Wolf at the Door Read online

  ‘I’ll be able to do much better than just match it, having the whole day to work in,’ she promised. ‘And really, I am sorry about not thinking of the lunches. It’s purely my own fault; I should have thought of it.’

  ‘About organising it, maybe,’ he said. ‘But you can’t do everything yourself, so until you get your new cooks, let Marie worry about lunches; she has enough time for it. You shouldn’t even attempt to consider being administrator and chef as well. You’ll only work yourself into the ground to no good purpose.’

  Then, to Kelly’s immense surprise, he threw her one of his engaging, boyish grins before continuing.

  ‘And if anything has to suffer, let it be the administration. After last night’s performance I’ve got the happiest camp in the country, and I’d like to keep it that way. In fact I’m almost tempted to try and convince Leduc that I’d rather have you here as a cook, and he can find somebody else to handle the administration.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t want me here at all,’ she replied sarcastically. ‘Or is this just your stomach talking?’

  Grey shrugged and gestured towards the dining room. ‘It’s everybody else’s stomach that’s talking,’ he admitted wryly. ‘If I tried to get rid of you now, they’d string me up from the closest high tree.’

  ‘Well, judging from your comments last night, maybe you’d prefer that anyway,’ she retorted. ‘Or are you finally now convinced that I’m not likely to be the troublemaker you envisaged?’

  ‘That depends on how much you learned from last night’s little lesson,’ he replied smugly, grinning with delight at her angry reaction. ‘On the other hand, if I have to keep giving you lessons like that, I might get to enjoy having you around just for the entertainment value.’

  Kelly shivered with repressed anger, only just able to restrain herself from throwing something at him. Entertainment value indeed! But she was still struggling to find a suitable reply when Grey suddenly excused himself and walked quickly out of the dining hall. It wasn’t until she had finally found time for a filling breakfast of her own that Kelly really began to assess her reaction to his comment, and she was immediately angry with herself for feeling so slighted. What interest could she possibly have in providing ‘entertainment’ for a man like Grey Scofield? The very thought was enough to make her ... Oh, you’re lucky I didn’t poison your coffee, she thought with a derisive gesture at his trailer.

  She had cooled down only slightly by the time the men began to filter into the trailer seeking their lunches, and Grey’s arrival made Kelly think of fleeing to hide in her trailer, because she was afraid she would say something quite atrocious if he spoke to her. But when he did finally approach, he wasn’t alone. With him was a diminutive, stocky little man hardly taller than Kelly herself, an ageing, wrinkled little fellow who doffed a greasy, ancient cap to reveal a shining bald pate as he smiled a mostly- toothless greeting.

  Grey introduced his companion as Baldy Swan. ‘Baldy’s going to fill in as second cook until you get your new crew,’ he explained bluntly. ‘He’s not a bad cook, actually, although it’s a few years since he gave up cooking for cat-skinning. Just don’t let him try anything too fancy.’

  ‘Oh, but I...’

  ‘And don’t go all shirty about it,’ he said with a slight scowl. ‘Nobody’s trying to impugn your abilities or anything. But I don’t want you killing yourself with work, and old Baldy here should be able to take some of the load.’

  The gleeful look on the older man’s face made it clear that he was either pleased at the chance of returning to the kitchen, or else he was simply enjoying the visible air of hostility between Kelly and Grey. He was the nearest thing to a living leprechaun that Kelly had ever seen, and she immediately knew she must avoid hurting his feelings.

  ‘I’m certainly not complaining about the help,’ she said immediately. ‘I’m certain that Mr Swan can probably teach me a good deal, as a matter of fact.’ Her comment brought a glint of appreciation, or was it smugness, into Grey’s eyes, and she continued, ‘But I don’t feel it’s proper to take somebody from your staff; I’m sure you need all of your men at your own work ...’

  She paused at the look of speculation that replaced Grey’s earlier expression, and he took it to mean she had finished.

  ‘I appreciate your feelings,’ he replied. ‘But it’s not quite that simple. I’ve got to be away for the next couple of days, and since somebody has to stay and look after you, it might as well be somebody who can be useful to you.’

  Kelly was livid. ‘So he’s really to be my bodyguard!’

  ‘That’s right,’ Grey replied grimly. ‘Which means that his word is mine, and you’ll treat it as such. Outside the kitchen, of course. And don’t let his size fool you, Miss Barnes. Baldy’s handled tougher men in his day than any that this camp could produce.’

  ‘I wasn’t questioning his abilities,’ she replied hotly. ‘But I must object to you taking him from his regular duties just because you think I need a bodyguard. As I’ve told you repeatedly, Mr Scofield, I’m quite capable of looking after myself.’

  ‘Well then, Baldy will be able to enjoy taking things easy when he isn’t cooking,’ was the reply. ‘Don’t be so snappy, little fox. You’re getting to the point where you’ve no sense of humour at all, and if there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a grouchy cook; Baldy’s cooked for me enough over the years to confirm that.’

  ‘I am not snappy and I’m not a fox,’ she retorted. ‘And I don’t need a bodyguard, so before you go, you can please send Mr Swan back to skinning his cats and I’ll take care of my own kitchen!’

  ‘There’s no sense arguing with him, miss,’ the leprechaun interrupted. ‘Just like talking to the wind, and besides, he’s only having you on. My cat’s broken down and won’t be working for at least a week, and when he asked me to come give you a hand, he never said one word about being a bodyguard.’

  One look at Grey’s face confirmed the truth of the statement, although he immediately brushed it aside by stating, ‘Well, I’m saying it now. You’re to keep an eye on her, Baldy, and I mean that. A cook like this one is too valuable to take any chances with.’

  ‘Fine for you to say, but I know more about kitchens than you do, and I’ve no wish to stay in one where I’m not wanted,’ Baldy replied with such a downcast expression that Kelly relented instantly.

  ‘Oh, it isn’t that at all,’ she assured him. ‘I really would like to have you, honestly. It’s just that…’

  ‘It’s just that she’s a bit too liberated for her own good,’ Grey interrupted.

  ‘Which is just about the kind of chauvinistic thing I’d expect you to say,’ Kelly snapped. ‘I should have expected you to object to any woman who didn’t grovel at your feet.’

  ‘See what I mean?’ he grinned. ‘You watch her, Baldy, or next thing she’ll be after your job.’

  ‘I couldn’t do it and you know it,’ Kelly replied, her face red with anger. Then she turned to Baldy. ‘But I promise you, if you skin a cat for me, I’ll cook it and feed it to him.’

  She didn’t understand the howls of laughter that erupted from both men at that response, until Grey, tears streaming down his cheeks, managed to catch enough breath to answer her.

  ‘A cat-skinner, my dear Kelly, is a bulldozer operator,’ he gasped. ‘And I don’t think even your immense talents could make a palatable meal from a bulldozer, although I don’t doubt you’d probably give it a try.’

  At her look of mingled chagrin and embarrassment, he only laughed harder, and when Kelly turned away towards the sanctity of her kitchen, he went the other way, still laughing as he walked through the door.

  ‘You can’t say you didn’t deserve that one, miss,’ said a voice behind her, and Kelly turned to see Baldy, his face screwed into a gargoyle ugliness but his eyes so filled with genuine compassion she could have hugged him.

  ‘He makes me so mad I could spit!’ she replied. ‘I’ve never met such an infuriating man in my en
tire life, and when I think of some of the chefs I’ve known, that’s saying a very great deal indeed.’

  ‘Ah, he can be maddening all right,’ the little man agreed. ‘Especially when you reckon he’s got a temper as quick as I imagine yours is. But he’s a good man for all that, and at least he doesn’t ever carry a grudge. When I think of some of the battles we used to have ...’

  Baldy’s voice droned on and on as Kelly treated herself to the luxury of a pot of tea, which he shared, but she hardly listened to what he was saying because she was lost in her own thoughts.

  So Grey Scofield didn’t carry a grudge. It was something on which Kelly had always prided herself, having been forced to learn control of her own fiery temper, but after the past day’s encounters with Grey, she was busily vowing that she would learn to hold a grudge. And when she finally got her revenge ...

  ‘What’s that you just said?’ she blurted out, startling Baldy so badly he almost dropped his cup.

  ‘What? Oh, I was recalling the first time—the last time, as well—that I tried to feed Grey spinach,’ he replied with a reminiscent smile. ‘You may think you’ve seen him being hostile, but I figured that day I’d be out on my ... tail ... in the snow,’ he chuckled. ‘And he said if I ever tried it again I would be, too.’

  ‘So he doesn’t like spinach,’ Kelly mused aloud, unaware she was speaking more to herself than to Baldy. The idea that sprang forth needed little nourishing; it emerged in full bloom,

  ‘Actually, maybe I have been letting him get to me, just a bit,’ she admitted with an encouraging smile. ‘And since it’s probably my fault, perhaps I’d better not make things worse by inadvertently cooking things he hates. You’ll have to advise me, Mr Swan. Just what are Mr Scofield’s particular dislikes in food?’

  ‘I’d be happier if you’d just call me Baldy,’ he replied, ‘and happier yet if you’d forget what I think you’re thinking, although I expect you won’t.’

  ‘But certainly it would make things easier all round if I took pains to avoid Mr Scofield’s particular dislikes?’ Kelly protested. ‘After all, he is the boss.’

  ‘He is that,’ Baldy agreed, ‘and let me tell you, miss, he isn’t known as the grey wolf for nothing. And what you’re thinking is something no sane person should even contemplate.’

  ‘All I want to do is avoid trouble in future,’ she said, ‘so I can’t quite see what you’re getting at.’

  ‘You know very well what I’m getting at,’ the tiny old man muttered with a grimace. ‘But I can see you’re not going to admit it, which is about what I’d expect. Okay, he said to help you, so I’ll help you, or at least that’s my excuse. I just hope I never really need it. As of this moment, my girl, I claim total ignorance of what I suspect you’re planning. But let me warn you: if the ... er ... if the proverbial fan gets hit, it’ll be entirely on your head. I want your promise of that.’

  ‘Baldy, you’re a dear,’ Kelly replied with a melting smile. ‘And I just don’t see how you could do anything else, since I’ve asked you, but tell me every single thing you know about Grey Scofield’s taste in food.’

  He shook his head sadly. ‘Well, I just hope I’m back cat-skinning before the war starts,’ he muttered with a cautious expression. ‘And as for you, my girl, just you remember the old grey wolf has teeth.’

  ‘I certainly shall,’ Kelly replied determinedly. ‘But let us not forget that it’s the fox who has the reputation for cunning.’

  During the next two days Kelly was forced, despite her aversion to Grey Scofield, to mentally thank him several times a day for lending her Baldy Swan. The diminutive old reprobate was like a ray of sunshine in the overworked cookhouse, helping Kelly a great deal indeed and filling her occasional idle moments with a vivid store of interesting and delightful stories.

  He got along splendidly with both women, showed himself to be a worthy colleague in the kitchen, and if he was really being Kelly’s bodyguard he did it so unobtrusively that she never even noticed. She was also too busy to notice, since a co-ordinated study of the menus and larder pointed up a considerable need for extensive reorganisation if she was to maintain her reputation as the miracle-maker of the kitchen.

  She was honestly sorry when Marcel Leduc got through on the radio-telephone with news that he would be sending her two cooks the next day, and that they both seemed eager, well trained and likely to stay for a considerable period. Kelly knew it was necessary, but she couldn’t help feeling she would rather have continued coping as she was with Baldy’s help; she had come to have a great affection for the crumpled little cat-skinner.

  Still, she couldn’t tell Marcel that, so she pretended great pleasure at his news, so much so that she only remembered just in time to get in her request for extra supplies to be sent with the men.

  ‘It’s sort of a long list,’ she said. ‘The first thing, and the most important of all, is spinach, but I also want...’

  The two cooks turned up early next morning with virtually every item on Kelly’s special order list, and she spent most of the day getting them settled in. Fred Griffiths, the new first cook, was a tall, slender man of about thirty whose quiet, decisive attitude and professional approach pleased Kelly a great deal. She knew instinctively she would have no problems at all with him. The new second cook was, on appearances, less impressive. A stout, greying man of about fifty, he conducted himself with the flamboyance of a used car salesman, which Kelly found slightly off-putting at first. His name, he said, was Smith. No Christian name needed. In actual fact his surname was a Ukrainian-based conglomeration of letters that was unpronounceable and virtually unspellable, and he admitted to using it so seldom he could barely spell it himself.

  ‘Smith’ll do,’ he assured Kelly after spending fifteen minutes laboriously tracing out his tongue-twister name on the myriad forms required for tax and benefit purposes.

  ‘Smith it is, then,’ she replied dubiously, and was pleasantly surprised within the next week to find him a highly competent cook and an efficient organiser.

  Grey Scofield returned later that same day, and after overhearing a chance remark in the dining room that assured her he would be staying at least four days, Kelly threw her own Operation Wolf Bait into high gear. Somewhat reluctantly, since she would have preferred a few more days to prepare herself mentally before setting out to so deliberately annoy Grey Scofield.

  But given much more time, she knew instinctively she would shy away from such a drastic plan, and she managed to convince herself that revenge was not only advisable but necessary if she wasn’t to find herself totally subjugated by Grey’s forceful personality.

  Operation Wolf Bait began with baked beans on toast. Kelly had decided to save the spinach for the coup de grace, but since Baldy’s comments indicated baked beans on toast ran a close second to spinach in Grey’s list of dislikes, she thought it an appropriate kick-off to the campaign.

  It wasn’t an auspicious beginning. A minor disaster in the kitchen drew Kelly from the servery before she could catch the look on Grey’s face when he drew his portion of the breakfast, and she was kept too busy to check on whether he had eaten it, rejected it, or whatever. Rather disappointing, she thought, and vowed to keep a closer eye on things at dinner that night, when she was serving chicken in a complicated sauce that fairly swarmed with mushrooms.

  It was her intention to somehow slop the mushroom sauce over everything on Grey’s plate, but she hadn’t allowed for her own nervousness. Her trembling fingers came so close to missing the plate entirely that he looked at her with vague surprise and muttered something about working too hard, but he said nothing about being served a dish that he would violently dislike.

  Kelly did get some satisfaction from seeing him throw some rather peculiar looks in her direction during dinner, but she had no way of knowing whether they stemmed from his dislike of the food or her own clumsiness. There was no satisfaction in the fact that he cleaned his plate.

  She was beginning to despair w
hen during the following two days he uncomplainingly ate heaped servings of cauliflower, brussel sprouts, broccoli, corned beef and cabbage and even sauerkraut. She invariably managed to give him enormous helpings of the foods she’d been assured he disliked, but never by a single word or glance did he reveal that he was annoyed or even mildly upset by her actions.

  The final dinner in Operation Wolf Bait was fraught with anxiety for Kelly, and the fact that Grey was last in to dinner did little to assuage her nervousness. He arrived finally, about five minutes later than the rest of the men, and when Kelly had loaded his plate and handed it to him, he gave her one of his slow, gentle grins and handed it back.

  ‘Can I have some more spinach, please?’ he asked quietly, and Kelly took the plate without realising she had done so and began spooning on more spinach.

  ‘But ... but you … sure?’Her voice failed her as she raised her eyes to meet the mocking laughter in his own.

  ‘It was a helluva good try,’ he laughed. ‘The only thing is, old Baldy hasn’t cooked for me in nearly ten years, and my tastes have matured considerably in that time.’

  Kelly was speechless. Worse than speechless; her face was so flushed with embarrassment that her freckles virtually disappeared in the blush and she had the awful, frightening suspicion that she was going to burst into tears.

  And if he laughed outright, she would, and the knowledge was almost enough to make her flee to the sanctuary of the kitchen, only she was held by those piercing grey eyes, pinned like a butterfly to a collector’s board. What could she say? The answer was obvious: nothing.

  ‘If it’s any consolation, I still have a morbid aversion to scalloped potatoes,’ he said with a wry grin, then turned away and walked into the dining room to join his men.

  Kelly took a moment to check that everything was running smoothly in the kitchen, then fled to her trailer and threw herself on the bed, pounding her small fists into the pillows and wishing she could so easily vent her anger on that infuriating Grey Scofield. Her entire revenge had been a total, dismal failure. And worse, she had emerged looking quite the fool and with very little chance of redeeming herself.