Najiyah was a Moroccan woman in her forties who had worked for the Count and Countess for nearly a decade and whose quiet manner belied her influence over the household. She knew their tastes and habits, and would watch me carefully to see that I understood them, too. Whatever I could not comprehend, Najiyah would show me by gesture. The day after Bastille Day, the two of us boarded the TGV to prepare the château for their arrival.
From the train station, we zipped along twisting roads past clusters of stumpy houses cobbled from brown Brittany stone. Long open fields of grass and wheat lined the roads, with occasional signs for moules and cidre, Muscadet, crêpes, and coquilles St.-Jacques. The Breton air was clean, and gusts blew clouds across the wide blue sky. We turned off the road at a rusty gate, crunched along a gravel drive surrounded by trees—and out popped a magnificent redbrick castle. The estate came complete with field, forest, pond, vegetable garden, chapel, and small barn; the main house had turrets and dungeonlike cellars.
The servants’ rooms were on the top floor of the west wing. I took the one in the south turret, round and snug with bright blue and yellow wallpaper, a soft double bed, and a door that led straight to a spiral staircase down to the cavernous kitchen.
There, Najiyah walked me through the daily routine. Pointing to the hours on the kitchen clock, she explained that breakfast would be served every day at 8:30. Pointing to twelve, she said we would eat lunch at noon, followed by their lunch at one. We would eat dinner at seven, and they would eat at eight. For them (“pour eux” was a frequent phrase between us), and for us (“pour nous”), lunch and dinner consisted of an appetizer, a main course, salad and cheese, and dessert.
Najiyah moved over to the coffee machine. Each morning, I was to start two pots: one for us, extra strong, and one for them, milder but with fancier beans. She extended her hands long for the three baguettes that would arrive: one for us, two for them. At 7:30 Najiyah and I would prepare the breakfast trays. If there were guests, we would serve them in shifts. I would follow her with any additional trays, and then circle back to meet with the Countess in her chambre to plan the day’s menu.
Next, Najiyah led me outside, where the gardener, Monsieur Madiot, had started radishes, lettuce, chives, onions, garlic, shallots, green beans, beets, and turnips. Now he was planting squash, pumpkins, and potatoes. For Madame, who was a talented flower arranger, he provided a range of blossoms. Najiyah showed me where to find the artichoke plants, the blackberry bushes, and the strawberry patch. It would be my responsibility to make sure we used as much as possible, reminding the Countess of what was ripest when we planned the menus. The three of us then packed off to the supermarket to get our sundries. The Count and Countess were to arrive later that night.
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