The Concealers

by Janet Pywell

  * * *

  I make my escape, and head back to my room, and I dig out Joachin’s mobile from my weekend bag.

  My text reads.

  It’s all kicking off. Mr Schiltz is resigning tonight. He wants the business located in Europe. He’s putting Gunter and stepson Jack in charge.

  I pause, wondering how to say the next part, then I type.

  Wilhelm is p****d off and fighting with Jack – jealous? Fran (Mike’s wife) told Louisa this pm that Mike is involved in transporting illegal reptiles from China to America – maybe that’s a reason?

  I press send and wait.

  Nothing happens.

  I sit thinking about the Schiltz family. My parents had never been kind. After Mum died and I went into the army, my brother had a few more years at boarding school, and instead of joining the military, he took a few menial jobs. He stood up to my father by not contacting him. At the first opportunity, he emigrated to Australia. Although we’re not terribly close, I do miss him. And, ironically, since he’s been gone we have become even closer with regular online chats.

  I stand up and stretch then practise a few kickboxing moves to limber up my aching muscles. When I check again, Joachin still hasn’t answered. It’s Saturday evening, perhaps he’s gone out for dinner with his wife?

  I delete my message and hide the phone in my bag before heading back to the kitchen.

  Mrs Long looks up when I walk in and by coincidence, one minute later, Hugo walks in behind me. His timing couldn’t have been worse but then I think, judging by the mischievous twinkle in his eye, he did it deliberately. Was he following me?

  * * *

  ‘Dan,’ calls Mrs Long, as I return to the kitchen. ‘Can you clear the library, then sort out the table in the Grand Hall? The waiting staff won’t be here for another hour.’

  Jim the chauffeur strolls into the kitchen. I turn away determined to avoid his gaze. He pulls out a chair at the far end of the table, slips off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. His arms are thick with black hairs and solid muscle, like ham joints.

  Mrs Long says, ‘Do you want something to eat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A please wouldn’t go amiss,’ she mumbles, but Jim ignores her and concentrates on his mobile, waiting for her to serve him. She warms lasagne and adds salad to his plate, and he eats greedily, putting one spoonful after the other into his mouth, his eyes never leaving the mobile screen as he scrolls with his thick finger.

  As I walk over to the pantry, I take the opportunity to look over his shoulder. It seems as if he’s set up a secret camera. It’s a small and grainy picture, but there’s a figure moving around. He’s monitoring a room. Which one?

  ‘Ronda?’

  I turn quickly, and Jim looks up.

  Paula hovers in the doorway and beckons for me to join her.

  ‘Are you alright?’ I ask.

  ‘Herr Schiltz wants to see you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, now. In the library. He doesn’t look very happy.’

  My heart begins its familiar unhappy thumping.

  Chapter 10

  ‘Seldom ever was any knowledge given to keep, but to impart; the grace of this rich jewel is lost in concealment.’

  Wendell Phillips

  The library is empty apart from the lone figure of Herr Schiltz. He wanders from the window to the unlit mantelpiece. A massive arrangement of summer flowers, stocks, yellow tulips, red and pink roses, fills the hearth.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Sit down, Ronda.’

  I close the door and aim for the small sofa where Louisa and Fran sat chatting this afternoon. I take the opportunity to gaze at the bookcase, looking for the spy hole where Hugo and I had listened earlier to their conversation, but I can’t see anything.

  ‘Ronda.’

  His voice distracts me. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I said, sit down there.’

  I perch on the edge of the seat, my back straight.

  ‘Were you in my bedroom today?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Why?’

  Herr Schiltz paces up and down, and I remember my father, the morning I had mustered the courage to tell him I wasn’t going to join the army. I had my sights on a cookery course. I had the hotel and catering college prospectus, and there was a year in France where I could practise my skills. I had been beside myself with excitement. I was determined. I had to be true to myself. But my father barely listened. He had other plans for me, and he wasn’t about to let me lead my own life, let alone go to France. His voice had been icy, his posture threatening. That’s when he’d spat that I was ungrateful, and a liar, and a useless girl with no talent for anything.

  ‘Because someone said they saw you.’ Herr Schiltz stops pacing in front of me, and I’m forced to look up at him.

  ‘Who?’ My heart is hammering.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘How could they?’ I have to challenge him. I have to stand my ground. But I’m thinking of Jim and the video images that he was studying in the kitchen. ‘Well, I wasn’t there.’

  ‘You were on the battlements this morning with Hugo.’

  I stare at him. ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did you get up there?’

  I stand up.

  ‘I’m a chef, Herr Schiltz. You asked me here to cater for you and your family. I’m not here to be interrogated about my whereabouts every minute of the weekend, but I’ll be honest. I have spent time with Hugo, and he insisted on showing me the spectacular view from there.’

  ‘How did you get up there?’

  I stare at him.

  I don’t want to involve Hugo until I’ve had a chance to speak to him and we both tell the same story.

  ‘I think you should ask your chauffeur these questions. He seems to know everything.’ Herr Schiltz looks taken aback. ‘He’s the one who is in the kitchen watching people on remote cameras that he’s planted around the castle—’

  ‘That’s none of your business. Jim’s done it now, under my instruction because of the invasion of my privacy.’

  ‘Then if that’s how you want to behave – spying on your family – then go ahead. But please don’t involve me in your petty family scandals because I have nothing to gain or lose. I’m not interested.’

  He looks affronted, and he blinks.

  I continue, ‘Now, I’m going back to the kitchen to finish off the birthday meal for your wife. And, I’d appreciate your discretion with my friendship with Hugo because Mrs Long is looking for a reason to be angry with me, other than the fact that I’ve taken over her kitchen. You might have your family scandals and politics, but like in Downtown Abbey, this is no different. The staff downstairs also have their political agendas …’

  I’m warming up now and I’m in full flow.

  ‘To be honest, Herr Schiltz, all I want is to be professional.’

  I face him, dressed in my whites, with my bandana still tied around my spiked hair. My face, I know, is filled with anger, pride and determination just as it should have been when I faced my father over ten years ago.

  ‘Right, go back to the kitchen,’ he says, obviously determined to stay in control.

  I’m on a roll, and I want to cement my newfound confidence when I see a movement. It’s a very slight shift, over his right shoulder, in the bookcase. I know that we’re being watched, not by a camera hidden in the room by Jim, but by someone hiding in the secret passageway behind the bookshelf.

  I could call out. I could name and shame, but I don’t. I walk out of the room, wondering if Hugo had witnessed our complete exchange.

  * * *

  Mac wanders aimlessly around the kitchen but manages to stay out of our way. ‘I believe Herr Schiltz was holding individual meetings with everyone. I think he’s told them his future plans.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ Julie glances up.

  M
ac shakes his head morosely. ‘I have a feeling that thunder is on the way.’

  I monitor and check each course.

  Julie helps me, working under my direction, and we work well as a team.

  As I enter the Grand Hall with the first course, Hugo follows me to explain the choice of wines with each meal. I smile, and he winks back.

  I make a point of serving Herr and Frau Schiltz first, and while he studiously ignores me.

  Louisa beams delightedly.

  ‘My goodness, thank you, Ronda. This looks delightful,’ she exclaims, and she leads a smattering of applause. ‘So, this is the grouse the men shot today?’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply.

  ‘Did you cook it whole?’ asks Fran.

  ‘I removed the wishbone and legs as they cooker quicker otherwise they might dry out.’

  ‘What’s the sauce?’ Gunter asks.

  There isn’t a hint of our earlier encounter in the small hall.

  ‘The brambles are garnishing. I fried off the grouse in butter and thyme and popped it in the oven for a few minutes. Then I sautéed the mushrooms, spinach and watercress. There’s some blackberry jam if you like or gravy if you prefer.’

  There’s a spontaneous burst of applause led by Roma.

  I smile gratefully.

  By the time I return with dessert, Scottish raspberry cranachan, the guests’ voices have risen several decibels. Fine champagne and wine have been consumed, and their voices seem louder, more querulous.

  Herr Schiltz taps a knife on the crystal glass and asks for silence.

  ‘I’m sure you will all agree with me when I say this is probably one of the best meals we’ve ever enjoyed in Scotland, so please give Ronda a round of applause.’

  I pause at the doorway. I suspect it’s the only meal, apart from last night, they’ve eaten in Scotland.

  The guests clap, and even Jack and Wilhelm who sit at opposite ends of the table applaud cheerfully. They all seem a little drunk apart from Freya who has her mobile at her fingertips.

  ‘Thank you. It’s been my pleasure.’ I make a small bow. ‘But we’re a team in the kitchen. I couldn’t have done it without them.’

  ‘I love your bandanas,’ Fran shouts, applauding.

  I smile and, as the clapping dies down, I make my escape back to the kitchen.

  Mac is leaning against the sink, near the back door with his arms folded.

  ‘You’re popular,’ he says.

  ‘They love Scottish food,’ I whisper, smiling.

  ‘What’s your secret then?’

  ‘Fine quality honey and a single malt whisky.’

  He nods. ‘I’m impressed.’

  ‘Mrs Long should be out there with me, but there wasn’t time to call you all in.’

  Mrs Long straightens her back. ‘There’s never any thanks in this business.’ She takes off her apron and tosses it on the back of the chair vacated earlier by Jim and says, ‘I’m calling it a night. I haven’t been out of the kitchen all day, not like some people.’ She glares at me, and I wonder if she wants me to challenge her, so I smile.

  ‘Have a lovely evening, Mrs Long.’ I wonder if she’s hurrying home to her husband, Mac’s father.

  ‘There’s not much left of it.’ She picks up her handbag, and as she passes Mac, she mutters, ‘I’m going to call in on Maggie. I want to make sure she’s alright.’

  ‘Maggie?’ I ask him.

  He raises his eyes to the ceiling. ‘My ex. They get on.’

  I grin back at him.

  ‘Where’s Jim?’ I ask.

  ‘He’s back upstairs, prowling as he does.’ Mac glances out of the window, distracted.

  ‘Prowling?’

  ‘I caught him last night out near the stables after you’d gone to bed. He said he was stretching his legs, but I swear that guy has got eyes in the back of his head. I swear it. He must be military trained. He hears everything.’

  ‘Really?’ My mouth goes dry.

  ‘He reckoned someone was upstairs in Mr Schiltz’s bedroom this morning.’

  ‘Weren’t all the guests out?’

  ‘That’s what I said. I said it was probably Cheryl and her sister, they do the cleaning, but he wasn’t having any of it.’

  ‘Oh.’ I’m not sure what to say.

  ‘He said he saw you and Hugo on the battlements.’

  I turn and smile. ‘Yes, I wanted to see the view.’

  ‘I think he likes you.’

  ‘Who? Jim?’

  Mac smirks. ‘You know perfectly well I mean Hugo, Ronda George!’

  * * *

  While they finish dinner, I head outside, where the setting sun is casting a beautiful pink and mauve glow over the sky and the trees beyond.

  I sit on the bench beside the garden wall and check my watch.

  Nine-thirty.

  Julie comes outside. ‘Can I sit with you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She pulls a packet of cigarettes from her pocket. ‘I shouldn’t, I know but, oh well…’ She flicks the lighter and inhales deeply.

  ‘Do you enjoy working here?’

  ‘Most of the time. This weekend has been one of the best. I’ve had a break from the place where I rent. It’s nice out here. It’s the proper countryside.’

  ‘It is lovely.’

  ‘Do you like Mac?’ she asks.

  I look at her flushed face.

  ‘He seems a very nice man.’

  She flicks an imaginary piece of ash from her skirt. ‘He’s asked me out.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘He’s at least five years younger than me.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘What would Mrs Long say?’

  I shrug. ‘It’s none of her business but to be honest with you, she should be very honoured and proud that her son has found a lovely woman to take out on a date.’

  Julie giggles. ‘It’s not a date, but I’m not sure.’

  ‘Are you married?’

  ‘Divorced. Hamish and I barely lasted two years.’

  ‘Well, Mac’s single now too.’

  Julie nods, stubs out her cigarette and hides the butt behind a dead leaf in the earth. She stands up.

  ‘I’ll come inside in a minute,’ I say.

  Just as she leaves, Hugo appears.

  ‘I was looking for you,’ he says.

  ‘Why?’

  He slides onto the bench and sits close beside me. ‘What did you think of that conversation this afternoon?’

  ‘I don’t know. I guess it’s none of my business.’

  ‘They’re a strange family, aren’t they?’

  I lean my head back against the brickwork and close my eyes.

  ‘Tired?’ he asks.

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Do you want to come upstairs to the battlements and see the sunset?’

  ‘We can’t do that. We are not guests.’ I grin at his eagerness. ‘How about after they’ve eaten the birthday cake? You organise a bottle of Chablis for the workers, and I’ll organise us some food?’

  ‘You’re only after me for the wine.’

  ‘True – I suppose a bottle of champagne is out of the question.’ I smile.

  ‘Off-limits.’ He nods thoughtfully.

  ‘Did Herr Schiltz make his grand announcement?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, it’s quiet. No fights. They seem to have taken the news well.’

  ‘On the surface, yes.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Some of them have been doing shots. They’re heavy drinkers.’

  Dan puts his head out of the kitchen door and calls out.

  ‘I don’t want anything to eat. Is it alright if I go? Can I leave early?’ He grins. ‘Before it all hits the fan.’

  * * *

  When I return to the kitchen, Mrs Long is in a panic.

  ‘Ronda? Where were you? They’ve been looking for you. They want you in the Grand Hall immediately.’

  I stare at her. ‘Me?’
/>
  ‘The cake, they want to cut it now and they want you there. Hurry up! Now!’

  I put my hands to my bandana and straighten it up.

  ‘Leave that, you look fine. It’s bad enough that Hugo had disappeared but you as well, hurry up.’

  Paula escorts me to the dining hall where Hugo is busy serving glasses of chilled Dom Pérignon.

  ‘Ah, Ronda,’ Herr Schiltz says, ‘Come over here and stand with us. This is a great photo opportunity for you all.’

  Freya, Roma and Jack take the hint and lift their phone cameras and stand up from the table.

  I shuffle up beside him, trying to smile.

  ‘I won’t eat you,’ Herr Schiltz adds, his excellent humour obviously restored.

  I smile, but it’s as fake as the castle paintings above our heads.

  ‘Gather around.’ He beckons to everyone, and suddenly chairs are scraped back, and we’re surrounded by family.

  ‘Fab cake, Ronda.’ Freya smiles at me and, encouraged, I smile back. She clicks a photo.

  ‘You’ve done an amazing job, Ronda. Look! There’s even a golf buggy, how clever of you. I love it.’ Louisa claps her hands together.

  I smile.

  They exclaim their delight and heap praise on the cake, but my mouth is as dry as a summer’s day.

  Herr Schiltz picks up the cake knife, and he turns to me.

  ‘There are no surprises, are there, Ronda?’

  I can’t speak. My fake smile freezes, and suddenly I have this awful feeling that I’ve been played. I’ve been cheated.

  Herr Schiltz knows that I’m the only one who’s aware of the ring hidden in the cake, but he seems to be laughing at me.

  The family gather around.

  Jim takes a step closer.

  ‘Come on, my dear Louisa. My birthday girl. Let’s cut your cake together.’

  There’s a smattering of oohs and ahhhs and applause as Herr Schiltz takes his wife’s hand as if it’s their wedding day, and he places it with his hand on the hilt of the knife.

  It doesn’t look right.

  I hold my breath.

  They cut a wedge with the fondant golf ball on top and he slides it onto a plate.

  Herr Schiltz frowns. He tilts his head, examining the sponge and, from his expression, I know there’s something wrong.

  The ring is gone.