WHEN I GOT TO the Paradise, the lineup was already outside the door. The customers, men and women, were quiet, as if lining up in an orderly fashion were part of their hearts and souls.
What did you do today? I stood in line.
I was glad that the café appeared to have a loyal clientele, but I knew already that part of the reason was because Hilliard and his partners were subsidizing the unemployed.
Hilliard had told me to enter by the side door, so I went around and knocked. Wilf opened the door, which led into a small hall. He had a glass in his hand.
“Ah! Our mysterious Miss Frayne. Come in.”
He stood back to let me through. His breath smelled of beer. I’d thought he was already plastered at lunchtime. I guessed he was continuing to maintain that state.
“Why mysterious?”
“Come now, Miss Frayne. You show up on our doorstep looking for work, which alas does not pay well. Wish it did. However, you are not bothered by the insultingly low wage even though you look like a woman who has had some success in life.”
I was taken aback by this, and I certainly didn’t want to spew out a whole raft of lies that I couldn’t support. We were inside now, too close together for comfort — at least on my part it was uncomfortable. I had the feeling Wilf was rather enjoying himself. I wished Hilliard would appear.
Wilf hung over me, swaying a little. Bad sign.
“Not only that, you seem to have a good deal of expertise in playing chess. Most unusual for a woman. I’d say this is all very odd, Miss Frayne.”
I mustered up a wide and perfectly innocent smile. “Not these days, Mr. Morrow. Many people are resorting to work they might not normally do.”
“No, truly, tell me the truth. I’m betting you were once a schoolteacher.”
Well, at least I could admit to that.
“Bang on. But as you know, there have been cutbacks on every front.”
“Sometimes I wonder, Miss Frayne, exactly what we were fighting for all those years ago. I don’t see an appreciable change in the way the working class is treated. We wanted to build a better, more equal world. Would you say that happened?”
“What happened?” Hilliard came into the hall from the kitchen on these last words.
Wilf lifted his glass. “Miss Frayne and I are having a deep philosophical talk. I told her she is mysterious, and she doesn’t agree. She seems to think she is no different from every other intelligent, good-looking woman in need of work who just happens to end up on the doorstep of the Paradise. No ulterior motive in sight. What’s your opinion, Hill?”
Before Wilf could take another swig, Hilliard took hold of the glass and removed it from his grip.
“In my opinion, you need to back off from the sauce, get sobered up, fast, and get out there to greet our customers. You’ve promised to play a couple of games of chess. The state you are in at the moment, a child of three would beat you.”
His voice had the same authority I’d heard when he confronted the teamster. Wilf flushed and gave a mock salute.
“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.”
“I suggest you go upstairs and stick your head under the cold water tap.”
“Yes, sir.”
Without another word, Wilf headed for the stairs. Hilliard watched him go. There was an apron hanging by the door, and I reached for it.
Hilliard grinned at me. “You seem to hold your own very well, Miss Frayne. Angry teamsters? Inebriated café owners? No problem.”
I didn’t know how to reply to that. “So the plan is for me to work until closing, keeping my eyes open for any indication of nefarious goings-on. By anybody.”
“Exactly. I might not have the opportunity to get your report tonight. I’ll be doing the closing up. See if you can hang around for that, please. But unless we say otherwise, I’ll come to your office in the morning, as I did today.”
“All right. By the way, please call me Charlotte. I am technically your employee. Miss Frayne sounds too respectful.”
“Ouch. There’s an implication in that remark I don’t really like.”
“Not at all. I’m sure you treat your waitresses very well.”
He laughed. “You haven’t seen me in action yet. You don’t know that.”
“When we get cozy, I’ll ask Miss Reilly what she feels.”
“I call her Pearl, but I always refer to her mother as Mrs. Reilly. Does that sound respectful enough for you?”
“Absolutely. And I shall respectfully call you Mr. Taylor.”
He considered that. “Let’s say that as long as our pretend official relationship is in place, you can address me as such, but you have to promise to call me Hill at such time as that ends.”
I felt a little flutter in my throat. Yes, I realized I had not known him for even a day yet, but my little love-starved heart had a very different sense of time.
“Okay.”
“Are you ready?”
“Ready.”
“Let’s go.”
He led the way into the kitchen.
Eric was back at the stove, spooning out the soup into bowls on a tray. Pearl was standing by. He smiled. She didn’t.
“Hello, Miss Frayne. We’re about ready. Pearl will take out the first batch.”
“Are you quite sure you know what to do?” she asked me with unmistakable hostility. And I thought we’d bonded.
“If I don’t, I’ll be sure to ask.” Bees could have gotten stuck in the honey of my tone.
“Give her a bit of help, Pearl,” said Hill. “She’ll catch on fast, I know it.”
He reached for the leather pouch and gave it to me. “Here you go. Your badge of office. Come to the register and I will give you your float.” He winked at me. “I’ll go and let in the hungry hoards.”
Pearl picked up her tray. “I’ve cut the bread. It’s in that basket. You can follow behind me and give each person a slice. Some of them will ask for seconds, but don’t give it to them. If they want more, they have to pay more. A second slice is five cents. With dripping or parsnip marmalade.”
“Got it.”
“The first course is easy. Soup and bread. Then there’s choice of salad, apple and beet or dandelion. A lot of people turn up their noses at dandelions, but they’re very good. We only use the new leaves. Quite delicate, like lettuce, only cheaper.”
“I’ll have to give it a try.”
“Mr. Fenwell’s good about experimenting. The second course is shepherd’s pie with green peas and gravy. That always goes over well. We allow them a choice of three desserts. Today it’s Eccles cake, which is popular, a chocolate biscuit, also popular, and trench pudding.”
“What’s that?”
I was tempted to make a joke about rat juice, but didn’t think Pearl was in the mood.
“It’s basically cooked rice and milk with some dates and coconut butter. I don’t mind it, but I’ve told them to name it something else. I mean, it brings up bad associations, wouldn’t you say? After what happened and all.”
“You’ve got a point there, Pearl. But I suppose it fits in with the camp day theme.”
“I guess so. Anyway, back to what I was saying. Some of the customers take the earth to make up their minds. You have to hustle them along or they’d be here ’til the cows come home.”
“It’s probably the highlight of the day for some of the men.”
She grimaced. “Do you think so? Well, they should count their lucky stars they can even get a sweet for the price they pay. All right. Let’s go. They’re in.”
Hilliard had indeed let in the customers, and they were filing in obediently. Most went directly to what I assumed were their familiar places. Except for the cheery decor and the fact that they had to pay, we could have been in a soup kitchen.
When faced with the customers, Pearl underwent a trans-formation. She was obviously popular. She knew most of them by name, and there was a lively banter and joshing back and forth. Two or three of them asked for the meal to be put on their tab, but most had their thirty-five cents ready on the table. Pearl scooped up the money and dropped it into her pouch. She only had to make change a couple of times. The men were curious but polite about me.
“New, are you?”
“Don’t let them run you ragged, miss.”
“When are we getting the steak and kidney pie again?”
Pearl answered that with a sharp, “When you’re lucky.”
And so the evening went. The customers all ate quickly. While they were waiting for the pie, many of them sat with their faces upturned to the fans, looking like sunflowers following the sun, but in reverse. Wilf came out and immediately started up a chess game with an old, wizened chap with no teeth. I’d sort of liked Pete, but he was nowhere to be seen. I hoped the new chap would clobber Wilf. He didn’t, nor did the next three players. Wilf might have been heading for total inebriation earlier, but it didn’t seem to have any impact on his ability to play chess. I was too busy serving to be able to scrutinize the games, but Wilf seemed to move his pieces quickly and aggressively. I was itching to give him a match. As I’d said, Gramps had been a tough teacher.
Shortly after the first course had finished, one of the men took a harmonica from his pocket and started to play. The song had been very popular last year. Plaintive and melancholy. “When I Grow Too Old to Dream.” He wasn’t that accomplished, and he wasn’t old, but he played from his soul. The café grew quiet. He finished the piece, and another man shouted out, “Give us something a bit livelier, Charlie. We’re all going to slit our throats at this rate.”
“Yeah,” called out another man. “How about ‘Strutters Ball’?”
The harmonica player didn’t seem fazed by the comments, and he immediately launched into the lively number. Some of those who had finished their soup joined in, keeping up a beat on their bowls with spoons. Even Pearl did a little hop and skip as she gathered the money.
She was right about the dessert course. We each brought out a revolving lazy Susan. Dishes of trench pudding on the lower rack, Eccles cakes and biscuits on the upper. It was a serious decision to make, and many lingered over it. I’d have liked to say, “Have all three” to a few of the skinny, ragged men.
Pearl would have none of that nonsense. “Make up your mind. We haven’t got all day,” was her refrain. They all seemed to know the routine. They ate quickly, but then lingered on to chat and share a smoke. I was too busy to sample the food myself; from what I could tell it was most palatable. Cheap it might be, but quality was not compromised.
At ten minutes to the hour, Hilliard rang a bell and called out, “Next sitting please, everyone.” They began to stand up, gather hats, and head for the door. The next group were already lining up, some of them pressing their noses against the windows.
Hilliard closed the door behind the first lot and began to clear the tables, changing the tablecloths if it seemed necessary. Wilf, apparently now quite sober, started to sweep the floor with vigour. Pearl hustled me into the kitchen. Conal was washing the dirty dishes that were piled in the sink.
“Start drying,” said Pearl. Frankly, I would have been just as glad to sit down and ease my suffering feet for a few minutes, but I refused to show any weakness. Pearl helped herself to one of the biscuits on the tray. It looked delicious.
Conal gave me a sweet smile. “Do as many as you can.”
Halfway through, we heard the next group surge into the café.
“I’ll let them get seated and take the orders,” said Pearl as she wiped a biscuit crumb from the corner of her mouth.
Eric started to lay out the bowls ready for the next round of soup.
“That certainly smells good,” I said. I hadn’t meant to sound wistful, but it must have come across that way because he immediately ladled out some into a bowl.
“You’ve got time. Have some. Take a piece of bread and soak it.”
It tasted as good as it smelled. I forked a piece of bread, soggy with the soup, and stuffed it into my mouth. I managed to down a few spoonfuls before Pearl returned.
“We’re all ready out here.”
She loaded up the tray, I took the breadbasket as before, and we went out to the café. It was crowded. Two or three women this time, and a couple of young children, but mostly men. Like the first group, they were roughly dressed with weather-scoured faces. Hungry.
We began to hand out the soup and bread.
Near the end of the sitting, something rather peculiar happened.
There were three doors that opened into the café proper. One was from the street, one swung into the kitchen, and the other was just to the left of the counter. I was collecting the empty soup bowls and waiting for Pearl to come out of the kitchen with a tray of pie slices. I suppose I blended into the scenery in my white apron. One of the new customers approached the closed door. I’d noticed him come in and scan the crowd. He was ordinary enough, wearing a workman’s cloth cap and rumpled suit. Nothing to distinguish him, except that I picked up on a certain jumpiness. He didn’t sit down to order any food, but slowly made his way to the back of the café. He didn’t greet any of the customers, nor they him. Once at the rear door, he knocked twice and the door was opened promptly. I couldn’t see who was there, but I was close enough to hear a male voice, and it sounded like Conal Pierce.
“What do you want?” he said.
“Our glowing dream,” was the answer.
“Come in and welcome.”
The newcomer did so, and the door closed. A very brief interaction, but obviously the two men were exchanging some kind of code. The answer sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t immediately identify it. Hill was at the far end of the counter, busy adding up somebody’s tab, and he didn’t appear to have noticed what had transpired. Or if he did, it didn’t bother him.
Pearl emerged from the kitchen. “Take out the bowls and pick up the plates,” she said in her bossy voice.
I obeyed. By the time I returned, I was plunged into the serving melee. If the code-uttering man came out, I didn’t see him. Two other people, however, did go through that door. One was a tall, stately woman who was better dressed than any I’d seen so far. The man was likewise smart. They seemed to be a couple. She knocked on the door. He answered the question posed.
“A glowing dream.”
They went inside.
At ten to eight, Hill called out, “Closing up, folks. Finish your meal. See you tomorrow.”
Like the first two groups, they left fairly promptly. At five past eight the café was empty. Hill locked the door and reversed the sign. “Open” facing us meant the restau-rant was “Closed” to the public. The word was never so wonderful. He and Wilf both dived into the same routine of cleaning up. I gathered the dirty dishes onto a tray and carried them into the kitchen, where Pearl waved at me to bring them over to the sink.
“You done good,” she said, but as she was concentrating on scrubbing a recalcitrant bowl I wasn’t entirely sure she was addressing me.
Conal was nowhere to be seen. Eric was sitting at the table, smoking.
“So how did you get on, Miss Frayne?”
“Fine. Other than being crippled for the rest of my life.”
Pearl made the snorting noise she had perfected.
“Now you know what it’s like.”
I wasn’t aware I had been in a state of denial about the hard work waitresses did, but I nodded agreeably.
“There’s bread left,” said Eric. “Help yourself.”
I actually craved a chocolate biscuit, but I took a slice of bread from the basket as offered.
“Put some dripping on it.”
I did so. “Scrumptious.”
Pearl banged some plates onto the draining board.
“Shall I dry them?” I asked her, ever helpful.
“No need. They can dry like that.”
She reached into the sink and pulled the plug then started to take off her apron. “I’m done for tonight.”
Eric was rapidly disappearing into a cloud of tobacco smoke. “Thanks, Pearl. Great job as usual. See you at lunch tomorrow.”
For the first time she looked at me directly. “Will you be on?”
“I believe so. I’m filling in while your mother is away.”
“I see.”
It was hard to tell if she liked that news or not.
“Did you get all your prep done?” she asked Eric.
“Yep. All done. We’re having stewed oxtail tomorrow. It’s marinating. Cut down on cooking time. I didn’t want to overheat the kitchen.”
“According to the papers, this weather is here until Friday. We’re all going to fry in our beds,” said Pearl. She reached for her straw hat and jammed it on her head. “Good night, then. See you tomorrow.”
She headed for the swing door and almost collided with Wilf, who was coming in.
“Whoa. Oops. Sorry, Pearl. My fault. Allow me.”
He held the door open, and as she went through he gave her a friendly pat on her behind. She pursed her lips but didn’t seem to mind. Wilf saw me.
“Still here, Miss Frayne? I’d have thought you’d have fled by now.”
“She’s having something to eat,” said Eric.
“That sounds like a good idea. Any soup left?”
“I believe so, help yourself.”
Wilf went to the pot on the stove, ladled out some of the soup into a bowl, and came over to the table.
“How did your games go?” Eric asked him.
“Fine. No difficulties. I won all three. My opponents played like schoolboys.” He glanced over at me. “Or should I say schoolgirls?”
“You might not have won against schoolgirls,” I said with a smile.
Eric chuckled, but Wilf didn’t. He didn’t reply at all but began to spoon up his soup with the same intensity I’d seen with some of the rough customers. He must have realized I was observing him because he paused.
“Good soup, Eric.”
“I second that,” I said. “It’s delicious.”
“You also get a dessert,” said Eric to me. “Did you try one of the Eccles cakes? I made them myself.”
“No, I didn’t get a chance.”
He swung around and reached for a plate, plucked off one of the cakes, and gave it to me. I took a bite.
Like any creative artist with his work, Eric watched for my reaction.
“Do you think it could be a bit flakier?”
“Nope. It’s perfect.”
Hilliard came in as I said that. “No good telling him that, Charlotte. He believes in Plato. There’s only one Really Real Eccles Cake, and he’ll never be able to make it.”
He was carrying the cash tray from the till, and he came over to the table and put it down.
“Seems like we had a good day,” said Wilf.
“Excellent.”
Hill began to count out the coins, noting the amount of each denomination on a slip of paper. He worked swiftly while I focused on munching into my Eccles cake. Wilf seemed lost in thought, or the soup. Eric stubbed out his cigarette and was seized with a coughing fit that was painful to hear. Only when the cough subsided was he was able to speak.
“I’m going to go home. Good night, Miss Frayne. Con-gratulations on surviving your first night at the Paradise Café. See you later, Hill, Wilf. If Conal comes down, tell him he can finish off the soup. Make sure he washes out his bowl. You too, Wilf.”
Wilf threw up his hands. “More than my life is worth not to.”
“Night.”
I called after him, “Sleep well. Take care of that cough.”
Both Hilliard and Wilf looked at me in surprise. What? Weren’t the help allowed to relate to the bosses? Obviously not.
Hilliard had finished his task, and he went to the safe. It was a large, ornately decorated affair that looked as if it should contain the crown jewels or at the least multiple bars of gold bullion. He dragged over a small stool, which he sat on as he dialled the combination. There was a series of soft clicks, and he turned the handle. The safe opened. He removed four linen bags and brought them back to the table. I could see each was marked. One cent. Five. Ten. Twenty-five. He scooped the corresponding coins out of the till tray and put them into the bags. There were two one-dollar bills.
“What’s the total?” Wilf asked. He had helped himself to a couple of biscuits and literally stuffed them into his mouth. He had more flesh on his bones than the other two men, but he wasn’t by any means chubby. Amazing.
“Including ten breakfast teas and coffees, less two tabs for seventy cents, we took in fifty-nine dollars.”
“Deduct Miss Frayne’s wages and we can say we had a good day.”
“Indeed, we did. We’ll pay Charlotte on Saturday.”
Wilf picked a piece of pastry out of his teeth. “Let’s hope your feet hold out, Miss Frayne.”
Hill gathered up the bags of money, went back to the open safe, and stashed them inside. The bills he clipped to a pile. The daily tally went into a box. He closed the door and turned the handle.
Any lingering doubts were dispelled. Any lost money would have to have been taken from the safe.
I tried to suppress a yawn. Unsuccessfully.
“Keeping you up, are we, Miss Frayne?” said Wilf. “Off you go then. We all need our beauty sleep these days.”
Hilliard stood up. “Thank you again for stepping in at such short notice. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
I headed for the door, but just as Pearl had almost collided with incoming traffic, so did I. Conal was bursting in.
“Sorry, miss.” He hardly waited for me to depart before I heard him say to the two men, “Listen, you fellas. I’ve got to tell you something.”
I would have liked to linger in the outer room, but it would have been too obvious. I took my time hanging up my apron. There was only silence on the other side of the door. I let myself out.
Dusk was creeping in reluctantly, as if it didn’t want to disturb the dying sun. The air was somewhat cooler but still sticky. I headed for home.