Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Isla

I ’d survived the family dinner with only a few war wounds. It seemed there were two lines of attacks, two enemies. Margaret and her friend, Patricia, had come at me from different angles, but Mrs. Carlton was the one who stepped on my final nerve when she decided to brush off my beautiful Whisper Cove as something to be easily disregarded, something to be dismissed as a place with nothing to offer. If only she knew, but she never would because she’d never lower herself to visit a place that wasn’t on her approved list of destinations. And Whisper Cove would be better for it.

I’d scurried from the dining room after dessert, individual plum galettes with fresh whipped cream. It was delicious. All the food was great, and I wanted to let Gretchen, the chef, know that she was a true culinary master. Sherries and brandies were being served. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to Luke after dinner, but he seemed plenty occupied with his dinner table neighbor. I sensed that there was an attachment forming, and I preferred not to watch as their relationship took flight. I just needed to make it to Sunday with all my limbs still attached. It wouldn’t be easy since I was apparently in the crosshairs of two very determined family matriarchs. My stomach was in knots about this whole thing. Stupidly, I’d allowed myself to develop some feelings for Luke, even knowing that it was all an act. I had to extinguish those feelings, and fast.

I followed my nose and ears to the aromas and voices in the kitchen. I pushed through one of the two doors and found myself in a space that I was sure had passed through my dreams more than once. Knotty wooden beams crisscrossed a tall ceiling. Handblown glass pendants hung down over a giant marble-topped island. Polished cane chairs were lined up on one side of the island, and a tray filled with a large porcelain tea set sat at the other end. Blue floral print valances bordered a long set of multi-paned windows. A vast array of copper pots and pans hung from a rack over a large worktable, where the remnants of tonight’s meal waited to be placed in storage containers or thrown away. A ten-burner stove, cobalt blue and brass, had already been cleaned. It sparkled like a jewel beneath an equally stunning copper hood. A woman with short, pewter gray-flecked hair stood at a small desk, jotting down notes. Several young women stood in front of a bubble-filled sink in a space off the main kitchen. Although I could see a commercial dishwasher through an open doorway off to the side, there was still a mountain of dishes to be handwashed. They laughed and chatted as they worked.

“Miss Gretchen,” I said quietly.

She turned around. Her brown eyes were surrounded by crinkles and smile lines. “Yes? Was there something wrong with the meal? I wasn’t given any notice on food allergies or sensitivities.”

“No, no, nothing like that. In fact, I just had to stop in personally to thank you for the culinary experience.”

Gretchen’s eyes rounded. “Oh, well, this is unusual. I don’t often get visits from the guests. You are a guest, correct?”

“I’m here with Luke.”

Her mouth turned up in a bow. “Oh, Lucas, I haven’t seen him yet. He usually stops in to say hello, but I guess he’s been too busy.”

I was glad I’d broken the ice. She was defensive at first because of my clumsy approach, but now her whole posture had softened.

“My name is Isla, and I’m hoping to start a bakery someday soon. Your garlic knots were the most sublime, melt-in-your mouth bread I’ve ever tasted.”

She smiled shyly. “Sweet of you to say.”

“The whole meal was one of the best I’ve eaten.” And it was the truth. I only wished that I could have said the same about the company. “I hate to ask, and please just tell me no if it’s top secret or something like that, but how on earth did you get those knots so soft and flaky? I’ve tried something like it many times, and I end up either with doughy rocks or bread that falls apart on contact.”

Gretchen put down the pencil she was holding. “I don’t mind sharing a few top secrets—one baker to another. Have a seat, and I’ll bring us each a cup of tea. I could use a break.” She disappeared into a butler’s pantry, and a minute later a cinnamon-laden fragrance wafted out from the pantry. Serving staff worked around us as Gretchen and I sat for tea.

“Now, first of all, you must use cream instead of milk. The high fat content makes for a much more luxurious dough. I knead in a steady rhythm for three minutes, no more, no less. The dough should feel like a big soft pillow. The butter has to be at room temperature. No shortcuts with a microwave butter that’s become nothing but salt and oil. Room temperature and I use the good stuff, the kind from Ireland.”

I laughed. “My grandmother was Irish, and whenever she baked her brown bread, she’d splurge and buy Irish butter to slather on top. She said it was the finest butter in the world, and my sisters and I agreed.”

Gretchen blew on her tea. “Smart woman, your grandmother.” Gretchen sat up straighter, nearly spilling her tea. “It’s about time you made it to this end of the house.”

I looked back over my shoulder. Luke’s eyes rounded. “So, this is where you’re hiding,” he said to me, then walked straight over to Gretchen who’d put down the tea and hopped off the stool for a hug.

Gretchen growled with delight as she hugged him tightly. “So good to see you.” She leaned back but held on to his arms. “You look thin.” She turned to me. “Now that you have my trade secrets on the garlic knots you can bake him some and put some meat on his bones.”

Luke’s smiling gaze landed on me. “Ah, so you’re in here learning trade secrets. I should have guessed.”

“It’s much more pleasant in here,” I added and lifted my tea and finished it. “Thank you so much, Gretchen. It’s been wonderful talking to you. I’m going to let you two catch up. I’m ready for bed. It’s been a long day.”

I hurried out of the kitchen. It had been a long day, and I was ready to crawl under the mounds of unnecessary pillows and curl into a slightly fetal position for a long deep sleep.