The Dollhouse - Fiona Davis Page 0,54
clove, turmeric, and honey.”
Her mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten anything since a Danish from the Barbizon coffee shop that morning. “Sounds lovely.”
“We’ll see.”
“Will you put it on the menu?”
His laugh was harsh. “Not if my father has anything to do with it. He doesn’t want anything that tastes ‘weird,’ in his words.”
“So you found out about combining spices in the army?” She liked hearing him talk. And it was much easier to have a conversation when they were both focused on the coats.
“Right, in Southeast Asia, working as a cook. I had to use what I found.”
“And what did you find?”
“So much. There are ten tiny islands clustered in the Banda Sea that used to be the only source for nutmeg and mace. And the oldest clove tree in the world is located on an island called Ternate in the Molucca Sea.”
“How old is it?”
“They estimate between three hundred and fifty and four hundred years old. It even has a name. Afo.”
“Afo.” Such an exotic word. “What did it look like?”
“It’s tall but lifeless, with some bare branches. I saw it when we took over the island from the Japanese at the end of the war.”
“I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you.” To go to islands at the other end of the world, to visit dead trees and learn about history that went back so far in time, was unfathomable.
He shrugged. “In the beginning, lots of guys were complaining about the food. The rations were pretty horrible. But then I began experimenting with what the local folks used. I started adding spices to everything we served: eggs, fish, meat. Even desserts. Some of the guys hated it, of course, but they were idiots. Everyone else raved. They gave it a chance. Although, to be honest, the soldiers didn’t have much of a choice. Unlike my father.”
His rush of words surprised and flattered her. He thought she was someone worth talking to. She hung up a coat and surreptitiously smoothed her hair behind her ears. “Has he tasted any of your experiments?”
“No.”
“Well, I’d like to.”
Esme appeared, looking flushed but unhurt. “Sorry, D.” She startled when she noticed Sam. “What on earth are you doing in the hatcheck girl’s closet?”
“Helping out your friend, here, who was helping you keep your job.”
Esme’s eyes grew wide. “You are the most wonderful amiga in the world, Darby.”
“Well, we didn’t do a very good job. I have no idea what coat goes with what person. And what was with those two men? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her voice was steely. She didn’t want to talk in front of Sam.
He took the hint. “I’m heading to the kitchen. Darby, come back and visit me when you’re through. I have something to show you.” He sauntered off, hands in his pockets.
Darby pulled Esme close and lowered her voice. “What was that? Who were they?”
“Just some guys who think they can tell me what to do.”
“What did they mean, you have to work harder?”
“Stupid stuff. They have a deal with all the businesses in the neighborhood. They offer protection, and in exchange the owners let them skim off the top. Which means they’re always pushing me to do certain things, you know, for the customers. To bring up the tips.”
“Mr. Buckley makes you do that?”
“The girl before me did, so everyone thinks I should, too. But they don’t know who they’re dealing with. I’m not a cockroach they can step on.” Esme reached into her handbag and pulled out a switchblade with a silver handle. “See, I can take care of myself.”
“A knife? You need a knife? Why don’t you tell Sam what they did? Maybe he can help. Reason with his father somehow?”
Esme gave out a bitter laugh. “You got a lot to learn, girl. A lot to learn.” She shooed Darby out of the tiny room and fitted herself inside. “Go see your man. Maybe he’ll give you a taste of something sweet.”
The steamy front entrance to the club was nothing compared to the junglelike humidity of the kitchen, where the line cooks banged pots against the stove and yelled at each other over the steady drone of the ventilation system. Sam led her to the grill, where a chunk of marbled meat sat on a plate. Burgers sizzled over the fire, and he used a spatula to rearrange them and make room before placing the steak in the center.
The flames flared up. “Here, smell this.” He held a small white dish to