Chapter Sixteen

 

Morgan made her choice of winning cake design the next week, and Kitty and I were booked in Save the Date's diary to come back to the restaurant for the decision. I felt nervous on the drive to Penzance, finding my hands clutching the wheel as I steered. In the passenger seat, Kitty was quiet.

"You think she went with the chocolate and raspberry or the coffee and vanilla?" Kitty asked.

"Jillian's, you mean," I said. "I don't know."

"Yeah, you do. It was her favorite," said Kitty. "If she picks it, it won't be long before we have to 'fess up."

"Me, you mean," I corrected. "I'm going to be the one to explain. I'll tell her that I did it for the good of the wedding, and so long as she begrudgingly admits that Jillian is talented, I'll consider it worth the scolding."

Jillian deserved the promotion, and all I wanted to come from this was a fair chance for her to impress the chef. Each step in the restaurant chain was important, as Michael's advice had shown me, and she deserved to advance to the next one. To live out her dream so her beautiful cakes could finally be enjoyed by others in the future.

We parked just behind Mark's car outside the restaurant. The construction trucks weren't here today, but a sign pointed for us to enter through the back garden, the door where tourists would arrive for a light lunch in the future when they trekked up from the beach. The restaurant's front staff were turning over all the chairs atop the tables, and moving all the furniture out of the way in preparation for the floors to be cleaned. Several others were cleaning up the area around the newly-installed fountain in the foyer, where the stone face like the Roman god of truth, now spilled water into a rustic trough surrounded by potted Mediterranean plants.

"Want to stick your hand in it?" Kitty was thinking the same thing as myself, with her smile cracked grimly.

"No thanks. Mine would get bitten right now." Morgan didn't know the truth yet, but I had a feeling the revelation was coming.

Morgan and Mark were in his office, where Morgan had set up her book proofs during this latest state of her recipe manuscript, since the front staff had moved her table also. "Come in," said Morgan, waving us into the room. "I've been boring Mark with a description of my new praline and pear tartlets with honey cream butter. The editor's latest favorite to be featured on the website."

My stomach would typically growl for the mention of something that delicious, but there were too many knots to afford it room to react today. I smiled. "Sounds like a great choice to me," I said.

"It would be if I like pears," chuckled Mark. "But that's a personal preference, the kind of thing I try not to let myself have as a chef, generally speaking." He reached for a teapot. "Cuppa?" he asked. "There's extra cups, it's a nice ginger spice blend."

"Thanks, but I'll pass," I answered. Kitty shook her head also. We sat down on opposite sides of the room, in the only chairs that were available.

"We've been chatting the last few days about which cake to choose. It's been challenging, to say the least — I feel like I'm choosing something as important as a child's name," said Morgan, making a little joke. "Seriously, it had to be the best, and we wanted to take our time deciding. We narrowed it to three after consideration. The chocolate and raspberry layers, the rustic apple with candied citron, and the espresso chocolate with bourbon vanilla and citrus."

"All three of those had highlights we could appreciate, and good decoration, too," said Mark. "I think the contest really brought some absolute winners. Like the apple and citrus baker — their first entry was the cake that looked like the ceramic cat, right? It was creative."

"The best initial entry was the faded roses cake," corrected Morgan. "I'm not surprised that baker made our top three, I could already sense it was a creative talent that would come closer to filling the void of my own than most of the entries."

"The faded roses," I repeated. "That was the baker with the final entry of —"

" — the wisteria cake," said Morgan. "There are a few things I would change, of course, but I thought the overall design captured the wedding's atmosphere. That's why we chose it, as I'm sure you're not surprised to hear."

Kitty and I exchanged glances. "Not at all," I said. "I could tell from the beginning that's where your opinion leaned. And if that's how you feel, we would support that choice, obviously, since we both agree it's the best."

"No sense in saying otherwise, since I could veto you, right?" said Morgan, laughing. "Yes, I suspected that was the case."

I took a deep breath. "There's one thing we do need to talk about before you make that final choice known," I said.

"Too late. I already rang the magazine this morning to tell them that's my choice," she said. "I'm waiting for someone in feature to ring back with the details about the winning contestant."

The air had temporarily been sucked out of the room, at least for me and my lungs. I felt the clutch — a slight panic — tightening on them as my mind raced to form my reaction.

"I thought you were going to talk to us first," said Kitty, without giving anything away.

"We agreed to that, I know, but I couldn't wait," said Morgan. "Like I said, I knew you wouldn't choose someone else if I was satisfied, the veto and all, so it was safer to go ahead with the plan and tell you here, when I congratulated you for coming up with such a successful alternative to the original plan."

"We're both pretty grateful," said Mark, smiling. "It was a good idea, and it worked like a charm."

My stomach was sinking, and the room felt very hot. On Mark's desk, a phone began ringing, and I recognized Morgan's mobile as she pulled it from underneath a culinary magazine.

"Hi, Colin? It's Morgan. I'm absolutely thrilled to hear from you so quickly. Yes, their cake was outstanding, in my opinion ... you have their details ready so I can ring them personally, I presume? I want to be the one to give them the good news as soon as possible."

She paused. "What do you mean?" Her expression became concerned. "But that's impossible, isn't it? You screened them all. What do you mean there's been a mistake?" She scowled. "I think it would be best if you looked into it as quickly as possible and find out why, because I'm extremely disappointed by that possibility. Yes, I want to hear what you find out as soon as possible."

She disconnected, looking extremely annoyed. "Of all the incompetence," she said. "Do you know what they just told me? That the number on the contact sheet for the cake baker has no answer. The business that supposedly gave them a recommendation for the contest has been closed for holiday for the past month."

"What? Are you serious?" said Mark.

"They can't find any information about them, apparently," said Morgan, vexed.

If I didn't say something soon, I knew Kitty would. I cleared my throat. "I think I can explain," I said. "In fact ... I know I can. I know for a fact that the baker they're looking for doesn't exist."

"What?" Morgan stared.

"The person is real," I said. "Just not the name, or the job. Truthfully — the cake is one I saw, and thought was so perfect for your wedding, but the contest was already in place, so I couldn't stop it. But I couldn't resist adding it to the mix, because I knew you would love it the moment you saw it. I thought if — somehow — it did end up being your favorite that I would tell you the truth and explain."

"Why didn't they just enter like all the rest?" asked Mark.

"They couldn't," I said. "Conflict of interest. That's why I didn't even tell them I did it, I just sent the sketch in under another name. The business belongs to a friend of mine, she's a baker who's participating in a special seminar right now."

Morgan was quiet at first, as if digesting my explanation. "Who was it?" she asked. "Was it one of you?" She glanced from me to Kitty, looking at her in particular, since it was believable in some ways that my partner could create something that artistic if they knew Kitty at all.

"Not us," I said. "It was one of the restaurant staff, which is why they were disqualified."

"What?" said Morgan.

"It was Jillian. One of the chef's general assistants — the one who helped you develop your cherry strudel recipe and the white chocolate raspberry bites, along with other recipes you've been working on," I said. "She was working on it initially because she wanted to present it to you, but she put it aside after you announced the contest. And I thought, as your wedding planner, it was such a perfect design that I would have recommended it to you. So I — not Kitty — created the fake profile and added it. I didn't tell either of them what I was doing."

"I found out, though," said Kitty, speaking up. "I agreed with her that it was just what you needed. If we'd seen it before the contest, we'd have both said so."

Morgan crossed her arms. "So you're saying the winner of the contest is one of my staff?" she clarified. "Out of the seventy-five candidates you pared down using my guidelines?"

I nodded. "Exactly," I said. "The magazine doesn't even know. We thought we should protect everybody, until we had time to talk to you in case you felt this strongly about her design."

"I see," said Morgan. "How to fix this is now a problem." She rubbed her forehead, as Mark sat by, looking uncomfortable. "I told the magazine — we set the rules —"

"The rules can be bent a little," I suggested. "We could explain it was a surprise, and feature the two runners-up in the magazine as well."

"We could have their cake designs scaled down and served at the upcoming engagement party," said Kitty, speaking up now. "We're supposed to have a showstopper for it, and you wanted it to be a copy of the wedding cake's design for the big unveiling originally. Just make it these two instead."

"I think that would be a perfect solution," I said. "You've honored the top three bakers, and rewarded one of your staff who made a major contribution to your cookbook — and clearly learned a lot from your style, in order to make a cake that completes your wedding so perfectly."

Morgan sighed. She stared out the window, and I could see she was thinking. Our words were probably turning in her mind, tumbling around as she tried to decide the best way to save face in this issue. I knew she was angry at us, but I knew she really wanted that breathtaking showstopper cake of Jillian's, the only one that would do justice to her wedding's atmosphere in the same manner as the first one she now refused to consider. Probably because they were from the same artist's creative mind, in reality, but Morgan didn't know we knew that.

A knock sounded on the door to Mark's office. "Come in," he called. It opened, and Jillian came in, carrying a plate with a grilled chicken salad on it, with artistic florettes made of pickled eggs to one side. "Chef sent the latest version of your new lunch plate for you to try," she said to him. "He wants you to give him feedback on whether the dressing is right, since you had two different measurements for the garlic powder, and we went with the smaller one to begin."

"Thanks," he said. As Jillian stepped back, she noticed the sketch of her cake lying on the desk, and I saw the look on her face become that of confusion. Morgan noticed, too.

"Did you design that?" she asked the young chef.

Jillian nodded. "I did, but — I didn't put it there," she said. "How did you get it?"

"I know you didn't," said Morgan. "I only want to be certain that it's yours, like they said."

Jillian glanced at us, then nodded again. "I drew it for your —" she began.

"It doesn't matter," said Morgan, before she could finish explaining. "I'm not really interested in what you designed it for. I think I've seen and heard everything I need to." She paused. "Get your things from the staff closet at the end of today's shift and don't come back tomorrow."

The young chef's face turned pale. Mark interjected. "Now, Morgan, that's unnecessary," he began.

"It's half my restaurant, isn't it?" she shot back. "I told her I want her to leave. I don't like her style, I don't like her attitude, and I don't like being made a fool of." This last part was directed at me and Kitty, along with a stern glare that was meant to keep us both silent.

"I don't understand," said Jillian, helplessly.

"You heard the part where I told you to get out, so you understood just fine," answered Morgan. "I think you're a poor fit for the restaurant staff, so this day has been coming for some weeks, and it might as well come now."

Without another word, Jillian withdrew and closed the door. I could see from Mark's face that he was angry, and trying not to say anything about this decision with the two us present, but Morgan was taking over, anyway.

"I want you to call the magazine and fix this," she said to me. "Tell them it was a mix up and get the identity of the baker who made the chocolate and raspberry sponges instead."

"You want them declared the winner instead?" I said.

"You heard me. That's the cake I want, it's decided now," said Morgan. "You made this mistake, I want it fixed, with a cake that fits the rules I chose."

"Technically Jillian's qualifies, since you fired her," Kitty pointed out. That was a bold statement to make that I would have avoided at this moment, but she pulled no punches.

Morgan's swift look was not a happy one. "I told you what I want you to do, and I don't want to talk about it any more," she said. "I'm finished with this situation, it makes me sick to think of it, and I want to forget it as quickly as possible. And if you don't want to be sacked as well, you'll take care of it now."

Mark cleared his throat. "If you and Julianne wouldn't mind, I'd like to speak with Morgan privately," he said. "If you're finished for now."

The atmosphere was so awkward, this request felt like a relief. "Of course." I rose from my chair. Kitty did the same, and we walked out, closing the door behind us. I heard raised voices on the other side, having a heated argument as we walked away.

"Whacking great loon," muttered Kitty.

I glanced at her, but didn't have the heart to smile. "She's right," I said. "Even though she's wrong, I overstepped. At least she realized I was to blame — but firing Jillian was too far."

"What did you expect?" Kitty lifted one eyebrow. "She knows where you got that drawing — same place she got hers for the wedding cake that she didn't get to use. How long until you figured that out, she probably wondered. More to the point, how long until Jillian did?"

I hadn't thought about that. Morgan would be quick to see that my 'borrowing' Jillian's design mirrored her own act of appropriating another from that same notebook and passing it off as her own for the wedding. She probably didn't want Jillian to realize she had outright stolen some of her private work until after the cookbook was ready for release. She could find a way to discredit any rumors or allegations from her now-former employee after her hold on those recipes was securely in print.

"I thought she'd take our compromise," I said. "I didn't think she would be this ruthless."

"Thought she'd be like Michael, did you?" Kitty's sarcasm was mirthless.

I didn't comment on that. I lagged behind to look back at the restaurant staff trying to layer perfect mini trifles, when I spotted Jillian sitting in the lobby with her bag and her pink jacket on instead of her chef's coat.

All my fault. The shock of it was fading fast, replaced by guilt. I walked closer.

"Jillian, I am so sorry," I said. "I never meant for that to happen. Truly, truly, I thought she would see what a fantastic baker you are if I showed her that sketch without your name on it, and showed her just how perfect your ideas are. I know they're perfect for this wedding. That's an indisputable fact." I didn't tell her exactly how I knew.

She shook her head. "It's all right, really," she said. "I knew this might happen. I'm not the first person to be dismissed since the restaurant changed hands. I was hoping, but ... sometimes hope is just the last door closing before a new one opens."

"That's not how I wanted this to be," I said. "I wanted you to get the promotion you wanted so much, and work your way up the restaurant's ladder."

"I'll find another job," said Jillian. "There are restaurants up and down the coast. Not all of them need a recommendation from a former employer to hire a cook. I'm good enough that I can find a place for myself, even if it's not the best. You don't have to worry about me."

"Since it's my fault this happened, I have to," I answered.

She smiled. "Maybe it's for the best," she said. "Like I said, it might have happened anyway. I have to face it and move on." She glanced down at her phone. "My ride's here, so I should —"

"Of course. So sorry," I said. "Please, call me if you need something." Maybe we could take on another assistant? She could join Paula in the ranks of people-based projects at work that I was fumbling also.

She waved goodbye and walked out the doors of Bon Cuisine — for the last time, I imagined. My heart felt heavy, not buying the logic that Morgan would have sacked her so soon without my revelation. For one thing, she probably wanted to glean more from Jillian's talent before crushing her aspirations.

I located the number for the magazine on my phone. Inside, my resentment was growing to the hot and angry stage at the thought of doing this when I knew Jillian had deserved this place all along. But I was going quietly along with orders, changing the decision exactly the way my client wanted, as promised.