Here's to Christmas - Skulduggery Pleasant FanFic

Chapter 7: The Chef Will See You Now

A week later and Valkyrie just about managed to drag herself out of bed on Monday morning for another day at work. She swung one leg out from under the covers, moaned, got up and wrapped the blanket around her.

It was official; her boiler had packed up. She had the gas man coming in a few days and hopefully there wasn't a major problem, but if there was she was going to have to eat into her savings and that meant there was most certainly no hope as to buying a Christmas tree this year.

She put on her black skirt, tights and white shirt before standing in front of the mirror and tying her tie. She stood there for a minute or two, her hands on her tie knot, and she wondered who that tired little girl in the mirror looking back at her was. She seemed so far away.

Once she was at work though, she got into a rhythm. It was buzzing in the restaurant and she was taking a five minute break when Amber, a short, round cook caught her by the kitchen door.

"Val," she said just loud enough to catch her attention, "You're wanted in the chef's office."

Valkyrie's heart began to race in the way a student's would when they are asked by the teacher, "can I have a quick word?"

"Why?" She asked. Amber shrugged,her pointy features scrunching up in apathy.

"Search me." And she turned away, the kitchen door swishing shut behind her. Valkyrie took a deep, shuddering breath and followed Amber into the sweltering hot kitchen.

The kitchen was big and bright. Waitors and waitresses bustled about like robots on tracks, delivering empty plates and carrying out full ones, pinning up orders and, in between, taking a moment to mop one's brow and run a hand through one's hair. The kitchen staff, too, were on their toes. Orders were coming in thick and fast and, not content with being excessively hungry today, the Jamie Oliver populous had decided to each have a different dish.

Valkyrie made her way round the cooks, trying desperately not to get in the way, and saw the brown door with the frosted glass. A gold plate read Head Chef.

She knocked three times and a light, male voice came from within.

"Come in," it said. She frowned. She was expecting to hear the rough, husky voice belonging to Briony Baintree, who ran the restaurant. She opened the door, stepped into the office and immediately straightened up.

"Valkyrie," Jamie Oliver said with a grin. "Nice to see you."

"And you, Sir." She was still reeling. What could she have done so wrong that Jamie Oliver himself had to come and straighten her out?

What if he was sacking her?

"Don't look so worried Valkyrie," he said, "you aren't in trouble."

"Forgive me, sir, but...why am I here then?"

Oliver held up a brown envelope, waved it at her a couple of times and then took the very formal looking letter from inside.

"Dear Jamie Oliver," he read, "By the time you read this, if you find time in what I'm sure is a very busy schedule to do so, it will have been just over a week since we visited your restaurant, Jamie Oliver's, near Dublin (on the east side of the city). I am writing to inform you that our evening was delightful; the food was high quality and the overall atmosphere of the restaurant was very pleasant. But what made your restaurant exceptional as apposed to excellent was the service we received.

Ours was a reasonably large party; three adults and two adolescents, although one of the adults has only just turned twenty and I'm sure is a four year old at heart. I am an ice skating coach and I have been in plenty of restaurants with my skaters and I assure you they are not an easy bunch. However, we were treated as guests rather than  customers and my skaters left at the end of the evening in a way I have never seen them do so from a restaurant before. At this point I must mention one waitress in particular; Valkyrie Cain."