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“Tell me one,” I called back.
“What did the ocean say to the beach?” I waited, until she added, “Nothing. It just waved.” I pretended to groan, but my heart was aching for her.
When I walked back into the room, she was dressed as well, in the navy gown I’d cut down for her the night before, but with a pale blue satin capelet made of couture dress streamers we’d tacked to a collar. I prayed her mother wouldn’t recognize the fabric.
Sylvia was staring out the balcony window. “Dad was a computer nerd. He was teaching me how to code in Python before he died. He said I could be anything I wanted. An astronaut, or an engineer.”
“He sounds like a wonderful man.”
“He was,” she said. “He had an allergy attack. He was stung by a bee, but no one knew he was allergic. Not even us. He didn’t have an EpiPen.”
Suddenly, her earlier panic in the dining room made sense. “I’m so sorry.”
“Nobody talks about him now. Mom locked herself in her room for a year, and slept all the time. But Uncle G was there every day. He drove me to school and picked me up most days, and when it was the school Father-Daughter dance, he flew me to Hawaii and took me snorkeling with manta rays instead. He went to my parent-teacher conference one time when Mom was too tranked out to wake up for it.”Her eyes glittered when they met mine. “He may not smile much, and he may even yell a little, but Uncle G is the best man… Well, the best one still alive. Don’t judge him by how much he frowns.”
I took her small hand in mine. “I’ll try not to.”
The dining room was almost entirely filled when we arrived. Sylvia seemed slightly overwhelmed, so I whispered that I’d escort her to her seat at the head table. She squeezed my hand in thanks. As we wound through the tables, the other au pairs called out greetings, and more than one of the younger guests nodded or said hello to Sylvia. She seemed somewhat shocked, but pleased.
“Here you go, Miss Ennui,” I murmured as we reached the main table. Giovanni had stood the moment we walked in, and had already pulled out Sylvia’s chair. I ignored him, nodding to Lorelei as I stepped back.
“Miss Fairweather,” Giovanni called out. “Are you well?”
“Yes, thank you,” I answered without looking back. Veronika had made a place for me beside her and some other au pairs, and we chatted about our favorite pastries and the most unusual flavor combinations we’d tried. I was delighted when Chef Juliette came out of her kitchen. After applause, and a short conversation with those at the head table, she made a beeline for my chair.
“Veronika, you must meet Chef Juliette,” I said, standing. “Chef Juliette, Veronika is from Hungary and she’s passionate about pastries. Would you have any advice for her on how to start her own business? A shop perhaps, or some place to do more training?”
“Oh, I could never—I would never presume,” the au pair sputtered, her accent growing thicker. “Chef Juliette is world renowned. She opened Le Petit Voleur in Paris; I’ve followed her career for…” Her sharp cheekbones were darkened with embarrassment, or something like it. “Well, I’m just… It’s a dream. I could never—”
Juliette cut her off with a tsk. “Have you done any formal study?”
“Only a few classes. But I watch videos online all the time.”
“Can you make croissants?”
“Of course,” Veronika replied.
“Come to the galley tonight. I will judge for myself.” She raked Veronika with a glance that held something more than mere professional interest.
As soon as she was gone, Veronika stared at me with disbelief. “How did that happen?”
I shrugged. “Juliette’s incredibly nice. And her kitchen is amazing. She showed me the setup for the morning pastries, and I just thought—”
“She allowed you in herkitchen?Not even her employers are welcome there—not Mr. Grantham himself, not even the captain of this vessel.” Veronika took a huge gulp of wine. “Chef Juliette is famous.”
“Infamous,” Clotilde broke in from across the table. Every au pair near us was listening intently. “She became the Grantham personal chef eight years ago, when she stabbed her previous employer in the hand for sticking his finger in the soup pot for a taste.”
I took a bite of sorbet. It was scrumptious, lemon curd and wild blueberry, and I wished there was more than a tablespoonful. “I might stab someone for Chef Juliette’s cooking.”
Clotilde giggled. Veronika was still staring at the door to the kitchen with wonder. And lust, though I wasn’t certain if it was for the room beyond the door, or the chef inside it.
“She seems to like you, Veronika. I hope your croissants are as beautiful as you.”
Over the next hour, I got to know all the other au pairs and nannies. A few of them were a little cold at first, but by the end of the meal—and after the copious application of a gloriously complex tempranillo wine—even the most starched of them all were smiling and sharing their contact information.
Then the table went quiet. “Miss Fairweather, a word?”
I twisted in my chair. Lorelei Grantham was behind me, a peculiar expression on her face. I glanced past her to see Sylvia still seated at the high table, chewing at her lower lip, her arms wrapped around her tiny waist. Alphonse was next to her, but he was smirking in my direction. Giovanni had risen and was speaking to the captain.
