The Queen insisted on the dinner, even though Neil had no heart for it. He didn’t care if he got any stupid royal seal of approval. Rose was lying in a coma in the hospital. Jones hadn’t left her side since the police had finally shown up at the cheese shop.
“She lost a lot of blood, and stopped breathing for a few minutes. That can do permanent damage to her body and her brain,” the paramedics had said as they lifted her into the ambulance. “She will get the best care possible.” Jones had climbed in with her. Everyone else had followed along in the van.
The doctors were actually keeping her in a coma to let her body heal. She would wake up eventually, if she survived, but would she still be Rose?
“You might as well finish the job and cook the meal,” Jones had said. “There’s nothing more you can do here.” Neil wasn’t sure if that was another dig, or just a statement of fact. He decided to give Jones his space and cook.
Isabella and Larry were spending most of their time at the hospital as well, which meant Neil was forced to plan the meal solo. The only plus side was that the Queen had allowed Neil to ask Angel to come help him with the actual cooking. He’d arrived on an overnight flight and was on his way to the palace.
Neil leaned against the stainless-steel counter of the kitchen and sighed. He gazed at the rows and rows of fresh cheeses, great joints of meat, capons, crabs, prawns, salmon, and oysters. There were bouquets of edible flowers and baskets of fresh vegetables and fragrant herbs.
In just a few minutes the staff and royal chef would arrive, awaiting Neil’s orders on what dishes they’d be asked to make, to help realize through their hands the vision that came from Neil’s brain . . . and nose.
Neil knew it was going to be a wonderful meal. He was too much of an artist to not do his best. To not at least try was to insult the tradition of cooking, and to insult the wonderful animals and plants that had given up their lives for the benefit of the meal.
He walked over and grabbed a knife from a magnetic rack. He began to attack the onions with a vengeance. The pungent slices fell to the cutting board as thin as paper. Neil would be baking them in meat pies with incredible pieces of chicken and plums.
The tears welled up in his eyes.
Angel walked into the kitchen and came up beside Neil without saying a word. He grabbed some garlic cloves and immediately began peeling and slicing them.
A couple minutes later they were finished, and Neil, without even thinking, hugged Angel. The tears from the onions, or the past few days, poured and they silently held each other.
Neil finally pulled himself away and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Nice to see you, Angel.”
“I wish I were here in happier circumstances. But it is good to see you, and despite the danger, you deserve congratulations for finding the jewel.”
Neil gave a brief smile. “I haven’t even given it to the Queen yet. They wanted me to do it at the end of the meal, as part of the dessert. Seems weird, but apparently they are very big on ceremony here.”
“You just noticed that?” Angel said with a joking smile.
“How’s Chez Flambé?”
“Gary and I have done our best. He is very good with fish—amazingly good, in fact. It’s a real gift. You should have tried letting him run the restaurant while we’re both here.”
“The Queen added some cash into the deal to cover keeping it closed, and I just don’t trust Gary the way I trust you. That restaurant is my home. It’s a dumpy home, but it’s home.”
“The man with the camera returned at least once that we know of,” Angel said. “He was also taking pictures of the other buildings on the block. Gary was going to follow him once, but then there was a late rush of customers and he couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t Nakamura do some digging?”
“It’s been a rough few days for crime. As much as this is worrisome for you, there were more pressing issues back home. He did make a few calls, but ‘man in dark car with a camera’ wasn’t specific enough.”
Neil just nodded, but he was concerned. He wasn’t kidding when he said Chez Flambé felt like home. He wanted to return to cooking, but this mystery man with the camera was hanging over that vision like a storm cloud.
“C’mon,” Neil said, putting down his knife and putting a hand on Angel’s shoulder. “I want to show you the dining hall. They’ve done a pretty cool job of decorating.”
Neil led Angel up the stairs and into the great hall. Neil had laid out an Elizabethan-themed feast, and the royal protocol officers had answered with every bit of artwork and artifact they could find from that era.
Paintings of Tudor monarchs and other major figures hung on the walls alongside tapestries depicting the defeat of the Spanish Armada and the coronation of Elizabeth I.
A corpulent Henry VIII glared down at the diners from above the doorway. And all along the center of the dining tables were swords, clocks, shields, old theater props, and, in the middle, two large globes on ornate wooden stands.
“The head waiter told me that those globes belonged to Sir Francis Drake himself.”
“They are beautiful,” Angel said, admiring the wonderful script on the map and the delicately carved wood that held the globe. “And old. The inscription on the base says they were made in London in 1593.”
“Just like all the other stuff on the table.”
“Except for the food.”
Neil smiled. “I’ve had it with four-hundred-year-old honey. Today, freshness is the bottom line.”
“It’s too bad Rose can’t join us. I never met her, but she sounds like a real firecracker. I assume Larry fell in love?”
“Like a rock.”
They were quiet for a few moments and then Neil clapped his hands. “Time to prep.”
* * *
Dinner went off without a hitch. In fact, it was fabulous. Neil felt proud and almost cheerful. He’d called Larry between servings, asking about Rose, but hadn’t heard back.
The royal family was having, by all accounts, an amazing time, not that Neil got any of the praise firsthand. Neil was struck by how formal the evening was. There was no chitchat. He was called to the carpet in front of the head table to explain every dish; then the Queen nodded and he withdrew back to the kitchens.
“What do you expect?” Angel said. “The last thing they want is the chef standing around watching them eat. Don’t worry—I’ve been watching the plates come back, and they are all clean.”
Finally, it was time for the dessert. Neil had prepared cheeses and citrus tarts and had even done some research to discover that the first Queen Elizabeth had been a fan of light spice cakes, with real gold flaked on the rose-syrup topping. He knew the current Queen would also flip for the food.
As he prepared the tricky rose syrup, he felt his brand-new phone vibrate. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he risked making an only almost perfect dish and stopped stirring the liquid.
“Who is it?” Angel asked, hurrying to take over.
Neil pulled the phone out and saw the caller ID. “It’s Larry.” Neil took a deep breath and hit answer.
Larry was so excited he didn’t even wait for Neil to talk. “Neil! It’s Rose! She’s awake!”
“That’s, that’s fantastic!” Neil said. His fingers began to shake. He hadn’t realized just how tense he was.
“Neil, she wants to speak to you. It’s the first thing she said when she woke up. Isabella says Jones isn’t too happy about that, so you might want to be quick.”
“Larry, quit joking and put her on!”
Neil heard Larry passing the phone over to Rose, whose voice was barely more than a whisper. Neil had to plug his ear to block the noise from the kitchen.
“Rose Rose? I’m so . . . happy.” Neil Flambé wasn’t sure he’d ever actually said that word out loud before. “Rose, are you feeling okay?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” she croaked.
“I think she’s feeling better,” Neil said to Angel.
“Do you have the parchment?” Rose said slowly. Each word seemed to take an effort, and she grew quieter and quieter. “Do you? Neil? Neil?”
“Yes. I’m supposed to give it to the Queen with dessert.”
“Neil. There’s more. There’s more. There’s mo . . .” Then she trailed off. Neil could hear Larry and Isabella saying something, and then Isabella came back on the phone.
“The doctor says she’s okay, Neil. She’s just so exhausted that she’s passed out again. But all her signs look good.”
“Maybe it was too soon to talk,” Neil said.
“Sì. But she insisted. What did she say? She was so quiet we could barely hear her.”
“She just said ‘there’s more.’ But she said that back at the cheese shop, so I don’t know what she means.” Neil felt a tap on his shoulder. One of the waitstaff was looking very impatient, and Neil realized the desserts were already on their way out.
He hadn’t tested them, and for the first time since he was in diapers, he didn’t care. “I’ve got to go, Isabella. I wish I could be there to give you a hug.”
Neil couldn’t see Isabella, but he could almost hear her smile coming through the phone. “You just did. Things are good. Go get your Royal Warrant.”
Neil hung up, and with a decidedly lighter step grabbed the last tray of dessert cakes from the surprised waiter and bounded up to the dining hall.
He called back over his shoulder. “Angel, it’s not every day you get to wow a queen, right?”
“Exactly! Enjoy the moment.” Then Angel gave Neil a big smile.
Neil entered the gilded hall bearing a silver tray of cakes in his right hand and the parchment in his left, bound in a silk ribbon. To his mild surprise, and incredible pleasure, the guests clapped as he approached the head table.
Neil noticed that even the royals were tapping their fingers against their palms.
Neil bowed and then placed the tray on the tabletop.
“ ‘For now we sit to chat as well as eat,’ ” the Queen said as Neil stood back up straight. “That’s a quote from Shakespeare, young man.”
“Ugh,” said Neil to himself. “Very fitting for the evening, Your Highness.”
“And we would like to thank you for a wonderful meal. You have earned our highest honor, and it shall be conferred.”
Neil bowed again. “These cakes were a favorite of another monarch, and may have been eaten by Shakespeare himself at the royal court.”
“Well, you have followed in the footsteps of these great figures of our English history. And now we will ask that you confer upon us the long-sought jewel.”
Neil bowed again and began to raise the parchment up. He hesitated. Rose’s voice came back to him. There’s more. There’s more. He looked at the parchment. Neil had read it. He had seen what Rose had seen written on the page.
What more could there be?
Then he remembered. The smell of honey that had first led him to the secret compartment in the box. Back at the College of Arms, Jones had been looking for lemon-based invisible ink, but Neil had smelled honey. Could honey be used to make invisible ink? To hide a message on a piece of paper?