by F. C. Clark
‘Jealous Harry Harper,’ I giggle as I leave her room.
Shower and bed, in that order.
After yesterday and the stifling heat, summer casual is on the fashion menu today, so I wear smart chino shorts, a white vest top and a white cotton blouse. With far too much time to spare, I decide to make the best use of the day at the palace and take Harry’s laptop. It’s official: I’m the master of my destiny, if only in reference to technology, although I’d rather it was the destiny of full-time employment.
Inside the palace, I head for the kitchen, and notice Rosie talking to the cleaners – I assume that’s who they are, judging by their uniforms. I wave a silent hello, not wanting to disturb her, and get on with my jobs. Emptying my bags, my eyes are drawn to the end of the island. There’s another note!
Dear Cook,
This evening’s meal was delectable, very pleasing… Your culinary hands seem to be coping very well with my taste.
I assume EAT ME is in reference to the cake. I think my personal trainer might not be pleased with you giving me gifts like this.
As for your question, the answer is yes, I am concerned. However, I am mystified about the reason for the question.
Boss.
Eat me – oh, my God, did he think that I meant him, and not that cake? Maybe I need to monitor my notes, maybe not… Nonetheless, I’m a little concerned that I may give the old codger a coronary attack. A personal trainer at his age? I’m impressed.
The rest of my day follows the same pattern as yesterday: rehanging the dry-cleaning followed by preparing the evening meal. Midday arrives. I stop and eat my lunch whilst checking my emails on Harry’s laptop. Two companies have responded. The first email requests an interview the following Tuesday. I’m shocked and hopeful. I hold my breath whilst opening the second email, from the company I feel more passionate about. My fingertips nervously hover over the keyboard. I scan the email with one eye; to my amazement they too have requested an interview. God, there may be hope for me.
Six o’clock arrives and I lay the island for dinner. Next is the note. I’m sure he is expecting one. In addition, he would want a response to the question regarding carbon footprint.
Dear Boss,
Tonight’s meal is rigatoni pasta with bacon, chilli and sundried tomatoes, fresh basil and Parmesan cheese, accompanied with a mixed green leaf salad.
You will also notice homemade flapjacks… Rest assured there is no EAT ME sign, so as not to confuse you.
I would like to point out the empty wine glass. As you have a wine cellar, it seems appropriate to leave your choice of alcoholic beverage in your capable hands.
As for the carbon footprint question, it was in reference to changing your sheets every day. I hope you don’t think it’s inappropriate of me to ask – I just thought it was a little extreme.
Cook x.
I laugh. I wonder if my cavalier attitude on paper is due to my job being temporary, having nothing to lose – and let’s not forget I’m anonymous.
The evening disappears. I kiss Dad goodbye at my front door. Tomorrow night I have the evening off, and so does my personal bodyguard…
* * *
The next day looks as if it will be another scorcher. I choose navy shorts, a tan vest top, tan gladiators, and add my straw trilby hat and aviators – my look feels complete. I grab my bags and head off to the palace. The large black door unlocks with ease. Who needs a key to unlock doors? I definitely think keypads are the way forward.
My first port of call is the kitchen. Once again, it’s there – a note resting on the island.
Dear Cook,
I fear I may have to repeat myself; dinner was once again delicious, although there was no warning about the quantity of chillies… My breathing is much clearer now – thank you.
Are you urging me to regain my youth – flapjacks? I was not aware people still made them. However, if you carry on in this manner, I will have to ask you to meet my trainer – as I stated yesterday.
Thank you for clarifying the EAT ME sign.
Yes, I agree – leave alcoholic beverages in my capable hands.
I found your question entertaining, therefore I am wondering if my new employee is intractable. With that in mind, you have made a valid point. I will reduce the changing of bedding to a few times a week. I believe this will reduce my carbon footprint, and I hope it will satisfy your impertinent question.
Boss x.
Oh, this note is more amusing than yesterday’s. At least he has a sense of humour, regardless of his age. I notice the kiss after his signature. I guess I started it. The note is incredibly ambiguous, with references that could imply various ages.
By the time I’m back from collecting the dry-cleaning and doing some food shopping, it’s twelve o’clock. Once again I offer to strip and remake the bed, as Rosie is still having trouble with her back. She informs me the boss has requested that she changes the sheets every other day. Although this is still a little extreme, did he listen to me or would he have done this anyway? I feel victorious.
Back in the closet filing the linen, I ask myself if it is too soon to reorganise, but I decide, I have time on my hands, and no ability to sit still, so today is the day.
I decide on the best of course of action, not realising until this point that there are a lot of suits.
Finished. I sit on the floor, assessing my organisation skills. I wonder what the old codger will think. As I turn to get up, I notice something shining on the lower shelf. I scoot over on my knees to get a closer look, but I’m not sure that using my hands to rummage is qualified as a closer look. I pull out what has caught my eye. Oh fuck, handcuffs and black cord. What the hell? These two objects seem out of place in a closet. Panicking, I return them to their shelf, feeling that I have done something incredibly risqué, then leave the bedroom.
The meal is complete, table laid. Now for the note, although today I would like to address it to ‘the kinky old codger, aka Boss’.
Dear Boss,
For this evening I have prepared homemade fish pie and steamed vegetables – no chillies! I am pleased your airways are clear!
Not wanting to get on the wrong side of your trainer, I have also prepared thinly sliced pineapple with fresh raspberry coulis and blueberries. Not too many calories for you to burn.
I believe, as of today, your carbon footprint has been reduced. You must be very proud.
Once again, please inform me if I have overstepped the mark. With time on my hands, I thought I would put it to good use. I hope you approve of your newly reorganised closet. Your clothing is now organised according to designer, category and colour.
I was merely trying to make your day more methodical.
Cook x.
I can’t help but smile. Who would have thought Kate Harper was so brazen? Not me, and probably not the girls.
We all sit round the table eating and drinking as we reminisce about our week in France, which feels like a lifetime ago, not last week. How life can change in seven days.
‘Kate has got something to show you.’ I look at Harry after her unexpected announcement.
‘Thanks, Harry,’ I reply.
‘It’s no secret, is it? You have an admirer – even though we think he’s about eighty.’
‘I’m all ears. I haven’t done an eighty-year-old – yet.’ Kiki shocks herself.
‘I’m surprised, Kiki, I thought you were working your way up to a hundred,’ Molly remarks, and we all laugh.
Harry reaches for the bottle of wine.
‘That’s not quite true. Harry and I have made assumptions about my new job. The guy lives in a massive – and I mean massive – house, with staff and everything.’
‘Loaded, then?’ Molly enquires.
‘Just a bit,’ Harry answers for me, drinking her wine.
‘Well, anyw
ay, whoever I’m cooking for wants complete anonymity, so on my first day I decided to write him a note with a menu. The notes are slightly… flirty. I got a new one today.’
I collect the notes from my rucksack, including the new one I received today, and pass them to the girls.
‘Cheeky! Do you think he can still get it up?’ Kiki and her one-track mind reread the notes.
I begin to laugh. I have had the same thoughts as Kiki: I wonder if he is still able to shag.
‘Well, today…’ Eyes and ears are on me. ‘I reorganised his closet.’
‘I’m amazed it took you this long,’ Harry says sarcastically.
‘I know. I feel so much better for it. So I was on my hands and knees.’
‘Oh really, on your hands and knees – I think I’m jealous.’ Kiki pauses and downs the remainder of her wine, lost in all things sexual. ‘I do have a new shit-hot intern I’m training, and I mean he’s completely fuckable… Did I mention I’m off to LA tomorrow? Of course, I can’t manage on my own: I need a little intern to help me decide which properties to purchase.’ Kiki wears her ‘I’ve not been fucked for a few hours’ face.
‘Shall we warn the little fucker?’ Molly looks at Kiki, her ‘no pun intended’ comment making us laugh.
‘Oh, he knows exactly what he’s getting… he had a taster today,’ Kiki answers, dabbing the sides of her mouth.
We all laugh. As usual the tone of our conversation goes south, especially when Kiki the nympho is around.
‘Go on, what did you find? Do you know who it is?’ Harry says.
‘No. As I said, I was on my hands and knees, and… I saw something. Handcuffs and black cord.’ I sit back in my chair and wait for a response.
‘Holy fuck! Your old codger can still get it up, and he’s a kinky bastard too. I need his address. Bloody hell, I’m impressed if he swings that way at his age. I bet he knows a thing or two. I’m willing to tick eighty off my list.’ Kiki is actually quite serious.
‘Do you think they were his?’ Harry looks concerned, thinking about my safety. ‘Why would you keep them in a closet, unless…’
‘I can’t think of another explanation, can you?’ I shrug. ‘I wonder if he’s getting off on my notes.’
Harry’s face alters from intrigue to sheer panic. ‘Maybe you should leave.’
‘And miss out on all the flirty correspondence? Besides, I’m never going to meet him.’ I finish my wine. The thought of not having a note tomorrow feels me with dread.
It’s Friday, and the end of my first week of playing cook in the palace. I’m drawn to the kitchen, the island, the note.
Dear Cook,
Very pleased that you have given me fish this evening; apparently variety is the spice of life. Fresh fruit? My trainer will commend you; no punishment needed.
Am I proud of my carbon footprint reduction? If it makes you happy, then yes.
As I was not aware that my closet was not working methodically, I will reserve judgement. Think of me whilst I get dressed.
Boss x
PS: Thank you for your concern. My airways are fine.
Think of him whilst getting dressed. Holy shit! How am I supposed to respond to that?
Clearing my head of countless questions regarding my boss, I head off to meet Stella.
I arrive at Café Rouge and order the coffees we had on Monday. With the sparse knowledge I have of Stella, I assume she will be punctual. I find a table near the window and wait, losing myself in a fashion magazine.
‘Kate.’ I look up to see a familiar face.
‘Hi, how are you?’
‘Can’t complain; I’m always pleased when Friday arrives.’ Stella takes the seat opposite me as the waiter arrives with our coffees.
‘I can’t believe how quickly the week has gone.’
‘Yes, I know. That’s the story of my life. Weeks roll into months and… Well, the rest is history. How did you find your first week?’
‘Fine. I enjoyed it… Not that I thought I wouldn’t.’ I take another sip of my coffee. ‘You were right about the house. I know it’s huge, but it does feel homely.’
‘I said you would get used to it. I do believe you make the house warm, Kate. Rosie and Jerry have only good things to say about you, and so does Max, and I’m sure you’re aware he doesn’t have an awful lot to say.’ Her brows furrow. It would seem my opinion of Max is shared. ‘Well, I think he has taken a shine to you.’
I feel the heat rise on my face. Stella reaches across the table and touches my hand.
‘Kate, it’s all good, and most importantly I know the meals have been a success.’ Her lips twist, as if she knows something – maybe about the notes? ‘I hear that you have been busy with a little reorganising of your own.’
‘Hmm… Yes. I was bored yesterday afternoon, and you pay me far too well for the amount of work I do.’ Crap, I’m now questioning my brave quest yesterday. ‘Have I offended anyone?’ I don’t want to refer to my boss, but he is the only one to be offended.
‘No, I think he was a little taken back by your bold actions.’ She laughs. ‘He is not used to his staff doing something like that without prior permission… I think it has done him good.’
‘OK, that’s good. It’s only his closet. I really didn’t think it would bother him. Besides, it’s easy to be confident when you don’t have to deal with the person face to face.’ I hope she doesn’t think that I was fishing for boss-related intel.
‘How’s the job-hunting?’
‘OK. Two companies that I’m interested in have both requested interviews. One is next Tuesday and the other is in two weeks. I’m keeping everything crossed that I’ll get one of them.’
‘That’s fantastic news. I’m thrilled for you.’
‘I won’t leave you in the lurch. I’ll carry on working until Margaret gets back.’
‘Don’t worry about that; you’re young and need to follow your dreams. As for Margaret – well, her father is not showing any sign of recovery.’
‘I’m sorry.’ It’s my turn to reach over and grasp her hand. ‘One other thing, Stella – I don’t mean to be petty. But I went to the bank this morning and I noticed that you’ve paid me for a full week. I really didn’t work on Monday so—’
‘Oh my goodness, Kate, don’t be ridiculous. I think you’ve earned that money. I know you have helped Rosie.’
‘Not really. I feel uncomfortable taking the money.’ I pass her an envelope. ‘I withdrew the difference.’
‘Well, this is new. I’m not sure what to say.’ Her face is covered in a look of confusion.
‘Unfortunately I have quite a lot of bizarre traits. Paying my own way is one of them. You can blame my parents.’
‘Kate, you are a breath of fresh air.’
The day concludes, but not so fast that I don’t put pen to paper.
Dear Boss,
I am very pleased that the variety I’m providing is spicing up your life.
Tonight’s meal consists of homemade burger infused with cumin and coriander seeds, fresh burger relish, caramelised onion chutney, and homemade chips in sea salt and cracked black pepper, with a side salad.
I took the liberty of choosing your beverage this evening: cold beer and glass are in the fridge.
As it is Friday, a day for letting loose, I have made a lemon cheesecake and chocolate chip cookies. My only advice would be to keep it a secret from your trainer – that’s if you want me to continue cooking for you.
I’m unsure if your lack of cooking skills is only during the week, so in your freezer you will find two additional meals, lasagne and shepherd’s pie. Without wanting to insult your intelligence, I have also written the cooking instructions on the lids.
Enjoy your weekend.
Cook – aka Kate at the weekends x.
5
Monday morning arrives and so does a warm front from France. With no person or boss to impress, a short sundress is perfectly acceptable for work.
Reaching the oversized black door reignites various feelings in me, mainly excitement and trepidation, which heighten as I scan the counter top. No note. Why would there be a note? Because I was expecting one!
I restock the shelves in the larder and move towards the fridge. My vision stops at the centre shelf, where there is an envelope, addressed to Cook. ‘Ecstatic’ is an understatement. I almost perform a cartwheel in the kitchen, which is ridiculous, as I know nothing about the man who writes the notes. For all I know, he is a kinky old codger…
Dear Kate – or, as you are now reading this on Monday morning, Cook,
I thought you would be pleased that my life is now spiced up with your food. However, a little more spice is requested for future menus. I am in your hands, if I may reiterate your words.
Burger and chips was divine. Also your choice of beverage was the perfect accompaniment, and went down well, just like most things you do.
Are you encouraging me to deceive my trainer? Please note: where have all the cookies gone? It must remain a secret between the four walls of my kitchen.
As for your assumption regarding my lack of culinary skills, it is accurate. I had to work all weekend from home. Therefore, I am very grateful to you for thinking of me whilst you did not need to – both meals were delightful.
I hope you also had an enjoyable weekend.
Boss x
My emotions run wild, with endless questions circulating through my head. Does he care about me or the food, or both, which is bloody absurd? I have begun a mission of self-destruction; clearly my heart and emotions are not to be trusted.
The day disappears. Island laid, one last task remains – a note.
Dear Boss,
For this evening’s meal I have carefully prepared homemade linguini with a fresh pesto sauce. Accompanying your pasta is a rocket salad with avocado, pine nuts and a dressing of freshly squeezed lime and oil. Also, I have made Focaccia.
