Chapter 25 Cynthia #2
“Let’s get you fed, and then I will put you to work.
We are behind since we have been short one maid, and I’m not going to have time to give you the same amount of training the staff usually gets.
Most of them start at the beginning of the season, when we host college girls and young working women.
I’m afraid you are going to have to jump straight into the fire,” Iris said.
“I’ll do my best to get up to speed,” Cynthia said, hoping she didn’t sound cocky. From Iris’s comments, she knew she was being evaluated through a slightly tinted lens.
“I suggest that you do,” Iris said. “Mrs. Dudley is the staff cook. She’ll be in charge of all your meals while you’re staying here. The food isn’t fancy like the sorts of things our guests are served, but it will keep your energy up without a doubt.”
“That’s right,” the small woman said, letting go of the spoon and wiping her hands on her apron.
She gave Cynthia a welcoming smile before opening the oven door and pulling out a plate covered with a metal lid.
Mrs. Dudley indicated the table with her head and carried the plate to the table. “Have a seat and tuck into that.”
Cynthia pulled out the chair and lifted the lid off the plate, feeling an uncomfortable heat as she touched it.
Perhaps Calvin the chauffeur had been right about the state of her hands.
Mrs. Dudley had had no trouble lifting the hot plate straight from the oven and carrying it across the room.
She was going to need to develop a few calluses before such feats were second nature to her too.
The plate was filled with thick slices of roast pork, a mound of mashed potatoes swimming in gravy, and a quantity of peas that looked as though they’d come straight from the garden rather than a can.
“I’ll leave you to it. Once you’ve finished your meal, come find me in the Arden House and I’ll set you on your first task,” Iris said.
“There’s no need to gobble your meal, but I’d rather you didn’t linger over it too long either.
As I said, we have been shorthanded, and there’s quite a lot of work to catch up on.
” With that, she nodded at Mrs. Dudley and hurried out of the kitchen with the same speed she had shown on their walk from the main house.
Mrs. Dudley set a tall glass of milk on the table in front of Cynthia’s plate before sliding a cut-glass butter dish towards her.
“You look like a girl who could use a biscuit,” she said.
Cynthia’s stomach rumbled, and she found herself nodding enthusiastically.
Mrs. Dudley placed a tea towel–lined basket in front of her and turned back towards the stove without another word.
Cynthia felt a little uncomfortable being the only one in the room eating, with Mrs. Dudley toiling away behind her, but she couldn’t keep Iris waiting.
And she was rather hungry. The walk from town until the chauffeur had picked her up must have used up what little breakfast she had eaten that morning.
Plain the food might be, but only in terms of its homey reputation.
The roast was tender and savory, and the mashed potatoes and gravy were silky and rich.
Cynthia could not remember the last time she had tasted garden-fresh peas.
Her mother was a great believer in convenience foods.
They were just the sort of modern touch her mother enjoyed displaying in her home.
Cynthia, on the other hand, vastly preferred foods prepared from scratch and was delighted to think she might spend the summer enjoying more meals like the one before her.
Mrs. Dudley hovered over her shoulder as she reached for a second biscuit to mop up what remained of the gravy.
She whipped Cynthia’s plate out from under her and replaced it with another filled with the same quantity of food the first had held.
Cynthia was about to protest when she heard footsteps coming along the hallway.
Calvin stepped through the door and smiled at Mrs. Dudley before turning his gaze towards Cynthia. “Something smells delicious,” he said.
“Sit yourself down and I’ll fetch you a plate,” Mrs. Dudley said, beaming at him.
“You’re the best, Mrs. D,” Calvin said, helping himself to a biscuit. “Memories of your cooking got me through some bleak times overseas.”
Mrs. Dudley placed a plate even more heaping with food than Cynthia’s own in front of him before patting him on the shoulder. “You just say that so I’ll feed you extra,” she said. He reached out for her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“It’s the honest truth. Every time I sat down to a meal and looked at the god-awful mess they served up there, I would just tell myself it was a plate filled with your pork and mashed potatoes. Pretending that’s what it was is the only thing that helped me choke it down.”
Calvin lifted his knife and cut off a hunk of butter.
He slathered it onto his biscuits and then reached for a pitcher like the ones Cynthia had most often seen at breakfast restaurants.
He drizzled a generous dollop of molasses onto the tops of his biscuits before biting into one.
Cynthia had thought Calvin handsome when sitting behind the wheel of a car, but he was dazzling when his face split into a broad smile.
“So, Iris hasn’t scared you off already,” he said.
“Not a chance,” Cynthia said. “Thanks for the helpful tips earlier.”
Calvin waved a biscuit at her. “I’m sure you didn’t need any help for me to get the job. I just told you all those things to give you a little boost of confidence. So, you’re starting right away, then.”
“As soon as I finish eating, Iris wants me to get started.”
“I’m sure she does. We’ve had some A-list guests arrive, and it’s put her in quite a tizzy. I’m running around ragged, too, when it comes to that.”
“I’m sorry if I added to your duties by having you drive me out to the Mayhewses.”
Calvin waved his hand again before reaching for another biscuit. “I run extra errands all the time.” He lowered his voice and leaned across the table towards her. “Some of the ladies like to send me out to smuggle in contraband.”
Cynthia wondered what kind of contraband one could smuggle into a luxury resort.
It wasn’t as though it were a children’s summer camp, or even a college dormitory.
Surely he wasn’t referring to illegal drugs.
Such things were not unknown on campus, but they were not commonly seen, even at parties put on by fraternities.
“What kind of contraband?” she asked, her voice pitched low to match his own.
“Hooch,” he said. “Alcohol is not part of the menu here at the resort, but that doesn’t stop some of our guests from asking for it anyway. Since they aren’t able to access it through the dining room, they find other ways.”
“Are you the other way?” Cynthia asked.
“I am if they tip as generously as they usually do,” he said. “Since you’re here to earn as much money as possible, I’d suggest you acquiesce to any such request you may receive. I’m sure they will make it worth your while if you do.”
“But if it’s against the rules, won’t I get fired for doing so?” she asked.
Calvin shrugged. “How is anyone going to find out? Besides, it’s not illegal; it is simply frowned upon by the dietitians. If these ladies want to sabotage their own weight-loss efforts, it isn’t our place to refuse them.”
“But if they fail to lose weight, won’t they be dissatisfied with their experience and decline to return another time? Won’t they tell their friends it isn’t a successful program?”
He smiled at her, a wide, slow smile that sent a bit of a shiver from her tailbone to the back of her neck.
“As much as most of our guests may say they’re here to drop a few pounds, the fact of the matter is, they’re really here on a vacation, and one they can brag about to their friends.
The only exceptions are those who are here to stop drinking. ”
“There are women who are here because they want to stop drinking?” Cynthia asked.
She didn’t know why, but she felt shocked to the marrow.
In her nice middle-class world, she had never heard of any women whom she thought of as problem-drinkers.
Certainly the ladies in her mother’s bridge club indulged in cocktails during afternoon card games, as well as at parties hosted in the neighborhood or at the Rotary club.
But excess drinking was something she associated with men, and those in the lower classes at that.
The idea that women with as much wealth and fame as the guests at the resort could claim would have any struggles with alcohol seemed incomprehensible.
“Why do you sound so shocked? I would have thought that a college girl like you would insist that women can do most things just the same as men, virtues or vices.”
She paused, considering Calvin’s point. She supposed that for all her belief that her gender shouldn’t hold her back, she did think there were some things she simply didn’t consider seemly for a woman. Perhaps she ought to be more open-minded.
“You’re right. That is foolish of me.” Still, she worried about breaking the resort rules. “But aren’t you worried about being caught fetching contraband?”
“I’m only worried about getting fired for leaving any of our guests unsatisfied with their experience here,” Calvin said. “I’m not going to give anyone cause for complaint.”
“Would Iris really fire you from your job?” she asked.
“Iris would fire me in a heartbeat if the guests were displeased with my service. And if she didn’t, Miss Arden would,” he said. “I suggest you don’t give any of them a reason to complain about you.”
Suddenly, the pork and mashed potatoes sat heavily in Cynthia’s stomach. Between satisfying both Iris and the guests, was there any way she was going to be able to keep the job long enough to earn her tuition?