Who IS the ‘Queen Bee’ …? ….. ? …..? (another short story)

(‘Salt Cellars’ © ‘canadadaPHOTOGRAPHY.blogspot.com’)

Katherine Snoden knew that tonight would be all important. The dinner party would be the final testing ground for her last-ditched effort to snag a new husband. Everything had to be just perfect. She knew that he, like most men, would finally fall in love with her if she just could get to him through his stomach.

She awoke early, 7:30 am, and rang the bell. Maria arrived within ten minutes with a complete breakfast tray and the morning paper. Katherine could smell the hot freshly ground coffee, and she could see from the corner of her sleepy eye a perfectly poached egg on toast beside a mixed melon fruit bowl. Maria placed the tray on the side table. The silver spoon was polished and the inherited Staffordshire bone china gleamed. As Maria opened the drapes to let in the long risen sun, Katherine pulled herself up in the bed and motioned for the servant girl to place the tray in her lap. As Maria plumped up the bed cushions around her, Katherine began her planning.

“Maria, Mr. Haverall will be coming for dinner tonight. There will be six other guests as well for cocktails at 6:30. We will use the front room and the formal diningroom. We will eat precisely at 8 PM. I want your very best.”

“Si Madame.” Maria pulled the bedspread taut so that Madame could spread out the paper later. Katherine asked, “What do you think we should have? “

“Well Madame, I’ve noticed that when Mr. Haverall comes he always jokes how he is getting so very fat on your good food. So perhaps it would be best to offer a little less butter and a bit more green.”

“Good idea, but I insist we have a very sweet dessert to top it off, perhaps one of your delightful peach parfaits, and maybe toss in a few of your glorious meringues.”

“Very good Madame.”

“Remember Maria, tonight is very important. I want the very best.”

“Si Madame.”

Maria returned to the kitchen and considered what she had to do for the rest of what promised to be a very long day. She wished Madame would think to give her a bit more warning. These impromptu dinner parties were most demanding and irrevocably disturbed the efficient pattern of Maria’s other never-ending household duties. The furnace man was going to be coming at some point today, and the gardeners would be arriving at any moment. Maria glanced at the clock in the kitchen, sighed, and then sat down at the kitchen table with her list. First, she had to shop at the market, then she had to clean and lay out the silver, pull down the good china, sweep and re-set the fireplaces, and re-stock the drink tray. She would have to start cooking at noon. She would take her about two hours to prepare all the dishes, and she decided to add another hour to make one of her very special spinach and honey spanikopitas for the middle course between the main and dessert.

She prepared the menu. To start, they would have a chilled carrot, coriander and squash soup. This would be followed by a mixed endive and wild leek salad with a mild tarragon and artichoke heart dressing. The main course would be a medium-rare roast leg of lamb rolled in fresh chopped garlic, basil and peppercorns. Two side vegetables of green beans and baby turnips would compliment the platter of roasted new potatoes. Then she would offer her ever crowd-pleasing spanikopita. The meal would finish with the peach parfait, lime sherbet and her hand-size whipped meringues. There was also the wine to tend to: she would need a light crisp Chardonnay for the soup and salad, a full-bodied Bordeaux for the lamb and spanikopita. A delicate liqueur would be required to perfume the dessert – perhaps a drop or two of Drambuie. To make enough for eight adults she guesstimated an expense of near $60 per head, or $480. Two weeks wages. Madame would, she knew, reimburse her later including a small bonus.

Maria slipped on her coat and headscarf after letting in the furnace man. Mr. Bannerol had known her as long as she had been in service to Madame, near 9 years now, and she knew he could be trusted alone in the basement. Madame wouldn’t even know he was there. As Maria hurried down the back garden walk to the bus station, she saw Clarence arrive with his two sons to begin the garden work for the day. She veered off the path and had a quick and pleasant conversation with the kind old man, reminding him to pay particular attention to the front walk shrubbery, the topiary vegetation needed trimming and there were some dandelion weeds sneaking up through the paving stones. As he tipped his hat to her on her way, his handsome young son Daniel sent her a playful wink, ‘Don’t worry Maria, everything will be picture perfect. We’ll even save some of those pesky dandelions for one of your famous salads!’ Maria smiled and went along her way, glancing at her watch.

By 5:30 pm she was more or less finished, except for one item. She had had a momentary disaster mid-day. She had gotten sidetracked from the pastry-making for the spanikopita when she had to tend to the unexpected arrival of the window cleaner. She lost almost three-quarters of an hour assisting him to unlatch and re-latch the windows from inside. He had tried to coax her into washing the interior panes but she knew that he had been hired to do both sides. She was kind, but firm. She had other work to do. When she had returned to the kitchen the pastry ball on the marble had dried out considerably, and in haste, she poured in far too much water to rework it. She then had to add additional ingredients to balance out the recipe. Now with far more dough than she needed, she broke off half, wrapping it tight in plastic wrap and popped it into the large freezer in the basement. Mr. Bannerol was still clattering around in there, making the final adjustment to the humidifier under a flashlight. He was covered in soot now from head to toe. Both were busy and had barely time for a friendly word. He said only, “The furnace should be replaced, Maria.” And Maria said “Someday” as she closed the lid of the freezer. She told him to let himself out when he was finished for the day. He nodded and kept working. Maria scurried back upstairs, where she laid out a large white linen sheet over the pine kitchen table, she then began to spread and stretch the dough. The elasticity was perfect and within half an hour the entire tabletop was covered in a gossamer thin layer of philo-like pastry. She carefully brushed on the butter, salt, olive oil and warm honey marinade then loosely added the cooked spinach and cottage cheese. Lifting the edges of the sheet she curled the pastry in on itself at the edges, then gently lifted the sheet higher, watching as the pastry slowly rolled towards the center of the table. She dragged the sheet towards her so that the rest rolled further on. The final 6 inches she rolled up by hand. Then, she carefully lifted the table length elongated roll, laying the tip of one end onto a baking sheet. Slowly she wound the roll round and round into a tight spiral. The entire pan was covered with the stuffed pastry. No sooner was she done than the doorbell rang.

Maria jumped as she looked up at the clock. 6:30 pm. She had no time to change into her clean outfit and she was covered in debris from the kitchen. Even her hair had a slight ethereal flour glow. Madame would be furious. Maria grabbed her overcoat and slipped it on over her apron. She put on her gloves and arranged the scarf over her head as she rushed to the front door.

Mr. Haverall arrived with four of the other guests. Maria took their coats and apologized to them all as she showed them into the front room where Madame was waiting beside the burning fire. She curtseyed quickly to Madame, explaining that she had just slipped out to the pharmacists for Madame’s medication. Madame dismissed her abruptly and led the small group to the drink tray. Fortunately Maria had remembered to put out the ice.

She hurried back to the kitchen, throwing off her coat, scarf and gloves and opened up the oven door. She prodded the roast with the thermometer. Almost done. She slid in the spanikopita tray onto the lower shelf beside the potatoes and then hurried to her cramped back quarters to change into a clean outfit for serving. She barely had time to run a brush through her hair when the bell rang again. As she zoomed to the front door, she passed through the diningroom, tossing a quick eye over the table. Everything was ready. Only the candles had to be lit.

At 7:55, Maria lit the candles and lighted the diningroom fireplace. She crossed the hall and announced to Madame, “Dinner is served.” With that, she returned to the kitchen to bring in the large soup tureen for the sideboard. The guests were seated and Maria served up the first course. Dinner continued on without incident.

By midnight all the guests had gone. A gently inebriated Katherine sat by the fire embers having another nightcap thinking about the splendid evening, then slowly she made her way over to the kitchen to find Maria still washing the crystal dessert glasses at the sink. ” I think that was another one of my successful soirees, don’t you Maria? Everything was perfect and delicious. The spanikopita was a special treat. That was a good idea. Mr. Haverall had two large pieces. The only problem was your attire Maria. I will not have my guests received in an overcoat.” She scrunched her face into a disapproving frown for effect.

Maria placed the last of the 32 squeaky-clean crystal goblets onto the dish rack. “Si Madame.”

Mr. Haverall and the widow Katherine Snodon were married in early June in a lavish ceremony at Christ Church Cathedral, followed by a memorable reception for five hundred guests at their fashionable club. For two weeks thereafter they honeymooned in Tuscany and dined in five-star restaurants daily, in and around Siena.

Maria had the time off while they were away. At the beginning of the first week she took the bus up to visit her grand old mother in the Richmond Hill Nursing Home. As she lifted up one of her mother’s bony arthritic hands she was jolted by the memory of her mother making mammoth spanikopitas for their large family of ten. Her mother squeezed Maria’s fingers gently and said, it was time for another family reunion. Maria squeezed back that fine ancient old hand, and said, “Si, Mama.”