mountains.”
“ Ja. The air is not so clean here.” He continued reading her form. “Ah! You worked with Warner Brennholtz at the Hotel Germania !” He smiled and nodded as he pulled his wire-rimmed glasses down. “I spent a week in Interlaken three years ago. Best food I’ve ever eaten.”
“Chef Brennholtz trained me.”
“Why did you leave?”
“To learn French. I’m here to learn English. There are more opportunities for employment for those who can speak multiple languages.”
“Very true. Do you speak French?”
She gave a prim nod. “Assez de servir.” Enough to serve, but little more.
“You’ve accomplished much for one so young, Fräulein Schneider.” He glanced over her form again. “Dressmaking, graduate of Haushaltungsschule Bern , trained by Frau Fischer and Warner Brennholtz, delivered a baby, and managed a boardinghouse in Montreux . . .”
“I am a long way from accomplishing what I want, Herr Reinhard.”
Herr Reinhard put her form on the top of the pile. “I will see what I can do.”
Marta moved into the Swiss Home for Girls and waited. She had spent more than she intended seeing Paris. While other girls came and went, Marta kept to the house, trying to shake the head cold she had contracted on the journey to London and helping the housemother, Frau Alger, keep the common rooms clean and neat. She wondered if she had made a mistake in coming to England. The drizzling rain and heavy, soot-scented mists of London depressed her, and Frau Alger said good jobs were scarce.
A message came from the consulate, signed by Kurt Reinhard. The wife of the Swiss consul needed an assistant cook for a dinner party that evening. Marta washed and put on her uniform, packed quickly, and headed to the consul’s mansion by taxi.
She went to the servants’ entrance and found herself greeted by a harried maid. “Thank goodness!” She waved Marta inside. “Frau Schmitz is frantic. She has twenty guests arriving for dinner in less than two hours, and Chef Adalrik’s wife became ill this afternoon and had to be taken to the hospital. Another maid quit this morning. We have only one upstairs maid and me.”
After the cold, damp air outside, the heat of the kitchen felt momentarily wonderful. The familiar smell of good Germanic cooking reminded her of the Germania Hotel and Warner Brennholtz. Other things struck her as well, but she decided it was better to be in a smoky, windowless kitchen than out in the damp looking for work. She set her suitcase aside and removed her coat as the maid introduced her to the grim-faced, gray-haired chef. Adalrik Kohler barely glanced at her. “Go with Wilda. Help her set the table for twenty.”
“How many courses?”
“Four. Frau Schmitz wanted six, but I can’t manage more without my wife. When you finish, come back to the kitchen. Oh, and, Fräulein, this is not a permanent position. As soon as Nadine recovers, you will go.”
“I came to learn English. It is more likely I can accomplish that in an English household.”
“Good. Then you will not be disappointed.”
With Wilda’s help, Marta covered the table with white damask and set out the Royal Albert Regency Blue dishes with crystal stemware and silverware. Two silver candelabras and an arrangement of purple and white lilacs adorned the center of the table. Marta folded the white napkins into peacock tails and set them in the middle of each plate. Frau Schmitz, a dazzling blonde woman in her forties, came in dressed in a blue satin gown. Diamonds sparkled at her throat as she walked around the table, inspecting each setting. “It will do.” Marta gave a quick curtsy and headed for the kitchen.
By the end of the evening, Marta’s legs ached from going up and down the stairs from the basement to the second-floor dining room. When the guests left and the kitchen had been cleaned from top to bottom, Wilda took her upstairs to the fourth-floor maids’ quarters.
Over the next week, Marta
“ Ja. The air is not so clean here.” He continued reading her form. “Ah! You worked with Warner Brennholtz at the Hotel Germania !” He smiled and nodded as he pulled his wire-rimmed glasses down. “I spent a week in Interlaken three years ago. Best food I’ve ever eaten.”
“Chef Brennholtz trained me.”
“Why did you leave?”
“To learn French. I’m here to learn English. There are more opportunities for employment for those who can speak multiple languages.”
“Very true. Do you speak French?”
She gave a prim nod. “Assez de servir.” Enough to serve, but little more.
“You’ve accomplished much for one so young, Fräulein Schneider.” He glanced over her form again. “Dressmaking, graduate of Haushaltungsschule Bern , trained by Frau Fischer and Warner Brennholtz, delivered a baby, and managed a boardinghouse in Montreux . . .”
“I am a long way from accomplishing what I want, Herr Reinhard.”
Herr Reinhard put her form on the top of the pile. “I will see what I can do.”
Marta moved into the Swiss Home for Girls and waited. She had spent more than she intended seeing Paris. While other girls came and went, Marta kept to the house, trying to shake the head cold she had contracted on the journey to London and helping the housemother, Frau Alger, keep the common rooms clean and neat. She wondered if she had made a mistake in coming to England. The drizzling rain and heavy, soot-scented mists of London depressed her, and Frau Alger said good jobs were scarce.
A message came from the consulate, signed by Kurt Reinhard. The wife of the Swiss consul needed an assistant cook for a dinner party that evening. Marta washed and put on her uniform, packed quickly, and headed to the consul’s mansion by taxi.
She went to the servants’ entrance and found herself greeted by a harried maid. “Thank goodness!” She waved Marta inside. “Frau Schmitz is frantic. She has twenty guests arriving for dinner in less than two hours, and Chef Adalrik’s wife became ill this afternoon and had to be taken to the hospital. Another maid quit this morning. We have only one upstairs maid and me.”
After the cold, damp air outside, the heat of the kitchen felt momentarily wonderful. The familiar smell of good Germanic cooking reminded her of the Germania Hotel and Warner Brennholtz. Other things struck her as well, but she decided it was better to be in a smoky, windowless kitchen than out in the damp looking for work. She set her suitcase aside and removed her coat as the maid introduced her to the grim-faced, gray-haired chef. Adalrik Kohler barely glanced at her. “Go with Wilda. Help her set the table for twenty.”
“How many courses?”
“Four. Frau Schmitz wanted six, but I can’t manage more without my wife. When you finish, come back to the kitchen. Oh, and, Fräulein, this is not a permanent position. As soon as Nadine recovers, you will go.”
“I came to learn English. It is more likely I can accomplish that in an English household.”
“Good. Then you will not be disappointed.”
With Wilda’s help, Marta covered the table with white damask and set out the Royal Albert Regency Blue dishes with crystal stemware and silverware. Two silver candelabras and an arrangement of purple and white lilacs adorned the center of the table. Marta folded the white napkins into peacock tails and set them in the middle of each plate. Frau Schmitz, a dazzling blonde woman in her forties, came in dressed in a blue satin gown. Diamonds sparkled at her throat as she walked around the table, inspecting each setting. “It will do.” Marta gave a quick curtsy and headed for the kitchen.
By the end of the evening, Marta’s legs ached from going up and down the stairs from the basement to the second-floor dining room. When the guests left and the kitchen had been cleaned from top to bottom, Wilda took her upstairs to the fourth-floor maids’ quarters.
Over the next week, Marta
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