After telling her that all the chefs deserved a raise and a medal for how much stress they experience every day, I informed her about Chef noting my innate talents at plucking poultry, thinking that she might reply like a normal parent and say something about how wonderful I am.
That did not happen.
Instead, she just raised her eyebrows and said, ‘Well, you’ve always been good at tearing things apart,’ and then went into her study, telling me not to disturb her as she was about to make an important conference call. I was too exhausted to tell her off for being so dismissive of her star child and ended up falling asleep on the sofa a few minutes later, giving Fritz the perfect opportunity to unwind the toilet roll all over the flat, undisturbed by either of us.
Matthew had taken some days off to spend time with Cal during half-term, so my next ‘Royale education’ day, – aka the Day of Forks – wasn’t until the following Saturday, which left me with nothing to do all week, considering I wasn’t allowed to leave the hotel, except to walk Fritz. Jamie, the sommelier/dog walker, accompanied me most days to the nearest park and I used the opportunities to ask him exactly what a sommelier does.
Turns out, it’s quite a lot. I don’t know how he finds time to walk Fritz.
He has daily meetings with Chef to learn about the menu and make sure the wine list will complement it, and he knows everything about every bottle of wine in the cellar. Nothing gets selected for the wine list without him going to the vineyard where it’s made, meeting the owner and tasting the wine.
‘Great perk of the job,’ he told me, even though it sounded like a very long process just for one type of wine. ‘I get to travel the world.’ When I pressed him to say at least one bad thing about the job, he mentioned the exams were quite hard work. But even then, he kind of enjoyed them as he loved tasting the wine, thinking what food he would pair it with, and ‘finding its notes’. I told him not to be so cringe about the whole thing but he just laughed at me.
When I wasn’t throwing sticks for Fritz and learning about mouthfeel from Jamie, I spent most of my half-term annoying Audrey. She palmed me off to Matthew’s second-in-command, Harry, for a couple of days, and it turns out that, when you put your mind to it, the booking system is the easiest thing in the world. Harry and I laughed about Matthew glorifying what is essentially a spreadsheet leading to another spreadsheet, and he even let me book in a couple of reservations, which he highlighted in yellow so that he could show Matthew the ones I had done when he returned.
‘Why yellow?’ I asked, as he picked the colour.
‘Yellow suits you. It’s the closest to gold.’ He smiled charmingly.
Mum could really take a leaf from Harry’s book.
I started to get into a little routine throughout the week – first thing in the morning, I’d drop by the kitchen to grab breakfast, and say hello to Chef, Sasha and the team; I’d help Timothy make coffee for the early-rising guests and then would take a cup to Harry (flat white), Audrey (one-shot latte) and, if I could find her, Mum (double espresso). Then I would help Harry with bits and bobs at the front desk, aided greatly by Fritz, who was really starting to work his winter wardrobe.
Fritz’s Instagram page had always had a good following but recently it had gone stratospheric since Sky mentioned it on her own feed. He now had more followers than any other pet on Instagram and he was getting sent more freebies than ever. Lewis Blume sent me and Fritz matching jumpers, which went down a storm, and I was starting to be a bit more creative with his headwear, although I could only put hats on him for the few seconds that it took for me to take the photo. He tried to eat the flat cap sent to him from Chanel.
But the best gift of all came from Prince Gustav Xavier III: a brand-new selfie stick, with tiny little bones and sausage-dog silhouettes engraved in gold all along in it.
Towards the end of the week, Audrey finally let me tag along with her, so I left Fritz front of house in Harry’s capable hands, and joined her in her daily meetings with the heads of department. When we were in a meeting with Ellie, the head of events, Audrey was torn between two different ideas to present to a client for their party theme. She listened as Ellie took her through them both, and then swivelled in her chair to look at me.
‘What do you think?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think the floral one.’
‘Why?’ Audrey asked.
‘Um . . .’
‘Just say what you think,’ she encouraged.
‘I think it suits the hostess of the party better. I met her when she came to the hotel the other day for her meeting with Ellie. We were chatting and I don’t know –’ I shrugged – ‘I just think that floral theme suits her personality.’
Audrey and Ellie shared a glance, before a smile spread across Audrey’s face.
‘I completely agree. It does suit her. Thank you, Flick.’
I couldn’t believe that Audrey had actually been interested in MY opinion. The only other time that had ever happened was a couple of years ago when she was going to the hairdresser’s and I’d said she would look good with a fringe. She came in with one the next day.
I was very wrong about the fringe.
On Saturday morning, I found Mum in one of the meeting rooms, checking that everything was in order for her first appointment. I put her double espresso on the table and went to leave.
‘Flick,’ she said, as I reached the door, ‘I spoke to Audrey this morning. She told me you’ve been wonderful this week. Helping Harry and the staff. She also mentioned that you greatly helped her with a very important client event.’
‘Not really –’ I shrugged – ‘Audrey just asked for my opinion, which was nice of her.’
