The Devil's Cook

19

Fanny got back to The Cornish Arms between five and six. Outside the entrance, she met Ben Green coming from the opposite direction. Ben was cradling a brown paper sack like a baby in his right arm.

“Hello, Ben,” Fanny said. “What have you got in the sack?”

“Groceries,” said Ben.

“Have you been to the market?”

“No, I bought them from my banker. Where in hell would you expect me to buy groceries?”

“Well, you needn’t be so nasty about it. I was only asking to be agreeable. What kind of groceries have you bought?”

“Carrots and potatoes and onions. If you must know, I’m going to make a ragout like the one Terry told me about.”

“Are you sure you still remember how to do it?”

“Certainly I’m sure. It’s easy enough to remember.”

“I should think you’d be reluctant to cook it, what with what’s happened and everything.”

Ben said a four-letter word. “Do you think the damn ragout is some kind of witch’s brew that makes people disappear into thin air?”

“It’s just the principle of the thing.”

“I see no principle involved,” said Ben stiffly.

They had moved into the building while they talked, Fanny reversing the amenities in deference to his load of groceries by holding the door open for him. In the hall she did not veer off toward the stairs, but continued at Ben’s side in the direction of his apartment.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he said.

Fanny said, “I thought it might be nice to share the ragout with you.”

“Think again. I’m going to share it with Farley.”

“No problem. We can cook enough for three.”

“Does it ever occur to you that you might not be welcome?”

“That is seldom the case. Please don’t be difficult, Ben. I can help you prepare it and make myself useful in all sorts of ways. Besides, if I decide to marry you, we will be eating together all the time. The practice will do you good.”

“There you go again! Who the hell asked you to marry me?”

“It’s a natural inference. You certainly display enough interest in what goes with marriage.”

“That,” said Ben sourly, “is not the same thing.”

Having reached his door, he shifted the brown paper sack from his right arm to his left and started to dig in his pants pocket for the key. Then he remembered that he had neglected to lock the door, as usual, and he pushed it open and entered impolitely ahead of Fanny. She cheerfully followed him in.

“Where’s Farley?” she asked brightly.

“How would I know? Still at the university, I suppose. He’ll be here pretty soon.”

He went into the kitchen, put the sack containing the onions and potatoes and carrots on the cabinet, took off his hat and coat and, returning to the living room, threw them into a chair. Fanny dropped her own on top of his.

“What do you want me to do?” she said. “Shall I prepare the vegetables?”

“You might as well, as long as you’re staying. Three carrots, three onions, and four large potatoes. And be damn sure you slice them thin. That’s specified.”

“Will that be enough for four servings?”

“Four servings! You and I and Farley make three. Or have you decided to invite someone else to share the ragout?”

“Well, it seems only fair to ask Jay. After all, he shared his with Farley when you and Terry were away, even if it was Terry who actually invited him, and it’s the least you can do to return the favor. How would you feel if you were in Jay’s place, with no one to prepare your dinner or anything?”

“By God, I’d prepare my own, just as I’m about to do.”

“Oh, don’t be such a Scrooge, Ben. Anyone would think a few vegetables mattered.”

“Bacon arid steak happen to be involved, too. Round steak, for your information, costs ninety-eight cents a pound.”

“Well, hell’s fire! I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you a dollar, that’s what. You’ll make two cents profit on the deal.”

“Fan, I’m no tightwad, and you know it. It’s just that you’re so damn pushy, inviting people all over the place. If you want to know the truth, I was going to ask Jay anyhow. There’ll be enough for everyone.”

“Do you want me to ask him now?”

“No. What I want you to do is slice the onions and potatoes and carrots while I get the bacon and steak ready.”

“What if Jay can’t come? Don’t you think I’d better go ahead and ask him?”

“If he can’t come, there’ll be just that much more for the rest of us.”

Fanny tied a dish towel around her waist and started slicing the vegtables. Having to slice them thin was complicated by the dullness of Ben’s paring knife; and Ben, who had only to halve the bacon strips and trim and cut the steak into small pieces, was finished before her and didn’t offer to do anything thereafter but stand around and watch. To make matters worse, the onions made Fanny cry, and she had to stop now and then to wipe her eyes on the dish towel.

“Is it necessary to have so much onion?” she blubbered.

“Yes, it is,” Ben said. “That’s what Terry said the recipe called for, and that’s what we’re going to have. Besides, I happen to like onions.”

“Well, Jay doesn’t like them. I told you he complained Friday night because Terry had used too many.”

“If Jay wants any of my ragout, he’ll have to eat it the way I make it.”

The vegetables were finally sliced; and Ben, lacking an electric skillet, placed them and the meat in a heavy pot in the designated order. He added a small amount of water and put the pot on the stove. While he was doing this, Fanny was opening doors and looking into cabinets.

“What are you looking for?” Ben demanded.

“I thought you might have some gin. I like to have a martini before dinner when possible.”

“In this case, it isn’t. I don’t have any gin, and even if I did, I don’t have any vermouth.”

“I should think you’d keep a little gin on hand for your guests. Surely there’s something around to drink.”

“There isn’t even any beer. If you want a martini, go up and get your own makings.”

“I suppose I’ll have to. On the way I’ll invite Jay, if you don’t mind. Under the circumstances, he’d probably appreciate a drink.”

“Under the circumstances, he may have had a few dozen drinks already. In his place, I would.”

“Well, you’re weak.”

Fanny went across the hall to her first stop. She knocked on the door but got no answer. She knocked again, with no better luck. Perhaps Jay wasn’t in, Fan thought. On the other hand perhaps he was; it was entirely possible that he was either ignoring the knock or sleeping. There was a good chance, as Ben had said, that he had drunk himself temporarily into a trouble-free stupor. Nevertheless, it was still necessary to compel him, for his own good, to eat something. So Fanny tried the door, found it unlocked, and without hesitation opened it and went into the Miles apartment.

She stopped short, startled. Jay was in, all right. He was sitting in the living room where he must have heard her knocking on the door. At first Fan thought he had deliberately ignored her, which was annoying; but then she saw that he was sitting in a strange rigidity, staring with wide-open eyes that did not see her. Her second thought was that he was dead. But he wasn’t. He was breathing slowly and deeply. He seemed to be in some sort of trance.

“Jay,” she said, “you scared the daylights out of me! Why don’t you answer your door?”

She walked further into the room, leaving the door open behind her. He did not answer. His eyes, when she moved, did not follow her. Approaching him from the side, she passed a hand slowly before his eyes and then shook him roughly.

“Jay! Whatever is the matter? Snap out of it!”

His stare wavered and swung slowly round to her. Then he sighed and shuddered. The sigh seemed to deflate him, for he sagged all at once in the chair.

“Fanny? Is that you, Fanny?”

“Certainly it’s me. Who did you think it was?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. Did you say something?”

“I said to snap out of it. Why are you sitting here this way?”

He pressed the tips of his fingers against both temples, as if to force his thoughts into some order and coherence.

“You must forgive me,” he said. “I’ve had a shock.”

“What kind of shock? What’s happened?”

“I heard about Terry.”

“Where is she? Is she coming back?”

“I didn’t hear from her directly. It was someone who must have got our unlisted number from Terry.”

“Someone? Who?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you. Oh, I suppose it won’t do any harm.... It was just a voice over the phone. A man’s, I think. It sounded muffled, very far away. Terry is being held for ransom. I was told what to do to get her back.”

“What the voice said is neither here nor there. What you must do, and at once, is notify the police.”

“Yes, of course.” Jay pressed his temples as he had done before; he seemed confused again. “I seem to remember that I already did. Yes, I’m sure I did. I called and asked for Captain Bartholdi, but they said he wasn’t there.”

“Did you leave word to have him call?”

“I don’t think so. I believe I said I’d call back. I wasn’t thinking very clearly. The voice warned me against calling the police—”

“Certainly. Kidnappers always warn against calling the police. How long ago did you receive the call?”

“How long? Yes, I remember looking. It was just four-thirty when I hung up.”

“Four-thirty! And it’s six now! Have you been sitting here like a stone all this time?”

“I suppose I have. I’d no idea so much time had passed.”

“Well, never mind now. Call Captain Bartholdi again.”

“You’re right. That’s what I should do.”

“Do you feel up to it? Do you want me to call for you?”

“No, no, I must do it myself. Thank you very much.”

He put both hands on the arms of the chair and hoisted himself to his feet. Turning, he walked with exorbitant care to the telephone. He had just lifted the instrument from its cradle and pointed a finger at the dial when Ben’s voice sounded crossly from the open doorway.

“Damn it, Fanny, what’s keeping you? I thought you were going upstairs to get some gin.”

Fanny whirled, an index finger bisecting her lips in a gesture commanding, for God’s sake, silence. From behind her came the ratchet-like sound of the dial, unnaturally loud.

“This is Jay Miles speaking. Captain Bartholdi, please... Captain Bartholdi? Jay Miles. I’ve had news of Terry... Yes, a telephone call... What?... I’m not sure. About an hour and a half ago, I think. I couldn’t reach you... Yes, everything. Complete instructions... No, no. No mistake... What?... All right, I’ll be here.”

He hung up and returned to his chair, easing himself into it as if his bones might snap under the effort. Now that he had reached Bartholdi, he seemed relieved of a great burden. But he also seemed left in a lassitude that made it difficult to take another decisive step, about anything at all.

“Captain Bartholdi’s coming out,” he said drearily.

Ben said, “Why? Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?”

“Surely it’s obvious,” Fanny said. “Terry has been kidnapped, although I never really believed she’d been. Jay has received a call from the kidnapper.”

Ben’s voice was all of a sudden dry and precise. “What did he want?”

“I assume he wants money. Isn’t that what kidnappers generally want? Is that right, Jay? Did the kidnapper demand money?”

Jay had removed his glasses. He held them by one ear piece in his right hand, his right arm dangling limply over the arm of the chair. His eyes were shut. He answered without opening them.

“Captain Bartholdi said not to talk about it until he gets here.”

“I wish he would hurry,” Fanny said. “How long will he be?”

“He’s on his way. I think you two had better not be here when he arrives.”

“Are you telling us to leave?”

“That,” said Ben, “is just what he’s telling us. Do you have to have it written out for you?”

“Well, I don’t see what harm it would do to have us here.”

“Excuse me.” Jay’s eyes were still shut. “You must excuse me.”

Clearly dismissed, and as clearly reluctant to accept the dismissal, Fanny nevertheless permitted herself to be impelled into the hall by Ben, who was somewhat rougher about it than she felt was necessary.

“I didn’t get a chance to invite him to share the ragout,” she said. “I’ll go back and do it.”

“To hell with the ragout,” Ben said. “What I’m interested in now is the gin. Jump upstairs like a good girl and get it, will you, Fan?”