The Book Club Hotel(65)

“For dessert I have raspberry torte, maple-and-walnut ice cream made from our own maple syrup,” Shelley said efficiently and enthusiastically, “a chocolate mousse, and a warm apple compote served with cinnamon crumble and whipped cream from our local dairy.”

Claudia allocated tasks to the other members of the kitchen staff, checked everyone was happy and knew what they were doing, and then turned to find Erica standing in the doorway watching her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Erica leaned casually against the door frame. “I’m just watching someone who hates cooking fall in love with cooking again. It’s entertaining and more than a little heartwarming. I’m trying hard not to say I told you so.”

“I haven’t cooked anything yet, and I’m not in love.” But it was true she felt a buzz that she hadn’t felt in a long time. It was probably adrenaline. Who didn’t get a kick out of helping someone who needed help? If Chef Tucker had happened to walk in at that moment she would have told him what he could do with his brains. “Currently, I’m solving a problem. That’s it.”

“Tell yourself that, by all means.”

“If you’re going to be smug, could you do it somewhere else and not in my kitchen? If you’ve time on your hands, you can type up a new menu.”

Erica straightened. “I can do that. Do you have it?”

“I will in five seconds.” Claudia took the tasting menu she’d been given and drew a line through most of the dishes. She scribbled, amended and altered the layout. “We need to change the font. Make it easy to read and friendly. All that curly type is intimidating. Food should never be scary. Where’s Hattie? Last time I saw her, she looked as if she was in shock.”

“She’s fine. Currently exchanging small talk with a couple from Ohio who are celebrating forty years together. Paying attention to their every need. She’s good at it. I would have thrust a guide book and a local map into their hands and told them to get on with it.”

Claudia handed the menu to her friend. “Which is why you don’t work in hospitality.”

“That could be it. But Hattie has a gift. See her with the guests and you’d never know she was weathering a crisis.” Erica scanned the menu. “No brains? Shame. Chloe will be heartbroken. Leave this with me. I’ll deal with it.”

Claudia realized that since Stephanie’s dramatic exit she hadn’t given a thought to Erica’s situation. “How are you doing?”

“Me? I’m still here, if that’s what you mean. And you know me—handling a crisis is my comfort zone. I’d rather do that than talk about feelings.” Erica waved a hand toward the kitchen. “Go and create. We’ll talk later.”

Erica vanished, and Claudia worried about her for a moment and then turned her attention back to the task at hand.

The team of four worked quietly, heads down. When she spoke to one of them their heads jerked up and there was a wariness in their eyes.

Expecting to be shouted at for something, Claudia thought. She’d been there, although whenever she’d been nervous or upset she’d never let the executive chef see it.

“Chef?”

It took a moment for her to realize that they were talking to her.

“Yes?”

“Do you honestly think we can do this without Chef Tucker?”

“I know we can.”

“If we pull this off tonight, it will be a miracle.”

Claudia reached for a skillet. “Then it’s a good thing it’s Christmas. It’s the perfect time for miracles. Now, let’s get back to work. Those carrots aren’t going to peel themselves.”



FIFTEEN


Anna

One of Anna’s favorite memories was of reading to the twins when they were very young. Sometimes she’d managed to engage both of them at the same time, and the three of them had snuggled in the bed, taking turns to flip the pages of the book. More often she’d taken one of them and Pete the other. Occasionally over the years, she thought back wistfully to that time and she thought of it now as she was snuggled on the sofa with Delphi, cocooned by tall shelves of books and warmed by the fire.

There was a tendency to only remember the good when you looked back, but of course there had been difficult days, too. There was a relentlessness to parenting young children that sapped energy from the most robust of people. There had been one memorable winter when the twins had been ill constantly, passing germs between them until Anna had wondered if they’d ever be well again.

Still, there had been a simplicity to those days that she missed. There had been no worries about the influences of friends, no staying up late until she knew the twins were home safe, no terror at the thought of one of her babies behind the wheel of a car.

For eighteen years they’d been under her roof and under her care. They’d been her focus, her life.

Next to her, Delphi had fallen asleep on the cushions and Anna closed the book they’d been reading together, wishing she could stop feeling this way. She had much to be grateful for, and the fact that her children were healthy and able to leave home and lead independent lives was one of them. She knew, deep down, that this wasn’t about them. Yes, she’d worry about them because that was part of being a parent, but it wasn’t worry about the twins that kept her awake at night. It was worry about herself.