Page 19 of Lady Scandal
“You ask me to tell you why they do what they do?” He lifted his hands to the sky in exasperation and let them fall. “They snoop, they spy on us. They dismiss members of my staff without my consent. They—”
“What?” Delia cried in dismay. “More people gone?”
“Two of my waiters were dismissed last week. And one of the kitchen maids today.”
“Heavens! We shall soon have no staff at all.”
“We are not the only ones who suffer. Agostini has lost two cashiers. Calderon says they cost too much, they must go, andpfft—” He paused to snap his fingers. “They are gone. No notice, no warning. They are told to leave at once, and they are shown the door.”
“This is absurd!” she cried, too furious at such unfair treatment toward the staff to remember her newfound strategy of staying neutral. “Oh, that man is impossible!”
“As you say,” Escoffier agreed. “How shall we serve the food? My dishes, so meticulously prepared, shall be cold before they reach the tables! And who shall wash the dishes? Me? Can you not do something, Madame?”
At that question, Delia’s anger faltered, and she gave a frustrated sigh, remembering harsh realities. “Unfortunately not,” she admitted, the words bitter on her tongue.
“I cannot operate under such conditions as this. What are they looking for in my papers? Do they wish to steal my recipes, and then fire me?”
As much as she disliked the man, Delia could not see Calderon doing such a thing. “I don’t think you need worry about that,” she murmured soothingly.
Escoffier was not pacified. “Nowhere else would I be treated this way. Nowhere! At any other hotel, they would fall to their knees and beg to acquire me.”
That, Delia knew, was not an exaggeration. He’d be snatched up in a heartbeat if he ever left the Savoy, and though that would be just what Calderon deserved, it would be a calamity for the hotel and for Ritz, and that was a price she wasn’t willing to pay. She tried again to apply oil to the troubled waters. “My darling Auguste, you know we’d never survive without you. The hotel wouldn’t last a day.”
“And I should care about that? If I did not have a contract, I would have departed already,Madame.”
The reminder that a contract bound him filled Delia with profound relief. “Of course,” she murmured. “And you have every right to feel as you do. It’s completely understandable. But—”
She broke off as a movement from the doorway caught her attention, and she looked up to find a most welcome sight in the doorway. “Kay?” she cried in delighted surprise. “What a treat to see you! Come in, come in,” she added, beckoning her friend into the room as she rose and circled her desk. “Heavens, how long has it been?”
“Ages,” Lady Kay Matheson replied as she entered Delia’s office. “A year, at least.”
“That long? Well, the passing time certainly does you justice. You look lovely.”
Kay, never comfortable with compliments, made a scoffing sound. “Oh, stop. You’ll turn my head.”
Delia doubted such a thing was possible, for Kay had always been painfully self-conscious about the generous curves of her figure, her flaming red hair, and the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and who could blame her? The scandal sheets had been vicious to her upon her debut fifteen years ago, deeming her England’s least desirable debutante and making her vulnerable to the machinations of scoundrels with bad intentions. Her disastrous elopement one year later with notorious hellion Devlin Sharpe had not only broken her heart and torn apart her family, but it had also put her decidedly beyond the pale in the eyes of society.
“It’s true,” Delia insisted, moving past Escoffier to give her friend an affectionate kiss on each cheek. “You’re looking absolutely radiant. But what brings you to town at this god-awful time of year? Off to the Riviera with your parents?”
“Oh, no, we’re far too busy for that. No, no, I’ve come to ask you for a favor.”
“How splendid. I adore doing favors for people.”
Behind her, Escoffier gave a cough, and she stepped sideways. “Kay, do you know Monsieur Escoffier? Escoffier, this is Lady Kay Matheson, daughter of the Earl of Raleigh.”
“Monsieur,” Kay greeted him with a pleased smile. “I have partaken of your magnificent culinary creations so often, I feel as if I know you, but it is a pleasure to truly meet you at last.”
Despite having lived in England for years, Escoffier still spoke no English, but Kay’s warm and friendly smile communicated her point so effectively that the chef’s thunderous frown was soothed away at once.
He responded with some equally flattering words in French, and Delia, hoping to preserve his momentary good mood, took full advantage. “Thank you, Auguste,” she said, taking him by the arm and propelling him past Kay to the door, “for bringing this matter to my attention. As soon as Ritz returns from Rome, we will sit down, all three of us, and decide what to do. Until then, we must soldier on and continue to do our part.”
With a few more platitudes, she finally rid herself of the temperamental chef and closed her office door behind him with relief.
“Oh, dear,” Kay murmured. “I seem to have interrupted something terribly important. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Believe me,” she added, making a face, “your arrival was a blessing and your timing impeccable. Things are a bit chaotic just now with Ritz away, and Escoffier hates it when things don’t go smoothly, but there’s little I can do for him but commiserate. It makes one feel so helpless. So,” she added, happy to change the subject, “doing a favor for you will be a most welcome distraction. How can I help?”
“I need the Savoy’s biggest, most lavish banquet room for the seventh of June, along with the finest plates, silver, and linen you’ve got and the most exquisite dishes Escoffier can make.”
