by F. C. Clark
4
Sitting at the kitchen table I hear a creaking on the stairs – it’s Harry.
‘Bonjour,’ I quip as she enters the kitchen.
‘Good morning,’ she says cheerfully. I’m not sure what she is hiding – amour springs to mind.
‘Sit down. I need info, and I need it now… Take pity on me, I start cooking for an old codger today, and – my erotic dreams have stopped. Maybe the old codger needs a trophy wife?’ I raise my brows. Perhaps he does…
Harry pulls out a chair and joins me at the table as I wait patiently to learn of her steamy love affair.
‘That’s your own fault. I told you to hand-deliver the shirt to Prince Charming. But because you’re a stubborn pain in the arse I now have to attend my sister’s wedding as she becomes a trophy wife.’ How very droll. Harry the comedian appears for one morning only – I hope.
‘Let’s not rehash that little debate.’ Is she right?
‘I’m waiting.’ I pass Harry her tea.
‘Kate, he’s adorable – attentive, kind, mature, good-looking.’ She sighs – a good sigh, a sigh of love. ‘He took me to a French restaurant and ordered for me in French – it was super sexy.’
‘Oh my God. I’m so excited for you.’ I clap.
‘He wants to meet you and the girls, but I think it’s too soon?’
‘Yeah, I agree: enjoy this stage. It’s nice to meet someone, and only your opinion of him counts.’
‘You’re right – a Harper secret.’
‘Absolutely.’ I reach across the table and gently touch her hand.
‘So, how was is it?’ Harry asks.
‘It’s all a bit bizarre. Firstly, I’m not allowed to talk about it… And wait for it: I’m getting paid a thousand pounds a week for cooking the evening meal, dropping off the dry-cleaning – oh, and keeping the fridge stocked.’
‘Bloody hell!’ Harry looks the way I feel – bewildered.
‘I know, right? It’s crazy.’
‘Why can’t you talk about it?’
‘I have no idea. My new employer wants anonymity. I have to leave by six thirty.’
‘Is he single?’
‘He had the most beautiful walk-in closet; well, it was more like a room, and there wasn’t a single piece of female clothing.’ I sit back in my chair, proud of my MI5 observation skills.
‘Hmm, interesting… Maybe he’s famous.’
I shake my head. ‘No… Don’t forget, he works nine to five. I was thinking maybe a politician, or something along those lines.’
‘That sounds plausible, and the reason for being secretive.’
‘Right. Anyway, I had to sign an anonymity agreement.’ The words roll off my tongue, as though this is normal behaviour.
‘What! You’re cooking for an old codger – what’s there to discuss? Maybe he has a food fetish,’ Harry giggles.
‘In that case, I’m the wrong girl for the job.’
‘Well, I’ve heard it all now. Is that what having money does to your brain?’
‘I don’t think we’ll ever know.’
‘Give me poor and sane any day.’
‘Well, anyway, it didn’t state on the form I couldn’t discuss it with my sister.’
‘My name was not on the form?’ Harry asks, giving a cheeky smirk.
‘No – Harriet Harper was definitely not present. I must be allowed to discuss it with you.’
‘Yes – I totally agree,’ Harry laughs at our childish attempts at rule-breaking.
‘Oh my God, the house is a bloody mansion. I don’t just mean it’s large – I mean it’s huge, absolutely no exaggeration. The decor is stunning too. Seriously, I’ve died and gone to heaven.’
‘Sounds amazing.’ Harry continues to drink her tea.
‘So today I thought I might play detective, hunt down some photos – there must be a clue.’
‘Good idea… If the house is that big, surely there must be other people working there. How are you being paid?’
‘They have that covered – my wages will be paid via a payroll company and I’m not allowed to ask the other members of staff any questions. Bear in mind there’s a driver who looks like a bruiser, a housekeeper, gardener, cleaning staff and Stella… And some of them have apartments there too.’ I sit back and fold my arms.
‘No shit…’
‘Yes, shit!’
‘So, my question to you, Happy Harry Harper, is what the bloody hell am I going to wear?’
‘I’m a little disappointed that my OCD fashionista sister doesn’t have a chef’s uniform somewhere in her wardrobe.’
‘I know, it’s shocking… But no, it’s not one I’ve needed before.’ I laugh, getting up from the table, as time is ticking for us both.
‘Hmm… Are you sure the outfit you need is not lurking between your dog-walking and funeral sections?’ Harry rolls her eyes, unimpressed by my unique organising skills.
Mr Jones pops into my head: Kate, dress to impress. With that in mind, I make a decision based on making a good first impression: navy skinny canvas jeans, V-neck short-sleeved T-shirt, short red fitted blazer and white Converse.
Harry comes into my room ready for her day in the professional world, dressed accordingly too.
‘What do you think?’ I ask, looking for approval, although I always dress for myself.
‘Good – smart but casual, like a dress-down Friday. Perfect.’ She smiles. ‘I have to go; good luck for today. If you need anything, call me.’
I reach the gates and the technology. I input my code and to my amazement it works. Round one complete, round two is to attack the large black front door – another keypad. The door unlocks and so too does an undercurrent of anxiety. I step into someone else’s kingdom. My thoughts come to a crashing halt at the sound of someone yelling from upstairs.
‘Hello?’ I bellow at the foot of the stairs.
‘Oh, Kate, is that you?’ I recognise the sound. ‘I’m a bit stuck – can you come up?’
‘On my way.’ I lower my bags and charge up, two steps at time.
I enter the magnificent bedroom and instantly I see Rosie, hanging onto the footboard of the bed for support. Her face is distorted; wearing the evidence of pain.
‘Thank goodness you heard me. My back just gave way on me. I’ve been calling for Jerry.’ Her knuckles almost pierce the skin of her hands, fearful of any sudden movement. ‘I need you to help me.’
‘OK.’
She lifts her free arm across my shoulder as I put my arm round her.
‘Sorry, Kate, you just walked through the door and … Ow… That’s it, let’s try to walk. Can you help me down the stairs?’
‘Sure, let’s take it slow. Am I hurting you?’
‘No, it’s OK.’
We make our way to the stairs, cautiously taking one step at a time. Eventually we reach the ground floor.
‘Now, where would be the best place for you? Maybe the stools, as they’re not too low.’ Rosie nods in agreement as I guide her to the seat.
‘Thanks, Kate. My bloody back locks up all the time.’ Immediately her shoulders relax, although she seems too nervous to make any sudden movements.
‘Let me make you tea. What about some painkillers?’
‘Both, my darling. Give Jerry a shout – he knows where I keep them.’
I make my way to the back door and call Jerry’s name into the huge garden.
Within seconds he ambles into view.
‘Morning, flower,’ he happily greets me, then looks at Rosie. ‘Has your back gone again?’
‘Yeah – be a love, get my tablets.’
Jerry disappears to their apartment.
‘How do you both take your tea?’ I ask, fishing the teabags out of the mugs.
‘Just as it comes; no sugar.’
Jerry returns with the tablets. I place their tea on the breakfast island.
‘Thanks, Kate.’ Jerry smiles.
‘Does this happen a lot?’ I guess the emergency has broken the ice between us.
‘It’s that bloody bed. I’m sure it doesn’t need to be that big.’
‘I agree, it’s massive,’ I hesitantly admit, despite being jealous.
‘Rosie puts clean sheets on it every day,’ Jerry explains.
‘Every day? Why?’ Is that too personal to ask? ‘I’m not prying. I just wondered… it seems a bit extreme. I take it my new boss isn’t worried about his carbon footprint?’ I wonder if there is another reason for the clean bedding… Too much female company?
Jerry laughs. ‘Don’t look in the garage if you’re into all that Greenpeace saving-the-world stuff.’
‘I won’t – I know nothing about cars.’ I smile at Jerry. His warm-hearted charm instantly leaves me feeling at ease.
‘I don’t want to speak out of turn, but I’m more than happy to change the bedding.’ I look at Rosie. ‘You shouldn’t lift anything today.’
She nods and takes my hand. ‘It’ll be as right as rain tomorrow.’
‘Good.’ I head towards the sink, placing my cup in it. ‘Do you need me to help you with anything else?’
‘No, Kate, but if you could make the bed I would be grateful.’ Rosie’s face begins to soften as the pain appears to subside.
I turn to collect my bags from the hallway, just before I lose sight of my chief taste-tester. ‘Oh, Jerry, I’ll make you a fruitcake later.’ I give him a wink and walk off.
‘That’s my girl,’ he shouts out as he walks off in the opposite direction.
I unpack my bags and catch sight of a note resting at the other end of the island.
Dear Kate, aka Cook,
Thank you for the delightful meal this evening.
I have no guidelines for you to adhere to – I feel safe in your culinary hands.
As for the heat, I will let you know if something is excessively hot. I am willing to try anything.
Boss.
Wow – I was not expecting a response. Are these the words of an eighty-year-old codger or a politician? I reread it. In my hands… Am I desperate to feel that his words are vaguely flirtatious? It’s official: I definitely need a man in my life.
My first mission of the day is to attack the oversized bed. Removing the sheets, I then begin to remake it. I can’t help but feel excited at working in this house. Stella said I would get used to it – but when? In Rosie’s defence, the bed is bloody huge and takes a lot of effort. I now have sympathy for her back. Job done. The bed looks stunning – my sympathy was short-lived as my jealousy returns.
Entering the closet to collect the dry-cleaning, I assess the clothes and maybe the man who wears them. There are various suits, mainly black and grey, with a few navy. However, my vision is drawn to a classic. I recognise the design a mile off – a Jones Tailors suit. I can’t help but touch it. Oh, Mr Jones, who did you make this for?
I swiftly make my way to the address that Rosie gave me for the drycleaners. I enjoy the walk as the weather is beautiful, although I’m too hot in my canvas jeans – I’ll definitely wear shorts tomorrow. I reach the drycleaners in no time – it’s only a short walk from the house, which I decide to rename ‘the palace’ because it is so big. First job completed. It only took five minutes of my day, and I’m sure was only worth five pounds out of my generous wages. The high street is equipped with various shops, the most eye-catching of which is an excellent deli.
Before long I’m back at the house – and the technology. Admittedly, I’ve mastered it relatively well. Doors appear to be opening for me – however, I wish they were doors for my career and not the palace’s kitchen.
I place the dry-cleaning in its home. As I re-enter the bedroom from the closet, I scan the room slowly, like a predator looking for prey. The only prey I’m looking for is a clue to my boss’s identity – maybe a photo or a personal item. But there are no clues, no photos or knick-knacks – nothing. I’m completely baffled. Downstairs I continue to scan the empty house, first checking the grey lounge. Once again, nothing.
The day drags. I wonder what I am going to do between shopping and dinner and, as ever, food springs to mind.
After a while, two fruitcakes sit on the cooling rack.
‘Something smells good.’
I turn to see Jerry.
‘I was just going to hunt you down.’
‘What a beauty.’ He takes to the stool at the island; clearly he is comfortable in his employer’s home. I guess it’s his home too. ‘How about a cuppa?’
We sit at the breakfast area together.
‘This is bloody lovely. I’ve not had a homemade cake this good for a long time. My mum always made lovely cakes.’ Listening to Jerry reminisce makes me smile.
I hear the oversized black door close and footsteps echo from the hallway. Max enters the kitchen.
‘Afternoon, Jerry, Kate.’ He greets us with a nod. ‘Just checking to see if you’ve settled in, Kate?’
‘Oh.. everything’s fine.’ His presence puts me on edge, leading me to wonder whether he’s checking up on me or being kind.
With a strong need to thaw the tension that arrived when he walked in, I ask, ‘Cake?’ I hold up a plate with a slice of fruitcake.
He looks slightly puzzled. It’s a cake! I’m sure his job description is to be evasive – he appears to have mastered it well.
‘No, thank you.’
Whilst he speaks I wrap the cake in foil. I knew what he’d say before he opened his mouth. I sense Max would prefer distance at all times.
‘Here – take it with you. I insist.’
Max coughs and clears his throat. ‘Thank you. If you don’t need anything, I’ll go.’
I nod in response. Max rapidly departs. Once again, short and not so sweet.
‘I think you ruffled his feathers, Kate,’ Jerry says whilst trying to capture every last crumb in his mouth.
‘Is he always so….’ I’m not sure of the word I should use, but before I answer, Jerry laughs.
‘Yeah, flower, he’s always like that. You’ll get used to him. He does have a big heart, but I’m guessing he doesn’t know how to take you.’
‘Or my cake, it would seem, unlike some people I know.’
‘More cake for me,’ Jerry laughs, patting his stomach and wearing a look of joy.
‘Actually, this is for you. I’ve made another one for our… boss.’ I stand quickly, feeling slightly awkward mentioning the word ‘boss’, breaching the code of conduct within the palace.
I place the extra cake on a stand with a note resting on top: EAT ME.
My first day is almost over. I set the island as I did yesterday, and place the cooked meal on the food warmer. With my bags packed, I retrieve my note pad.
Dear Boss,
I am very pleased you enjoyed your meal last night.
This evening’s meal consists of mustard chicken, dauphinoise potatoes and steamed vegetables. In the fridge you will find homemade meringue nests and a bowl of chopped fresh fruit.
I hope you enjoy it. Although you have put yourself in my culinary hands, please inform me if this is not to your taste.
May I ask you a question? I assume you will say yes… Are you concerned about your carbon footprint?
Cook x
On my way to the bar I process the day, which I have to admit has been fun – and, more importantly, has passed in the blink of an eye.
Tuesday evening at the bar is usually quiet; however, tonight I’m rushed off my feet, and exhaustion begins to take over my body. Once again, the time disappears. Eleven thirty arrives and so too do my bodyguard and his guard dog, waiting for me at the door of the bar. Dad and I chat for the f
ifteen-minute walk home. I tell him about my day and my new job – well, the parts that would interest him – whilst he walks me safely home, honouring his fatherly duties.
I walk through the front door and into the kitchen. I see the pasta Harry made sitting on the centre shelf of the fridge, but I’m too exhausted to eat. I make tea and take refuge upstairs.
I poke my head around Harry’s bedroom door.
‘I wasn’t sure if you would be awake.’
‘I was waiting to see you. How was it?’
I perch on the edge of her bed. ‘It was good. I can’t believe how quickly the day went.’ I yawn dramatically.
‘You look worn out. I hope you’re not burning the candle at both ends.’ Harry looks sympathetically at me.
‘I’ll be fine; I just need to find my rhythm of juggling the jobs. Pete said to let him know when I need a night off. I told him Thursday, as the girls will be over for dinner.’
‘Yeah – I forgot about that. So I’ve been waiting for Kate the detective – any news?’ Harry sits up.
‘I did have a look, and there’s nothing – no pictures, photos, knick-knacks, not a bloody thing. But I do have this.’ I open my bag and pass Harry the note – his response.
She raises her brows.
‘Cheeky! Hmm, I think the old codger is flirting with you. He likes being in your hands.’
‘I know – how strange. Well, anyway, I left him another note.’ I throw myself back on the bed. ‘I wonder if he’ll respond. I asked him a question about his carbon footprint… Can you believe poor Rosie puts clean sheets on his bed every day? What a waste of water.’
‘There’s a lot to be said for an eighty-year-old who’s clean.’ We both laugh, but I have no energy to continue laughing or even get up to go to bed.
‘Kate, go to bed,’ Harry orders me.
‘I’m on the case. Night, babe.’ I salute my sister.
‘Night, my little trophy bride,’ she jibes.
