Free In the Company of Secrets by Judith Miller Page B

friend or another.
    ‘‘If George Pullman paid a decent wage, the women wouldn’t be required to work in order to make ends meet.’’
    Once again, his mother waved a warning. ‘‘Enough of such talk. Let’s enjoy our supper. I’m anxious to go visit with Albert’s cousin and meet Mrs. Hornsby.’’
    Fred grinned at his mother. ‘‘You win, Mother. I promise I’ll not say another word against Mr. Pullman or the town—at least until after supper.’’
    Charlotte remained sound asleep while Olivia prepared to depart for work the next morning. She was grateful she wouldn’t be forced to listen to her ladyship whine about their poor accommodations or her need for a maid to help fashion her hair. Upon seeing the sparse furnishings in the kitchen last evening, Mrs. DeVault had insisted Charlotte come and take her meals with her the next day.
    After the guests had departed the night before, Olivia had once again shoved her notes at Charlotte. ‘‘Study these again before you go to sleep and before you depart for your visit with Mrs. DeVault.’’
    Though Charlotte had immediately objected, she conceded defeat when Olivia mentioned several errors made during the evening. Had it not been for Olivia’s quick recoveries, they would have been subjected to a genuine interrogation. Now she could only hope Charlotte would heed her advice.
    Attempting to assure herself all would go well on her first day in the hotel kitchen, Olivia squared her shoulders as she entered the room.
    Chef René was on duty, his gaze darting about the kitchen until it finally came to rest upon her. ‘‘So you have arrived.’’ He grinned. ‘‘I wondered if you might flee during the night.’’
    With a flourish, he pointed to her flower-adorned hat and sensible broadcloth cape. ‘‘Place your personal items in the outer hallway. Never bring them into the kitchen.’’ Upon her return, the chef greeted her with a double-breasted white cotton jacket. He extended it toward her. ‘‘It will be too large, but it is all that is available at the moment. We can have one tailored for you.’’ The words rolled off his tongue in his lilting French accent.
    She shrugged into the oversized jacket and gingerly rolled up the sleeves that extended well beyond her fingertips. The two rows of buttons were at her sides rather than running down the front of the jacket, but she didn’t complain. However, she took a backward step when the chef pointed to a tall white toque that resembled his own chef ’s hat.
    ‘‘Put it on. All chefs in my kitchen must wear a jacket and hat—it sets them apart.’’
    Olivia wasn’t certain she wanted to be set apart, especially by the oversized jacket and huge white hat. Even with her hair pulled into a knot at the back of her head, the hat slipped down and balanced precariously over one eye.
    When the remainder of the kitchen staff arrived, they surveyed her with what she could only guess was a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Perhaps she could borrow a needle and thread from Martha or one of the other women and tighten the band of her hat.
    She was still engrossed in dealing with the problem toque when Chef René stepped to her side. ‘‘Would you like to prepare a cheese soufflé , or do you have a breakfast specialty with which you’d prefer to surprise me?’’
    Her stomach catapulted into a frenzy of unwelcome activity. She hadn’t eaten before leaving home, yet she was forced to swallow down the lump in her throat. ‘‘I thought for my first day it would be helpful if I could watch and learn where you keep your utensils and what methods you prefer to use in your kitchen.’’ Would he see through her reply?
    A slow smile curved his lips. ‘‘You have a valid point, Miss Mott. For today, you may observe. Tomorrow you will cook.’’
    She didn’t fail to notice the frowns she received from the kitchen staff. While they scurried about in a frenzy of activity, she sat on a stool and watched, her