Kind Hearts and Coriander by April Hardy

Author:April Hardy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2017-01-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-three

When I went down for the dinner shift, the envelope firmly back inside my sock, I found out what Will and Oliver had been arguing about. Apparently, Oliver had taken it upon himself to plug the gap in bookings by doing a deal with some photographic society he’d come across in one of his magazines. They were arriving in time for last dinner orders, which meant that, after a quiet few hours, we were going to be rushing round at the last minute and staying on late. Personally, I didn’t mind – to be honest, I felt he had a right to do what he could to boost business, but plenty of grumbling dissention could be heard going on in the ranks. The society would be staying overnight and going out on a rather tame safari in the morning, photographing New Forest ponies and deer and oak trees, that sort of thing. Then in the afternoon they were going to the Watercress Line to do the same with the steam trains. Rather them than me. I just hoped the breakfast shift had been warned about the extra work they should expect.

Actually, I thought it was rather enterprising of Oliver to arrange a whole block booking like that at what sounded like fairly short notice. He’d even limited the menu choices to make it easier on the kitchen staff. I was impressed, but of course I wasn’t going to tell him. I just wanted to get this day over and done with, and for Charles to be back so we could get on and open this damned envelope. The temptation to find out that I really was a part of the family Mum had wanted me to find came at me in waves. Most of the time, I managed to treat it as if the envelope just contained something like exam results of which I was already pretty certain, and that they wouldn’t be any different for holding on for a few more hours.

The photographic society seemed a charming group. Their chairman popped his head round the door and thanked us for keeping the kitchen open, promising to chivvy along any slow eaters. They didn’t take long to order.

‘Order!’ I called the second Oliver handed me the slip. ‘Starters: eight asparagus and quail’s eggs, six mushroom tartlets, and four potted prawns. Mains: five Nelson’s pies, six spring lambs, six venison bangers and mash, and one shepherdess pie. Group table.’

The starters were out in minutes and the mains would be ready to go as soon as the starter plates came back in. Whether by accident or on purpose, Oliver had picked the most time-friendly dishes on the menu to offer the group, and the grumbling had all but died away. He seemed to be in his element out there, chatting and joking. I’d gathered that he was into photography – he wandered around the grounds enough with his fancy camera and had even taken a couple of sneaky before and after

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