Page 33 of Miss Delectable
That was the proper response. Had Benny made an excuse or offered a denial, Ann would have delivered a stern lecture, regardless of the colonel’s presence.
“Hands,” Ann said.
Benny obligingly held out two pale paws.
“Wash them again,” Ann said. “Washing your hands marks the beginning of your every task as a cook. Normally, I would have you read the whole recipe and ask me any questions before we begin, but we aren’t cooking from a recipe this morning.”
“No recipe?” the colonel asked.
“I will rely on memory and inspiration,” Ann said as Benny walkedquitequickly to the wet sink under the windows. “May I take your hat and coat, Colonel?”
He passed her his hat and turned his back, and Ann lifted his greatcoat away as he shrugged loose of it. The wool was heavy and soft, first quality, and redolent of cedar. She indulged in a sniff before he faced her again. Cedar and leather, London’s smoky rain, and that underlying hint of Provence he carried with him everywhere.
“My hands are clean,” Benny announced. “Do we get to eat the crepes?”
“We will share them with Colonel Goddard, assuming our efforts are successful.” Ann started Benny on the arduous business of whipping air into cold, heavy cream.
“And what might I do to be of use?” the colonel asked, slipping his sleeve buttons into a pocket and turning back his cuffs. “I’ll have you know I’ve peeled potatoes and apples by the hour, though army cooks are inclined to leave the skin on to save time.”
“You keep me company,” Ann said, nodding to a stool beside the cook stove, “while I create the pear sauce. When the sauce comes to a rolling boil, I will start on the crepes, and you can continue stirring.”
And exactly when had the sight of a man’s wrists become so distracting?
“I’m not to wash my hands before I start?” he asked, settling onto the stool.
“You used your lavender soap thoroughly this morning, and you are not embarking on a career as a cook.”
“Alas for me. Does champagne go well with pears?”
While Ann mashed some of her pears and sliced the rest, and debated whether to include a dash of rose water, a dollop of honey, or the zest of a lemon, the colonel lounged on his stool and discussed wine pairings and winemaking with her.
At some point, he slipped into French, as did Ann, and all the while, Benny toiled away at her whipped cream.
“You are happy,” the colonel said when the sauce was burbling gently. “You look happy, you sound happy. Stirring up that pot of gold, you radiate contentment. Your French is also impressively facile.”
Annwashappy. Taking on an apprentice had first struck her as a recipe for complications and years of thankless work, but seeing Benny eager to learn, watching her go at her assignment with gleeful enthusiasm, Ann allowed that an apprentice was a step toward opening a cooking school. Not entirely a bad thing.
And yet, that wasn’t the whole motivation for the good cheer Colonel Goddard noted.
“Thank you,” she said. “With Monsieur Delacourt regularly trying to confound us all in his native tongue, one wants to keep the vocabulary fresh. When are you happy, Colonel?”
He watched Benny, his expression wistful. “I was happy showing a pair of striplings around my vineyards. They will try to outdo each other learning the business, they will bumble and occasionally fail, but I realized that I am no longer a stripling myself, haven’t been for years, and there’s peace and satisfaction in knowing that leg of life’s journey has been completed.”
He did not recount a particularly stirring battle or close-run horse race against his fellow officers.
“I want to open a school for cooks,” Ann said, though she hadn’t planned that admission. She took up a pinch of ground ginger and sprinkled it into her pear sauce. “A daft notion, but why teach only one apprentice when half a dozen could be learning at the same time? The school could serve as a kitchen for charities, or offer hot meals to the working folk who have only chophouse fare to sustain them.”
“What’s stopping you from opening this school?”
Ann added a dram of rose water. The resulting aroma as steam rose from the pot was lush and sweet. “I hesitate for want of courage, I suppose. My aunt and uncle would be scandalized. Bad enough I am a cook, but at least nobody ever sees me toiling away.”
She added a pinch of cinnamon. “The irony is, I became a cook in part because I used to have my father’s company only at meals. He was always out and about, riding his acres, meeting with tenants. Had I been a boy, I could have spent much more time with him. But even Papa grew hungry, and my grandmother insisted he be punctual for meals. He saw me at table, though I was all but invisible to him everywhere else.”
The colonel passed her half a lemon. “I can offer only one man’s humble opinion, Miss Pearson. I am exceedingly glad you number among the female of the species.”
At that precise moment, Ann was also glad to be female and, more than that, to be feminine. She hadn’t flirted with a man since the sous-chef at her last post had coaxed her beyond the limits of good sense.
With the colonel, Ann wanted to transgress yet further.
