Appearances can be deceiving. I knew this as well as anyone. Witches were also often drawn as frightening hags, but the ones I knew used their powers for good. Of course, Margaret Twigg did look more than a little frightening, and I wasn’t a hundred percent certain she was always a force for good.
“Who are these movers and shakers of the future?” Violet asked.
“I don’t know. I only know that tonight’s dinner will be held at the home of Sir Hugo Percival Brown.”
Violet turned to him, and her mouth gaped. “The one from television?”
Sir Hugo Percival Brown was probably second to Richard Branson in wealth and fame as a British entrepreneur. He’d inherited a newspaper empire from his grandfather and branched out into all kinds of businesses. Now he was a celebrity businessman with companies ranging from grocery stores to media and airlines. He and his wife gave generously to charity, and he was often interviewed on TV about business affairs. He was a good talking head—nice-looking, intelligent and witty. He could explain complex business matters so people like me understood them. If I recalled correctly from things I’d read in newspapers and online, he had homes and business interests all over the world.
“His son, Teddy, is in the Gargoyles. Hugo was too, back in the day. But now that the boys have had some bad press lately, which they’ve richly deserved, Dad and some of his cronies have decided to bring the party under the parental roof. He and some of his friends will be having dinner upstairs, while the current members of the club will be in the main dining room.”
“So we’re catering two dinners,” Pamela said.
William made a back and forth motion with his hand. “One dinner, served in two locations. That’s right. But I think with the three of you, we’ll be able to handle it.”
I appreciated his confidence, but we weren’t the most experienced of servers. I’d waitressed in a private club back in Boston for a couple of summers. Violet said she’d worked in a pub for a while. If Pamela had ever served anyone but herself, this was the first I’d heard of it. We’d make it work for William’s sake. I wanted him to succeed probably as much as he did.
Pamela turned and gave me an intimate smile. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought we were still best friends. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? I wonder if we’ll recognize any of them. So much gorgeous, British bachelordom. I can hardly stand it.”
“We’re there to serve them food,” I reminded her somewhat tartly.
“Of course, but a girl can look, can’t she?”
So long as she did nothing but look.
I still couldn’t believe she’d managed to wangle her way into this. I’d bet there were people who had actual waitressing experience that would have been a much better fit.
We drove for about thirty minutes west of Oxford, which put us well into the Cotswold countryside. William took a smaller road, and I lost track of exactly where we were. We followed a high stone wall and then turned into a private drive. I peered eagerly out the window and saw trees, well-kept lawns, a stream with an ancient bridge crossing it. And then we rounded a corner, and the manor house lay ahead of us.
I’d pretty much guessed that a man as wealthy as Hugo Percival Brown wouldn’t live in a shack, but the manor house still took my breath away. Made of the local stone, it was grand and sprawling. I’d lived in Oxford long enough that I could take a guess that it was originally Tudor but had been added to over the centuries. There were no other houses anywhere in sight, so they must own all these surrounding fields. I could see sheep grazing in the distance.
The catering van passed the grand entrance, and we made our way around the side of the manor on a crushed gravel drive. We passed outbuildings, probably things like a dower house and old coach house. In the distance were paddocks and barns. We pulled up by a thick oak door and William said, “Right. Let’s get the van unloaded and get to work.”
We piled out of the van, and I noticed we were in front of a walled kitchen garden containing fruit trees in full blossom, and the air was perfumed with the scent of herbs. I’d have loved to poke around in there and see what they had, as I was beginning to learn about herbs, but there was no time for witch studies. I had to cater to a dining room full of destructive spoiled brats.
Chapter 3
William knocked on the kitchen door, and it was answered by a butler. Kind of ironic, since William usually did that at Rafe’s equally impressive manor house. After a couple of minutes of conversation, he came back out, and the four of us carried in the trays and covered dishes from the back of the van.
I’d made sure to have a good meal about five, but even so, the smell of this food was nearly making me faint.
We were in a well-lit corridor with rooms opening off of it. One housed laundry; another looked to contain nothing but outdoor coats and shoes. There was a full bathroom, and then we entered the kitchen. The manor might be ancient, but this kitchen was sleek and modern and built for catering to crowds. Phew.
There were two gas ovens, industrial-size fridges, acres of marble countertop, two dishwashers and, in an alcove in front of a window, a kitchen table and chairs and a couple of cozy armchairs. No doubt the household staff took their meals here. I wondered what
