IN THE SHADOW OF STRANGERS: A wealthy man is about to change her destiny …but it’s a secret.

by Wendy Reakes

  He shrugged with an unnatural movement. “I saw you leave the run. I was concerned, that’s all. So I decided to follow you…just to make sure you were all right.” He stabbed his poles into the snow at the front of his skis. “Come on, follow me. I’ll guide you out.”

  She wanted to refuse his help but her confidence was waning.

  They headed back through the trees to the edge of the run and he turned around. “What’s your name...? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  She almost smiled, but she felt like an idiot. She’d rather just get out of there and away from the stranger whose eyes pierced hers. “Katherine Killa.”

  “Not spelt with an ‘ER’ is it?”

  “It’s K. I. L. L. A. So you needn’t fear for your life.”

  “Well Katherine Killa with an ‘a’, it’s been nice meeting you. See you around! If you make it to the bottom that is.”

  “I’ll make it.”

  “Good.” He smiled as he went ahead of her. “Oh, just in case you’re wondering, my name’s Jack.”

  She thought the name suited him. “Jack what? It’s not Jack the Ripper’ is it?”

  He chuckled. “No, it’s Taylor.” He stared into her eyes. “Just ol’ Jack Taylor!”

  Exhausted and aching all over, Katherine eventually arrived at the bottom. She found Fran sunning herself on the terrace of a café, sipping on a cup of steaming hot chocolate with her feet propped up on a white plastic chair. She shielded her eyes as Katherine’s shadow blocked out the sun.

  “What took you? Want a brew?”

  “Yes, I want a brew. And put something strong in it.” She pulled the chair from under Fran’s feet and sat down.

  Fran signaled for the waitress. “So, how did you get on?”

  “Oh! No problem! It was a doddle, actually! So easy, I think I might go back up and do it again in a minute!” She felt like she was on the verge of ranting. Completing that run had been the most terrifying thing she’d ever done. She’d been crazy to listen to a girl who treated everything like an adventure.

  “Do it again?” Fran leaned back in her chair and tilted her face to the sun. Katherine’s sarcasm had gone over her head. “I wouldn’t. They’ll be closing the lifts soon.”

  Katherine gave up the tirade. Instead, she wrapped her hands around the warming cup, and as she sipped her drink, she thought about the stranger on the mountain, and wondered if she’d ever see him again.

  Chapter 10

  Jack pulledinto the side of the ski run just a short way down from where he’d left her. He lost himself amongst a crowd of students being head-counted by their tutor. Bending down, as if he was adjusting his boots, he saw Katherine appear from the cluster of trees. He watched her take a deep breath before she pulled her goggles down over her eyes. Then she began her descent at the side of the run. Leaving a safe distance between them, Jack followed her to the bottom, watching her glide to the edge of a wooden veranda to place her skis upright in the snow next to a hundred others. Tentatively she stepped onto the wooden surface where she joined a girl with blond hair. After he watched her sit down, happy she was safe, Jack cut across the run and glided away in the other direction.

  Now he was on the phone to Gordon, ringing from a call-box on the road to Interlaken. “You’ll be happy to know I’ve just saved her from falling off the side of a cliff.” He chuckled to himself as he thought about how Gordon would react to that. He was keen to make him suffer. He could sense Gordon’s panic even from that distance.

  “Is she all right?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, she’s fine. But she’s seen me now. My covers blown!” He embellished the phrase with an American accent.

  “What did you make of her?”

  Jack pondered the question. “I thought she was sensational!”

  A pause.

  “Now, look Jack. This isn’t just some ‘bird’ we’re talking about here.”

  There was another pause as Jack imagined Gordon’s expression on the other side of the phone. “You’ve got the wrong idea,” he laughed. “I think she’s great, but that’s all. Don’t worry.” The truth was Jack thought more about her than that. If he was going to honest, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt so good about any woman.

  “What are you going to do now?” Gordon was saying.

  “I may as well come back. If she sees me again, she’ll think I’m stalking her.”

  “Well, it looks like we have no choice. Okay come on back. I’ll make other arrangements for Katherine.”

  “Christ, mate! Why don’t you leave her alone? She’s just living her life. What right do you have to protect her like this…without her knowing? It’s weird!” Gordon was too wrapped up in his own need to repay a senseless debt.

  “Well, if I hadn’t she’d be dead now wouldn’t she?” Gordon said with his own unique logic.

  “That’s ridiculous. People make mistakes all the time and she made hers today by going off track. She was okay in the end. That’s life, mate!”

  “Yes, her life, not yours! So back off, Jack!” There was a silence as each of them realised they had never argued like that before. “Look, we’re upset,” Gordon said. “Let’s just leave it at that. Come on home and we’ll meet up for a pint when you get back.”

  “Okay, I’ll ring when I get off the plane.”

  Jack left the phone box and stepped into the hired car he’d parked on the side of the road. He thought about Katherine. He really did think she was sensational.

  As he inserted the key into the ignition, he failed to see the car coming towards him. It hit him before he had chance to look up; the impact making the other car explode before both vehicles careered over to the side of the road into a wall of hardened snow.

  And even though he had only just met her, before Jack lost consciousness, it was Katherine’s face that flashed before his eyes.

  Chapter 11

  1982

  The sun shone for Katherine as she walked along the Strand. Her strides were long and purposeful as she neared the place that was her most desired goal. She felt good, confident and excited, comfortable in the outfit she’d chosen for the interview of her life. The plain black skirt -not too short- rested on her knee with a modest black and white Polka-dot blouse on top, making her look demure with its collar tied at the nape. Around her waist she wore a black leather belt, showing off her slim hourglass shape, and she wore moderately healed sensible black shoes. She’d tied her long auburn hair into a ponytail that fell down her back and she wore the minimum of make-up. Rose and Annie had said she was a picture of elegance when she’d left home that morning. ‘Prim and proper’ they’d said, but still she noticed men turning to stare at her as they passed by.

  At five minutes to ten, she turned off the Strand into a side road; the only road in England where the cars drove on the right. She stopped at the corner and gazed at the finest hotel in the world - in her opinion - the Savoy with its famous silver name plate held high and the statue above it guarding its name. A liveried doorman tipped his hat as she pushed her way through the gleaming revolving doors. Inside, as her heels touched the marble floors, she stopped to marvel at the interior of the most prestigious hotel in London.

  Around the room, wood, brass and marble finishes gleamed as people busied themselves with their day. Long and shallow carpeted steps led to the restaurant on the lower level, where waiters worked in the vast dining area, putting finishing touches to tables laden with white and pink linen, crystal glasses and silverware gleaming from the light from the numerous chandeliers. In the centre a round trellis-covered platform displayed a harp waiting to be played to diners who would be, that evening, sampling the Savoy’s finest cuisine. Brown leather sofas and wing-back chairs furnished the elegant foyer where a businessman in a pinstripe suit was reading the Financial Times. A waiter in white gloves replenished his empty cup on the table in front of him, sitting next to a green telephone, awaiting a call.

  Katherine went to the long rece
ption desk at the side of the room. “I have a ten o’clock appointment with the chef,” she said politely and looking a lot more confident than she felt. She wondered if the receptionist would treat her differently once she realized she wasn’t a paying guest and merely a potential member of the kitchen brigade.

  Instead she said, “Very well, madam, I will inform chef you’re here”

  Katherine couldn’t be more impressed. The receptionist reached for the phone as Katherine surveyed the opulent foyer, to take it all in, to lap up every detail of its interior and ambiance so that she could describe it all later to her family at home.

  The receptionist ended the call. “Chef Legard has been delayed but he sends his apologies. If you’d care to take a seat.” She motioned to a sofa near the stairs to the restaurant.

  Katherine waited only minutes before a chef, dressed in immaculately clean whites, looking tall and distinguished, entered the reception area and walked towards her. The guests in the foyer turned to stare at him, as Katherine stood up and shook his hand.

  “As I explained in my letter…” He had a strong regional French accent. “Until a permanent Head Chef is appointed for the main kitchens, I am doing the interviews for all of our new recruits.” Yes, she already knew that and she was excited about a new maître chef de la cuisine soon joining. He’d be new, like her. And who knew what ideas he’d be bringing with him from his native Germany. As far as Katherine was concerned, it was perfect timing. She was the luckiest girl in the world.

  The chef led her behind the reception desk and through a concealed door. When it closed behind them, she felt like she’d just stepped into another world. The contrast from the front hall to the back of house was striking. Long corridors, like a network of subterranean tunnels, allowed access to every part of the hotel from the back to the front. Walls covered in clean white tiles displayed pipes running along their lengths, turning corners, ascending and descending, following floors and ceilings. Old printed signs pointed the way, emergency lights illuminated the windowless gloom and metal staircases rattled as they climbed.

  They’d been walking for over five minutes when they suddenly came upon a metal ramp inclining upwards. They turned another corner and arrived at a series of individual rooms; smaller kitchens branching off the main one.

  As she walked briskly, trying to keep up with the long strides of the chef in front, they walked into the main kitchen. Twenty or thirty chefs were going about their duties, sharing the same engaging look. It was still early, so she assumed they were preparing for the day and not yet bombarded with orders from restaurants and rooms. The kitchen was old, as old as the hotel itself, but it was brightly lit and the polished stainless-steel gleamed between towers of steam rising from stockpots on the old stoves. Huge gas ranges covered with canopies divided the stations, with prep tables and fryers, salamanders and bain-maries at their sides. Through the opened windows at the side of the vast room, Katherine could hear the familiar bustle of London noises outside the opaque windows. The smell was indistinguishable, as all the food aromas blended into one. The only way to describe it was that it made her feel hungry.

  The chef guided her through the vast kitchen, as he pointed out the various sections laid out in rows with three enormous polished-black ranges at the far end fired with coal; used to prepare dishes on the hot-fish section. To the side was the hors d’oeuvres kitchen and finally in kitchens dedicated to their own culinary specialty was the larder, the cold fish section and the butchery. Through the middle, a hot-plate ran the length of the room where chefs work on a tannoy, reading out checks brought in by the waiters. At the far end, in a room with three glass walls; the office of the head chef, reigning supreme, a vantage point for him, whoever he may be, to survey his brigade.

  On the long bus ride home to Wales, Katherine recalled the interview and the questions she’d answered with confidence and skill. She’d sat on a chair next to a refrigerated safe where precious tins of Beluga caviar and foie gras were stored. “There are thirty others candidates,” chef Legard said, “with only one vacancy.”

  She’d nodded politely, but she was trembling inside.

  “You must understand that if we were to offer you the position, to be accepted would be the ultimate compliment and privilege.” He flicked through some random papers. “There is also the question of your gender. We have females here, but they generally work in the patisserie downstairs. You have requested a position in the main kitchen but we only have male chefs here.”

  “I realise that, chef,” she’d said respectfully. “But you should know by my enthusiasm alone, my ambition and dedication cannot be questioned. The privilege I feel for simply being here for this interview should be testimony to how much I appreciate this opportunity. As for the gender part, you can see from my references I come highly recommended, despite being a female.” She took a deep breath and he nodded in response. “There would be nothing too much for me to handle and I would work as hard as any of the male chefs out there, often harder. I want this position more than anything I’ve ever wanted before, so perhaps you should consider giving this girl a chance.” She finished with a determined slant of her lips, wondering what he thought of her.

  When she arrived home later that evening, Annie and Rose were waiting just inside the door. “Chef Legard called,” Annie said. She started to read from a note she’d scribbled on, coughing to clear her throat. “He’s very pleased to inform you that you were successful in your interview and that he would like to offer you the position.”

  Katherine was too tired to get excited. She’d think about it again in the morning. “That’s great. But, mam…why are you talking like that?”

  “Like what?

  “All formal-like!” she teased. “You know, with your posh voice,”

  “Katherine!” Annie said. “This is the Savoy. Show some respect.”

  Katherine movedto London one week later. Going into the kitchen on her first day dressed in full chef’s whites carrying her own roll of knives, she shook hands with her co-chefs. By introduction, they offered their full name and title. ‘David Smith, chef de partie, saucier, Mike Conner, commis chef garde-mange…’ As she took up the protocol, she introduced herself as Katherine Killa, commis chef poissonier-froid, after being told she was to begin her time at the Savoy in the cold fish section.

  Two weeks into her arrival, the new head chef took up his own position in a hotel that boasted Auguste Escoffier as one of his predecessors. He’d brought with him a large German sous chef with a handlebar moustache called Heinrich Oberman. They called him the Doberman and it was easy to see why. He was loud and brash and all the chefs in the kitchen treated him with caution as he paraded around like a sergeant major governing the minions. On his first day, Heinrich went to the cold fish section where Katherine, along with two other chefs, were preparing Paupiettes de sole Veronique for a banquet that evening.

  “Guten-tag,” he boomed, “And who do we have here?” His giant frame stood at her side with his great shoulders towering over hers.

  “Katherine Killa, commis poissonnier-froid, chef,” she answered in a professional and respectful manner.

  “Ah! Well, well.” He ran his fingers over the rolled fish fillets in the buttered pans, “So! It’s girls in the kitchens now, eh?” he guffawed.

  It was nothing Katherine hadn’t heard before, but she hadn’t expected it from one of the senior chefs. Without making eye contact she remained tight-lipped as she worked her filleting knife between the bones and the flesh of the fish.

  But he took offence at her lack of response. “I want to prepare a new dish for the chef to try. Go and get me some peeled prawns.”

  She bristled and put her knife down on the stainless-steel table. “Oui, chef. But a sil vous plait wouldn’t go amiss!” She couldn’t believe she’d said it. She was rash…stupid.

  “Whaatt!” he bellowed. “Dahlink, you think you can work in a kitchen like this?” He put his face closer to hers, but she stood
her ground. She was in deep now. From what she’d heard of Heinrich, he could make her life a misery if she upset him. “What will you do when you chip one of your finger nails, eh?” he guffawed with his moustache shaking.

  She smiled prettily. “I could paint them red and if one falls into someone’s soup it won’t be hard to find.” She couldn’t stop the words spilling from her mouth. She was an idiot…a fool. Her career meant too much for her to blow it because of some crazy misplaced pride.

  “Ahh! Vielen Dank!! We’ve got a live one here, boys.”

  She backed down. What else could she do? There was too much at stake. “I’ll get the prawns, chef.” She wondered what her mother would say if she got fired. She paced towards the vast walk-in fridges, but before she pulled open the door, she heard Heinrich’s voice boom behind her. “I’m waiting,” he bellowed. “GET A MOVE ON, Girl!”

  Katherine cringed with embarrassment. She knew he was trying to humiliate her in front of the other chefs. It was too much. Her pride was hurt. Without knowing what she was going to do, she walked back towards him. The other chefs stopped working, their hands still on the fish and their knives suspended in mid-air. Everyone was watching her. Heinrich’s bloated cheeks had slightly reddened and she detected a glimmer of worry in his eyes. She went to his side and with her eyes blazing, she stared at him and said quietly, “Oui, chef!” The look on her face was enough to make her message as clear as day; that she wasn’t going to put up with his rudeness. Not for anything. Job or no job.

  As she turned away, Heinrich took hold of her arm and stopped her in her tracks. “Never mind!” He addressed one of the other chefs. “What’s your name, boy?”