Read Online A Twist in the Tale by Jeffrey Archer - Free Book Online Page B

the
other trainees in the kitchen edging away from him.
    “Then I teach
you,” roared the chef. “Perhaps only thing you learn is if hope to be good
chef, you able to do everyone’s job in kitchen, even ‘ tato peeler’s.”
    “But I’m hoping
to be a . . .” Mark began and then thought better of it. The chef seemed not to
have heard Mark as he took his place beside the new recruit. Everyone in the
kitchen stared as the chef began to show Mark the basic skills of cutting,
dicing and slicing.
    “And remember
other idiot’s finger,” the chef said on completing the lesson and passing the
razor-sharp knife back to Mark.
    “Yours can be
next.”
    Mark started
gingerly dicing the carrots, then the Brussels
sprouts, removing the outer layer before cutting a firm cross in the stalk.
Next he moved on to trimming and slicing the beans. Once again he found it
fairly easy to keep ahead of the chef’s requirements.
    At the end of
each day, after the head chef had left, Mark stayed on to sharpen all his
knives in preparation for the following morning, and would not leave his work
area until it was spotless.
    On the sixth
day, after a curt nod from the chef, Mark realised he
must be doing something half right. By the following Saturday he felt he had
mastered the simple skills of vegetable preparation and found himself becoming
fascinated by what the chef himself was up to. Although Jacques rarely
addressed anyone as he marched round the acre of kitchen except to grunt his
approval or disapproval – the latter more commonly- Mark quickly learned to
anticipate his needs. Within a short space of time he began to feel that he was
part of a team - even though he was only too aware of being the novice recruit.
    On the deputy
chef’s day off the following week Mark was allowed to arrange the cooked
vegetables in their bowls and spent some time making each dish look attractive
as well as edible. The chef not only noticed but actually muttered his greatest
accolade-
    “ Bon .”
    During his last
three weeks at the Savoy Mark did not even look at the calendar above his bed.
    One Thursday
morning a message came down from the under-manager that Mark was to report to
his office as soon as was convenient. Mark had quite forgotten that it was
August 31st- his last day. He cut ten lemons into quarters, then finished preparing the forty plates of thinly sliced smoked salmon that would
complete the first course for a wedding lunch. He looked with pride at his
efforts before folding up his apron and leaving to collect his papers and final
wage packet.
    “Where you
think you’re going?” asked the chef, looking up.
    “I’m off,” said
Mark. “Back to Coventry.”
    “See you Monday
then. You deserve day off.”
    “No, I’m going
home for good,” said Mark.
    The chef
stopped checking the cuts of rare beef that would make up the second course of
the wedding feast.
    “Going?” he
repeated as if he didn’t understand the word.
    “Yes. I’ve
finished my year and now I’m off home to work.”
    “I hope you
found first-class hotel,” said the chef with genuine interest.
    “I’m not going
to work in a hotel.”
    “A restaurant, perhaps?”
    “No, I’m going
to get a job at Triumph.”
    The chef looked
puzzled for a moment, un-sure if it was his English or whether the boy was
mocking him.
    “What is –
Triumph?”
    “A place where they manufacture cars.”
    “You will
manufacture cars?”
    “Not a whole
car, but I will put the wheels on.” “You put cars on wheels?” the chef said in
disbelief.
    “No,” laughed
Mark. “Wheels on cars.”
    The chef still
looked uncertain.
    “So you will be
cooking for the car workers?”
    “No. As I
explained, I’m going to put the wheels on the cars,” said Mark slowly, enun-ciating each word.
    “That not
possible.”
    “Oh yes it is,”
responded Mark. “And I’ve waited a whole year to prove it.”
    “If I offered
you job as commis chef, you change mind?” asked the
chef