Claire Gulliver #03 - Intrigue in Italics Read online

  5:00

  Group A Free Time

  Group B Free Time

  Group C Kitchen work

  7:30 Cocktails in main salon

  8:30 Dinner Award Ceremonies/Graduation

  10:00 Graduation Party in Main Salon

  Day 8 Wednesday, May 15th

  7–9:30 Breakfast

  8–12 Transportation leaves from Main Lobby

  * * *

  The Villa was full of surprises; everywhere they found nooks and crannies inviting their inspection. The garden was especially intriguing with its vegetables and herbs mixed attractively with flowers and shrubs. But time had been passing and suddenly they realized they were going to be late for lunch. And when they arrived in the private dining room, they found they were the last. All the seats were taken except two at opposite ends of the table. They split up, hurrying to claim the seats.

  “Is this seat taken,” Millie asked politely. The man on her left stood up, bowing stiffly from the waist, pulled out the chair for her. The man on her right just smiled at her as she sat down.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the 5th Annual Italian Culinary Retreat. Our host, Geno Giambono,” the speaker graciously gestured to the man sitting on his right, “is the owner of this five star facility and has graciously agreed to host us this year.”

  Everyone clapped enthusiastically. Everyone had heard of the Villa Tuscany. In the food circles it was up there near the top for innovation, presentation and continuous quality and, of course, the hotel was well known also.

  “My name is Rafael Angelino and I represent the Italian Culinary Association. Our group proudly organizes this retreat. We are pleased to be able to present our fifth retreat here in Tuscany. It is our pleasure to lure world-renowned chefs to some fabulous setting to inspire, to mentor and to reveal to a few lucky souls their secrets for producing wonderful Italian cuisine. This year we have coaxed Chef Jean Claude Martin from his famous New York restaurant, Jean Claude’s, to our little bit of heaven here in Tuscany.”

  The applause was loud. The speaker paused. “Chef Martin, not content to own and run an award winning restaurant has spread his talents to the entertainment arena. Many of you may have seen his cooking show on PBS Television, which I believe has been shown here in Italy as well as in many other European countries. And of course he has been published.” He looked at Chef Martin. “What is it now, Chef Martin, number five?...or six? Well, if any of you have his cookbooks, now is a good time to get them autographed. If you don’t have yours with you, I believe the Villa Tuscany has stocked a few in the gift shop for this occasion. Right, Geno?”

  Geno nodded enthusiastically.

  Rafael looked sad. “I am sorry that prior business commitments have kept me from joining this group, but I am leaving my able assistant, Marie Verde, here to make sure everything runs smoothly. If any of you have any issues or questions, see Marie. Stand up, Marie, so people will recognize you.” He looked around, and said, “Well, with no further ado, I would like to introduce Chef Jean Claude Martin.”

  The large, dynamic, gray-haired man stood. His electric blue eyes roamed over the group seeming to single out each person. He smiled slowly, the force of his personality already hypnotizing them.

  “I know, I know, those of you who have heard about last year’s Retreat are ecstatic to be here, as am I. I am honored to be your chef for the next week. We have an exciting agenda and I guarantee you will find this Retreat meets all your expectations. We will work hard, have fun and everyone will learn something, which will make you a little better at what we all love, cooking. Plan to hone your culinary skills in Italian dishes. And most importantly for some, you will all become even more proficient at selecting the appropriate Italian wines to serve with each dish.”

  Judging by the enthusiastic response everyone was looking forward to the lessons in Italian wines.

  Chef Martin continued his introduction. He described how the Retreat was to be organized, how each person would be assigned to one of three groups. All couples would be separated into different groups so everyone would have equal chances to participate. Each group would prepare a portion of the meal on three days. All three groups would work together in some basic instruction, the pasta class and the wine tour. They could each expect to get hands on experience in all aspects of meal preparation over the duration of the Retreat. Each of them would receive an empty binder and, during the week, would accumulate copies of all recipes used, as well as those used by the Villa itself for the meals their kitchen provided.

  “Each night at dinner we will enjoy our meal and then we will analyze the dishes served. I expect all of you to participate with enthusiasm. As that is how we all learn, is it not? But remember we want constructive criticism. Not only will you offer kind criticism, but also suggestions to improve the dish or even to alter it. But of course on Friday, Geno’s people will be providing our dinner, as that day we will be visiting the local wineries. After a day of sampling their production right in their own cellars, we’re not expecting any of you to be in any condition to cook.” His smile widened at their enthusiasm at this announcement.

  “Now, those of you who do not speak English do not worry, as Sal will interpret for your benefit.” He nodded, and a young man stood and began speaking rapidly in Italian.

  “Now, let’s eat, and enjoy, and get to know each other. Sal will come around the room and make sure everyone has understood all the information and will identify those who will need his services over the next few days.” He held up his glass of wine. “Here’s to a great dinner, one of many at the Villa. Salute!”

  They all lifted their glasses crying, “Salute, Salute.”

  Then Chef Martin stood up again. “Excuse me, I am so sorry, but I forgot to introduce Wanda, who is my assistant chef, as well as is Sal. You will all become fast friends. Now sit and enjoy.”

  When the meal resumed everyone introduced themselves to their neighbors. Millie found the man on her left was named George Binns from Wales. He was the owner and chef of a small hotel. Middle-aged, perhaps in his mid-fifties, he was a solid man of average height and ruddy complexion. His hair was dark and thick and his expression pleasant. He looked like a man who was happy with his life.

  “Just a small place, you understand, nothing grand such as this.” He gestured around to encompass the Villa. “But we serve a steady stream of business travelers during the week and tourists on the weekend. We’ve noticed how popular our few Italian dishes are becoming, so here I am, learning more.” He smiled. “My wife is quite jealous, but then someone needs to tend to business and I am the chef, you see.” He laughed. “For once that is an advantage. And someday soon I’m sure she’ll be off on a jaunt of her own to discuss inn-keeping, linen folding or some such topic.”

  The man on her right and the woman on his other side were a Swiss couple called Fredrick and Helga Lowenthal. They spoke German, Italian and very little English but smiled a lot. Since Millie only spoke English she couldn’t breach the language problem enough to find out why they were taking this class.

  “I am Renee DeBois,” the man across the table said. “I have studied at the Cordon Blue and worked at the George V in Paris for five years.” Young and proud of his credentials he puffed up in his chair, looking around him for their approval. “Now I finish up here before starting my position as chef on the yacht, Belvedere, out of Naples.”

  The woman beside him nodded with appreciation. “Ooh, how lucky! That sounds like a great assignment.”

  He nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral, but not able to stifle the satisfaction gleaming from his eyes. “Yes, this was very lucky. The owners have dined at the George V many times and I have known them. They lease this yacht, fully staffed. So when their chef had family problems and had to resign I was offered the job. His misfortune was fortuitous for me. And after so many years spent learning my art, believe me, I am ready for the excitement of different ports.

  “And I only cook for t
he passengers and the officers. The crew has their own chef; they even have their own kitchen.”

  “How wonderful! I envy you.” The woman beside him introduced herself. “I’m Marybeth Lewis. I have a restaurant in Connecticut. Believe me there is not much freedom to explore different ports when you own your own restaurant.” She glanced across the table. “Is there, George? There is always the buying, the preparing, the staff to manage and the clients to please. Always!” Her smile lit up her face.

  She was a pleasant looking woman, Millie thought, she was probably Claire’s age, early forties. Her light brown hair was loosely tied back at her nape, the curls springy and wayward. She used little or no makeup other then a bit of lipstick, allowing her freckles to show as they wished. Her eyes were hazel and friendly and she appeared to be a capable women. Millie just assumed it was a good restaurant. How could this woman own anything else?

  “This is a busman’s holiday for me. Every few years I try to get away and take a refresher course to keep up with what’s new in the industry, as well as to hone my skills. Of course, I came because of Chef Martin. I have dined at his restaurant and really admire his style. I was especially thrilled when I learned the Villa Tuscany was hosting the Retreat this year as its restaurant is well known for using fresh vegetables, herbs and fruits from their own gardens, which is a specialty of my restaurant. Have any of you seen the gardens yet?” She looked around and seeing some nods continued. “And I’ve promised myself to only call home once a day. The restaurant will have to get on without me.”

  Those close enough to hear her comment laughed. They all knew that feeling of being glad they were gone, but worried about what was happening at home.

  Millie realized it was her turn. She was slightly dismayed. Not only did everyone seem to have so much more experience than she did, but they were all much younger. “I’m very new at this,” she said tentatively. “I’ve recently retired and I’m hoping to work in the catering field to supplement my retirement. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.” Her voice was stronger now as her enthusiasm radiated from her. “But I’ve only had a few classes at the California Culinary Academy and, of course, all those years I cooked out of necessity. I hope I can keep up with the rest of you.”

  “Don’t worry; you’ll do fine. Everyone here is coming from a different background and with different skill levels. You’ll see they are prepared to teach us all something.” George nodded encouragingly.

  Then Renee started talking to Fredrick and Helga in Italian with George adding a comment now and then. Rather than try to talk through their conversation to Marybeth, who didn’t seem to understand them any more than Millie did, she turned her attention to the rest of the people seated at the long table. She counted fifteen, nine men to the six women, here for the class not including the people who sat at the head table with Chef Martin. It turned out that Millie and Ruth were not the oldest. The Asian couple, who sat near Ruth, appeared to hold that honor. They were very small in stature and despite their age, their expressions were bright and alert. Millie was sure she would hear about them later from Ruth. There was one impossibly young man who looked as if he was in his teens and even wore braces on his teeth. Millie’s glance lingered on him, wondering if he really was as young as he looked, or if it was another case of her getting older so everyone else looked younger. And if he was so young, how did he get accepted for this class. But seeing his enthusiasm as he helped himself to the food being passed around family style, she realized he loved food. As a matter of fact, that’s what they all had in common. They were there because they loved food; fixing it, eating it, looking at it. She smiled to herself as she took a generous serving of the dish of gnocchi George passed to her. This was going to be fun. She was glad she came.

  * * *

  As Claire approached the busy corner on her way back to her hotel, she realized it was the spot where she thought she had seen Kristen that first day. A glance at her watch told her it was almost the same time of the day as that occasion. It struck her she might see that person again, so she hurried to the curb, anxious to watch a while. But when she looked to her left at the crush of bikes, mopeds and motorcycles sailing down the road, it seemed a hopeless task. Then she swiveled her head to look at the traffic which already passed. Way down the block she saw the back of a bicyclist with a mass of red hair. Could it have been her? She stood on tip-toe, stretching her neck as she looked for identifying details. It was near the end of the long lunch break, which was the custom here, so she assumed many of these people passed at the same time everyday returning to their business for the afternoon.

  Then she remembered with a guilty start her mother’s admonishment to forget Kristen. She loved her mother dearly and she truly appreciated all that Millie had sacrificed to raise her. But her mother worried all the time. So much so that Claire had a tendency to hide things from her mother to prevent unnecessary worry. And while most of her life, Claire had listened to her mother’s warnings and remained cautious, after that incident where she almost lost her life, she had changed. That’s when she realized living carefully wouldn’t necessarily keep you safe. That’s when she decided her cautious life might be stifling her.

  Then Uncle Bernie died and left her all his worldly possessions, including his musty out-dated bookstore in Bayside. That’s when Claire began to actually change her life. And she had refused to give up her new dream because of her mother’s fears. She had been firm. She had cashed in the retirement benefits she had already accrued at the library. She had invested everything she had, dreams, energy and money in Gulliver’s Travels Bookshop, and now it was paying her back. And while her mother argued strenuously against her plan, she now was proud of Claire’s accomplishment. But she still worried incessantly about her.

  Well, Claire could understand why. Millie’s father, a career Army man, had died way before his time, one of the casualties of the Korean War. Millie’s mother had died while Millie was still in high school leaving her a total orphan. Danny Gulliver saved her. She married him at eighteen and had Claire a year later. They were a happy family until Danny was killed on duty.

  Ruth once told Claire her mother always expected Danny to be killed. She knew it was inevitable when she married a police officer. But while he was alive Danny seemed to be able to keep Millie’s worries at bay. He took her and Claire on adventures, the beach, Disneyland and even camping in Yosemite. But after his death Millie just dried up, all the fun was drained out of her. She used all her energy raising Claire. Later, when Claire was older, Millie’s part time position became a full time job at Richman Cadillac. But all the time she worried as if her mantle of worry could protect those she loved.

  Claire wished she could remember more about those times when her dad was alive. She had the pictures she used to look through. It was almost hard to believe the laughing, carefree woman was her mother. But other than the expression on her face she looked the same.

  Claire had been surprised when her mother said she was going to retire and start a little catering business. It was a daring thing for her to do. But her mother loved to cook and didn’t get enough time to do it.

  Her idea was to provide meals several days a week to a few working couples she knew, who didn’t have time to cook and were sick of takeout food and commercial frozen entrees. She was appreciative of the Richman brothers’ intent when they signed her up for the Italian Culinary Retreat, but alarmed at the thought of attending.

  Claire grinned, as she remembered how she and Ruth had managed to wear her down. This was good for her!

  Suddenly she realized she had been standing on this corner while several groups of pedestrians had crossed the street. She turned her attention back to the people on the street.

  Yes, her mother’s last words had been an admonishment to forget about seeing Kristen. But she knew how cautious her mother was and her mother hadn’t seen the woman. Claire had! She remembered how the look of recognition had momentarily widened the woman’s eyes.
She knew, as impossible as it seemed, it was Kristen.

  The pedestrians moved off the curb once more, swarming toward the other side. Claire looked down the street as she crossed but the redheaded woman had long disappeared. She decided tomorrow she would come back. She would be here earlier and she would be prepared.

  * * *

  What looked like a very generous lunch break of two hours on the schedule just seemed to disappear, and by the time they were ready to leave the dining room they had to hurry to use the facilities before reporting to the kitchen. Here they were each issued a voluminous white apron and a chef hat, which looked like a drooping mushroom cap. Soon the kitchen was filled with chefs as they crowded around Chef Martin, Sal and Wanda.

  The kitchen was monstrous. The part they occupied was used when large functions such as weddings or conferences were scheduled in addition to the normal restaurant activities. This week it would be used exclusively by the Retreat students. This way they would be part of the kitchen but well out of the way of the regular staff, who still had to prepare and serve the other guests of the hotel as well as the patrons of the restaurant.

  “Wow, this makes my place look pretty shabby.” Marybeth whispered to Millie as she looked around with awe.

  George nodded his agreement, “My kitchen isn’t even as big as this little section we’re in. But, it’s very efficient,” he added proudly.

  Millie was also intimidated by the size, the equipment and the obvious skill of the kitchen staff going about their business on the far side of the room. She looked at Ruth, raising her eyebrows as if questioning what they thought they were doing here.

  Ruth, her chef’s hat sliding over one eye, righted it and moved a little forward, the better to see and hear everything. Millie straightened her spine and followed. After all they paid the price and if they didn’t become experts they still expected to learn a lot from the next week. And Millie, at first reluctant to come, now determined she would make the most of this opportunity.