“Do you feel okay?” Judith finally asked.
“Yes. Yes, I feel fine.” Renie sounded cross. “It’s going on
eleven. I’ve got to get organized. Good luck.” She disappeared from sight.
Judith didn’t have time to worry about her cousin’s sudden
lack of appetite. For the next hour, she immersed herself in
making crepes, dicing ham, rolling out puff pastry, and cutting up fruit. It was a joy to work under such splendid conditions, and best of all, with no interruptions from guests,
the telephone, or her mother.
The bus arrived at ten to twelve. Judith didn’t hear it pull
in, but Renie came to alert her. “It’s actually a big van,” she
told Judith from the doorway. “The driver won’t stay, of
course. He’s already headed back to the city.”
Judith, who was in the middle of fashioning her puff
pastries, merely nodded. “Lunch at twelve-thirty, right?”
“Right.” Renie left again.
The lodge’s staff had already set up a large round table
for ten in the dining room. Judith checked the table settings,
admired the centerpiece of yellow gladioli, purple freesia and
white lilies, then returned to the kitchen. She was filling the
industrial-size coffeemaker when a small woman with big
glasses and a platinum blonde pageboy entered the kitchen.
“Are we on schedule?” the woman asked, tapping a huge
wristwatch that looked as if it could weigh down her arm.
“We are,” Judith replied with a smile. “My name’s Judith
Flynn.” She wiped her hands on a cloth and reached out to
the other woman.
“Nadia Weiss, administrative assistant,” Nadia replied with
a faint New York accent. She didn’t budge, let alone shake
hands. “If you have any problems, come to me.” With a swish
of cashmere skirts, she departed.
Judith uttered a self-conscious little laugh and went back
to work. Two minutes later, another woman appeared in the
doorway. “You must be the caterer,” she said.
Judith looked up from the crepe pan she was heating on
the stove. A slim, plain woman of Chinese ancestry fixed
mesmerizing dark eyes on Judith. “Yes,” she gulped. “I’m
Judith Flynn.”
“The caterer,” the other woman said in a tone that indicated
Judith wasn’t a person, she was merely a service. “My name’s
Margo Chang. If a Ms. Weiss contacts you, ignore her. I’m
the vice president in charge of public relations, and I handle
jobbers like you.”
Judith imagined that a small smirk tugged at Margo’s tight,
thin mouth. “Okay,” Judith said, still subdued. “If I need
anything, I’ll ask you.”
“You shouldn’t need anything. You should have come
prepared.” Margo’s voice dropped a notch in what sounded
to Judith like a threat.
