She wasn’t ever going to give him cause to doubt her culinary skills, but she also wasn’t going to allow him any handsy-ness. Tonight, as long as he behaved himself, he’d be wowed, for sure. If not, he might end up wearing one of her desserts, and she’d be finding a new gig.
“The pastry crust for the pâté en croute is in the refrigerator, chilling.” Allain took her back out of her own head. “Do you need my help with anything else before I check on the staff preparing the table settings?”
“No, Allain,” Bobbie assured him. “I’m more than set here for now. Go ahead and do your thing.”
Indeed, Bobbie noted as she looked at the clock, they were well ahead of schedule and she could probably manage a short break, herself.
Putting the last of the truffles in the refrigerator, she noted the whipped and sweetened mascarpone sitting inside, setting up in its bowl. The sponge had been cooked previously as well, and waited under a damp towel to keep it moist for cutting, filling, and stacking. Bobbie wouldn’t put the dessert together until just before it was time to serve. Otherwise, it would get soggy, and she couldn’t have that. With each of the components already complete, the final assembly wouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes, and would result in a magnificent cake.
Giving one more walk around the kitchen, Bobbie gave the duck mixture a stir, making sure nothing was sticking to the bottom of the pan. She then glanced over at all the ingredients for yam souffle, lined up and ready to go into the food processor. Once combined, they would need to cook for an hour. Which meant…
Yup.It looked like she could afford to take at least a twenty-minute breather, which would provide her with the final burst of energy she’d need to get everything on the table at the proper time.
Removing her apron and washing her hands, Bobbie walked out the back door and into the perfect day. The sun was lowering in the late afternoon sky, but the rays still gave off a wonderful heat. Even though it was July, some days on the eastern seaboard of Canada could be chilly, so she relished the warm glow. She contemplated strolling back to her cottage on the property to get off her feet for a few minutes, but at the last second, she decided that fresh air was better.
She switched directions and headed toward the seawall that stood between the house and the ocean. The huge rock jetty protected the mansion on two fronts from the vagaries of an oft-times tumultuous sea. The dock where her boat sat, ran along the third side of the enormous property, and the vast, rolling lawn out front gave the estate almost complete privacy. Surrounded as it was by ancient arborvitae and an ornate, black fence, the lush barrier gave the property a certain rich, bygone era mystique which would certainly intrigue anyone driving by.
Bobbie knew the house was old. Maybe a hundred and fifty years? She wondered how many children in past eras had scrambled over the seawall as she was doing now, looking for a bit of solitude; hiding themselves from the hustle-and-bustle; from their parents or the ever-present staff.
She felt a bit…naughty. Like she was playing hooky, but as long as she got the meal served on time, Monsieur Provard had assured her she should feel free to walk the grounds whenever she found herself at loose ends.
Like now.
The tide was going out, so once over the wall, Bobbie climbed down a few tiers and settled on a huge boulder. She set her watchalarm, then snuggled back against the rocks behind her, closing her eyes to soak up the last of the sun.
Of course, almost immediately thoughts of the very frustrating Buck began seeping into her brain. There was no way she could stop them. She just knew that he’d find a way to be waiting for her when she got home, because he was determined they have a “talk”.
Just because she’d been able to put it off for a few days, didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen.
Buck, if anything, remained tenacious.
She must have eventually drifted off to sleep, because she was roused by voices carrying on the wind, over the wall.
“…going to be amazing. I promise,” an unknown male intoned from somewhere above her.
Bobbie knew she probably shouldn’t be listening, but hearing people praise her food was like a caffeine hit to her system, so she hunkered in to see if these kudos were about her.
“I know you’ve been to a few of these Tuesday night things before,” a female voice responded. “So… It’s really that good?”
“The purest of the pure, my dear. You’ve never had anything like it, I’ll guarantee that. It’s going to be a memorable night.”
Bobbie frowned. That was a funny way to talk about her food. It had been called delectable, even epic a time or two, but never…pure? What the heck did that even mean? She supposed she should take it as a compliment.
She strained her ears to hear more, but the pair had walked away, and she couldn’t discern another thing.
Shrugging, she looked down at her watch. Three minutes until she had to be back. She turned off her alarm before it rang, then rose to her feet.
There was no need to wait.
Scrambling back over the rock wall, there was nobody on the other side, so the guests she’d heard had clearly made their way back to the house for pre-dinner cocktails.
Bobbie laughed. Monsieur Provard had said that he limited the amount of alcohol available before food was served, so that no one would be too drunk to appreciate her stellar cuisine.
She respected that, but knew the same didn’t hold true forafterdinner.
It seemed like post-cuisine, all bets were off.
Every now and then if she was late cleaning up, she’d hear overly loud and boisterous voices from the salon off the dining room; raucous laughter, shrieks of delight, even. But that wasn’t her business. She’d never gone to have a look to see what was occurring behind the large wooden doors, especially when Allain had outright discouraged it. She trusted his judgement.
