Free Mistletoe Man - China Bayles 09 by Susan Wittig Albert

already serving the staples— tea sandwiches,
scones and jam, cakes, and so forth. I propose to reorganize these same items
around several traditional teatime themes. For instance, one might offer a
Savory Tea—sandwiches and cheeses—or a Sweet Tea, which is miniature pastries
with a fruit garnish. Both very simple but elegant. And for the youngsters, one
might include a Mad Hatter's Tea." She folded her hands. "Alice, you
know."
    "It's very British," I said to Ruby, sotto voce. "I don't know how it'll go over here in Pecan
Springs."
    "But it's unique and different," Ruby
said, also in a low tone. "I think our customers will love it. And they
don't all come from Pecan Springs, of course." This was true. Tourism is
the Hill Country's biggest business, attracting people from all over the world.
    "If you would like to talk it over
privately," Mrs. Kendall said tactfully, "I should of course be glad
to—"
    "No, no," Ruby replied. "We love
your ideas. And your food." She gave me a meaningful look. "Don't we, China?"
    We hired her on the
spot, of course. She had the required green card, so there was no problem with
her papers. As an employee, however, Mrs. Kendall was a challenge, because she
preferred to give orders rather than take them. What's more, she took only the
suggestions she wanted to take, when she felt like it. But we had to admit that
for all her highhanded ways, she was an eminently fair and reasonable person
who did the right thing, at least as she saw it.
    And as a cook, she was indisputably without peer.
She produced one tasty dish after another with aplomb, and she never looked
ruffled or harried. In fact, her manner was so aristocratic and imperious that
Ruby and I took to calling her the Duchess—behind her back, of course. To her
face, the only familiarity we were allowed was "Mrs. K." We knew from
her employment application that her first name was Victoria, that she was
forty-seven, and that she had been in the United States for four months. But
that and her address (a small apartment a few blocks away) were the only facts
we could ascertain about her personal life. Ruby had once joked that maybe she
de-materialized when she left the kitchen and materialized again the minute she
put on her neat green apron.
    But who cared what
the Duchess did in her off-hours? She was exactly what we needed. We couldn't
imagine what we had done before she showed up. We couldn't imagine what we'd do
without her. Now, feeling grateful to her for agreeing to help me meet my
obligations to the Christmas Tour, I asked about her holiday plans.
    "I have no
plans," she said. "I have no family left, you see, and no one with
whom to celebrate. I'm entirely alone in the world." She sighed heavily.
"My husband is gone.
    My parents died when my sister Amanda
and I were very young, and Amanda herself died ten years ago. I still miss her
quite dreadfully." Another long sigh. "I brought her up, you know,
after Mother and Father died."
    I could hear the sadness in her voice, and
something else, as well. The Duchess, usually so crisp and precise, was
uncharacteristically rambling, her words slightly slurred. Had she been nipping
at the sherry, at two o'clock on a Sunday afternoon?
    "I'm
sorry," I said, not knowing exactly what to say.
    She hiccupped so delicately that I almost didn't
hear it, and I pictured her taking another sip of sherry. "My sister was
so beautiful, and such a loving and generous person." Mrs. Kendall's voice
became bitter. "Her death was an unspeakable tragedy."
    "I'm so sorry," I said again, with more feeling.
I had a sudden vision of the Duchess sitting all alone in a drab, cheerless
apartment, with nothing to do but sip sherry and mourn her sister's death a
full decade ago. It was pathetic.
    I heard a sudden sharp intake of breath, as if
Mrs. Kendall was trying to get hold of herself. "I apologize for having
imposed my sadness and anger on you, Ms. Bayles." Her voice took on some
of its customary briskness, and I