mall.

  And the person who saved her life was none other than Jack. He was also in town, albeit for other reasons. However, since he had also been invited to the board meeting he knew she was coming. He had just missed her at her hotel, so had headed down the Mall, hoping he could catch up. He did and just in time.

  She had a lot to thank Jack for. And she was relieved he was here in Venice, because when he said Kristen was safe, she could believe him.

  “I guess you were hungry.”

  She looked at her empty bowl and smiled, nodding. “Guess so.”

  Then she said, “Jack, who handed me that note and how did they find me?”

  “We’ve had someone on you since you left Florence. Didn’t you notice?”

  She shook her head, thinking back. “No, I didn’t see anyone. They must have been good.”

  “I hope so; their lives depend on their skills. We just wanted to make sure no one was interested in you. We didn’t want to make the mistake of protecting the wrong target.”

  She paled a little, but nodded. She understood. “And was anyone watching me?”

  “No, no one seems to be interested in you.” He grinned. “Except me of course.” The waiter arrived with their plates. “So we’ll talk about that later too, okay?”

  She nodded happy to turn her attention to the food in front of her.

  CHAPTER 15

  The dining room was noisier than usual. All the participants had dressed in their best, the wine was flowing freely and the mood was festive. Chef Martin had slipped into his seat shortly after the appetizers were served, which relieved Millie’s anxiety. George, who sat across the table nodded at her. He too had noticed. Ruth said in her ear, “Relax, everything must be under control if he’s back. I’m sure you’ll find out later what happened.”

  Millie nodded and felt the worry finally drop away as she concentrated on the plate before her. The crab puffs were exquisite. She couldn’t wait to try this recipe when she got home. At the end of each day they had been given copies of all the recipes served to them, including those used in demonstrations and the ones the Villa provided for breakfast and lunch. Each participant would be returning home with a cookbook for their own exclusive use. And since the Villa was making arrangements to send the bulky binders home for them, they had agreed to pack and send the pottery Millie bought. Thank god! She didn’t know what she had been thinking, buying all that bulky pottery. Well, of course, she knew she was getting some beautiful pieces for a fraction of what they would cost at home, even considering what the shipping would cost. But she hadn’t been thinking suitcase dimensions when she made her purchases.

  She finished her glass of wine, and the waiter was right there filling it again. The wine seemed more potent tonight. It was probably because it had been a long and stressful day. She decided she best just sip or she’d be out of it before their little graduation ceremony was over. When the waiters brought in the Turbot Rolls with Hollandaise Sauce, Millie eyed the dish carefully to make sure it had been plated according to their instructions. Not only did it look beautiful, it tasted divine. The spinach and leek filling was just right, enhancing but not overpowering the delicate flavor of the fish, while the Hollandaise Sauce they used was the perfect way to complete it. The rest of the group seemed to appreciate the dish. And just as they finished, the waiters whisked away those plates replacing them with dishes of cabbage rolls, simmered in sauerkraut. And then finally, the lamb shanks in rich dark gravy on polenta, their coup de grace.

  “Wonderful. Superb!” Stephen breathed his approval.

  Considering his occupation Millie felt pride swell her head. George winked at her and did a thumbs-up sign to Randy and Renee further down the table.

  “Millie, you did yourself proud. What a wonderful combination.” Even Ruth was in awe of the dishes.

  When the dinner plates were cleared away, the waiters passed around small dishes of peach champagne sorbet to cleanse their palates before the dessert course. And of course, bottles of dessert wine were poured.

  Millie took a tiny sip of the sweet wine, then rolling the wine around on her tongue, tossed caution to the wind and took a bigger swallow. If she had a headache in the morning she’d just live with it. After all tomorrow was only a travel day; she didn’t need to have her wits about her.

  Ruth’s Group B succeeded in capping this wonderful meal with outstanding desserts. It was hard to only taste them. Millie’s spoon seemed to have a will of its own as it dipped repeatedly into the trio of offerings which had been plated together so everyone had all three at once.

  Ruth kept a running description of the preparations going, so all those sitting near her felt as if they had been in the kitchen with her. But nobody minded, because every dessert was outstanding. And while they might not have been in Group B they all wanted to have made these desserts.

  Then it was time for the final critique. Everyone was aware that this was the last time they would be together. The comments were enthusiastic and kind.

  “I loved the cabbage rolls. But in my country, Croatia, we use paprika to flavor and add color to them.”

  “Ah, but here in Italy we don’t use the sauerkraut. We use a tomato sauce. But I liked this variation.”

  “The lamb shanks were wonderful. I’m so glad to have this recipe.”

  “I agree the shanks were divine, some of the best, but I think they needed a vegetable to share the polenta. The plate looked a little bare,” Stephen offered.

  Michael nodded. “Yes, mushrooms would have been the perfect addition.”

  Millie nodded seriously, afraid to look at George, not wanting to give anything away by her expression.

  Chef Martin stood, held up his hands until everyone quieted. Even the waiters clearing the last of the dishes paused. Absolute quiet fell.

  �
��Ladies and Gentlemen, on our last night of class it gives me much pleasure to turn this over to Rafael Angelino, who you will remember from our introductory luncheon. He represents the Italian Culinary Association, which sponsors this annual Retreat.

  Rafael got to his feet, grinning widely. When finally the clapping died away he began, “Thank you all. I have been in constant communication with Chef Martin; with Chef Geno here at the Villa and, of course, with Marie Verde who has spent her time making sure that all events were coordinated perfectly. I believe I can safely proclaim this has been the finest Retreat we have had.”

  The applause bolstered by cheers and whistles made it clear that everyone agreed.

  “I know you have worked hard and I, myself, have witnessed the fruits of your labors at this truly magnificent meal...” again the applause drowned him out and he waited patiently for it to die away.

  “It gives me great pleasure to award your certificates of completion and a few tokens of gratitude from the Italian Culinary Association.” He held up one of the mushroom shaped hats like the ones they had worn in the kitchen, only these had their names and “5th Annual Italian Culinary Retreat, Villa Tuscany, 2002” embroidered in blue on the band which went around the head. And he held up chef jackets, similar to the ones Chef Martin and Chef Geno wore, which were also marked with their names and the Retreat logo.

  The participants smiled and clapped once more.

  “Oh, we’re going to look so good in those it will be hard to stay in the kitchen. When we cook dinner for the Richman brothers and their wives we have to go into the dining room so they can see how good we look,” Ruth whispered happily to Millie.

  Millie agreed, nothing like some of the trimmings to enhance the dish, or in this case, the chef. She had been planning a thank you dinner for her former bosses since she arrived at the Culinary Retreat, and Ruth had insisted she would act as her assistant chef. She said it would be like final exams.