Beauty and the Feast (4 page)

“Do you cook, Mr. Abbott?” She paused. “What I mean is, do you want me to start the meal and leave it for you to finish? Otherwise I can have everything ready to go and all you’ll have to do is enjoy.”

“The latter,” he replied. Suddenly Gabe couldn’t remember why he’d worried about using an unknown chef. “I think I’ll leave the details up to you.”

“Thank you,” she said. “But I do have a few more questions.”

“Yes?”

“I need your address and I’ll need access to your home on Friday, if you don’t mind, and then of course on Saturday morning. I assume you have a wine cellar. Are there any particular wines you wish me to use?”

“As far as the wines are concerned, use your own judgment. You’ve had some experience with my wines?”

“Yes, Mr. Abbott, I have.”
Of course
, he thought. In his mind’s eye, he could see a young woman, her features vague and misted, sipping one of his wines. His Pinot.

“The house is small, more like a cottage. The wine cellar is in a separate temperature controlled building out back beside the pool. You can’t miss it. As far as getting in on Friday, my gardener should be there. His name is Luis Gonzales. I’ll let him know you’re coming. If he’s not around, you can find an extra key stashed in the drawer beneath the bird feeder by the front entryway. Make sure to return it there when you leave. I’ll have my assistant email my address and the house phone number to your office.”

“I just have a couple more questions Mr. Abbott. Are there any food allergies I need to be concerned about? Any intense food dislikes I should take into consideration?”

Gabe grinned. No one had ever bothered to ask him about food dislikes. “Green peppers,” he told her, “I hate green peppers.”

He heard Eva laugh softly and he felt surprisingly warm. “No green peppers,” she agreed. “Thank you, Mr. Abbott. I’ll do my best to make your dinner a success.”

“Gabe,” he said. “My name is Gabe.”

“Thank you…Gabe,” she breathed. She clicked off.

Gabe stood still for an instant then he turned and walked to the window that overlooked
San Francisco
Bay
. Eva Raines. He said the name quietly. It rolled nicely off the tongue. He spun around and stopped in the doorway.

“Marsha,” he said. “Please email that company, All Things to All People. Send them my address in
St. Helena
and my phone number there. Would you mind making the financial arrangements?”

“No, not at all.”

“Find out about this chef, this Eva Raines’ future availability. Just an inquiry. Nothing definite.”

“So, I take it you think she can handle this?”

“She seems to think she can,” he replied. After a moment he asked, “Marsha, what do female chefs look like?”

Marsha snorted. “You’re asking me? How would I know? My kitchen might as well be across the Pacific for as much time as I spend there. I suppose they look like male chefs, big.”

“She didn’t sound big,” Gabe replied.

“And you could tell this through your cell phone?” Marsha raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Gabe turned the phone over in his hand. “Yes, I could tell through my cell phone.”

“I hate to disappoint you boss, but cell phones can be deceiving.”

“You are the consummate cynic, aren’t you?”

“Only because of men like you.” His assistant winked at him. “If I were you, I wouldn’t waste my time wondering what the chef looks like. I’d worry about whether or not Miss Lindstrom will like her food.”

Gabe laughed. He returned to his office and flipped open his phone. He pulled up Miss Raines’, Eva’s, number and saved it to his contact list. E. Raines. Cell.

“Hey Tom, Marcus…either of you ever seen Gabriel Abbott in person?” Eva had returned to the office to check in and find out if Mr. Abbott’s assistant had emailed the information she’d requested.

“No,” said Marcus, “but I hear he’s drop-dead gorgeous.”

“I met with his assistant,” offered Tom. “Marsha struck me as being extremely competent. Maybe a little protective of her boss.”

“Why haven’t I seen photos of him?” Eva persisted. “It seems to me that most wineries like as much publicity as they can get.”

“Perhaps he’s shy,” said Tom, with a grin.

“Unlikely,” laughed Eva. “Maybe he just likes his privacy.”

“So spill. What’s the big event?” asked Marcus.

“Nothing much… a quiet dinner for two in his cottage in
St. Helena
. That’s all.”

“Ooh,” breathed Tom, “Any word on who the lucky guest is?”

“Nope,” answered Eva, “None whatsoever, and none of my business. Did his assistant send you the information I asked for?”

“Yes. I printed it up for you. I’ve got it right here.” Tom reached for a sheet of paper. “You need any help with this one?”

“No, it’s pretty simple. Just dinner. He wants to serve. I’ll go back in on Sunday and clean up.”

“You’d better call first,” winked Marcus.

“I’m way ahead of you there,” said Eva. “You guys getting paid well for this one?”

Tom and Marcus exchanged glances. “Very well. Don’t worry your pretty little head about the money. Just do what you do best and I think we’ll be in like Flynn. His assistant asked about your future availability. Eva,” Tom took her hand. “We’re counting on you. This is what we’ve been hoping for… notice from some of the big money here in the Valley.”

Eva gave Tom’s hand a squeeze. “I won’t let you down. I promise sweetie. Just remind me not to serve Gabriel Abbott any green peppers.”

* * * *

Eva fastened her helmet and took off Up Valley. She tried to bike at least three times a week, riding hard all the way from
Napa
to Calistoga and back. Biking helped clear her head and burn off any extra calories she’d ingested from all the tasting she had to do when she was cooking for her clients. Another couple hours of daylight remained so she decided to swing by Gabriel Abbott’s cottage. She wanted a quick look at where she’d be working, plus she wanted to make sure she could find her way there. According to the directions, the house was located in the hills above the Valley.

Eva passed through Calistoga and rode south, back toward
Napa
. She stayed on the main highway through the center of
St. Helena
, then she turned right and wound her way upward. The climb was impressive. The views of the
Napa
Valley
even more so. Abbott’s cottage was so nondescript, the lot so heavily wooded, that Eva rode right past it, twice. She finally caught a number on a mailbox down the hill from the property. She walked her bike back up. She leaned it against a stone wall that shadowed the lane leading to the house. As Eva approached the cottage, a middle-aged Hispanic gentleman came out of a stone building.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” he said in lightly accented English. “You’ll have to go back to the road. This is private property.”

Eva was curious to see the house, but she stopped in her tracks and tried to appear contrite.

“Yes, I know, I’m sorry to intrude. You must be Luis Gonzales. My name is Eva Raines. I work for an agency called All Things to All People. I’ve been hired by Mr. Abbott to cater a dinner he’s planning here on Saturday night. I just wanted to make certain I knew how to find the house.”

The man looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Really. You can call Mr. Abbott if you want to confirm my story.”

“You rode a bike up here?”

“Yeah.” Eva pointed down the lane. “I left it back there.”

“You’re either a very tough young lady or
usted esta muy loca.
”

Eva burst into laughter.
“Sí, Señor Gonzales, yo soy muy loca!”

Luis smiled warmly at her. “Mr. Abbott called me several hours ago. He told me to expect you… eventually.” Luis motioned her forward. “Let me show you the around.”

* * * *

Late that night, Eva sat on her bed, legs crossed, a yellow legal pad in front of her, concentrating on a menu for Gabriel Abbott. She could have used her laptop, but for some reason, a yellow pad of paper just worked better. Holding a pencil in her hand, the act of writing and erasing, the physical sound of the pencil lead on paper, seemed to help her visualize her dishes. Eva liked to draw a ladder. The first course sat on the bottom rung, dessert on the top. Each rung, each course, led upward in a logical progression to the next. Eva was determined to get this menu right.

Gabriel Abbott’s
Napa
Valley
home had been stunning. Eva kept reviewing what she’d seen over and over again, hoping to come up with a menu that could complement the austerity, enhance the stark simplicity of the cottage and measure up to the exquisite craftsmanship that had gone into the building of it. The home was compact yet because of the tall ceilings and large windows it managed to feel spacious and open. It contained a sitting room, a small, intimate dining room, a large kitchen, a luxurious loft that doubled as a bedroom and two elegant baths. Aside from the entrances to the two bathrooms, there were no doorways between rooms, merely framed arches.

To Eva’s surprise, she noted that the floors were laid with rare and precious Cocobolo and Rosewood. She’d spent nearly a year in Costa Rico as an exchange student when she was in high school and she knew just how endangered the two trees were. When she asked Luis about it, he told her that Senior Abbott had overseen the collection of the wood himself, that every piece was recycled scrap lumber. No trees were harvested to make his floor. Eva was very glad she’d had the foresight to leave her biking shoes on the front porch, although she suspected Luis would have asked her to remove them in any case. The wood was rich with age. The floors felt warm and alive against the soles of her feet. The planks were creamy, satiny, sensuous, as her mom would say—soft as a baby’s behind.

Luis showed off the garden behind the cottage. Eva stepped from the kitchen onto a secluded patio made of gray slate. Double French doors from both the dining room and the kitchen opened directly onto it. Crimson and butter-yellow climbing roses draped themselves dramatically over high stone walls. A cobbled pathway wound its way past herb beds fragrant with lavender, rosemary, a variety of thymes, basils, and mints.

Eva spotted a small patch of tiny ripe, red strawberries. She leaned over and plucked one, popping it into her mouth. Eva closed her eyes as the sweet, tart flavor spilled over her tongue and flooded her mouth. She could use these in a dessert.

Luis led her past the lovely, secluded swimming pool. He pointed out a separate stone building.

“It’s temperature controlled,” he said. “For the wines. The
Señor
told me you may need access to it.”

Eva nodded.

Luis continued, “The key to the front door unlocks that door as well.”

Luis showed her where the key was hidden beneath the bird feeder. He excused himself, asking only that Eva come and find him when she was ready to leave. Eva strolled around the property, ducking beneath the thick branches of
California
oaks. She was barefoot so she kept an eye out for snakes. There were rattlesnakes in the hills that she had come across occasionally while mountain biking.

Eva returned to the front of the house and sat on the stoop where she put on her biking shoes. She stood, stretched and retrieved her bike before she went looking for Luis. She found him raking near the entrance to the private lane.

“
Muchos gracias
, Luis,” she told him. “I appreciate the tour. The garden is enchanting.”

“
De nada
,” he replied. “It’s my pleasure.” The older man smiled and took her hand. He brought it gallantly to his lips and kissed it. “The garden is nothing,” he said, “compared to you.”

“Aren’t you a charmer!” Eva laughed.

Now, sitting on her bed, staring at the pad of paper, Eva smiled. Luis genuinely was a sweetheart. She hoped Gabriel Abbott valued the man because the results of his handiwork were breathtaking. A menu to match the house? Or the lush garden? Eva tapped her pencil against her lips. The house. Simple. Stark. Elegant. Clean flavors. The food would have to be served either cold or at room temperature. Mr. Abbott… Gabriel Abbott… Gabe said he didn’t want to cook, just serve.

Eva wondered to whom he planned to serve this meal. A woman.
Chances are, a sophisticated woman who watches her waistline and won’t want to stuff herself before
retiring to the loft and
…
Gabe did have a nice voice
… Eva’s thoughts roamed. With a rueful smile, she shook herself out of her reverie. She remembered the herbs she’d seen in Gabriel Abbott’s garden and Eva knew exactly what her theme for the evening would be. She pictured a series of small plates, starting with a chilled soup in a martini glass. She hoped Mrs. White wouldn’t mind if she was a bit tardy on Friday. Eva wanted to be at Abbott’s place by six in the morning. If she could put in at least six hours, she should be able to get a lot of the prep work done. Plus she wanted to see if she needed to bring any supplies—glassware, plates, utensils, from her own kitchen. Eva looked forward to the challenge. Tom and Marcus were counting on her to do this right.