The Mata Hari Institute of Culinary Excellence

[Pleater]

I used the excuse of having to weigh out the spices for the baking to have Amber join me when the time for making the cake approached.

She creamed half a pound of slightly salted butter with the same weight of soft dark sugar, then beat in four eggs, consecutively, and finally I added what amounted to a few drops of almond essence, and a teaspoonful of vanilla essence.

She certainly will have no problem of appearing to be of just about average intelligence, but she seems to have learned her lesson and is not taking calls from anyone to do with her uncle, who seems to have vanished, at the moment.

The long kilt as worn by Mister McGreagor does seem to be exciting interest amongst the gels, and there is much speculation.
'Boxers.' I told her. She seemed very disappointed.
'His father on the other hand is a traditionalist.'
Her eyes opened and her mouth contracted so that with her hair under the obligatory head scarf she looked not unlike a bowling ball. There must have been a collision of two, or even more brain cells.
'How do you know?'
'Mister McGreagor was taken to the infirmary and stripped off when the heat was too much for him at the disco, his father helped me run up stairs to get him some cooler clothing.'
She giggled.

I went on weighing out approximately one teaspoonful of the ground spices; cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, clove and mixed spice, and adding them to one pound of plain flour.

'I have always found it advisable to assume that all men come with the same equipment, which they keep in the same place - and have not found much variation, though admittedly I have not examined a wide sample. I have never quite understood the urge to find out - I mean - what do you do once you know?'
She did not seem to have an answer and not wanting to strain her I turned my attention to combining the flour and fruit mixtures, a little at a time with the butter and sugar. Finally I added two teaspoons of baking powder, sprinkled onto the surface and mixed in well. The mixture was then placed in tins lined with three layers of greaseproof paper, the innermost given a rubbing with butter to reduce the possibility of it sticking, and then the tops decorated in a pattern of blanched almonds. The covers were put on the tins, and I programmed the oven to cook for two hours at 325 degrees Fahrenheit, and then for a further two hours at 300 degrees. I would not have to return to remove them until the following day, and I locked the doors so that they could not be removed before then.

That evening I met the Minister, who seems to be a rather jovial sort - though it could have been the preprandial drinks with the directors which caused that. His wife is ever so much a diplomat's wife, poor dear, but she seems to be very fond of him. Madam Erzulie was talking to her most of the time as they had at one time been in the same part of Africa and knew lots of people from there.

I wore my rather faded Black Watch kilt, with a deep green velvet jacket, and Mister Brown said I looked like an officer in the rifles, which I think he meant as a compliment even though it could not be true. After dinner and port he came to talk to me. We have never taken to the ritual of the ladies leaving the men after dinner, not since one of the earlier directors declared that if she went out, the port was going with her.

He seems very exercised about this Globo-Fashion business. I think he means to do something quite drastic - the sort of thing that involves lots of burly men smashing down doors and rushing around shouting a lot. He seemed quite perplexed that I tried to persuade him that there were more civilised ways of doing things.