Lord of the Pies

by Nell Hampton

  There was a crunch of footsteps behind me when I stepped out onto the parking lot that separated the back of the kitchen from the gardens. I turned and threw a quick glance over my shoulder. There was no one there.

  I must still be on edge about the Peeping Tom, or perhaps it was lingering doubts about Chef Wright. I shrugged it off and hurried to the kitchen.

  Dinner was a Friday night favorite of fish and chips. The fish was fresh from a local fishmonger and filleted into tender pieces. We coated it with a gluten-free beer batter and egg and deep-fried it in olive oil. Next, we cut golden potatoes into fries and baked them until they were crispy brown. Mushy peas and a fresh green salad finished off dinner. Everything was packed up and taken to the family’s dining room where it was served with milk, tea, and a dessert of the chocolate cake I had made the night before.

  I enjoyed making English fish and chips. Yes, I even liked mushy peas. The peas were fresh from the indoor garden that Jasper had rocking and rolling.

  The children ate at eight PM. The duke and duchess had a date night out with friends. Penny told me that even after their date night, the duchess would be up very early to prepare for the last-minute event she had to attend.

  Agnes left shortly after taking dinner up to the family. I stayed in the kitchen and worked on piecrusts for the shower. I liked a coconut crust with chocolate caramel pie. Of course, coconut cream pies all needed coconut crusts as well. There was an almond flour crust for the lemon meringue pie. And good old American flaky crusts for the apple and cherry pies.

  The kitchen smelled of flaky pastry and warm spiced fruit. I was washing dishes when I noticed a face peering in my window again. This time I didn’t even stop to call security. I dropped the pan into the sudsy water, wiped my hands on the towel I had hanging from my apron strings, and hurried out of the kitchen down the hall and outside.

  “Hey!” I called.

  The young man froze with what appeared to be a camera in his hand. It was difficult to tell because it was dark out, and the parking lot lamp light was low emission.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked as I approached him. “Are you Wentworth?”

  The young man unfroze the moment I took a step in his direction and took off running. I suppose I could have run after him, but why?

  Instead I shouted at his retrieving back. “I know it’s you, Wentworth Uleman. Stop spying on me or else!”

  I frowned as he disappeared into the darkness. What did he want? Why did he think he could just peer into my window and why did he have a camera?

  I walked over to the spot where he stood and looked inside. With the light on, it looked as if the kitchen was a stage. Why would anyone want to watch me make pies?

  Shrugging, I turned back to go inside. Once inside I sent Ian a simple text.

  “Saw Wentworth peering in my window again. I confronted him, and he ran away. I think he may have had a camera. Anyway, all is quiet now.”

  I got an immediate phone call. “Hello?”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Ian sounded put out and his accent got thicker when he was upset.

  “We know who the guy is,” I said. “So I wanted to find out what he wants.”

  “You don’t confront a stalker,” he said. “That’s madness.”

  “It’s not madness when you know who he is. What I want to know is why he’s doing it. Besides, he ran off.”

  “I’m on my way. Stay in your kitchen.”

  “Yes, sir,” I muttered after he hung up. I looked around the kitchen. Did Wentworth think I had secret recipes? A quick glance in the mirror by the door showed me that I didn’t look untoward. In fact, the mirror by the door was to ensure I didn’t go out of the kitchen with anything on my face or in my hair—like flour or butter or frosting. I didn’t want to show up in the duchess’s audience looking like I was making a mess out of her kitchen. Even if I did from time to time when I was working out a new recipe.

  The kitchen door opened beside me and Ian strode in. His eyes flashed and his jaw ticked in the corner. It was a look that meant business. I crossed my arms in front of me in self-defense. “I did not do anything stupid,” I said before he could get a word out.

  “The palace has security for a reason,” he said. “You don’t have to go out and confront people who aren’t acting right.”

  “But you and Chef Wright know who this guy is. I mean, he’s shorter than I am. I doubt he would hurt me.”

  He stepped closer and I leaned back against the mirror and hooks where I kept a clean chef jacket for those times I needed to be seen by the family. “How about you not confront him and not find out if he can hurt you.”

  “I wanted to know what he was doing. It looked like he was filming something, but there’s nothing to film but me baking.”

  My explanation didn’t seem to affect the emotion in his gaze. It made my heart beat faster.

  “I’ve got my men out scouting the grounds for him right now. When we find him, I’ll find out what he was doing.”

  “I’m dying to know.”

  “Don’t say it that way,” he said and shook his head at me.

  “It was probably nothing.” I tried to shrug off the reaction I was having to his nearness.

  “It doesn’t matter if it was something or not, I can’t have him peering into palace windows.” He went to the window and looked out. I took the moment to admire his backside. “I’ll have a security screen installed. You can roll it down at night. It will allow you to see out, but no one else to see in. The family has them on all their private windows.”

  “Thanks,” I said, giving myself a mental shake. Stop staring at the man for goodness sakes.

  “It smells good in here.”

  “I’m making pies for the bridal shower tomorrow.” I moved to the sink, hoping motion would break the spell. “The venue has changed.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said as he studied me. “Please tell me you did not go out there without at least a knife or a rolling pin or a heavy sauce pan to defend yourself.”

  I looked around and bit my bottom lip. I didn’t even think I might need to protect myself.

  “Just, don’t do anything like that again. Okay?”

  “Why?” I asked. I guess I was fishing for something from him that might relate to the emotion he stirred in me.

  “I don’t need any more violence on the Palace grounds,” he said. He walked up and stood toe to toe with me. “I especially don’t want to see any of my friends get hurt.”

  “We’re friends?” I half whispered. The man could get my pulse jumping. But everyone knew he had one rule about his job. He never mixed work and personal relationships. Lots of women on the grounds tried to get his attention. Ian Gordon had deftly let them all down. It was suspected he had a wife tucked away somewhere—or maybe a husband. But I didn’t believe that. I could tell by the way he looked at me that Ian was not gay.

  He lifted my chin so that I looked him in those gorgeous blue eyes. “We’re friends.”

  Every nerve ending in my body was on fire. He smelled so good.

  The moment came and went without any hint from him that it meant anything more than what he said. He took a step back, breaking the tension. “Try not to run out after Peeping Toms anymore. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I stood frozen to the spot as he left the kitchen.

  Huh, I thought. He said we were friends. He was worried about me. Maybe Ian Gordon wasn’t as immune to the women he worked with as he let on. That was an idea that carried me through a long night of pie-making.

  Chapter 4

  Saturday morning dawned clear and bright. The family had breakfast at eight AM. The duchess took the children to the park to play for an hour or so before she had to come back and get ready for the state affair.

  All morning, Agnes helped me load pies and tarts into coolers and warming carts and take them over to the Orangery kitchen where Chef Wright had freed up space for us to set up for the bridal shower.
/>   I was surprised how long it took to complete the catering for the shower. Penny’s sister was not only a friend of the duchess but of many other women from higher British society. There were twenty-five attendees, and all of them were well-connected. Most of the women attending were part of the duchess’s sorority or the duke’s social group.

  It seems when I made friends, I made them in high places.

  “Oh, pish,” Penny had said when I made a comment about the duchess giving the bridal shower for her sister. “My father knows her father through business. It’s not like I’m in the royal set or anything.”

  Still, it was hard for an American girl like me to understand how everyone fit in the social structure. But I wasn’t blind to the fact that some of the women attending had titles that I would never see on an American name card.

  On my last trip to the Orangery, ladened with a tray full of warm meat pies, I pushed open the door to the kitchen and ran into someone. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said as I worked quickly to resettle the pies before they all ended up on the floor.

  “No worries,” a young man said.

  I looked over to see that I had run into a young man with big ears. He seemed as startled by my presence as I was by his. “Wentworth?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, er Chef, but I have to get out to the floor.”

  “Stop!” I said, following him through the door. I grabbed his arm and juggled my tray of pies while he fumbled with his tray with a fresh tea service on it. “I want to know what you think you’re doing peering into my kitchen late at night.”

  “I’m sorry, but you must have the wrong person,” he said.

  “No.” I felt my mouth grow tight. “I don’t have the wrong person. I clearly saw you—twice now—standing outside my kitchen. Last night it looked as if you were filming me. What were you filming?”

  “Excuse me, is there a problem here?” the maître d’ came up to us. It was then that I noticed that everyone was staring. I guess I had unknowingly made a scene and done exactly what Ian had asked me not to do. I had confronted my Peeping Tom, face to face.

  “No problem,” I said.

  “She has me mixed up with someone else,” Wentworth said. “I’m trying to do my job here.”

  “So am I,” I said, straightening up so I towered over him. I leaned in toward him. “I don’t want to see you outside my window again. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I mean, Chef…”

  “Good,” I said. Then I glanced at the maître d’. “Then there is no trouble here.” I walked back into the kitchen, my heart pounding. I put the pies in the warmer and leaned against the counter in relief.

  “Are you okay?” Chef Wright came out of his office and over to check on me. “You look quite pale.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “No, no, I’m not fine. I saw your waiter Wentworth Uleman looking in my kitchen window again last night. It looked like he was filming me.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible,” Chef Wright said. “I’ll speak to him.”

  “I already have,” I said. “I ran into him out in the pavilion just now.”

  “Oh, no, what happened? Did he harm you or threaten you?”

  “No,” I said. “He claimed I had the wrong man, but there is no mistaking those ears. I saw him very clearly last night.”

  “Then I will have him fired.”

  “I spoke to Security Chief Gordon,” I said. “He told me that he had already spoken to the man once before. They were looking for him last night. I have to assume they didn’t find him since he is here at work today.”

  “You are clearly distressed,” Chef Wright said and took a hold of my hand. “Come sit down. Let me get you some water.”

  “Thank you.” I put my forehead in my hands. “I had no idea that I would be so upset when I came face to face with him.”

  I took the glass of water from the chef and sipped.

  “I can’t have a man working for me who does these kinds of things,” the chef said, patting my hand. “I will go now and see that he leaves here immediately.”

  A twinge of guilt struck me. What if he was right? It was dark outside. What if it wasn’t Wentworth at all who was looking in my window. Could I have him fired?

  I took a deep breath. “No, please,” I said and squeezed Chef Wright’s hand. “Let the man finish his shift today. I’ll have Ian Gordon check the video from outside my window and confirm it was Wentworth. I think it’s only fair that a full investigation be had before you let him go.”

  “If you are certain…”

  “I’m not certain,” I said with a wry smile. “But I do want to be fair.”

  “You are not only beautiful, but you are kind. It is my pleasure to know you.”

  I felt the heat of a blush rush into my cheeks. “I’ve got to put this behind me and continue on with work. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “It is my pleasure,” he said, picking up my hand and kissing my fingertips.

  Okay, that action crossed a line in my mind. Especially since he wore a wedding ring. I pulled my hand away and got up. “I won’t keep you. I’m sure you have a family to get back to…” I glanced pointedly at his ring finger.

  He smiled broadly. “Of course. It was my pleasure to help.”

  Thankfully the rest of the night went smoothly. I didn’t see Wentworth again. I assumed Chef Wright escorted him from the building quietly while I was setting up for the bridal shower.

  The shower itself was elegant, and Penny and her sister and friends had a wonderful time. There was laughter and teasing and gifts and games. Two hours later the ladies all exited to several limos that were waiting to pick them up and whisk them off to a few London hot spots, while the older women headed home.

  I packed up the kitchen and left a lemon pie with a note of thanks to Chef Wright and his staff for allowing me to use their space.

  Ian met me at the door of the pavilion as I pushed the final cart out toward my kitchen. “How was the shower?”

  “It seems like it was a success even without the duchess,” I said. “The women all had a good time.”

  “Good.”

  “I saw Wentworth,” I said as we crossed the garden and stepped into the parking lot.

  “I heard,” he said and held the door open for me to the palace. We all had employee key cards and he swiped his to gain access to the hall entry of the kitchen. “I looked over the video from last night.”

  “And?” I asked as I pushed the cart down the short hall and opened the door to my kitchen.

  “It was definitely Wentworth Uleman,” he said. “I had Chef Wright escort Wentworth to the security offices when he got off his shift.”

  “And?” I asked again as I started to put the washed platters away. “Did he tell you what he was doing?”

  “He claims that he saw you wave at him. That’s why he peered into the kitchen window.”

  “Well, that’s just ridiculous,” I said. “I was inside baking pies. I only saw him because I felt as if someone was watching me and looked up to see him peering back at me again.”

  “I told him that this was his second offense. There won’t be a third.”

  “You fired him?”

  “I can’t, but Chef can and I have written up a report asking Chef Wright to do just that.”

  “So he could come back tonight and look into my window again?”

  “No.” Ian pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. “I escorted him from the Palace grounds.”

  “But he could come back.” I bit my bottom lip.

  Ian tilted his head. “I thought you might say that, so I’m going to stay with you until you retire for the night.”

  I laughed. “That sounds like a big waste of the government’s money.”

  “No waste,” he said. “I’m off the clock. So why don’t you put a kettle on for tea and offer me a piece of pie?”

  “Oh, I see, that’s your true reason for being here.”

&nbs
p; “What?” He drew his eyebrows together as if caught off guard.

  “For the pie…”

  He laughed. “You caught me.”

  “Well, then, what kind of pie do you want?” I opened the last covered platter with four kinds of pie left over from the shower.

  “I don’t know,” he said as he looked them all over. “Why don’t you set the platter down on the table and hand me a fork. I’ll tell you which type is more to my liking.”

  That made me laugh. I handed him a fork and a dessert plate. There was something about a man admiring my cooking that made me happy. Much happier than a man who tried to charm me with guile.

  *

  There was a banging on my apartment door. I stumbled out of bed and glanced at my clock. It was five AM. A half hour before my alarm normally went off. “Chef! Are you in there?” It sounded like Penny outside my door.

  I grabbed my fluffy pink bathrobe, slipped my feet into mule slippers, and hurried to the door. I turned on the light and blinked against the brightness of the bulb.

  My apartment consisted of a three-room suite. You entered into a great room that had a kitchenette near the door. Separated by a breakfast bar was a small, furnished living area with an overstuffed couch and coffee table. Between the breakfast bar and the couch was the door to my bedroom. Inside the bedroom was the bath area, across from the kitchen. It was a neat setup and just enough for a young woman who spent most of her time in the family’s kitchen.

  “Carrie Ann?”

  “I’m coming,” I said. I unlocked my door and opened it to find Penny standing in the doorway. “What’s the matter? Why are you up?”

  “Something’s going on at the Orangery,” Penny said. She was still dressed in a pale blue shift dress and jacket. The same clothes she wore to the bridal shower.

  “Are you just getting in?”

  “Yes,” she said and didn’t even blush about it. “We pulled in to see security at the Orangery. I thought I saw Detective Chief Inspector Garrote.”

  “Oh, no!”