The Mata Hari Institute of Culinary Excellence

[Pleater]

I changed from my working dress of white academic gown and plain white dress and flat shoes into my DPM kilt with a dark brown tunic, dark green hose and soft dark brown boots.

I made a large mug of sage tea, pulled on my heavy khaki jersey and black beret then walked up into the belvedere. The view is to the south and at night it is possible to see the lights of the ships at sea.

I considered the situation, and sighed, I was out of my depth with all the strange goings on.

'I'm not even a chef,' I protested to the clear cold air with the tang of the sea in it. Then I remembered what Mister Brown had said whan I first saw him - 'A friend. A chef.'

I suddenly saw The McGeek's peculiar mode of dress in a new light. Perhaps it was really an attempt to wear the kilt but with his usual geekness - and perhaps some bad advice, he had simply got it wrong. Bad advice from - could it possibly be Mister Brown - the man who, by his own admission was already in the area?

Would anyone deliberatly mislead someone wanting to wear a kilt?

I shivered at the dreadful thought.

[Pleater]

Feeling that there was, after all, some sense to be made to the recent events I returned to my room feeling refreshed and checked my To Do list.

My eyebrows rose when I saw that the scheduled breakfast for the next day included porridge. Everyone had checked the honey with almonds sauce. Not one wanted the other option of strawberry puree.

I scrolled through the proposed dishes for the rest of the day as I noted down those items I would have to prepare. It is useful to be able to use both hands fairly equally, so my PC is set up as for a right handed person but with a clear area to the left for making notes by hand.

Something about that thought bothered me, but there was work to do, so I closed down the PC for the night and went to attend to the animals and check the greenhouses.

It was simply a matter of checking that all was well, and that the flocks had settled down for the night. The lighting had dimmed, but with my excellent night vision I had no trouble making my way through the buildings.

One of the rabbits was still out and about. I vaulted the wall and went over to inspect it. The animals have no fear of me, so I was able to pick it up and carry it to the roof of the hutch which serves as an inspection table. I ran my hands over its long white silky fur, felt its limbs and paws and found that it had damaged a claw. I carried it to the first aid box, cleaned and taped the little wound, then returned it to its pen. After a few hesitant hops it suddenly lept into the air, scampered a couple of circuits of the pen and vanished into the hutch. Nothing else delayed my rounds, but when I returned to the House I saw that I was required in the infirmary.

I canceled the notice board display and went as quickly as I could to find out what had happened.

I found Mister Brown and a couple of the stewards waiting outside the curtained cubicle.

'Matron?' I enquired, and she emerged a few seconds later.
''Its Ian McGreagor, heat exhaustion. Dancing in all that heavy clothing, so I'm not surprised.'
'How is he?'
'Still away with the fairies, though that is fairly normal for him.'
Mister Brown came up looking pale and drawn.
'May I see him?'
'Just a peep - '
Matron drew aside the curtains, and there was The McGeek looking pale and drawn too. He did turn his head and raise a hand before the curtain was dropped.
'I'll be with you in a moment,' said the Matron and went back inside.
'Have I been silly?' I enquired, 'is Ian another of your offspring?'
He nodded.
'And you walked in because you know the way to get down to the village pub through the back gate.'
'I was based here for six months when I went from cook to chef.'
'So Ian does have a military background.'
'His mother's father was a Major, his mother liked profiteroles.'
I gave him a hard look. He shrugged and smiled engagingly.
'So why is everyone suddenly wearing kilt-ish clothing?'
'Ian thought it would be a good idea. I used your PC to send out the notice that there was to be a kilt theme to the disco.'
'I see.' I said dryly. That's why you were surprised when I had my knife in my left hand, I thought. 'To take my mind off something else?'
He pursed his lips and looked away, leaving me to draw my own conclusions.

[Livingston]

Doing good so far, Pleater. A little different from Jamie and Dave in that you are making us think more I like it, keep up the good work.

[Pleater]

Thanks Livingston.

It has made the waiting for further episodes of Dave's naration more bearable - and I think I have just thought of a resolution of the plot..

Did I just claim to have a 'plot'?

I can now reveal I did not have one, was just sort of free wheeling along putting in whatever came to mind.

I think I can round it off though with what I have already written. I'll just read through and check that everything is coherent.

[davedove]

Thanks Livingston.

It has made the waiting for further episodes of Dave's naration more bearable - and I think I have just thought of a resolution of the plot..

Did I just claim to have a 'plot'?

I can now reveal I did not have one, was just sort of free wheeling along putting in whatever came to mind.

I think I can round it off though with what I have already written. I'll just read through and check that everything is coherent.

Well, you can see that my story has now been completed. Do keep up with yours though. It is certainly different than either Jaime's or my own.

[Pleater]

One of the stewards stepped forward.
'Is it alright if we go back to the Rotunda now? The dancing was getting a bit boisterous and there's only three in there now and that's not enough really.'
I had one of those fey moments which always catch me unawares.
'It's not usually rowdy, is it?'
'Well, a bit - usually its just dancing and chatting, and handing round the drinks, but tonight it's sort of - different.'
'Was there something to eat?' I asked.
'I didn't see anything - usually after classes in the kitchen no one wants anything to eat.'
'Ian had something to eat. One of the girls brought a plate of little biscuits and some dip.' said Mister Brown.
'Which girl?'
'I'm not sure.'
'Matron - excuse me but I need to speak to Mister McGreagor urgently.'
She stepped back, but drew herself up indignantly.
'Ian - who gave you the snack at the disco?'
'I don't know' he slurred, still rather confused.
'We need to find out - it is important.'
'Don't know.' he said, rather plaintively.
I turned to the stewards 'Don't go - I will need your help to get Mister McGreagor back to the disco once I find him some cooler clothing.'
'He's going nowhere!' the matron snapped.
'This might be a matter of national security, or international diplomacy - The Joy of Snacks must not be released upon an unsuspecting and unprepared world.'
She stared, but already I was hurrying out of the cubicle, I had to get to my apartment quickly.

[herminator]

I admit I have Nanny Ogg´s Cookbook at home and





yes, I have made pink wobblers!

[Pleater]

Ah - but the MHICE has the original manuscript - the one with the expurgated ingredients still included.

Plus there is the twelve volume encyclopaedia culinaria, written on temperature sensitive sheets which, if allowed to get to room heat, will liquify.

Also in the miles of greenhouses grow the carefully tended herbs and spices required, selected for their potency and effectiveness. Steam pipes and sun lamps encourage their growth, until the time comes for them to be put to use in the service of their adopted country.

Only experienced ladies of a certain age are allowed to make the Strawberry Wobbler with active ingredients, and even then they snigger.

[Pleater]

As I reached the stairway I realised that Mister Brown had followed me.
'Let me help.' he said, and without waiting for my consent he siezed my arm and half carried me up the stairs.
'Who do you think took the books?'
'It has to be one of the students. I should have realised. I saw the girls in the dance studio - and really - well - I should have realised, and then later, I saw the young men going to the disco and indulging in horseplay - usually this far into the term they are rather more relaxed. Then Ian gets dressed up and goes to a disco where he exhausts himself dancing - he is called the McGeek - someone is probably handing round the little cheese bisuits with innocent looking dip with green bits in.'
'Why does he have to go back?'
'Well - whoever it is might decide to give him seconds - if they do we'll nab them, or rather the stewards and you will. It has to be the right one or there could be a diplomatic incident.'

'I'll be sure to ask if they made it themselves, or if someone gave it to them and suggested they bring it to Ian.'
'Good thinking.' I wheezed.
I grabbed my black kilt, a white shirt, and a grey belt from the wardrobe, then went to the drawers and pulled out the fawn socks which had had the accident with the blue things in the washer. They were going to be close enough to grey in the dark.
'Who are they for?'
'Ian.'
'Will they fit him?'
'Oh yes.'
Rather to my surprise they did. The stewards took an arm each and we all sallied forth into the Autumn night.
It was very cold now, and before we reached the Rotunda Ian was feeling much better. The music was still pounding away inside, and there was rather a lot of shouting and shrieking going on.
I waited in the corridor outside of the main hall, and ten minutes later the stewards appeared with Amber, and a tray. I sniffed the bowl.
'Where did you get this?'
Messrs Brown and McGreagor emerged behind them.
'Did you make this?' I persisted.
'I - thought it looked nice.'
'But the recipe - where did you get the recipe?'
'I - I..'
Her lower lip trembled.
'From the safe? Just nod if you did.' said Mister Brown.
She nodded.
'Can you hear all the noise in there?'
Her perfect brow furrowed. 'Surely you don't think that this could have caused it - it must be the punch - someone must have added something to the punch.'
'I rather think it was you and this.'
'But - Uncle Grant said that was just silly.'
'When was this?'
'In the summer, I made some desserts for him, and he liked them - he liked them very much and he said that I should let him have the recipes - he phoned every week, because somehow the recipes won't go in an email, and then when we started main courses I had no more recipes and he started to get nasty. He had some of his friends phone too. I thought that if I could send him copies of the books he's stop. He was like a crazy person.'
I nodded.
'Is there any more of this?'
She shook her head, her long golden hair shimmered.
'It's all been eaten. I saved that for Ian - Mister McGreagor. I think he likes it when I bring him things to eat.'
'I bet.'
'He talked to Uncle Grant, and his friends - when he was there and they phoned.'
'About desserts?'
'No, about kilts.'
'I think I am beginning to understand how it happened - but what is it about pink?'
'Oh yes, pink - Uncle Grant hates pink - he says it reminds him of pink punish, whatever that is - he gets really strange about anything pink.'
'But everyone is avoiding pink - even pink porridge.'
'Only children put jam in their porridge.'
'Really?'
'Everyone knows that, surely?'
'I think you better go back to the dance and encourage everyone to dance - until they are really tired.'
'But - what about the recipes?'
'That can probably wait until morning.'
Amber adjusted her strips of clashing tartan and returned to the hall, followed by the stewards.
'You look rather dashing, Mister McGreagor - how do you like the kilt?'
'I'm not sure. I like how it goes - ' he swayed from side to side to make the pleats dance.
'There's an inch under eight yards in it - though of course for this weather you really need wool - that is cotton - to cool you down quickly.'
'I think I'll go back and dance too.'
'If you are feeling up to it.'
'Oh yes - I feel quite alright now.'
I looked at Mister Brown.
'I believe there will be some dinner available in the south dining room if you care to eat.'
His eyebrows rose.
'Perfectly ordi - well not perfectly ordinary - rather good in fact.'
'I'd be delighted.'
'Then afterwards, I'm sure I have a cd of Under Siege - its about a cook.'
'I think I've seen it.'
'There was a sequel, I believe.'
'I've seen that as well.'
'I think we have Sky.'
'I'd settle for coffee.'
I thought about that.
'That is a very American expression.'
'Could be.' he admitted.