The Cook

by Harry Kressing

  “. . . Excellent sauce,” pronounced the great gentleman. “Absolutely superb.”

  Conrad nodded toward Harold.

  “Did you make the sauce, young man?”

  Mr. Bayard congratulated Harold and added, jokingly, that he would like to hire him as a cook.

  Conrad laughed and said, in the same vein, that Harold was not for hire. “You people from the City must find your own cooks.”

  Harold looked extremely pleased.

  Mr. Bayard and Conrad did all of the talking, mostly about food and previous dinners they had eaten—some in each other’s company, and some not. When a dinner was discussed where one of them had not been present, the party were all duly named, then the cooks who had prepared the dinner, and all of the courses served. The scene thus set, the actual food was discussed, and anything else of interest that had occurred.

  Mr. Hill listened to the conversation in open awe. So many great names were thumped against his brain that by the time the fifth course arrived he could not have felt more insignificant had a campaign of belittlement been deliberately waged against him. And as he grew smaller and smaller, Conrad, sitting at the head of the table—so tall and regal, in perfect evening dress—seemed to grow larger, and larger . . .

  Mr. Hill was also getting drunk.

  With the greatest care Mr. Hill picked up each of the glasses ringing his plate and set them back several inches. He then pushed his plate into the space he’d created, and put his head where his plate had been.

  Conrad told Harold to finish what he was eating, and then Harold and two of the waiters got Mr. Hill to his feet and out of the dining room.

  “Do you know,” Mr. Bayard smiled when the door had closed, “your friend looks just like those pictures of old-time butlers gracing the stately homes . . .”

  “Doesn’t he though!” Conrad agreed with a laugh. “And the more weight he loses, the more he resembles one.”

  “Extraordinary! Too bad one can’t find them any more . . . But as you were saying . . .”

  Harold returned, smiling, and apologized for the interruption.

  “Think nothing of it,” Mr. Bayard assured him. “It happens to the best.”

  “I think I know why he drank so much wine,” Harold continued to Conrad. “He got quite a shock today.”

  Conrad looked at Harold inquiringly.

  “He found out that Ester is engaged to marry Lance Brown.”

  PART IV

  25

  By the time Daphne’s six additional weeks were up she weighed an even one hundred and twenty pounds, and looked happy and beautiful. Her engagement to Harold Hill had been announced the week before. The marriage was to take place in June.

  And as for the other engagement . . .

  On Conrad’s advice Lance Brown was made welcome at the Hill mansion.

  He was not a very intelligent lad. He had a low forehead and a rather weak mouth. What Ester saw in him would be hard to discover. But what he saw in her was clear: money. If he were able to marry into the Hill family he would be set for life.

  Yet his experience of rich living was anything but to his liking. Every time he ate the Hills’ food he got sick, very sick.

  And every time he came over it must have seemed to him as if Ester was gaining another pound. Under his eyes, as it were. Because she was always seated right across from him.

  Indeed, was he going to take a house for his wife? What would people say?

  After Daphne’s engagement to Harold Hill had been announced, it was decided that Daphne should extend her visit still longer. Or more precisely, that was Conrad’s position. “I won’t say she’ll have to remain here till June,” he told Mrs. Hill, “but she will have to stay at least another month, and preferably a month and a half.”

  “By the way,” he said after a moment, “are Mr. and Mrs. Vale still gaining weight? I assume they are.”

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Hill assured him. “They’re almost plump now—or they seem plump after being so thin all these years. And they say they never felt better . . .”

  26

  “. . . so he says she’s getting too fat—he blames you—and he’s going to take her away.”

  Conrad smiled at the news. “The boy shows spirit.—And what will he do with her when he has her?”

  Nell replied that Lance still lived with his parents and he would probably just take her home with him.

  Conrad laughed. “Nell, you’re out of touch. The Browns can’t afford Ester. She’d eat them out of house and home in less than a month.”

  Nell thought that over for a moment. “Maybe he expects the Hills to give him some money.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, anyway, that’s his problem. I don’t know what he’s going to do with her. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Conrad raised his stein in acknowledgment.

  Later that week Ester made one of her infrequent appearances in the kitchen. It was just after breakfast.

  Conrad quit what he was doing and stood up.

  “And to what do I owe this pleasure?” he inquired brightly, offering Ester his stool.

  The girl just stood there for a moment, and then she leaned back against the stool—she couldn’t possibly have hitched herself onto it. For several seconds she said nothing.

  “Will you do me a favor?” she asked finally. “I want a favor.”

  “Oh, yes, by all means,” Conrad answered quickly. “Just name it.” Conrad waited patiently.

  “Next Tuesday morning,” Ester began haltingly, “I am going away. I am going to leave here before my mother and father get up.”

  Conrad nodded. “I see. I see. You are going to leave very early. Just after dawn.”

  He paused, but Ester made no objection to the time.

  “Very good, very good,” he went on. “I understand. You are going to run away. You are going to elope.”

  Ester showed no surprise. After a few seconds she blinked her eyes in what was evidently assent.

  “Excellent, excellent. You are going to run away with Lance Brown. Fine. And now, how may I be of assistance to you?” Conrad crossed his arms and waited.

  “I shall miss breakfast,” Ester declared, rather forcibly.

  “Yes, that you will.”

  Ester began to look a little animated.

  “And I shall miss lunch.”

  Conrad shrugged. “It depends where you’re going.”

  “To Highlands. We have to row across Blue Lake—that’s where I’m meeting him. It will take a long time. We won’t get to Highlands till late.”

  “Yes, very late,” Conrad agreed. “You might even miss dinner. That’s possible.”

  “Yes.”

  Ester’s momentary animation faded. Indeed, she began to look miserable.

  “Well?” Conrad prompted. “What is it you want of me?”

  Ester slowly leaned forward and said, in a voice just above a whisper, “Please—please pack a picnic basket for me—a big picnic basket . . .” There was a pleading note in her voice, a note almost of fear.

  Conrad smiled at the girl benignly.

  “Ester,” he said quietly; “that’s no problem. Of course I shall pack a picnic basket for you. I would have done so even if you hadn’t asked—I know what such journeys are like.”

  He paused, and then added, smiling, “I shall pack you the biggest picnic basket you ever saw.”

  It took a second or two for these words to soak in. Then Ester’s broad cheeks rippled, and she smiled. And as her smile grew broader she gave a little chuckle.

  When next Tuesday morning came, Conrad roused Rudolph from a drunken sleep and dragged him into the kitchen, where he stood rubbing his eyes, not knowing what he was doing.

  “Here, drink this,” Conrad said, thrusting a hot cup of coffee into Rudolph’s hands. “You’ll need it to sustain yourself—we have a rendezvous at Blue Lake.”

  Sleepily Rudolph obeyed, nearly scalding himself on the coffee.

&nb
sp; Ester was leaning back against Conrad’s stool. She also looked half asleep. On the floor beside her was a drawstring bag from which the head of a cat protruded, Queen Bee III, licking lazily at a saucer of milk. Next to the bag was a small valise.

  Conrad poured himself a cup of coffee and then went over to the open door.

  “Ah, it’s going to be a beautiful morning!” he declared. “A beautiful morning! Indeed, a spring day in winter; and down in the lowland, a summer day! A summer day, with no snow—just bright, fresh, appetizing air!”

  Conrad breathed in the cool morning air.

  “Yes, a perfect morning—a perfect morning for a little walk, for a little jaunt down to the lake. Indeed, it looks like a perfect day for a picnic!”

  He laughed and thumped himself on the chest. “Yes, a perfect day! Are we ready? Rudolph, you carry that.” He pointed to a very large knapsack stuffed to bulging. “It’s heavy. I’ll help you strap it on your back.”

  Rudolph bent over and Conrad hoisted the huge knapsack onto his shoulders.

  “There. Now, can you straighten up?”

  Rudolph was able to unbend to about a three-quarters position.

  “Marvelous! Marvelous! You’ll be able to hobble along just fine like that!” Conrad gave Rudolph a reassuring slap on the back, which sent him reeling toward the back door. “Careful, don’t stumble!”

  The three of them started out, Conrad carrying the valise and Ester with Queen Bee III.

  “We’ll go this way,” Conrad said, turning off the road. “The footing’s a bit tricky on occasion, but as a ramble it can’t be beaten. There are stiles and creeks and marshes and little up-and-down ways—nature at its best with just a small assist from man.

  “Come, Ester,” Conrad continued, taking her hand and helping her over a minor declivity; “just watch where you put your feet. We don’t want any sprained ankles at the outset. Nothing to mar a beautiful day . . . After this we go down a little hill.”

  Esther plodded along behind him, with Rudolph struggling in the rear.

  At the foot of the hill Conrad stopped and filled his lungs with the fresh morning air. “Ah, there’s nothing like a brisk morning walk to stimulate the appetite. Absolutely nothing to compare. I recommend it for everyone.

  “That’s a good girl, you’re doing just fine,” Conrad congratulated Ester as she stepped over a branch in the path. “Now mind those thorns. We don’t want you to tear your dress—it’s such a pretty dress too, with such lovely pink flowers. I’m sure Lance will be pleased.”

  Carefully Ester negotiated the hazard . . .

  “Wonderful! Wonderful! I can see that you were born to the outdoors!”

  Meadow followed hill and hill meadow, until finally all the small hills were behind them.

  “See, I told you we’d leave the snow behind!” Conrad laughed happily as he led the way toward a shadowy marsh. “Just step where I step,” he advised the girl. “I don’t want you to get stuck. Better still, take my hand.”

  And, as hand in hand they entered the marsh: “Oh, a’ picnicking we’ll go!—A’ picnicking we’ll go!—Hi-hi-hi-ho—A’ picnicking we’ll go!”

  Conrad had a ringing bass voice.

  As they penetrated the marsh, day was left behind. The overarching trees with their matting of leaves and vines and dead branches made a veritable tunnel. Only where the tunnel had fallen in was the sun able to strike directly to the path. For the rest, there was but a dim twilight.

  The path itself—if it could be called that—was a treacherous one. It wound around trunks of trees and low-growing thickets. Occasionally it led into a positively impenetrable tangle that had to be skirted, and then the path picked up once more on the other side. Or again, it would all but disappear among muddy sink-holes and pools of stagnant marsh water. Sunken and half-rotted logs formed makeshift bridges. And sometimes there were only clumps of semisolid marsh sod to use as stepping stones—where a slight misstep could plunge one into water and mire of unknown depth.

  Conrad moved along the path like a hummingbird. He was in front of Ester, behind her, and all around her. Unerringly he guided her along the way, sometimes leading her by the hand, other times pushing her gently from behind. Where there were only logs to cross on, he put his arms around her and steadied her as she stolidly planted one foot in front of the other. When she was safely across, he would laugh and congratulate her and pat her on the cheek.

  He was also constantly running back to Rudolph.

  “I can’t let anything happen to my bearer,” he would laugh. “He’s got all the food!”

  And all the while Conrad was singing . . .

  At last they reached a patch of more or less solid ground and Conrad said they would sit down and have a little rest.

  Rudolph lay down and immediately fell asleep.

  But Ester—Ester just stood there and marveled at Conrad.

  “Come now,” Conrad said kindly; “you must have a little rest. We still have some distance to go and you’re not used to walking—you want to be fresh for Lance, don’t you?”

  “Lance . . . ?”

  And she continued to stare at Conrad as he took her by the hand and led her over to a log. “Rest here,” he said quietly. “I’ll get you something to nibble on.”

  They rested for half an hour. Conrad opened the knapsack and busied himself with some of its contents.

  All the while he sang. And every so often he would smile at Ester and hand her a different kind of bon-bon.

  And Ester’s gaze was constantly fixed upon him . . .

  Conrad paced the journey well. He allowed two more rest stops, a half-hour each, and then, when they were just about ready for a third, the marsh gave way to the open shore of Blue Lake.

  “Ah, here we are!” Conrad declared. “Feel the good sand beneath your feet! The inlet will be just up there.”

  But Ester held back, as if she needed rest before continuing. “Come,” Conrad coaxed her, taking her hand. “It’s not much farther. Then you can rest as long as you like.”

  For a moment Ester just looked at him, not moving. Then dutifully she gave way, and hand in hand they trudged along the sand.

  “. . . and doesn’t the air smell good,” Conrad chatted, “so clean, so fresh . . .”

  The inlet was small and shallow, and ringed by a narrow strip of pure white sand. Half pulled up on it was a small rowboat.

  Lance Brown was sitting in the sand on the other side of the boat, facing the direction of the road. He didn’t hear Conrad and Ester approach.

  “Here we are!” Conrad boomed down at him.

  The young man leaped straight up in the air.

  “Don’t be frightened,” Conrad laughed. “I’ve brought Ester.”

  It took Lance some time to recover his wits, and when he was at last able to talk he remarked peevishly to Ester that she was late.

  “Yes,” Conrad admitted, “we are a little late. We took the scenic route—but it was worth it, wasn’t it, Ester?”

  Ester said nothing.

  Rudolph came up beside them, half doubled over with the knapsack.

  Conrad unbuckled the straps and hoisted the knapsack from Rudolph’s back. “Yes, it certainly is heavy,” he said to a relieved Rudolph.

  He put the knapsack in the boat, and the stern promptly sank and came to rest on the bottom.

  Lance, his little eyes blinking furiously, was berating Ester for being late. He reminded her that someone was supposed to meet them on the other side of the lake and take them to Highlands. “They won’t wait,” he complained. “We’ll have to walk all the way. We won’t get there till way after dark.”

  Conrad interrupted him. “Lance, look—you’re going to have to row very carefully.”

  Lance glanced from Conrad to the boat. “What’s in the knapsack?” he asked.

  “Why, what do you think? A wedding present.”

  Dumbly Lance repeated Conrad’s words, and then pushed at the boat. It didn’t give an inch. “
But what’s in the knapsack?”

  It was Ester who answered: “Food.”

  “Well told! Well told!” Conrad exclaimed. “Food!”

  But Lance just frowned. “Thank you, but we can’t take it. The boat will sink with all that food, and Ester.”

  Conrad laughed and went into the water, pulling Rudolph with him. Together they dragged the boat into deeper water until it was floating. “There! See, it floats.”

  Lance began to look very unhappy. “Just barely. And it won’t float at all with Ester and me in it. It will sink.”

  “Ha! Nothing ventured nothing gained!” Conrad declared, wringing the water from his trousers legs.

  Lance, however, remained reluctant. But he was also afraid to look at Conrad . . .

  Conrad slapped the youth hard on the back. “If you don’t get any wind you’ll be all right. Just take it slow and careful. Your chances will be excellent. Come on, get in. As you said, you’re already late.”

  Conrad propelled Lance into the water. Lance waded to the boat and started to get in. But when he saw how low it sank he changed his mind and hurried back to shore.

  “Ester,” he whined, “if we try to go with that knapsack we’ll drown. It will just take a little cross-breeze. Tell—tell Mr. Conrad we can’t accept his wedding present. We’ll have to leave it behind. Tell him . . .”

  There was fear in Lance Brown’s voice—fear of offending Conrad and fear of drowning.

  But Ester refused to help him; she probably didn’t even hear him: she was looking fixedly at Conrad.

  Lance continued to plead with her, and insisted they had to leave immediately. “Just tell Mr. Conrad we can’t take his wedding present . . .”

  At last Ester seemed to come to some decision, and she took a step toward Conrad.

  “Let’s have a picnic,” she said. “Right here—now.”

  At these words Conrad gave vent to a burst of uproarious laughter, which lasted several seconds. Then he gave Ester a kiss on both cheeks. “What a perfectly ingenious suggestion! Perfectly ingenious!—Rudolph, pull the boat in! We’re going to have a picnic—did you hear that! The three of us are going to have a beautiful beach picnic!”