The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux - Samantha Verant Page 0,56
then a ladleful of the sweet potato purée, also pressed. Finally, we place a filet on it. Set the dish under the heat lamps.” I turned to Phillipa. “Your turn. Five minutes. Go.”
I showed her how to garnish, placing the edible flowers and herbs with kitchen tweezers. Admittedly, the plate was a piece of art, so beautiful Monet and his water lilies would have been jealous—just as wonderful and colorful as I’d imagined it would be.
“Thank you for having confidence in me, Chef,” said Phillipa.
This was the first time anybody had called me chef, and it felt great. More than great. But I wasn’t about to take all of the credit when this was a team effort.
“You’re a chef, too. Now hit the counter and yell, ‘Service!’”
“Service!”
The smile spreading across her face, the pride lighting her eyes, told me I’d won over her cooking heart, and I also felt mine sparking back to life. For me, being back in the kitchen and cooking was liking being zapped with a defibrillator, delivering a dose of electricity right into my soul.
After all the main courses had been delivered, Jane sashayed into the kitchen. “The guests would like to meet the chef,” she said. I grinned until she continued, “although it’s not a good idea and I made an excuse for you.”
“Why?” I asked.
Jane’s cold blue eyes sparked to life. Her lips twisted into a half smile. “Because half of the guests are from New York, and I overheard one of them talking about you.”
“Wha-what did they say?” I stuttered.
“That they heard that the sabotaging chef is the granddaughter of the Grand Chef here,” she said, turning on her kitten heel and leaving the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she said, “I’d strongly advise you not to follow me in.”
I froze. Phillipa clasped my hands into hers, squeezing them.
“Don’t pay mind to one word she uttered,” said Phillipa. “Nobody knows the truth.”
“That’s the problem,” I whispered, trying to hold back the tears. “My name is ruined, and if I stay here, I’ll only bring the château down with me. I can’t do that to you guys. I can’t do that to my grand-mère.”
Before Cendrillon, I’d never been a crier—not even when I burned my hands or cut my fingers—but all I seemed to be doing lately was drowning in an ocean of salty tears. I didn’t shed one tear when my mother died. I didn’t cry when I’d found Eric had cheated on me—multiple times. Something in me had changed, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it. I used to be strong and fierce. Now I was a pathetic weakling.
“The staff in a kitchen is called a brigade, right?” asked Phillipa, and I let out a grunt. “Okay. After the guests leave, save for Valentine’s Day and private events, we have three months until the château opens to the public and the truth will come out,” she said. “So if the ship goes down, which it won’t, because I’m going to make it my mission to clear your name, we’ll all go down with you. We’re a family here and, if I know your grand-mère, she wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I bet Jane thinks differently.”
“Jane isn’t the heir to this château. You are,” she said. “Fight for it. I saw the way your eyes lit up in the kitchen. I could almost feel the energy, your love for cooking. You taught me how to fillet a fish and I’m sure you can teach me so much more.”
Phillipa stared at me, waiting for a response. My mind reeled. “You said you wanted to help me clear my name?” I finally said. “How?”
“I have a few ideas, but I need to sort them out first,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. She tilted her head. “So, what’s it going to be?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I did have fun tonight.”
“That’s the spirit,” she said.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked.
“Because I know what it’s like to be judged—especially when you’re constantly being compared to your perfect sister,” she said. “But there’s no such thing as perfect. We all make mistakes. We’re human.” She rocked back and forth on the heels of her sneakers. “Look, the granny brigade and Gustave are nice and all that, but we don’t have much in common. You showed up. And I really need a friend, one I can talk to, and one who speaks English. All the French makes my head swim.”