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Authors: Charlotte MacLeod
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him?”
“Not long after we got started. We were getting the tray ready to serve the caviar. We’d known that was supposed to be the opening number, as you might say. Mrs. Tolbathy—she’s a lovely woman, isn’t she—she’d explained to us already what she wanted done. She’d got the chopped onion and sieved egg yolk and all that ready, or I expect her cook had, and brought them down to the train in plastic containers, along with the can of caviar. She even brought a can opener, in case we didn’t have one with us. There was no reason why we couldn’t have gone ahead and served it ourselves.”
“But then this man with the big chain around his neck breezed in and said he’d take care of it,” said Pam.
“Did he tell you who he was?” Max asked her.
“Nope. We naturally assumed he must be the Tolbathys’ butler, so we stepped aside and let him do it.”
“What exactly did he do?”
“Nothing much, really. We’d set out the dishes that fit the epergne, as I said, and started filling them, so he told us to go ahead and finish that part. But when I reached for the caviar, to open the can, he stopped me. There’s this special glass dish, see, that had a place scooped out to fit it in the swan’s back. I thought Mrs. Tolbathy was taking an awful chance, myself, using that lovely epergne on a train ride. Did it get damaged?”
“I couldn’t say,” Max replied. “So anyway, what did this man say?”
“He said that wasn’t the way Mrs. Tolbathy wanted it done. He told me just to put the dish and the can and the opener on the tray. He’d carry it out himself and open the can at the serving table to prove the caviar was fresh. We’d never heard of such a thing before. Can you tell me what’s so classy about hauling out a can opener in front of company?”
“Sorry,” said Max. “I’m not much up on caviar, myself. Mrs. Tolbathy didn’t try to stop him when he did it and nobody else fainted or anything, so I suppose it was okay. But is that all this man did, just opened the caviar and vanished?”
“Well, he’d fussed about the champagne a little. We had it chilling in a tubful of snow and he sort of snorted at that. But Marge told him it was Mrs. Tolbathy’s idea—her tub, too, as a matter of fact—so he didn’t say any more.”
“He wasn’t with us more than a few minutes,” Marge amplified. “We assumed that if he was supposed to be the wine steward, he’d be concerned about how we were handling the dinner wines, but he never even looked at them. See, here they are. Luckily we had the white wines chilling in the tub when the train stopped, and Pam managed to grab most of the burgundy, thank God. Everything got shaken up, of course, but we couldn’t help that.”
“Our real tragedy was the turkey mousse,” said Angie. “It’s all over the walls and everything, and would you believe we can’t even find a sponge to wipe it up with? Somebody’ll have to come out here tomorrow with a scrubbing brush and a bucket of suds. And it had come out so beautifully, too. When I think of the hours we spent getting ready for this party, I could cry.”
“I’m sure nobody’s going to blame you ladies for what happened,” said Max.
“That’s not the point,” Marge told him. “We take pride in our work. It hurts to see everything we slaved to get perfect messed around like this. Besides,” she admitted, “we were hoping to make such a great impression that we’d be asked to do more parties for this crowd. Oh, well, that’s life, I guess. Would you please tell Mrs. Tolbathy we’re getting squared away here? We could be ready to start serving as soon as we get back to the house, if she can round up somebody to help us carry the food off the train.”
“I’ll be glad to. Thanks a lot.” It wasn’t Max’s place to thank them, he supposed, but a kind word never hurt. They did seem to be taking that turkey mousse dreadfully to heart.
The train was slowing down now. They must
“Not long after we got started. We were getting the tray ready to serve the caviar. We’d known that was supposed to be the opening number, as you might say. Mrs. Tolbathy—she’s a lovely woman, isn’t she—she’d explained to us already what she wanted done. She’d got the chopped onion and sieved egg yolk and all that ready, or I expect her cook had, and brought them down to the train in plastic containers, along with the can of caviar. She even brought a can opener, in case we didn’t have one with us. There was no reason why we couldn’t have gone ahead and served it ourselves.”
“But then this man with the big chain around his neck breezed in and said he’d take care of it,” said Pam.
“Did he tell you who he was?” Max asked her.
“Nope. We naturally assumed he must be the Tolbathys’ butler, so we stepped aside and let him do it.”
“What exactly did he do?”
“Nothing much, really. We’d set out the dishes that fit the epergne, as I said, and started filling them, so he told us to go ahead and finish that part. But when I reached for the caviar, to open the can, he stopped me. There’s this special glass dish, see, that had a place scooped out to fit it in the swan’s back. I thought Mrs. Tolbathy was taking an awful chance, myself, using that lovely epergne on a train ride. Did it get damaged?”
“I couldn’t say,” Max replied. “So anyway, what did this man say?”
“He said that wasn’t the way Mrs. Tolbathy wanted it done. He told me just to put the dish and the can and the opener on the tray. He’d carry it out himself and open the can at the serving table to prove the caviar was fresh. We’d never heard of such a thing before. Can you tell me what’s so classy about hauling out a can opener in front of company?”
“Sorry,” said Max. “I’m not much up on caviar, myself. Mrs. Tolbathy didn’t try to stop him when he did it and nobody else fainted or anything, so I suppose it was okay. But is that all this man did, just opened the caviar and vanished?”
“Well, he’d fussed about the champagne a little. We had it chilling in a tubful of snow and he sort of snorted at that. But Marge told him it was Mrs. Tolbathy’s idea—her tub, too, as a matter of fact—so he didn’t say any more.”
“He wasn’t with us more than a few minutes,” Marge amplified. “We assumed that if he was supposed to be the wine steward, he’d be concerned about how we were handling the dinner wines, but he never even looked at them. See, here they are. Luckily we had the white wines chilling in the tub when the train stopped, and Pam managed to grab most of the burgundy, thank God. Everything got shaken up, of course, but we couldn’t help that.”
“Our real tragedy was the turkey mousse,” said Angie. “It’s all over the walls and everything, and would you believe we can’t even find a sponge to wipe it up with? Somebody’ll have to come out here tomorrow with a scrubbing brush and a bucket of suds. And it had come out so beautifully, too. When I think of the hours we spent getting ready for this party, I could cry.”
“I’m sure nobody’s going to blame you ladies for what happened,” said Max.
“That’s not the point,” Marge told him. “We take pride in our work. It hurts to see everything we slaved to get perfect messed around like this. Besides,” she admitted, “we were hoping to make such a great impression that we’d be asked to do more parties for this crowd. Oh, well, that’s life, I guess. Would you please tell Mrs. Tolbathy we’re getting squared away here? We could be ready to start serving as soon as we get back to the house, if she can round up somebody to help us carry the food off the train.”
“I’ll be glad to. Thanks a lot.” It wasn’t Max’s place to thank them, he supposed, but a kind word never hurt. They did seem to be taking that turkey mousse dreadfully to heart.
The train was slowing down now. They must
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