A recipe for happiness

**A recipe for happiness**<br><br>I was out of a job, two months behind on my rent, and in desperate need of a change. Finding myself in this situation wasn’t anything new, but it seemed more bleak than it had in the past. Maybe it was the chill of winter, or the feeling that I was running out of chances. Whatever the case, I wasn’t proud of myself, and I needed something to change. When I saw the advert for the position of personal chef at Willowdale Manor, I had to apply. The fact that it was over an hour’s drive from the city was actually a plus. I needed to be as far from my life as possible. <br><br>I received a call from a lady named Mrs. Mirabel the next day. She explained that the position was still available, and wanted to know if I would be free to come to the manor tomorrow for an interview. I eagerly agreed, and was given directions. We talked for a few more minutes, and I had the chance to ask a few questions. I was to be the personal chef for Mr. Ash, a gentleman in his late sixties who was going through a bit of a rough patch. He was a widower, and had recently lost his daughter. He had become somewhat of a recluse since the accident, and the people at the manor were becoming worried about his overall health. The previous chef had left suddenly, and they needed someone as soon as possible. I asked what happened to the previous chef, but Mrs. Mirabel insisted that it wasn’t her place to discuss, and that if I was selected for the position, I would be told everything I needed to know. I wasn’t sure what to make of her cryptic answer, but wasn’t about to question it too much. A job was a job, and I was in no position to be picky. <br><br>I arrived at the manor the next afternoon. It was beautiful; an enormous stone structure that seemed to stretch on forever. I didn’t see anyone else as I made my way to the main door, and for a moment I thought I might be in the wrong place. As I approached the door, it opened, and a butler beckoned me inside. He asked me to wait in the sitting room while he fetched Mrs. Mirabel. After a few minutes she came back, accompanied by a gentleman. This was Mr. Solomon, the personal butler for Mr. Ash. He smiled and nodded after Mrs. Mirabel introduced him, but didn’t say a word. He didn’t seem very friendly, but perhaps he just wasn’t a talker. I had worked for clients in the past who didn’t like to speak, and that was fine with me. I wasn’t there to make friends; I was there to work. Mr. Solomon left us almost immediately, and Mrs. Mirabel took me on a tour of the manor, explaining the daily routine in detail as we walked. I was given a rather exhaustive list of instructions, but the job itself didn’t seem that difficult. I was expected to prepare three meals a day for Mr. Ash, as well as an afternoon snack. I was also to make myself available if there were any functions or parties. I thought that it was a bit odd that I was the only staff member in the kitchen, but as long as I was being fairly compensated, I didn’t see any reason to complain. After the tour I was taken back to the sitting room, where Mr. Solomon was already seated. Mrs. Mirabel sat in the chair across from me, and began to discuss the terms of my employment. I had to sign a two year contract, during which time I was not allowed to leave the manor for more than 24 hours at a time. I was to have Sundays off, but only if I promised not to stay away longer than that. I would have until the end of the month to get my affairs in order; my first day would be January 2nd. I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I wanted to commit to a contract so close to Christmas, but the thought of the money I’d be earning if I lasted out the two years kept me from erasing the smile that had taken over my face. I agreed, and was handed a thick stack of papers to sign. Mrs. Mirabel reached into her pocket and produced a set of keys, which she handed to me. I was given a tour of the upstairs, where my room would be, as well as the kitchen and pantries. I was also given a key to the garden, which I was to use as I pleased. I wasn’t to enter Mr. Ash’s personal chambers under any circumstances, but I was given a key for delivering his meals. There was a dumbwaiter that connected the kitchen to his rooms, for which I was also given a key. I was to leave his meals on the dumbwaiter, and under no circumstances was I to try to see or speak to Mr. Ash himself. He was a very private person, as he had been all his life, and I was to respect that. I was so overwhelmed with the instructions I had already been given that I forgot to ask why the kitchens and pantries needed to be locked. As I was leaving, Mr. Solomon approached me and handed me a folded up piece of paper. He didn’t say anything, and returned to his seat as quickly as he had stood up. I unfolded the paper and found a handwritten recipe. <br><br>*Recipe for Mr. Solomon*<br><br>*2 cups milk*<br><br>*1 cup cream*<br><br>*1/3 cup sugar*<br><br>*1 tsp. lavender*<br><br>*1 tsp. honey*<br><br>*1/4 tsp. vanilla*<br><br>*1/2 tsp. cinnamon*<br><br>*1/2 tsp. nutmeg*<br><br>*Pinch of salt*<br><br>*Combine ingredients and heat, stirring occasionally. Bring mixture to a simmer and cook to desired consistency.*<br><br>I looked up from the paper to see Mr. Solomon still seated in the same spot, watching me. I smiled and nodded, and he did the same. I left the manor that day with a mixture of emotions. I was excited at the thought of a fresh start, apprehensive about leaving my old life behind, and honestly a bit confused. I had been given hundreds of instructions, and been told what I could and couldn’t do. I had been told that Mr. Ash never left his room, but that I must never try to see him. I had been given a recipe, and felt like I was expected to remember it. I was so overwhelmed with it all that I wasn’t sure how I felt. I decided to push it all to the back of my mind, and worry about it later. I had a month to get my affairs in order, and I had a lot to do. <br><br>I thought about the manor a lot in the next few weeks. I would have much rather started right away, as the Christmas holiday at my parent’s house was dragging on forever. I was constantly remembering little instructions, which I wrote down as soon as I got home. I was to use the largest skillet when preparing meals. Mr. Ash had a red skillet that he was particularly fond of, and I was to make sure it was spotless every day. I was never to touch the fish knife, as it was an heirloom that had been passed down from generation to generation. I was to make sure that all the doors and windows were locked at all times. If I was to go into town, I was to go during the day, and was never to stay out after dark. I was to make sure that the refrigerator was spotless, and that all the dishes were done as soon as possible. I wasn’t to put my dirty laundry down the chute after 6:00 pm. I was never to speak to Mr. Solomon unless he spoke to me first. I wasn’t to use the oven on Thursdays. I was to make sure to feed the birds in the morning. I was to make sure to water the plants in the afternoon. It went on and on, and I had to read through my list constantly so I didn’t forget anything. On December 31st I packed my car with boxes and bags that held everything I would be bringing with me to the manor. It wasn’t very much. I was ready for a change, and I was happy to be leaving most of my life behind. <br><br>I arrived at the manor mid afternoon on the 2nd, and was greeted by Mrs. Mirabel. She showed me to my room, which was much nicer than I had expected. There was a double bed, a desk, and a sitting area, complete with a fireplace. I was also given my own bathroom, complete with a claw tub and a marble vanity. I was impressed by the quality of my personal space, and felt a wave of relief wash over me as I realized that this was going to be my life for the next two years. I followed Mrs. Mirabel down to the kitchen, where I was given a detailed list of the groceries that were to be delivered every week. I was shown the freezers and pantries, and given instructions on how to properly stock them. I was given the combination to the safe, where the petty cash was kept. I was also handed a rather thick booklet that contained all the recipes I would be making, as well as a key for the lock on the book. I was expected to read through it that evening, and know it inside and out by the end of the week. I was to make myself available should any questions arise, and I was to respect the staff and residents at all times. Before she left she handed me a small piece of paper with a handwritten note on it.<br><br>*Dear Rachel*<br><br>*I am so happy you decided to join us. If you ever have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask. I am always here to help.*<br><br>*With love