The man looks like a young Colin Firth with his stately, aristocratic features, sharp eyes and slim build all wrapped up in a buttoned cardigan - complete with elbow patches. He is years younger than the ancient professor sitting beside him, but faint lines around his bright blue eyes confirm his status as professor and not student.
His wavy hair is nearly standing on end. When he pulls his fingers through it, I can see why his hair gel is losing the battle. Thanks to his posh accent, I can hear every syllable coming out of his mouth. “… And Disneyland, of all places? Will she have us dressing up in mouse costumes? We have enough challenges right now without adding an incompetent newcomer into the mix.”
I can’t solve the problems with the magic or figure out what happened to Chef Smythe, but incredibly rude men who underestimate me… now that I can handle. He wants an incompetent youth, he’ll get one. I straighten up my fox print dress and march right up to the end of the table as though I haven’t heard a word.
“Hiya Dr Radcliffe, I’m super glad I’ve run into you. I’m back from the costume shop, they were short a few mouse ears, but not to worry, they could place a special order on my behalf.” I back my ridiculous statement up with a 1000-watt smile that shows every shiny white tooth in my mouth.
Professor Rude sticks his nose in the air, harrumphs, and stomps off. Thankfully Dr Radcliffe’s chuckles assure me she understood exactly what I was doing.
“Well done, Ms Payne, that ought to put him in his place for a bit. I was worried you might catch the first bus out of town after our terrible morning, but I can see you’re made of sterner material.”
Moving around the table, I lean against the chair opposite Dr Radcliffe. “Bad things can happen anywhere. Even at Disneyland, I saw more than one pickpocket while working events inside the park. Both then and now, the best thing we can do is hope for a quick end to the police investigation and some luck with hiring a new chef.”
“A rapid end would be my preference. Everyone will be on pins and needles until they solve the crime. As you’ve just seen, even some of our most supportive professors are running short on patience. But enough of that; Harry mentioned you would try to track down Chef Rousseau. Any luck so far?” asks Dr Radcliffe.
I can’t hold back a frown as I respond to her question. “I got a few minutes of his time yesterday, but I wouldn’t class it as a lucky event. Is it a requirement that all top chefs have personality disorders?”
Dr Radcliffe answer with a grim smile, “I suspect a certain amount of cut-throat mentality is required to climb your way to the top spot.”
I mull over her statement as she finishes the last few bites on her plate. “The kitchen couldn’t have been a great place to work, regardless of how nice the rest of the college staff seem to be.”
Tucking her napkin under her plate, Dr Radcliffe replies, “I won’t lie to you, I had several complaints about Chef Smythe, but I always knew that was the price we paid to have the best chef in town. It’s a challenge I face in more departments than this one. Our professors and some of our students can be as trying as Chef Smythe was. But the people here at St Margaret do genuinely care about one another.”
Glancing up, my eyes scan the room before landing on the grumpy professor. If it weren’t for the elbow patches, I’d think it was a different man standing there. He’s barely recognisable with his features smoothed out as he clasps the shoulder of a distraught kitchen server, murmuring reassuring words.
Straightening, I share my next steps. “I’ll check around with some kitchen staff, maybe I’ll convince the sous-chef to stay on or find someone who has connections with other chefs. I have little time to sort out catering arrangements for the gala.”
“The gala is an important fundraising event. I hope you find a chef, Ms Payne. Please check in later with Harry so we can hear how you get on.”
Fundraising? If only Dr Radcliffe knew how important this gala is.
Leaving Dr Radcliffe in peace to finish her meal, I skirt the edges of the trestle tables, glancing underneath for H, but he’s nowhere to be found. I don’t know why I’m surprised when I finally locate him purring in the lap of the dining hall’s young blonde cashier.
“H! There you are. I’m so sorry, I hope he isn’t bothering you.”
The young woman waves away my concern. “No need to worry, I’ve known H for ages. I’m chuffed to see he’s still around and didn’t leave with Lillian.”
I glare at H until he leaps down and sits quietly at my feet. The queue of hungry students has disappeared, and the staff are already clearing up the empty food pans from the counter.
“You must be Ms Payne. We heard you were due to start. I’m Beatrice. I guess you want lunch?”
I look back down the line to see nothing left but pans of steaming water. “Maybe just a sandwich?”
“Don’t be silly. There’s plenty left, I’m sure. Most of the people coming in today have been more interested in trying to see into the kitchen than getting a plate of food. I’ll pop into the back and fix us both a plate. Meat or veg?”
“Veg please.” H sinks a claw into my ankle. “And some clotted cream, if you’ve got any to spare.”
Beatrice giggles and heads off, motioning me towards the long trestle tables.
I gather up cutlery, fill water glasses and set us up across from one another
