The Cook

THE COOK

HARRY KRESSING

VALANCOURT BOOKS

The Cook
by Harry Kressing

Originally published by Random House in
1965

First Valancourt Books edition
2015

Copyright ©
1965
by Harry Kressing, renewed
1994
by Dan Ruber

Published by Valancourt Books, Richmond, Virginia

http://www.valancourtbooks.com

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of
1976
, the copying, scanning, uploading, and/or electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher.

The Publisher is grateful to Milton Glaser for kind permission to reproduce his jacket art from the first edition.

Dedication: To M. E. G.

Man is a cooking animal

—
Old Cook Book

Man is a dining animal

—
Old Cook Book

PART I

1

One hill stood out. It was steeper than the others, and higher. Also, it had no peak. While the rounded, wooded tops of the surrounding hills undulated, one into the other, this one broke the rhythm with an abrupt, flat surface.

For a few minutes Conrad just stared, shielding his eyes from the sun. Then he dismounted and dragged his bicycle off the road. When he was out of sight he chained it to a tree and concealed his rucksack under some brush. Then he started up the hill.

It was an easy climb until near the top. There he discovered a sheer cliff. It was at least twenty feet high. But if it ran all the way around no one would be able to reach the plateau.

Nevertheless, he circumambulated rather more than half the hill without finding a break in the cliff face. He began to have doubts. Possibly ladders were required. They could be brought, or lowered down.

Disappointed, he increased his pace.

In his haste he nearly missed the stairway cut in the cliff face. The steps were very narrow and high, and at a nasty angle.

When he gained the plateau he encountered another barrier: a deep moat, with water in the bottom and smooth, sheer sides, encircled the fantastic castle-like structure. There was a single drawbridge, up and locked. There was absolutely no way to get across.

After circling the moat several times he sat down and looked at the castle. It was essentially Gothic, constructed of blue-gray stone, rising in hexagonal design some four stories from the ground. It was very big, about two hundred rooms. It was also in an excellent state of upkeep.

The grounds were also beautifully kept.

“Why then,” he asked himself, “do I have a feeling no one lives up here? And if no one lives up here, why is it all kept up so?”

Several miles in the distance a small town, spired and pastel-shaded, nestled in a wooded valley.

“That must be Cobb,” Conrad thought.

He would ask someone in Cobb about the castle.

“. . . only the gardeners and the maintenance people go up to the Prominence now. And some architects from the City. But that’s all. The Hills and the Vales never go. Of course, the Hills still own all the hill land, the lumber and the quarries, and the Vales have all the lowland with the lakes and the town. That’s how they got their names—but I guess I told you that before. And the road still divides their property, the one you came on from the City.”

For the price of a few beers the story of the castle was Conrad’s.

The castle was known as the Prominence.

The tavern-keeper rambled in the telling and repeated himself. But he seemed to know what he was talking about. He did not contradict himself.

The Prominence was the ancestral home of the Cobb family for generations. It had been conceived by the first Cobb—A. Cobb—who also founded the town and for whom it was named.

The descendants of A. Cobb prospered, and within a few generations gained control of practically all the good hill land and all the good lowland.

They became, of course, the one great landowning family in the area.

Subsequent descendants consolidated and extended the family holdings.

The hill land and the lowland were administered as two separate estates. By what amounted to a hereditary stewardship, the hill estate was worked and managed by the Hill clan, and the lowland by the Vale clan. The two clans hated each other.

This system continued until no more male heirs were born to the Cobb family. There were then only two Cobb daughters. One was in love with the chief of the Hill clan, and the other with the chief of the Vale clan.

Old man Cobb was unable to stop his daughters from marrying these men. He also failed to effect a rapprochement between the two clans. And thus his will:

The hill land to one daughter and heirs, the lowland to the other. Both estates entailed against gift or sale, and an equal charge laid upon them for the upkeep of the Prominence, which was to remain unoccupied until the two estates were reunited by marriage. The entail was to be renewed as successive heirs came of age, failing which the two estates were to be apportioned among certain charitable institutions in the City.

The entail had been duly renewed by successive generations of Hills and Vales and the will of old Cobb was still in force.

A few years back it was thought there would be a Hill-Vale marriage and that at last the Cobb descendants could resume their proper residence.

“The Hills and the Vales no longer feud,” explained the tavern-keeper. “They’re on the best of terms. They have separate residences, but they’re always visiting and eating together. If there’s any competition between them it’s over who lays the best table, or who has the best cook.

“The Vale name is about to die out. There are only three Vales left: Mr. and Mrs. and their daughter Daphne. Mr. and Mrs. Vale are in middle years and in poor health.”

There were four Hills: Mr. and Mrs.; a son, Harold; and a daughter, Ester—twins. The elder Hills were large and robust, in excellent health. The twins had the Hill frame, the Hill health and the Hill good looks.

The Hill twins were in their twenties, a year or two older than Daphne Vale.

For years Daphne and the twins were inseparable, and it had always been assumed that she and Harold would marry in due course.

And then Daphne started getting fat. And she got fatter and fatter—“just everything she ate turned to fat. That’s what the doctor said. And he said there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

“And now she’s as fat as a pig, although no one ever sees her except the servants and the Hills, because she never goes any place. She’s probably ashamed of herself. And of course no one could expect Harold to marry her now.”

2

Conrad asked the tavern-keeper how he could get to the Hill mansion and was told that it was on the side of a hill about a mile and a half from town.

He had about an hour before his appointment and he decided to look the town over.

The townspeople also got a good chance to look him over.

He is very eye-catching as he wheels his bicycle beside him, a rucksack strapped on its fender.

He is at least six feet six inches tall—a good head taller than anyone else on the street—and extremely thin, to the point of cadaverousness. His features are hawk-like, with a veritable beak of a nose. From sunken eye sockets, large coal-black eyes look out sharply. Black hair curls from beneath his hat down his neck to the collar.

He is dressed all in black. His trousers are wrapped tight around his ankles inside long black socks.

Indeed, he looks “just like a hungry black eagle,” as one of the shopkeepers described him later that day in a tavern, and all who had seen Conrad nodded.

The small town of Cobb seemed prosperous enough. Its streets were cobblestone. They were clean and in a decent state of repair.

There was one main street, and several cross-streets.

The buildings were constructed of wood and stone—doubtless from the Hill woodland and stone quarries.

As for the stores—to one accustomed to the City, Cobb was a keen disappointment.

There were three butcher shops. Conrad went into each one and examined the meat critically. None of it met with his approval. Either it was poor meat to begin with or it had not been cut with any professional competence, and he told each butcher this in no uncertain terms, raising his voice so that the other customers in the shop should know what he thought. In one shop he even accused the butcher of lying—the man was trying to sell as a leg of lamb what was obviously a worn-out leg of mutton. The man denied this, but Conrad replied that the old leg wouldn’t get tender in a forge, and as the customers stared at him agape, he threw it on the floor and walked out.

He went into the two fish markets, and complained that the fish was not fresh and that the choice was too limited.

There were five greengroceries. He only went into two of them—the others obviously catered to poor people—and in both he told the proprietors their fruit and vegetables weren’t fit for human consumption.

And in the shop of a provisioner of canned goods: “Is this all you have?”

The old storekeeper plucked at his beard. “You want to order a large quantity of something?”

“Don’t be obtuse,” Conrad snapped. “I’m referring to your selection. Look at it—what can be gotten fresh in Cobb, or in a living or raw state, or dried or salted, you have in cans. And what can’t be so gotten you don’t have at all. In brief, your shop serves no purpose.—But we’ll change that, mark my word.”

Besides the food stores, there were a glassware and china shop, a small bookstall, and a hardware store. At each one of these he made inquiries, just as in the other places.

He even went into Cobb’s premier dining establishment, the Prominence Inn, and asked to see the day’s menu. As he scanned it he got a chance to look at two or three of the dishes being served. Returning the menu to the head waiter he informed him icily that when he, Conrad, should decide to eat there he would first inspect the kitchen—which was doubtless filthy—and then he would personally supervise the preparation . . .

After he had completed his survey of the facilities in Cobb, it was time to start for the Hill mansion. He found the way easily enough.

Because of the high trees on both sides, the road was already partly hidden in shadows, though it was only late afternoon.

Making his way up the hill, Conrad recalled with satisfaction the scene in the butcher shop: how everyone had stared at him and listened to what he said about the old leg of mutton, and how they had seen him throw it into the blood-splattered sawdust.

The word would also spread about what had happened in the hardware store. It was probably already spreading as the people began dropping into the taverns for their evening drink.

Conrad’s thin and hard lips curled in what might have been a smile.

He had gone into the hardware store to examine the cutlery. The proprietor hovered, trying to make a sale.

“Let me see your best chef’s knife,” Conrad said, “the one that holds the keenest edge.”

The man proudly drew from the case a gleaming knife.

“Is that the best you have?” Conrad asked.

“I have no doubt but that it’s the best in Cobb,” answered the proprietor, holding out the knife. But Conrad disdained it, and from somewhere in his clothing produced a truly wicked-looking blade.

“Here,” he said; “cut the two blades together and then we’ll see whether that’s the best knife in Cobb.”

The proprietor hesitated, but the other customers had heard Conrad’s challenge, and gathered around.

Giving his own knife the better angle, the storekeeper cut the blades one against the other. Nothing happened.

“You must be weak,” Conrad said, and taking the knives from the man’s hands, cut the blades at an equal angle—slicing off in one long metal sliver the entire cutting edge of the proprietor’s knife.

He strode from the shop, leaving his audience in open-mouthed awe.

3

By the time Conrad got to the Hill mansion everything lay in deep shadow. He could just discern the outline of the house—that it was quite large and constructed of wood and stone.

He went up to the massive front door and rapped loudly. The sound echoed in the stillness. From somewhere in the woods he heard the barking of dogs. They were obviously big dogs, probably hunting dogs. Conrad peered into the darkness but couldn’t see anything. He rapped again. Still no answer. The dogs had come closer. Their bark sounded vicious, and Conrad rapped on the door again, more loudly. At the same time his hand started for the knife.

The door was opened by a delicate-looking man with a fringe of gray hair.

He half shut the door again—

Conrad introduced himself, and after a momentary hesitation the butler ushered him inside, murmuring that the servants’ entrance was safe from the dogs.

“When visitors, or guests, are expected,” he added, “a light is put over the front door. The dogs know that.”

Conrad waited in an ante-room until the butler returned and told him Mr. Hill would see him in his study.

Mr. Benjamin Hill was seated behind a large mahogany desk.

He was broad-shouldered and heavy-set. A bit jowly. Red-faced. He had sharp, businessman’s eyes.

In the ashtray in front of him a large black cigar burned slowly.

Conrad handed him a fat envelope, and then waited. Mr. Hill did not ask him to sit down.

Mr. Hill spread out the papers before him. There were numerous letters of recommendation and a very brief autobiographical sketch.

After Mr. Hill had read the sketch, he said, “It seems you have never worked before . . .”

Conrad replied that it had never been necessary.

“And then you were wiped out?”

Conrad shrugged. “For all practical purposes.”

“That was several years ago?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Hill appraised Conrad’s cadaverous figure, and his cheap and severe clothes. “How have you managed till now?”

“Friends.”

Mr. Hill pursed his lips but said nothing.

Mr. Hill then sorted out Conrad’s letters of recommendation and went through them one by one, very carefully. Several times he returned to a letter he had already read and compared it with the one he was reading. When at last he had finished he looked up at Conrad and said, as though he were thinking out loud:

“Recommendations from chefs of the best restaurants in the City—recommendations from renowned gourmets—from the editor of the journal which carried my advertisement—character references from unimpeachable sources, men whom I myself would consider it a great honor to know on such intimate terms . . .”

Respect, even awe, was in Mr. Hill’s voice.

“Sit down, please,” Mr. Hill murmured.

But as Conrad continued to stand, Mr. Hill visibly collected himself. He straightened his shoulders and cleared his voice. He seemed to tell himself that he was, after all, only hiring a cook.

“Everything seems to be in order,” he said.

From a drawer he took out a letter and glanced at it. “You wrote that you have been a gourmet cook for years, and that you can cook for upwards of twenty people with ease. You can cook both simple fare and elaborate dishes—is that correct?”

Conrad replied that he believed the letters Mr. Hill had just read confirmed that.

“Yes, yes—” Mr. Hill agreed hastily, lowering his eyes.

He finished reading Conrad’s letter in silence and then put it into the envelope with the others.

For several seconds he tapped on the desk with the envelope, as if he were trying to come to some decision.

“You find the terms of employment set forth in my notice satisfactory?”

Once again Mr. Hill’s voice was business-like.

Conrad said yes, he found them satisfactory.

A few more taps of the envelope and Mr. Hill made up his mind.

He put the envelope away in a drawer.

“I will say a few words about what will be expected . . .”

Conrad would be responsible for the family’s breakfast six days a week and for six dinners, though he would probably cook only four, because they dined out about twice a week.

Feeding of the resident staff would also be his responsibility.

The family had breakfast at seven-thirty. Dinner between eight and eight-thirty—the latitude being a concession to the cook.

Once or twice a week they entertained.

On Sunday, dinner was served between one-thirty and two, and after that Conrad’s time would be his own. Every night after dinner—they were usually through by nine-thirty—he would also be free. His regular day off was Tuesday.

Conrad would do all of the buying of the food. He would also be in complete charge of the kitchen, though nominally the butler, Maxfield, was his superior.

Mr. Hill stood up.

“You will not be expected to prepare dinner tonight, but breakfast tomorrow morning will be your responsibility.—Do you have any questions?”

Conrad replied that he had two questions; first he asked why the last cook had left.

“He was caught padding the kitchen account. Number two?”

“Does the family have any strong likes or dislikes about food?”

Mr. Hill said no; but the family tended to be heavy, so fattening dishes should be kept to a minimum.

Mr. Hill rang for the butler. “Maxfield will answer any questions you may have about the household.”

Mr. Hill took a long puff on his cigar.

“In six months,” he said, “I will give you a raise in wages if you prove to be satisfactory.”