The Cook
Page 19
Her arrival in the kitchen was heralded by no one. She simply appeared in the great doorway and then slowly made her way, assisted by the valets, to the high stool. The chef—she only came when he was there—would bend down and pat her affectionately on her huge arm, and call to one of the confectioners to bring her a little something he was making. She munched the goody and listened—apparently—to whatever the chef had to say. She herself rarely said anything. After several minutes she would signal to the valets that she was ready to leave. The cook would pat her on the arm again, smile a little as a slightly—and unexpected—dreamy look would momentarily appear in his eyes, and then he would call to the confectioner again, who came running over with another sample of his work. One final pat by the cook, and then the huge woman would start to make her way slowly toward the great double doors . . .
Life at the Prominence was one unending feast.
The shopkeepers of Cobb were hard-pressed to keep up with the fantastic demands for deliveries of food. Of course, they were gradually becoming wealthy on the business, so they did their best to supply the Prominence with all of its needs. The same was true of the fishermen and hunters: at any hour of the day or night they could be seen on the Vale lakes and on the Hill lands. So long as the supply of fish and game lasted they were assured of a good income. Their only worry was that the demands of the Prominence were too great for nature to supply—that one day the lakes would cease to yield fish and the lands would cease to breed game. Then what would become of them . . . ?
. . . Another year goes by and the pace of consumption at the Prominence seems actually to have increased. Eating there literally goes on endlessly . . .
. . . And the rumors in town!
That: fantastically outlandish and expensive concoctions are prepared there.
That: the two estates are being bankrupted to pay for the endless series of gigantic feasts.
That: four servants are kept just to help Mr. Venn up and down from his chair.
That: Mrs. Venn is so fat she can’t bend her arms to feed herself and people have to do it for her—pushing the food into her mouth—and six servants are required to carry her sedan chair up and down stairs.
That: vomitoriums have been installed in the central ballroom.
. . . And all sorts of unbelievable tales . . .
About The Author
Harry Kressing is the pseudonym of Harry Adam Ruber. He was born in New York in 1928, the son of Harry and Jean Ruber. He attended Indiana University and went on to be a lawyer and also served in the U.S. Air Force. Little is known about Ruber, though he and his wife apparently lived for some time on the west coast of Ireland and also in London, where he researched at the London School of Economics. In late 1980s, Ruber relocated to Minnesota, where his elderly father lived, and died in there in December 1990.