A Place in the Country (35 page)

“Wow!” Sarah's eyes opened wider and she pushed a hand worriedly through her pale blond hair. “Sure,” she said, uncertainly. “Of course,” she added, eyeing Caroline who looked as worried as Sarah felt. “We can do it.” She gave Caroline an encouraging smile.

“We'll do the cheese soufflés for a starter.” Caroline made a sudden decision and immediately felt better.

“Isn't that a bit ambitious?” Now it was Maggie who was getting worried.

“Not the way I do them, it's not,” Caroline said. “Come on, let's get my mother and Issy and get to work.”

Of course her partner Mark was the first person she phoned to tell him of the opening night, and of course he agreed to come.

*   *   *

By Wednesday
all the necessary ingredients were purchased, save for the salad and vegs, which would be delivered fresh-picked from the local smallholder Friday morning. By Thursday, the tables were covered in taupe-colored cloths (the hell with the laundry cost, Caroline told herself she would just have to build it into the price) and laid with large bronze-color chargers and the mismatched but lovely old cutlery, rescued from a restaurant auction. Pale robin's-egg-blue plates went on top of the bronze chargers; old-fashioned cobalt blue glass salt and peppers; a flat pale blue bowl in which to float a single flower; and small clear crystal holders for sepia votives.

After a quick visit from the electrician, the amber wall sconces suddenly worked and Caroline's lamps lent a warm glow. The cream canvas sail billowed in the breeze coming from the open French doors, while out on the terrace, amber globe lanterns had been slung from beams and brackets and in the trees. Caroline had flung cushions on the riverside wall and set the tables with the added luxury of an inexpensive pashmina draped over the chair arm in case the breeze got a bit much later.

By Friday evening all was ready; the
mise-en-place
with its stainless steel bowls of diced onion, celery, carrot; the breads that came from Wright's bakery, the good sweet butter stamped with the image of a cow in small brown bowls. Cloves of garlic, pots of fresh herbs and containers of dried ones; the salt, the pepper, the flour. There was a basket of tiny pansies, as well as sprigs of thyme and rosemary to decorate the finished plates.

Remembering she was cooking for locals and friends, Caroline tailored her menu accordingly: nothing too experimental, she needed to “get her hand in,” and so did her guests. Besides, simple food was always
good,
and often more enjoyable than the more daring techno-gastronomy of the new young chefs.

She had made a sorrel soup, a delicate darkish green, to be served with a tiny pale-orange scallop floating in the center, so sweet it still smelled of the bay where it had been that morning.

The “special” cheese soufflé mixture waited in the refrigerator, and small dishes already buttered and dusted with grated Parmesan rested on baking trays, ready to be filled and put in the oven for half an hour. Salad greens crisped; asparagus waited to be rolled lightly in olive oil, dusted with salt and pepper and more of that good Parmesan and then also put in the oven for ten minutes or so. Grated courgettes had been sliced, sautéed in butter, salted, peppered, a hint of dill, and whipped lightly with a dollop of cream. Peas, fresh from the garden, awaited a brief dousing in the minimum of sugared water; a couscous “salad” with fresh spinach and Meyer lemons smelled so fragrant several people had already tested a spoonful in passing. Wild rice had been cooked and then mixed with tiny stewed tomatoes and now brewed slowly in the oven. And in a pan with lid firmly on, were the smallest new potatoes cooking gently in only a knob of butter.

Chocolate brownies, made by Cassandra, had been frosted with even more chocolate, and Caroline had made the French pear tart she had learned in French cooking school, and had been famous for at dinner parties in Singapore.

For the main course, Dublin Bay shrimp, the colossal kind, were to be floured, and sautéed with garlic, shallots, and white wine; and chateaubriand steak was being kept at room temperature, to be anointed with oil and salt and pepper, quickly browned, then roasted for barely twenty minutes, then sliced and served with a sauce prepared by Caroline, spiked with champagne because that's what she was drinking at the time. And, most exotic and a true test of something “new” for her guests, were her own handmade fine rice noodles, served with tiny marinated shrimp and spicy chicken, and the special Singapore hawker-style seasonings Mark had sent her.

Two waitresses had been hired away from the local tea shop for the night and were specially outfitted in taupe cotton aprons. Issy and Sam were still hustling anxiously round the room, checking that every knife and fork was set at exactly the correct angle. They were to act as “busboys,” in copper-colored T-shirts and black jeans, and wore sneakers so they wouldn't slip.

Cassandra was hostess and greeter in her black “barmaid” low-cut dress that Caroline told her would wow the men, at which Cassandra simply smiled and said “Great.” Of course she wore her kitten heels too.

Henry in black cords and a white shirt was in charge of wine. Georgki, in a blue pinstripe suit, was already out in the lane ready to direct traffic, and Jim waited outside the door, in jeans and a blue shirt, ready to valet park. “Think they'll tip?” he asked Cassandra with a grin.

“If they do it goes in the tip pot, and everybody gets a share.” Cassandra knew her stuff. And she also knew Jim was dying to be with Caroline, who with only ten minutes to go, was up in her room with Sarah, getting into their new “chef's” suits.

“I hate these pants,” Caroline said, scowling at herself in the mirror. They were polyester with an ugly black and white pattern and drooped over her bum.

“They make me look fat,” Sarah agreed.

Of course nothing could make Sarah look “fat,” but anyhow they decided against them and opted instead for black yoga pants. Caroline lent Sarah a pair, and then they put on their new white cotton double-breasted chef's jackets.

“Top two buttons left open, like Gordon Ramsay,” Caroline instructed. She enjoyed seeing her name and rank,
EXECUTIVE CHEF CAROLINE EVANS
, embroidered in blue. This was the real thing. No getting away from it now.

Sarah ran a finger over her own name, and her title,
CHEF
. “How did this happen to me?” she asked, awed.

“All I know is we had better live up to it,” Caroline said, as they put on their white chef's clogs and headed down to the kitchen.

Caroline paused at the door. She looked at her restaurant. At the beginning of her dream. Votives flickered on the tables, lamps cast a glow against the stone walls, and globes of golden light illuminated the terrace. The lovely old stone, the taupe cloths, the robin's-egg-blue plates, the shining cutlery, the river drifting past, the breeze just stirring … the scent of food coming from her kitchen, the sound of a champagne cork popping, and then the gravel spurting as the first car arrived. And the old sign over the barn door.
Bar, Grill and Dancing.

This was the real thing. No getting away from it now. This was her new beginning. And she was ready.

 

A PLACE IN THE COUNTRY

Grand Opening Dinner Menu

*   *   *

Red's individual cheese soufflés

OR

Rosette's sorrel soup with scallop

OR

Caroline's butter lettuce salad with frisée

*   *   *

Piazza Navona colossal shrimp with shallots in white wine, served with wild rice and roasted asparagus.

OR

Richard's roasted chateaubriand finished with a champagne sauce and served with the newest of new potatoes, fresh spinach, and lemon couscous and new peas.

OR

Mark's favorite fresh-made noodles in the true style of Singapore with Dublin Bay shrimp, spicy chicken, and sautéed vegetables, served with a creamy side dish of special courgettes.

*   *   *

Cassandra's chocolate fudge brownies with butter icing

OR

Caroline's French pear tart with almond crust and Devon cream.

*   *   *

Coffee and brandy snap tuiles

*   *   *

Wines

Rosé Champagne

Chardonnay from Bordeaux (just to be different!)

Napa Valley, USA, Cabernet

Monbazillac dessert wine

*   *   *

With respects to Julia, bon appétit from Executive Chef, Caroline Evans, and Chef Sarah

 

Also by Elizabeth Adler

From Barcelona, with Love

It All Began in Monte Carlo

There's Something About St. Tropez

One of Those Malibu Nights

Meet Me in Venice

Sailing to Capri

The House in Amalfi

Invitation to Provence

The Hotel Riviera

Summer in Tuscany

The Last Time I Saw Paris

In a Heartbeat

Sooner or Later

All or Nothing

Now or Never

Fleeting Images

Indiscretions

The Heiresses

The Secret of the Villa Mimosa

Legacy of Secrets

Fortune Is a Woman

The Property of a Lady

The Rich Shall Inherit

Peach

Léonie

 

About the Author

 

ELIZABETH ADLER is the internationally acclaimed author of twenty-seven novels. She lives in Palm Springs, California. Visit her at
www.elizabethadler.net
.

 

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

A PLACE IN THE COUNTRY.
Copyright © 2012 by Elizabeth Adler. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Cover design by Kerri Resnick

Cover photographs:

Woman © Dougal Waters/Getty Images:

Garden © /Photolibrary

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

Adler, Elizabeth (Elizabeth A.)

A place in the country / Elizabeth Adler.—1st ed.

      p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-312-66836-5 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-250-01442-9 (e-book)

  1.  Single parent families—Fiction.   2.  Mothers and daughters—Fiction.   3.  Murder—Investigation—Fiction.   4.  Domestic fiction.   I.  Title.

PR6051.D56P56 2012

823'.914—dc23

2012007562

e-ISBN 9781250014429

First Edition: June 2012

www.ElizabethAdler.net
www.stmartins.com