a room.’’ She gave another flit of her lace handkerchief. ‘‘That was one of Mrs. Wright’s duties.’’
‘‘Yes, I understand you’ve never performed the actual work. But at least you know how the room should appear and how I might decorate the tables.’’ Olivia clenched her teeth. ‘‘Besides, this is your fault. You’re the one who wrote that ridiculous letter stating I was accomplished in every imaginable task.’’
‘‘I wrote an eloquent recommendation, and this is the thanks I receive. You wouldn’t have been hired had it not been for that letter.’’
With a forced effort, Olivia agreed with the woman and then requested her expert advice. The words of praise and flattery had the desired effect, along with a promise to bring home a plate of whatever Chef René prepared for the guests attending tomorrow’s meal.
Charlotte paced back and forth and then stopped in front of the parlor window. She pointed toward the blooms that dotted the Pullman flower beds in a profusion of color. ‘‘You can use those. Along with some greenery and several candelabra on the sideboard, the flowers will be sufficient.’’ She turned to Olivia and shrugged. ‘‘Simple enough.’’
Perhaps in her mind, but not in Olivia’s. ‘‘Will you go to the hotel and help me choose the vases and candelabra later this evening?’’
After Olivia offered to prepare a lemon dainty for dessert, Charlotte agreed. Since arriving in Pullman, Charlotte had given little thought to her meals, but she had developed a fancy for sweets that was insatiable. A good thing for Olivia, since baking was her one area of expertise, but not good for Charlotte, whose girth seemed to balloon with each passing day.
While Olivia dined on baked chicken and a generous helping of green beans, Charlotte devoured the lemon dainty. When she finally pushed away from the table, Charlotte had eaten the entire dish of pudding. Rejuvenated by the sugary treat, she willingly accompanied Olivia to the side door leading into the hotel kitchen. Olivia motioned her to wait while she checked on Chef René ’s whereabouts. She certainly didn’t want to run headlong into the rotund chef. Fortunately, his office was unoccupied.
She waved her ladyship toward the decking closet. Their selections didn’t take long, and Olivia deposited the items in the dining room. The hotel seemed eerily quiet. Except for the desk clerk who relieved Mr. Billings each evening, no one was about, and he appeared more interested in reading a book than seeking an explanation for their presence.
Behind the closed doors of the dining room, Charlotte assisted while Olivia covered the tables with crisp white cloths. With surprising deftness, Charlotte arranged a place setting, surrounded it with the proper glassware and silver, a napkin, a salt cellar, and the remaining necessities for a proper meal. When she’d finished it to her satisfaction, she instructed Olivia to arrange eight settings at each of the tables and place Mr. Pullman at the head table, along with the largest of the floral arrangements.
‘‘Be careful to keep the floral arrangements low to the table. You don’t want to block Mr. Pullman’s view of his guests.’’ She wagged a finger. ‘‘Tall, bushy arrangements will mark you as an amateur. Cut the flowers first thing in the morning and use fresh water in the vases. They will be perfect for the noonday meal.’’
On the way home, Olivia made a mental note of the instructions. She had no hope of arranging flowers with the expertise of Chef René , but with a plethora of showy flowers, she could arrange something that should prove at least acceptable. In a burst of desire to please, she decided she would rise early, complete her duties in the dining room, and then offer her services to Chef René in the kitchen. Yes, that should impress him and also reinforce her genuine desire to learn and succeed as a chef.
Later that night she fell asleep while
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