They saw me as soon as I stepped onto the landing. There was no place to hide and I couldn’t run now.
Act natural.
I straightened my back, leveled my shoulders, clasped my hands behind me, and walked up to them as casually as I could. I couldn’t stop my legs from shaking but I noticed they were looking my way with more curiosity than hostility. One of them glanced at something above my head. That was when I realized I still wore my chef’s hat.
“May we help you?”
It was one of the guards.
“I am here to see Madame Chloe Schmidt,” I said, with a small bow. “She asked me to come up.”
To my surprise, he nodded and indicated a side door. I bowed again to say thank you and pushed the door open with trembling hands.
No one noticed me enter the room and slip into the shadows.
Near the side door was an alcove with a long buffet table piled with three-tier food trays. They overflowed with lavish finger foods, sandwiches, and savories of all kinds. I stared at the spread. There were shortbreads, and scones, biscuits of all kinds, mini cheese plates on beautiful bone china, cucumber and salmon sandwiches, and little white containers filled with jams and creams and butters of all types. Whatever I thought of Monsieur Wilmar, he sure could put a good tea party together.
Then, right in the center of the table, I saw my platter of cakes.
I took a sharp breath in, forgetting for a moment why I was here. They looked every bit as grand as the other royal dishes. There was only one other full dessert on the table—a dark fruit pie of sorts, and that was sitting to the side. I stood a little straighter and held my head a little higher to see my fairy cakes so prominently displayed in this sumptuous drawing room of this Luxembourg castle. My mother would have been so proud, was all I could think of. I smiled to myself.
It took several seconds to tear my eyes away from the buffet table and remind myself why I’d come up here.
Set neatly across the drawing room were about fifty tables for six, draped in white tablecloths. Beautiful flower arrangements sat in the middle of each table and crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The guests were seated, smiling and talking in soft voices. It was exactly how you’d expect a castle tea party to look.
The men wore linen shirts and jackets, but it was the women who struck me the most. They wore extravagant summer dresses in all styles and colors, decorated with ruffles, cowls, feathers, and jewels. Strands of pearls adorned their necks and feathery fascinators perched precariously on their beautifully coiffed heads. Everyone was immersed in their meal, laughing occasionally, golden forks and knives clinking happily on the china.
Young waiters treaded quietly in between the tables, filling water glasses and pouring tea. They traveled back and forth between the buffet table and the diners, absorbed in their tasks. As long as I drew back into the alcove when they came to the buffet table, I remained hidden.
From my hiding spot, I had only a partial view of the guests and had to peek around the corner to see the room in its entirety. During a lull when all the waiters were away from the buffet table, attending to the guests, I stuck my head out and scanned the room.
There. There she was. Hard to miss.
Tall and exquisite in her chic white Chanel pantsuit and pearl choker, the Diplomatic Dragon Lady looked as elegant as I’d remembered.
She was the only woman in the room not wearing a dress. I was now sure the Europeans gave slack on etiquette and protocol to North Americans, just like Chloe had tolerated our arrival in a white cargo van with no supplies. A European baker would have never got away with as much as I had. She’d expected us to be different, irreverently so.
My eyes traveled around the table to the Diplomatic Dragon Lady’s companions. I nearly choked to see plump Chef Pierre sitting across from her. Two of my favorite people at the same place. I couldn’t believe it.
My mind raced. Maybe I can get his autograph? Ask him about his recipes?
I suddenly remembered my foray into his café in Brussels and felt my neck go warm. Maybe he knows I stole the chocolate roll from his Brussels café. I shook my head. Of course, he doesn’t. He’s the CEO of an international company. People steal stuff every day. It’s the store manager’s job to deal with these things. I felt something heavy in my chest. I can’t believe I did that. I’m not a thief! I shook my head to rid myself of the guilt and took a few deep breaths in to steady my nerves.
I waited a full minute before peeking out again. This time, I looked for the one person I didn’t want to see. Chloe was standing against the far wall, next to a tall man with white hair. He was dressed in the same uniform as the servers, but with more buttons and trimmings on his coat. Must be the head waiter, I thought.
The two of them stood silently, scanning the room from side to side, their focus on the guests, making sure no needs went unmet. This meant there was no way I could walk up to a table unnoticed. I watched them with my fingers crossed, waiting to see if they’d leave the room.
Polite laughter and chatter continued at the tea party tables, while servers moved like silent ghosts in between them.
Should I wave at the Dragon Lady? Will she see me? Will she wave back? Or will she get angry at the interruption? Maybe I should wait for everyone to finish and then walk to her table. Chloe won’t see me in the midst of everyone getting up and moving around. Or will she? She’s sharper than a fox. Maybe I’ll wait for the Dragon Lady to go to the washroom and get her attention in the corridor.
One server walked toward the buffet table, and I quickly drew back into the shadows. To my delight, he picked up my cake tray and walked to the closest table. Using a long silver tong, he daintily picked up a cupcake and deposited it on a guest’s plate with a small bow. So that’s what Chloe had expected me to do.
I watched the waiter work his way through the room until he reached the Dragon Lady’s table. She was in the middle of speaking to Chef Pierre and picked up her dessert fork without glancing at her plate. When she did look down, she stopped talking, her mouth dropping slightly open. I watched without breathing. Does she recognize my work?
The server placed a cake on Chef Pierre’s plate next. My mouth dried up.
What if he hates it? What if he spits it out? I watched as he sliced a tiny piece off the cake with his fork and brought it to his mouth. He chewed and swallowed it. I think I stopped breathing. I saw him take a second bite. This time, he chewed it thoughtfully before swallowing. He sliced another piece, then another, until the little cake was gone. He stared at his plate with a funny expression.
“Mademoiselle!”
I jumped.
“May I help you?”
My heart thumped. “Hello, Chloe. I was—er—I came to see if everything was okay.”
“Everything is perfectly fine,” she snapped. “You, however, must not be here.”
“I just wanted to, er, make sure everyone’s happy with the cakes. Checking on, er, customer satisfaction, you know?”
“Mademoiselle, this is highly unusual.”
“I need to get a feel for my audience,” I babbled. “Find out how they eat, how they smell, how they taste. I need to know what they’re like, so I can make a better batch for tomorrow’s—”
“There’s absolutely no need for all that. If a chef’s creations are not acceptable for our diners, they will be told to leave. Immediately. It is that simple.”
“But how do I know what to make tomorrow then?”
“We will inform you.” She moved a step closer. She didn’t look intimidating, but the message was clear.
“Will you ask Chef Pierre what he thinks, at least?” I said, before turning to leave.
A shadow fell on us. The head server had walked up to us.
“Everything all right, Madame Schmidt?” he asked.
Chloe straightened her jacket without taking her eyes off me. “Chef Asha was just leaving.”
I opened the door. Just as I stepped across the threshold, I heard
her voice. “Why must Americans be so maddeningly boorish?”
She wanted me to hear that.
Chapter Forty-four
I closed the door behind me and managed a smile for the two guards. They didn’t return the gesture.
Feeling their curious eyes on my back, I walked out as casually as I’d walked in. Once I got to the elevator foyer, I let out a big breath and pressed the button with shaking fingers.
Now what?
I’d failed my mission. I could have one more chance the next day, but only if Chloe didn’t kick us out and if everyone else agreed to try again. Maybe they’ve all had enough and got back in the van. I stepped out of the elevator and into the main kitchen. Monsieur Wilmar was nowhere to be seen and the staff had thinned. I walked up to the kitchenette and yanked the door open.
To my relief, everyone was still there, sitting on the high chairs around the island countertop.
Luc had his head down on the counter. Win was curled up in her chair, looking half-asleep. Katy was flipping through a recipe magazine, and Tetyana was cleaning her guns with a kitchen cloth, naked bullets scattered around her. My first thought was I put food on that table, you know. But this wasn’t the time to fuss about kitchen hygiene.
“Well?” Tetyana asked, looking up.
Luc and Win stirred awake. Katy put down her magazine.
I closed the door behind me.
“How did it go?” Luc asked.
“The Dragon Lady’s here.”
“That’s good news,” Katy said.
“Did you talk to her?” Tetyana asked.
I shook my head. “Tomorrow,” I said, summoning my most confident voice. “This was the first step. Now she’s tried my cakes and knows I’m here, she’ll want to talk to me.”
Tetyana scrunched up her eyes and stared at me for a couple seconds before going back to cleaning her guns.
A knock on the door made us look up. I braced myself. Is it Chloe and her guards?
Luc opened the door and in came the young Alice-in-Wonderland look-alike.
“Hallo, mäin numm ass Greta,” she said prettily to Luc.
“Hallo, Greta,” Luc said, waving her in with a bow.
Chloe had asked Greta to take us to our lodgings. Greta didn’t speak much, but from the cautious way she regarded me, I was sure I was in Chloe’s black books. At least she hadn’t thrown us out of the castle, I thought. Not yet, anyway.
We followed the little girl through the main kitchen. She led us to the far end and opened the door next to the elevator.
We climbed down to the servants’ quarters in the basement. There were no luxurious wall trimmings here or lush carpets or chandeliers. On both sides of the stark corridor were small rooms, each with two beds and tiny windows that opened to the parking lot on one side, and the forest on the other. Prison rooms were nicer than these, I thought.
After Greta opened the first room to us, she tipped her head to the side, tucked her hands underneath it and closed her eyes. She then opened one eye to see if we understood.
“We sleep here tonight,” I said, nodding, “Thank you, Greta.”
“Villmols merci,” Luc translated with a smile.
Greta nodded and pointed at the door through which we’d just come down. She wagged a finger at it.
“What does that mean?” Katy asked.
Luc bent down to get to her level. “So mir, Greta – ech versti.” You can speak to me, Greta, I understand.
“Et ass verbueden fir an d'Kichen zréckzegoen,” the girl said in a sweet voice. “Dir musst héi bleiwen, bis den Här Wilmar iech rifft fir d’Owendiessen.”
“She’s saying we can’t go back to the kitchen,” Luc explained. “Not till Monsieur Wilmar calls us up for supper.”
“Oh, really?” I said. How generous.
“So he doesn’t want us wandering around?” Katy asked.
“I’m sure that’s it,” Luc said, straightening up.
The girl pointed at a small door nearby and another one at the end of the corridor. “Dës Dier geet an den Keller an dës um Enn op de Parking.”
“Merci.” Luc nodded and turned to us. “That door is to the cellar, and that one on the end is to the parking lot where our van is.”
The girl stepped away with a shy wave. Win and Luc waved back while the rest of us stared at the disappearing fairy-tale-like figure.
“I guess we’ll be spending the night here,” I said.
We walked over to our van and got our knapsacks filled with the clothes, shoes, and toiletries we’d gotten in Luxembourg City. I wanted to explore the castle grounds to see if I could find another way to get to the Dragon Lady, but Luc pointed discreetly at the two foot guards having a smoke break near the back door.
“Don’t think that’s smart right now,” he said.
So we returned to our rooms. Tetyana took a room with Win. Katy and I picked a room together, and Luc had the smallest room with a cot to himself. We took advantage of the communal showers in the servants’ quarters and got ready for whatever was to come next.
An hour and a half later, Greta came down to escort us to the kitchen for dinner.
The lines had clearly been drawn.
The kitchen staff sat at the main table with Monsieur Wilmar at its head. Our crew had been relegated to a much smaller table in the back, ten feet away from theirs.
No one looked at us or spoke to us. It was like we were at the loser table in high school where I’d eaten most of my school lunches when only Katy would come and sit with me.
“At least they’re feeding us,” I whispered to Tetyana.
“Geneva Convention,” she said, with a grim smile. “You must always feed prisoners of war.”
I don’t think anyone slept well that night.
The rooms were cold and the beds were hard. The stone walls didn’t allow any heat to remain inside, and there didn’t seem to be any electrical heating on this floor. It hadn’t helped that a howling wind whipped at the windows most of the night and Luc had talked about werewolves throughout supper. I tossed and turned for hours and was glad when the morning light streamed through the small window.
I’d just woken up when I heard a knock on the door.
“Gudde Moien,” Greta said brightly. She was wearing the same outfit as the day before. Does she have several Alice in Wonderland costumes, I wondered.
“Good morning, Greta,” I replied.
She handed me a yellow envelope and left with a wave. I stared at her back, unsure if I was still asleep and dreaming. I rubbed my eyes.
“What is it?”
I turned around to see Katy sitting up. Closing the door, I walked over to sit at the edge of her bed and pulled out a beautifully handwritten note from the envelope. My heart skipped a beat. A letter from the Dragon Lady? No, it was a menu, the menu for this afternoon’s tea party. I drew my breath in.
Katy peered over my shoulders. “Wow,” she said. “We’ll be baking all day.”
“Where do we find these ingredients?” I said, running through the list.
Chloe wanted three hundred and fifty cakes, in several flavors. “Lemon meringue, black forest, tiramisu, candied hazelnut, hummingbird, chrysanthemum cheesecake, marzipan fruit. Oh my god, where do we even start?”
I tried to remember what I’d seen in the cellar and the fridge in our kitchenette.
“Impossible,” Katy said, shaking her head. “We won’t even have time to bake.”
I looked over the list again and nodded gloomily.
A second knock made us sit up.
“Come in!” Katy called out.
Win and Luc stumbled in, with Tetyana behind them.
“Sleep okay?” she asked.
Everyone shook their heads.
“So?” Tetyana said, “What’s the plan for today?”
I waved the menu. “Chloe just sent her commands.”
She took the list and let out a whistle. “You have to make all this?”
“By eighteen hu
ndred, thirty hours,” Luc said, reading over her shoulder.
“They want the cakes for after dinner,” Katy said, turning to me with an encouraging smile. “This means they really liked what we did yesterday.”
“But I can’t do this,” I said, shaking my head. “They probably have all this stuff in the main kitchen, but Monsieur Wilmar will kill us before he lets us touch it.”
“So what do we do?” Win asked.
“Maybe it’s time to find another way out of our mess,” I said glumly. “I guess we’ll have to take our chances with Fred and the police.”
Someone rapped on the door.
“Fruhstuck in einer halben Stunde!” Greta shouted from outside.
“Breakfast in half an hour,” Luc translated.
“Let’s have something to eat first and figure this out,” Tetyana said.
We took half an hour to shower, dress and climb upstairs to the main kitchen.
Everyone else was at their designated spot and had already started on their homemade croissants and pastries with jams and fruit. They’d set a place for us at the small side table again and all we had was dry bread and butter to go with our coffee. Other than desultory replies to our good mornings, everyone kept to themselves.
The chatter at the large table was subdued, everyone occupied with their food, or too intimidated by Monsieur Wilmar. Greta was all smiles and sunshine, though. She sat at the edge of her table, closest to us, and once in a while slipped Luc jam jars and pastries from her table.
I moved my half-eaten bread around my plate, brooding. There was no way I was going to find all the right ingredients and even if I did, I wouldn’t find enough of them to make that many cakes by six thirty in the afternoon.
Chloe had set me up for failure. I’d never be able to talk to the Dragon Lady, and I’d never get to meet Chef Pierre. Maybe it’s time to leave. I stared forlornly at my coffee cup.
“You received your menu, I presume.” It was the sonorous voice of Monsieur Wilmar.
The Girl Who Made Them Pay Page 23
