Wedding Soufflé and a Dead Valet

by A. Gardner

  "Why is everyone acting so strange today?" Marta asks as Lewis stops at the entrance to Rose's pub.

  "Are you ready?" Lewis asks.

  I stand behind Marta, hoping that what Lewis has planned turns out to be a good thing.

  "Lewis, it's supper time," Marta reminds him. "Rose doesn't serve supper on Fridays, remember?"

  "We're not here to eat," Lewis says. An autumn breeze blows past us. Lewis clears his throat. "Marta, I'm pleased to introduce you to your new catering team."

  "You hired Rose?" Marta wrinkles her nose.

  "No." Lewis finally opens the door to the pub.

  The pub below Rose's Inn isn't as crowded as it was last night, but most of the tables are full. My eyes scan the bar, looking for Marta's mystery catering crew. I don't know what to expect, and I don't know why Lewis is so anxious that he can hardly contain himself.

  I catch a whiff of cologne—a strong smell that takes me back to a certain time in my past. I tilt my head and scan the room for a familiar face. I don't know many men who douse themselves in fragrance like that. But I can think of one in particular.

  "What are you doing here?" Marta's eyes go wide. "I thought you couldn't make it?"

  Marta covers her mouth, and Lewis nods when he sees that he's made the right choice. My stomach jumps with excitement as Marta hugs her fellow coworker, and my former kitchen mate from Le Croissant, Destin.

  "Chef Gautier made an exception," Destin responds, his French accent bringing back memories of the time I spent interning in Paris. "Bonjour, Poppy."

  "Destin, it's good to see you." I give Destin a hug, and I'm happy to see that he hasn't changed at all. His dark hair is gelled, and his pierced ears shine in the light. I eye the squiggly tattoo on his knuckles the same way I had my first day at Le Croissant.

  "Wait, you are catering my wedding?" Marta asks.

  "Don't forget moi." Another familiar voice joins the conversation. A man is standing behind Destin, and he's about twice his size. His features look similar to Destin's, apart from his rounded nose.

  "Dandre," I shout, giving Dandre a hug. Dandre is Destin's cousin, and the two of them were lifesavers during my time in the Le Croissant kitchen.

  "Bonjour, Poppy," Dandre replies.

  "I don't believe this," Marta explains. "Where are you staying?"

  "We're staying here at the inn," Destin answers. "Unless, of course, his majesty doesn't approve."

  Marta turns to Lewis with tears in her eyes.

  "You hired Chef Jean Pierre Gautier to cater my wedding?" Marta asks.

  Lewis hesitates to respond, glancing at me.

  "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Lewis forces a twisted smile. "I know the thought of your boss being at the wedding isn't particularly appealing, but—"

  "Thank you, darling," Marta cuts in. She kisses her fiancé. "Chef Gautier may be my boss, but he's one of the best pastry chefs in Europe."

  "That he is." Lewis exhales a sigh of relief.

  "Jean Pierre is getting settled in his room," Destin says. His English sounds much better than when I last worked with him.

  "He'll be down for a coffee." Dandre glances at his watch. Dandre mostly spoke French last time I saw him, so it is a surprise to hear him speaking English almost as well as his cousin.

  "I'm impressed, Dandre," I say, complimenting him. Dandre smiles. It's a stark contrast to Destin's charming glance.

  "He has an English girlfriend," Destin responds. "Susan."

  "She's lovely, Poppy." Dandre nods. "You come back to Paris and meet her. Yes?"

  "Does she like Palmiers a la Dandre?" I ask. It is a simple snack that Dandre invented consisting of two palmier pastries with fresh buttercream sandwiched in the middle.

  "Oui," Dandre answers. "I mean, yes."

  "She sounds perfect." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and notice the way Destin is looking at me. He leans against a pub table and pretends not to notice Marta's obvious eye rolling.

  "Destin, please," Marta scolds him. "Poppy wasn't interested back then, and I'm sure she's not interested now."

  "Wait, what happened to you and Valentine?" I ask Destin. "I thought you two were engaged?" He's a lady's man by nature, but last time I saw him he was head over heels for his longtime girlfriend and emotional psychopath, Valentine. Destin once described her to me as the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him.

  "We are on a break," Destin admits.

  "Again?" I shake my head. "I really thought the two of you would be married by now."

  "Sometimes people change their minds." Destin sighs and looks toward the bar.

  "Hey," Dandre interrupts the conversation and nudges his cousin on the shoulder.

  Chef Jean Pierre Gautier makes his way through the crowd. My stomach churns the moment I see him, even though we left on friendly terms. Our relationship started out rocky, with Chef Gautier hardly speaking to me at all after criticizing a batch of my French macarons. I think about that crushing moment as if it was just yesterday as Jean Pierre approaches our table.

  Jean Pierre Gautier is a petite man. The stern look on his wrinkled face rarely disappears. The gray streaks in his hair stand out like vanilla buttercream on a black forest cake, and though he is off-duty, he still takes the time to observe the cleanliness of Rose's bar. Chef Gautier holds his nose high.

  "Thank you, chef, for accepting this job," Marta says very formally.

  "Oui." Jean Pierre nods. "When your fiancé called, I could not refuse." His French accent is the thickest of the bunch. "Your wedding cake will be magnifique, Marta."

  "He's right about that," Destin mutters. "I saw the drawing back at the bakery."

  "But I haven't told you what I want." Marta glances curiously at her boss.

  "There is no need," Chef Gautier informs her.

  "And the food?"

  "We will take care of it," Chef Gautier responds.

  Marta hates surprises, and she hates the unknown, but she smiles at the idea.

  "I look forward to seeing your latest masterpiece, Chef Gautier," Marta says.

  "Me too." I smile and nod at my former mentor. Chef Gautier pauses and looks me up and down. I'm instantly swept away to my first day in Paris when Chef Gautier asked me to make him French macarons on the spot. There's no way he'll ask me to do something like that right now, but for some reason, I'm still nervous.

  "Poppy," Jean Pierre finally greets me. "How are you, chéri?"

  A wave of relief washes over me.

  "I'm good, thanks."

  "You are a pastry chef now. Yes?"

  "Oui," I happily reply.

  "Where do you practice?" he asks. I glance nervously at Marta, knowing exactly what he's asking. I know Chef Gautier will be disappointed to hear that I'm currently unemployed. It was hard for me to admit it to Marta. But I have yet to find where my heart belongs.

  "Well…" I take a deep breath and brace myself for a lecture, a snide remark, or a look of disapproval. "…nowhere at the moment." My heart races like I'm waiting on my own father's approval.

  Jean Pierre surprises me. He doesn't shoot me a look of disgust. He doesn't shake his head like I've let him down. He doesn't lift his chin and look at me as though I'm unworthy of his company. His expression remains unchanged.

  "Eh, you are lost," he comments. "You will find your way."

  Chef Gautier's comment gives me a smidgeon of hope that I'll figure things out when I get back home. For now, I have a wedding to focus on. Lewis asked me to help him manage Marta's stress levels, and so far, I haven't had much luck. Peppercorn is still missing, Lord Chutney is still in the picture, Tamsin is still acting strange, and there's a killer on the loose. But at least the catering problem is solved.

  "How about some dinner?" Lewis asks. "We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow what with our rehearsal at the chapel, not to mention loads of obscure relatives that need introducing."

  "Where will we be cooking?" Jean Pierre asks.

  "Chutn
ey Manor," Marta answers. "That's where the wedding reception will be held. Unfortunately."

  Jean Pierre narrows his eyes, looking confused.

  "It's a lovely estate," Lewis chimes in. "And Marta's mother went through a lot of trouble to have our reception there. The actual wedding will take place here in town though."

  "Yes," Marta mutters. "Otherwise we would have loads of no-shows."

  "Dinner." Destin holds up a finger and takes charge of the awkward conversation. "Yes, we are very hungry. Aren't we, Dandre?"

  "Oui," Dandre immediately replies. "Always."

  "Okay." Marta takes the first opportunity to avoid discussing her parent's issues with Chef Gautier, especially since things between her mom and dad haven't improved any. My guess is that they won't until Lord Chutney is out of the picture. "We have two options."

  "Excellent," Destin responds.

  "There's a place here in town, or we can take the train." Marta looks at Chef Gautier. "It all depends on what sort of food you want."

  "No home-cooked meal?" Destin teases.

  "Not unless you want a simple pasta dish," Marta says. "But you would have to put up with my mum's excessive talking about orchids, cross-stitching, and her royal boyfriend."

  "Are you and your mother anything alike?" Destin asks.

  "I certainly hope not," Marta quietly answers.

  "Then I would like to meet her." Destin grins, looking at the bar. "I'll grab a few bottles."

  "I was joking, Destin. I'm not bringing you round to my mum's house." Marta crosses her arms as if she's back in the Le Croissant kitchen. "You would surely give her a heart attack."

  Destin opens his mouth to say something in response, but he suddenly stops himself when a woman joins our circle. I grit my teeth at the sight of Tamsin. My patience for her flighty behavior is hanging by a thread. Tamsin is wearing a long-sleeved top that sinks low enough to expose the top of her lacy bra. Her wrist is conveniently covered again.

  "Marta, did I miss something?" Tamsin smiles as she observes Destin, Dandre, and Chef Gautier.

  "Tamsin," Marta says loudly. "Perfect timing. I would like you meet the new catering crew."

  "Oh, I see the ole fiancé actually came through, did he?" She places her hands on her hips.

  "Shocking, I know," Lewis chimes in, reminding Tamsin that he's present.

  "So, where are you lads coming from?" Tamsin asks, welcoming the new distraction.

  "Le Croissant," Destin immediately answers. He dials his charm up a notch. "Perhaps you have heard of it."

  "Le Croissant?" Tamsin repeats. She takes a moment to process the information before her eyes go wide. "Wait a minute."

  "Tamsin, meet the head pastry chef and my boss, Chef Jean Pierre Gautier," Marta says. She gestures toward Jean Pierre and forces a smile.

  "Oh, so you are Jean Pierre Gautier." Tamsin covers her mouth as if she's meeting a celebrity. "I've heard so much about you from my editor. Oh, she would die if she knew I was meeting you right now."

  My eyes dart to Lewis—the only other person in the room who knows that Tamsin was fired from her job in London. Lewis shrugs off her comment, and I try to do the same. For Marta's sake.

  Jean Pierre reacts to Tamsin the same way he does most people.

  He doesn't.

  "Tamsin, nice to meet you." Destin wastes no time introducing himself. He's a flirt by nature. "I assume Marta has told you all about me."

  "Uh, no," Tamsin replies. "Sorry, mate. Marta isn't one for details."

  "So is her mother the same way or—"

  "Destin," Marta scolds him. "Enough talk about my mum."

  "Oui, I am starving," Dandre adds.

  "You're always starving, Dandre," Destin says. He has no problem teasing his cousin about his size. At first I thought it was rude of him. Later I realized that Dandre really doesn't care. He's proud of his size and proud of the fact that he has access to some of the best sweets in France. For free.

  "Where shall we go, darling?" Lewis asks, attempting to get the group moving.

  "How about we eat here in town and then come back to the pub for a drink," I suggest.

  Marta takes a deep breath in order to calm herself.

  "Yes, Poppy, that's a lovely idea," Marta agrees. "Okay, here goes nothing."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "How do you say this again?" Dandre glances down at his almost empty bowl of Rose's finest. After a long dinner, which mostly consisted of Destin prying for more information about Marta's childhood and Marta shutting him down, we returned to Rose's and were greeted with a surprise.

  Rose had made a giant batch of sticky toffee pudding. She claimed she'd had an inkling to make toffee sauce. I guess she went a little overboard. Dandre was the first to finish his bowl. I savor a spoonful of toffee sauce, enjoying the little crunch Rose had added with the addition of chopped walnuts.

  "Sticky toffee pudding," I answer.

  "Sticky toffee pudding," Dandre repeats. He sets his bowl down on the table, rubbing his rounded belly in satisfaction.

  "You should try Marta's pudding," Lewis adds. "It's positively splendid. The sauce is much darker. More like caramel."

  This is my first, official encounter with sticky toffee pudding, though I've had other desserts that were similar. The dark spice cake is moister than a traditional cake, and the toffee sauce on top oozes throughout each bite. It reminds me of a classic chocolate lava cake, except this sauce is poured over the top, and the cake isn't made with chocolate.

  "How does she get the cake to taste so…" I try to find the right word, but I can't.

  "Fudgy?" Marta guesses. "It's the dates. Mine is similar to the one Rose makes."

  "I would love to learn the traditional English way," I reply. "Too bad there's no time for a cooking demonstration before the wedding."

  "It's a shame too," Marta adds. She takes a bite of her pudding and briefly closes her eyes. "Sticky toffee pudding is like beans on toast for me. It brings back happy memories. Mum made one at the end of every school year to celebrate me receiving top marks in my studies."

  "Lucky you." I chuckle. "My mom refused to use sweets as a reward. Instead, she would remind me how lucky I was that she and my dad were paying for dance lessons."

  "Bonne nuit." Chef Gautier stands up. "I will say good night now."

  "Good night, chef," I respond.

  Dandre takes the opportunity to retreat to his room also. Destin raises his glass at his cousin and dives back into his conversation with Tamsin. Marta and Lewis finish their puddings and whisper in each other's ears. I sigh and stare down at my bowl. Tonight my date is covered in toffee sauce.

  "Aye, you!" The pub is alive with conversation and laughter, but a loud voice blasts through our table. It grabs everyone's attention. Destin and Tamsin cease their giggling, and Marta looks up from her last bit of sticky toffee pudding. "I said you!"

  A man who looks like he hasn't showered in weeks stumbles toward our table. He points a finger at Marta and scowls. Lewis puts down his dessert and immediately stands up in Marta's defense. I catch a whiff of what smells like cigarettes mixed with day-old fish fry.

  "Excuse me?" Marta answers, glancing around the table.

  "Yeah, you." The man slurs his words, leaning against our table to support himself. "How dare you do business with that arse Lord Chutney?" The man raises his voice even louder. "After what he did to this town."

  "Okay, Arthur." Rose rushes to Marta's aid. "I believe you've had enough for tonight."

  "Oh, bugger off." The man pushes Rose away, but he hardly has the strength to do so. The man coughs, and his eyes dart to Tamsin. He squints, staring in her direction.

  "Arthur," Rose says again. "Let me ring for a cab."

  "Eh." Arthur pushes her away again and stumbles out of the pub.

  "Poor Arthur Taylor," Rose comments, watching the drunk stumble into the night air. "You'll have to excuse him. He's taking the loss of his son pretty hard."

  The entire tab
le falls silent as Rose resumes her duties behind the bar. Marta takes a deep breath and grips her bowl of sticky toffee pudding tightly.

  "What was all that about?" Destin is mystified.

  "Perhaps we should all head off to bed," Marta suggests. "We have a long day tomorrow."

  "Superb idea," Lewis agrees.

  "Poppy, are you coming?" Marta throws on her coat and quickly tosses her scarf around her neck.

  "Yeah." I stand up too. I've had too much to drink. And when I say drink, I mean I've had too many waters, which was my friendly attempt at supporting Marta's no-alcohol rule for the evening. She doesn't want to deal with another splitting headache this close to the ceremony. I knew Tamsin would ignore her request, and I was right. "Give me a minute. I need the restroom."

  "The loo is over there." Marta points me in the right direction.

  I pay a quick visit to the bathroom, washing my hands and fixing the smear of mascara near my eye. The door flies open, and Tamsin enters the ladies' room with her makeup bag in tow. She occupies the sink next to me and pulls out a selection of lipsticks.

  "Do you know that bloke, Destin, very well?" Tamsin asks me. "Marta won't slip me any details. I suppose she doesn't want me meddling in her work life."

  "I know he has a girlfriend," I respond, unsure that piece of information will stop her from going after him anyway.

  "They're not together at the moment," Tamsin says, studying her reflection. "At least, not according to him."

  I take a deep breath.

  "You know, maybe getting involved with Destin isn't such a good idea." I give Tamsin the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it hasn't crossed her mind that an affair with Destin might make things awkward for Marta when she returns to work.

  "Why not?" Tamsin frowns.

  "For one, Marta works with the guy," I point out. "If things go south between you and Destin, that might stir up some drama in the kitchen."

  "She can handle a little drama." Tamsin laughs and refreshes her lipstick.

  My stomach churns. Tamsin has gone from pleasant to strange to exhausting to be around. I shake my head. Marta was right. Tamsin and Marta are two very different people. And, in my opinion, trouble seems to follow Tamsin even more than it follows me.