Chapter 7
“I don’t know why I expected the Hawthorne children to be, you know, kids,” I lied, scrambling to disguise my embarrassment.
It wasn’t a great cover, but Ali seemed satisfied. Or at least disinterested in the monumental meltdown that was currently underway inside my head.
“As it stands, the family will take some time after lunch to rest and settle in. Dinner is tentatively set for eight this evening,” she told me, returning to finish the last of her lunch still waiting on the counter.
“That should give you ample time to shop in town for any provisions you’ll require. ”
“Great,” I said, only half hearing while I piled pans in the sink to begin washing up.
My head was like a subway station of panic, train cars darting back and forth with new thoughts of existential dread every few seconds.
I thought about how I might accomplish entirely avoiding face time with the family for the next three months.
Becoming a kitchen hermit that only traversed the darkened halls of the staff quarters in the dead of night. The Phantom of the Chalet.
A mask wasn’t a bad idea, actually. Maybe cut and dye my hair. Get a disfiguring face tattoo.
“First, after we’ve cleared lunch, you’ll meet with Mrs. Hawthorne.”
Great.
So, after I’d scrubbed the kitchen from top to bottom, Ali escorted me to an office that smelled of leather and cedar.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls.
In the center was an enormous mahogany desk polished to a mirror shine.
I was left to wait in a wingback chair for a few minutes, wallowing in dread that at any moment Charles would walk in to corner me.
What would I say to him? Would he tell his family he’d nailed the help last night? How long before the rest of the staff knew about it? And where were they hiding the additional employees that seemed to appear like Oompa-Loompas from hidden doorways?
Mrs. Hawthorne strode in with the brusque efficiency of a downhill slalom skier.
“Hello,” I said, standing to attention like I thought I’d woken up in boot camp. “I’m Eleanor Evans. Elle, if you prefer.”
She took a seat behind the desk with a curt nod, her ocean-blue eyes staring fixedly at me.
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” I said.
Mrs. Hawthorne arched one perfectly sculpted brow. “Your firm highly recommended you. Ms. Wheelan seemed to suggest that you were almost too qualified for such a position.”
Megan must’ve given them the hard sell to get me this gig. Maybe pumped me up a little too much.
“I have a diverse background of experience to offer,” I told her, attempting to skate around what felt like a trap she’d set for me. “I assure you, I’m grateful to be here.”
Her lips remained thinned to a sharp line. “We expect a strong work ethic from our staff, Miss Evans.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “I’ve never been afraid of hard work.”
“Good.” She nodded tightly. “Now, let’s discuss lunch today.”
I swallowed hard, bracing myself.
“While your flavors were pleasing, I expect a more polished and elevated presentation in the future. You have fine dining experience, correct?”
“I do,” I answered, trying not to sound wounded, even as her words stung me right in the chest. I would’ve loved to put out something fancier, but I had been working with limited ingredients. I wondered whether Mrs. Hawthorne was aware of that fact.
“Then let’s aim to show it. We always have room to improve. I trust you’ll continue to challenge yourself to do so while you’re here.”
“Of course.” My smile was forced, while her expression remained indifferent. “You’ll get my very best moving forward.”
“I’m sure.”
Mrs. Hawthorne clearly wasn’t the type to hand out idle praise, though she at least seemed satisfied that I wasn’t a complete disaster. If only because she wasn’t privy to what I got up to with her son last night. Or that he was propositioning women in his pajamas at 2 a.m. But I digressed.
“Your role as our chalet girl will include managing the kitchen, preparing our meals, catering events, and ensuring the chalet remains well stocked and organized at all times. We will have guests on occasion, and you’ll be expected to accommodate their needs as well.
This is not a nine-to-five position, you understand. Flexibility is key.”
“Understood,” I replied quickly, meeting Mrs. Hawthorne’s gaze. “I’m prepared for that.”
“Ali will go over rules and procedures with you, but there is one point I must stress. Our family values discretion, Miss Evans.”
Her voice turned sincere. The hardness in her eyes faltered somewhat. This was personal to her.
“Our privacy is precious,” she said. “I have zero tolerance for gossip.”
I found the statement oddly comforting. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but perhaps my secret was safe too. I wouldn’t be the chalet girl with the scarlet letter. It was flimsy reassurance, but enough to unclench my muscles for now.
“Yes, ma’am.”
With that, her tone became brisk once more. “We’ve had several chalet girls over the years, and few have remained through the season. I do hope you last longer than they did.”
I lifted my chin. One thing working in restaurant kitchens had taught me was to show backbone. Head chefs pounced on weakness. Show the slightest crack and they would hammer you until you broke. But make yourself impenetrable and you’d earn their respect.
“I always honor my commitments, Mrs. Hawthorne. This job is important to me.”
“And why is that?” Mrs. Hawthorne asked, narrowing her eyes.
“I was recently accepted to the Academy of Culinary Excellence in London to continue my training. It’s a very prestigious school, with only a small percentage of students accepted each year. This job will allow me the financial security I need to attend.”
Something flickered in Mrs. Hawthorne’s expression—approval, perhaps—but it was gone as quickly as it came.
“Then I wish you luck,” she said simply. “We look forward to seeing what you prepare for dinner.”
Ali came to collect me once Mrs. Hawthorne had left. As interviews went, I suppose it wasn’t so bad. Megan had warned me the family could be difficult, but so far, I’d seen much worse. Excluding the one glaring issue of my late-night antics with Charles last night.
We reconvened in the kitchen to plan for dinner. Ali informed me that the family would expect a coursed, plated meal with dessert. They were not great fans of family style service, so it was best to avoid that entirely. Otherwise, there were no allergies or dietary requirements to be aware of.
“I’ve included a credit card you can use for anything you require and a map of good places in town to shop,” she told me, sliding a large manila envelope across the island to me.
It was heavy and stuffed with several bulky items. “The marketplace includes several local producers, so I’d suggest you start there, but feel free to use your discretion. ”
“Perfect, thank you.”
“There is a staff vehicle in bay three of the garage for official use. Keys are in the envelope as well. If you run into any problems, my number is already programmed into your staff phone. Remember, dinner is at eight.”
For the last two days, getting to this house had been my top priority. Now, knowing Charles was lurking somewhere inside it, I couldn’t wait to leave. A trip to town was a welcome excuse to get a little distance.