Wedding Soufflé and a Dead Valet Page 2

  Lavinia's husband, John Stevenson, shakes his head. Catherine finally approaches the group. She introduces herself to Lewis and me, speaking just loud enough for me to hear her over neighboring conversations. Catherine's blonde hair looks like locks of gold, and the color goes nicely with her violet cocktail dress.

  "Catherine Thorne," Catherine says as she shakes my hand. "How long will you be staying with us?"

  "Just for the week," I answer.

  "Well, Woodbury is a nice place." Catherine's eyes dart to her peers. "For visiting."

  "I will keep that in mind." I take a deep breath. Marta is going to need a whole lot of pep talks this week, and I need to think of some silly distractions to keep her distant from all of the town gossip.

  "Hors d'oeuvre?" A familiar voice whispers in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. I turn and see Ethan, the valet from outside, holding a tray of appetizers.

  "You're a waiter and a valet?" I whisper back.

  "I'm a man of many talents," Ethan answers. "Now try the one with those green things so that my boss doesn't get cross."

  "They're called asparagus," I inform him. Ethan winks as I take one. He moves on to the rest of the people in our group. The only person who refuses his offering is Lord Chutney.

  "That boy has it coming," Lord Chutney mutters as soon as Ethan is out of earshot.

  "What do you mean, dear?" Sandra holds her look of concern until Lord Chutney decides to explain.

  "I found a scratch on the Rolls Royce this afternoon." Lord Chutney's expression turns cold, as though his prized Rolls Royce is his first-born son. "That man has no respect for his superiors. People like that should be outlawed in these parts."

  "Hear, hear." Mr. Stevenson holds up his glass in agreement.

  Once the foyer seems to be filled with the entire village, a server stands at the top of the stairs and rings a bell. He announces that dinner is served, and Lord Chutney is quick to take his position at the head of the long dining room table. Lewis leads Marta by the hand. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure she would make a run for the exit.

  "Now that is how you clear a room," Ethan whispers behind me. His presence eases the tension throughout the manor. I stay behind, letting Lewis and Marta finds their seats at the table first.

  "You could get into some real trouble if you keep talking to me," I joke. "Word is Lord Chutney isn't too pleased with you."

  "If this is about the Rolls Royce, you needn't worry. He's been complaining about that scratch for months. I think he scratched it himself on one of his joy rides." Ethan's eyes dart around the room as he discreetly tugs at his sleeves.

  "Interesting."

  "But"—Ethan chuckles—"there's always the chance that I'll be fired by the end of the night." He glances toward the kitchen where his coworkers are bringing out starters. "If that's the case, then I'll have to get your number now rather than later."

  "Oh…" I hesitate. My luck with men lately hasn't been all that great. My last fling was with an old flame from college, and it has been a while since I've spoken to him. Romance wasn't really something I expected to find here in Woodbury. All of that is better left to the bride.

  "Unless you have a boyfriend?"

  "No." I shake my head.

  "Girlfriend?"

  "No." I laugh, opening my purse. "Here. You can be the first one in England to own one of these." I open my wallet and hand him one of my brand new business cards. After leaving my job at Magnolia Harbor Inn and Spa, I spent some time in Boston with my brother, Mark. Mark is all about business, and he insisted that I print up some business cards and start marketing my services. I have yet to feel comfortable handing them out to strangers, but I suppose that will change when I fly home and face the fact that I am currently unemployed.

  "Poppy Peters, award-winning pastry chef," Ethan reads. "Very impressive. May I ask what the award was for?"

  "I won a contest in pastry school," I answer. "My brother insisted that I stick that on there."

  "I bet you could teach those cads in the kitchen a thing or two about gourmet cuisine. The menu for tonight looks dreadful." Ethan shrugs. "Then again, what do I know? I'm just the valet."

  Ethan grins as he joins his peers in the kitchen. I search the dinner table for Marta, but the open seat next to her is quickly taken by a woman in a strapless top. I'm glad to finally see someone at the party who is turning more heads than me. Marta gives the woman a hug, looking relieved.

  "The best friend from school, I take it?" I comment.

  "Poppy, this is Tamsin," Marta says, introducing her friend.

  "Oh, Poppy, the American girl," Tamsin responds. "I just love Americans. Finally, another person at the table who doesn't look like they've taken a whiff of poo."

  I take the open seat next to Tamsin, observing her unconventional outfit. Tamsin's short, chestnut hair is wild around her face, and she pays no attention to the fact that she's showing enough cleavage to gather the attention of Mr. Stevenson and select others at the table.

  Lord Chutney stands once everyone is seated and clears his throat.

  "Alright." He waits for the whispers to die down. "That's enough. Now, I'm sure you are all wondering what this dinner is about."

  "You and your rubbish car collection," Tamsin mutters so that only Marta and I can hear her.

  "Of course, we are here to congratulate Marta and Detective Berry on their upcoming matrimony." Lord Chutney pauses to let everyone applaud. "I've also gathered you all for another important announcement." He looks down at Sandra, who appears as though she's on cloud nine. "Sandra and I are also engaged to be married."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lord Chutney holds up his glass after announcing his engagement to Marta's mother, and the applauding around the dinner table grows louder. Sandra nods a thank you to each one of her guests, but she pauses when she reaches her daughter. Marta looks as if she's been sitting in an oven for way too long. Her forehead glistens as she purses her lips in disapproval.

  "Oh no," Tamsin says quietly.

  "Darling," Lewis says under his breath.

  Marta keeps her mouth shut. She jumps to her feet and escapes toward the kitchen. Tamsin follows her, and Lewis waves at me to join Tamsin. My heart pounds as I leave the dining room and follow a server to the kitchen. Marta is standing over the sink like she's ready to puke. Tamsin rubs her back.

  "Want me to break them up?" Tamsin asks. "Just say the word, and I'll work my magic." She briefly glances down at her strapless top and yanks up the fabric. It's still not enough to hide her cleavage.

  "Bollocks," Marta mutters. "Can this night get any worse?"

  It's strange to watch Marta falter under pressure. Her shoulders sink in defeat as she stands over the counter. This isn't the Marta who works at Le Croissant. At least, not the Marta I remember. The Marta I knew had no problem telling me that my pastry dough was too flat or that my macarons were too dry. Or maybe Marta's confidence is reserved only for the kitchen?

  "It could, actually." I answer Marta's question by reminding her of the chaos we went through one very rainy night at Dovington Manor. "Remember Cornwall and that caterer, Mary?"

  "Chicken Kiev." Marta takes a deep breath. "Who serves chicken Kiev when one of the best fish markets is right next door?"

  "Exactly," I continue. "Your mother could have hired her to cater the wedding."

  "You're right," Marta agrees. "That would have been a disaster."

  "Marta, if you can win the approval of a man like Jean Pierre Gautier then you're capable of much more than you know."

  "The queen loves that French snob," Tamsin adds.

  "Your parents will figure things out." I nod, hoping that my pep talk is working. "In the meantime, don't let their silly little games ruin the biggest day of your life. I think everyone would agree that you and Detective Berry didn't meet by accident."

  "No, we met because you poked your head around in other people's business." Marta raises her eyebrows.

  "There's the Ma
rta I know and love." I give her a quick hug. I eye a couple of servers as they fill their trays with the first course—some sort of seafood salad. "Take a few minutes, boss a few people around, and let's get back to your mother's secret engagement dinner."

  "I knew I liked you, Poppy." Tamsin smiles and sneaks a pinch of crab meat off of a random plate. "What do you say, Marta? Shall we rejoin the festivities? I know you would love nothing more than to give Lord Chutney a kick up the arse, but there's a time and place for everything."

  "Okay," Marta agrees, eyeing the seafood salad. She wrinkles her nose. "I'm okay now." Marta picks up a shrimp from one of the plates. "But I think I should have a word with the chef. This shellfish is much too undercooked."

  "Lord Chutney hires only the finest," Tamsin says with her nose turned up. "Come on. By the time we get back to our seats, they'll be bringing out the mains anyway."

  Tamsin grabs Marta by the arm and pulls her out of the kitchen. Lewis is waiting impatiently in the hallway. He grins when he sees that Marta is still standing and ready to return to the dinner table.

  "Excellent," Lewis comments.

  "No worries here, detective." Tamsin nods matter-of-factly. She leads Marta back to the dining room.

  Lewis nudges my shoulder. He wipes his forehead and loosens his tie as he waits for Marta and Tamsin to disappear out of sight. A look of concern crosses his face, and it's enough to make my blood pump a little quicker. If Lewis Berry, a man who has seen it all, is nervous then I should be too.

  "Poppy, can I have a quick word?" Lewis scratches his chin like he's carefully pondering what to say next.

  "Sure," I answer. "Is everything okay? I mean…besides the usual stuff?"

  "Yes and no." Lewis fiddles with his cufflink. "You see, I was wondering if you could do me a favor this week."

  "What sort of favor are we talking about here, detective?"

  "Let me preface this by saying that I love Marta," Lewis explains. His eyes soften when her name leaves his lips. I remember the moment Lewis showed up to Marta's flat after one nearly deadly break-in. Marta had made him nervous, and it was the first time I had witnessed him stumbling over his words.

  "I believe you." I can't help but utter my true thoughts on the subject.

  "All I want is to marry her, Poppy. If it were up to me, I would marry her today and toast to our future with a cup of tea."

  "I'm sure many grooms have tried and failed at that, Lewis."

  "I know Marta wants the big wedding, but you should have seen her last week when the florist told her that one of the flowers she ordered was no longer available. I thought she might never leave her flat."

  "Marta has a stressful job that she happens to be very good at," I remind him. "Maybe she's just trying to make sure her private life is absolutely perfect."

  "She can't handle all the stress, Poppy. I fear that she might actually explode if anything else goes wrong. Or worse, what if she cancels the wedding?" Lewis runs his fingers through his hair, making it look even messier than before.

  "So you want me to sugarcoat everything for the next week," I guess.

  "Just keep her distracted, and let me deal with the messes."

  "I'll try," I agree. "But not even I can sugarcoat her mother's horrible timing."

  "I really wish Sandra would have waited until after the wedding," Lewis sighs. "Well, we've got to work with what we've got, yeah?"

  I walk with Lewis back to the dining room, pleased to see that the questionable seafood salad course is over and another dish is being served. I study the plate in front of me and what appears to be lamb, vegetables, small potatoes, and some sort of sauce.

  "Incoming." Tamsin bumps my elbow as a man is seated at the far end of the table.

  "Who is that?" I whisper.

  "That is Marta's father, Rupert, I'm afraid," Tamsin says quietly.

  I glance over at Lewis just in time to see him shake his head.

  "Dearie, what is he doing here?" Sandra says to Marta as discreetly as she can.

  "Mum," Marta sighs. "Not now."

  Marta's father sits briefly while scanning the other guests. He jumps to his feet again before a server even brings him his dinner plate. Rupert quickly walks toward Marta and gives her a kiss on the cheek as he says hello. Rupert is tall and lanky like his daughter, but he doesn't have the same fiery hair and freckles that Marta and her mother do. Rupert puffs out his chest, fixing his tie as he observes his wife's new arm candy.

  I glance at Lewis again. He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead and does his best to keep a friendly grin on his face. I grip my fork tighter, picking at the food on my plate. Rupert lingers, talking to Marta about Paris and Le Croissant. The longer he lingers the more Lord Chutney fidgets with his pocket watch.

  "Rupert, why don't you have a seat," Sandra instructs him.

  "We're not even together anymore, and you're still telling me what to do," Rupert comments. He says it as if it's a well-known joke. Lord Chutney frowns.

  "Once a complainer, always a complainer, I see." Sandra lifts her chin as she scoots a little bit closer to her boyfriend.

  "And I see that your need to nag doesn't stop, not even for your only daughter's big evening. Let me know how that works out for you, Mr. Chutney." Rupert chuckles, looking pleased with himself.

  "I beg your pardon." Lord Chutney sits up a little straighter.

  "Rupert," Sandra scolds him. "Show some respect."

  "How dare you come into my house and talk to me that way." Lord Chutney stands up so that he's taller than Rupert. "It's Lord Chutney."

  "Oh, yes, of course." Rupert holds back another chuckle as he returns to his seat. Sandra glares at him the whole way, and Marta immediately requests a refill on her drink.

  "Phew," Tamsin mutters. "I was afraid he might make a scene."

  "That wasn't a scene?"

  "Those two are dangerous when they get together," Tamsin continues. "Which is why I think they're still in love." Her eyes dart to Marta, who is busy talking to her fiancé. "Marta hates it when I say that."

  "Why did they split up?" I ask. "Marta isn't really one to give details."

  "Oh, I know." Tamsin clears her throat and takes a sip of champagne. "I have no idea, but it just happened one day out of nowhere. They were together over thirty years."

  "Wow."

  "I know." Tamsin moves on to the food on her plate. "Can you imagine being with the same man for that long? I would go crazy."

  My thoughts about love don't exactly match Tamsin's, but then again, I'm no romantic. The relationships I get into always seem to be rocky from the start. But for some reason, every time my mother sees me she insists that by now I should have a steady boyfriend, fiancé, or even husband by now. She even invited my ex to one of her holiday parties not so long ago. It ended badly.

  The dinner continues but not fast enough. Another course is served, and Rupert and Sandra exchange uncomfortable glances back and forth across the table. I do my best to ignore it, but other guests, including the Stevenson's, can't help but watch and whisper. Marta hardly touches her food, and Sandra comments that she needs her strength for the week ahead.

  When dessert finally arrives, I'm ready for the night to be over. I can barely keep my eyes open as I observe the trio of sweets on my plate. I recognize the first miniature cake. It's a light vanilla cake with a layer of strawberries and cream sandwiched in the middle. It's called a Victoria sponge, and I've only ever eaten it once before at Le Croissant. Marta made them to sell at the bakery once in a while when we received a delivery of fresh strawberries. I test the airiness of the sponge cake, knowing that Marta will not be satisfied with a subpar dessert. The cake is too dense, and the cream in the middle hasn't been whipped long enough.

  I look at Marta as she takes a tiny bite of her sponge and immediately pushes it to the side. She tastes the next sweet in line, which is presented in a tall glass. It looks like a yogurt parfait, but I sample the creamy custard on top. A layer of sponge cak
e below it has a hint of sherry. I nod and take another bite before I move on to the third dessert in the trio. It's a slice of chocolate cake, and it's the particular sweet that I purposely saved for last. I bite into the cake, getting a forkful of cake and frosting. The chocolate buttercream is sweet enough to make my lips pucker, and the cake is not as spongey as I was expecting. I watch as Marta shakes her head and distances herself from her plate, disappointed.

  Lord Chutney finishes all of his dessert. When he's finished, he studies each one of his guests and eyes the ones without empty plates. I quickly give my half-eaten dessert to a server before he notices that I was less than satisfied with my meal.

  "Thank you all for joining us this evening." Sandra stands up to address the room. "Please join us in the lounge for tea and coffee, will you?"

  Everyone stands up all at once. I look at the time, expecting to have been at Chutney Manor for hours and hours. It hasn't been that long. I take a deep breath, wondering how much longer Marta will be able to stomach seeing her parents together in the same room. It's clear that it's extremely difficult for them to inhabit the same space for too long.

  "You must take a look at my newest edition," Lord Chutney says to Mr. Stevenson. His voice rings through most of the main level. "I just acquired a unique car that you haven't seen anywhere else."

  "Oh, do let us see," Mrs. Stevenson chimes in. Lord Chutney takes a sip of tea and leads a group of people to his one-of-a-kind car collection parked conspicuously out front.

  "This is your cue to leave, love," Tamsin says, nudging Marta.

  "Yes, you go home and get some rest," Lewis agrees.

  "I doubt I'll be able to sleep after the night I've had." Marta follows her mother outside, breathing in a whiff of fresh air.

  At night, Chutney Manor looks magical. The front is lit up so that each window sparkles. It reminds me of the Christmas tree my mom puts up every year. The evening breeze is much cooler than evenings in the South. The high humidity doesn't agree with me, but it's what I'm used to. I rub my shoulders, feeling a chill wash over me. I should have worn tights.

  Lord Chutney approaches his car collection with a giant grin on his face. His entourage of loyal villagers follows him. Lord Chutney stops suddenly, staring at his prized Rolls Royce. He takes a deep breath and covers his mouth with his hand.