The Cook (15 page)

Conrad wasn’t looking at the doctor—indeed, his eyes were almost closed—and when Dr. Law didn’t reply immediately, he added: “You’re very proud of your powers of observation, aren’t you? Very proud—probably even a point of honor with you. ‘Others may be blinded. Others may be taken in. But not I. No, sir, not I’—not the good old doctor.”

Dr. Law smiled his professional smile. “It is pleasant to know,” he allowed, “even when one is not quite sure what to do. But as you observed, I am hopeful. And I will further admit that the pleasure of knowing is increased by recognition: I appreciate your admitting my comprehension of all—”

“You don’t know, Doctor,” Conrad said bluntly; “you don’t know at all. You don’t even listen to me when I talk—I said you came to convince me of your brilliance. You failed. You and your diagnosis . . . you couldn’t diagnose a case of hanging!” Conrad turned and faced the doctor. “You can leave now.”

Dr. Law stopped bouncing, and the smile disappeared from his face. “What did you say? What did—”

“My dinner is waiting,” Conrad returned casually. “I don’t know about you, Doctor, but cold food tries my temper.”

For an instant the doctor seemed to doubt his hearing. And then: “Sir, you are . . .”

But Dr. Law evidently didn’t trust himself to speak: indeed, the twin points of his beard were quivering like the prongs of a tuning fork in vibration.

“What am I, Doctor? Tell me—what’s the professional classification? I’d like to know.” But when Dr. Law didn’t answer immediately Conrad got to his feet. “I’m tired of waiting. Good night.”

“Just a moment!” Dr. Law quickly interposed himself between Conrad and the door. “I have not done with you, sir. Not by any means. I will not tell you what you are. Name-calling is both unseemly and unprofitable. But this is what I wish to say. My diagnosis is not wrong. And what is more—this may surprise you—I have a treatment. I am not
absolutely
sure of its efficacy. But I have the highest faith. Sir”—and Dr. Law took a half-step toward Conrad, which required him to bend his head almost straight back to look up into Conrad’s eyes—“sir, I demand to see Daphne Vale. At once.”

Conrad cocked his head slightly, as if trying to get someone so much smaller than himself in focus. Then he bent down and laughed in Dr. Law’s face.

Dr. Law held his ground. “This is scarcely a laughing matter. You know that as well as I do. But you have overreached yourself—a not uncommon mistake among the confident. And you shall pay the price.—Sir, I repeat: Daphne Vale is my patient. I demand to see her at once.”

“She is not your patient.”

“She is, and as her doctor I demand to see her.”

“Impossible.”

“I insist. I shall not leave this house till I do.”

“And suppose you are put out?”

“I shall come back. And I shall bring Mr. and Mrs. Vale with me.”

Conrad stepped right up next to Dr. Law. “And just what good would that do?” And he bumped the doctor a little.

“Sir, they are her parents.”

“So what? Who cares?” Conrad bumped the doctor harder, and Dr. Law had to take a quick step backward to keep from falling over. No sooner did he recover his balance than Conrad’s hand shot out to grab him—

“Conrad!” Conrad spun around quickly; it was Mrs. Hill. She was standing in the deep shadow at the foot of the stairs. Beside her, all in white, was Daphne Vale.

“What are you doing down here?” Conrad demanded angrily. “You know better than—”

“Daphne!” came the startled cry from Dr. Law. “Is it really you? I can’t believe it! My dear . . .” and he started across the room toward her, but Conrad grabbed him by the arm and jerked him back. “Stay where you are. Daphne requires complete rest. Mrs. Hill, you know what the specialists said.”

“Conrad, we decided to come downstairs,” Mrs. Hill explained somewhat nervously. “I told Daphne that Dr. Law was here and she insisted.” Mrs. Hill turned to the young girl. “Now, Daphne, dear, don’t you think . . .”

Ignoring the restraining hand Mrs. Hill held out toward her, Daphne Vale slowly crossed the room.

“How are you, my dear?” exclaimed Dr. Law, incredulous at what he saw. He grasped one of her hands between his own and patted it very affectionately. “How are you?”

Daphne smiled, most beautifully, and replied that she was extremely pleased to see Dr. Law; she added, in a slightly teasing voice, “Mrs. Hill said you had gotten some grave reports about me, that I was ill and dying and that you had come to see for yourself. Well? How do I look? Do I look unwell? Or unhappy?”

Daphne Vale looked truly radiant, physically fine and in the highest of spirits, and Dr. Law was unmistakably nonplused. Slowly he shook his head. “I have never seen you looking so well. Or so beautiful. I don’t understand it—you have changed so. And I received such reports from your mother and father . . .”

Daphne laughed gaily. “I have never felt better in my life, Doctor.—I am going to be married soon.”

Dr. Law nodded. “I know that, my dear.”

“I shall be Mrs. Harold Hill.”

“Yes, my dear, I know. And no one could be more happy for you than I . . . But, Daphne, tell me something”—and Dr. Law gently grasped the girl’s elbow and led her into a darkened corner of the dining room, out of earshot of Conrad and Mrs. Hill.

The grandfather clock struck eight-thirty.

“Yes, Doctor,” Daphne was saying. “I’d rather be Mrs. Harold Hill than anything in the world. Anything, Doctor, anything. Can you understand that?”

They had returned to the center of the room. Dr. Law was twirling the left point of his beard. He looked very grave . . . or very serious . . . or very dubious—or weary.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “I don’t know.”

Daphne moved away from his side.

“And I am going to have what I wanted. Things have changed. I am getting my wish.”

Dr. Law said nothing. Daphne glided over to Conrad, who was leaning against the dining-room table. She turned and held out her hand to Dr. Law.

“I am extremely happy.”

Dr. Law took her hand. Then he turned to Conrad.

“This is all your doing, sir . . .”

Conrad looked at him coldly. “Are you asking me or making a statement?”

“Good night, Doctor,” Daphne said quietly.

“I don’t know, sir,” Dr. Law said. “I really don’t know.”

He turned back to Daphne. “My dear, I wish you the very best . . .”

Mrs. Hill accompanied Dr. Law to the front door. As soon as it closed on him Conrad turned to Daphne. She looked at him for a moment, trying to smile. Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she sank to the floor unconscious.

“Get Mr. Hill to carry her upstairs,” Conrad said. “You come into the kitchen with me. Some changes will have to be made in serving, which often happens when a dinner is delayed . . .”

35

From the time it had been decided to advance the date of the wedding, everyone in the Hill household was extremely busy. Louise was brought over the very next day, and she began getting Daphne’s trousseau ready. The regular members of the household set about planning and getting ready for the wedding itself and for the move to the Prominence.

Conrad went to Cobb to consult the lawyer who was the present executor of the last Cobb’s will, because the first thing to find out was where the wedding should be held: at the Prominence or in either of the mansions. Conrad said the Prominence would be preferable, if legally possible, because of the symbolic significance: the Prominence had been the home of the Hill and Vale forebears and would henceforth be the home of the Hill and Vale descendants, and so it should be the situs of the unification of the past with the future. On the other hand, both the Hill and Vale mansions were literally negative symbols: each proclaimed the schism. As for getting married in a public place—where could a suitable one be found in Cobb? And as for going to the City and holding it there—that too was out of the question, if for no other reason than the bride’s state of health. She was much too delicate to undertake such a journey. Indeed, her condition also excluded the traditional honeymoon trip. Conrad had talked this over with Harold, and they had decided it would be best to take up residence at the Prominence immediately after the wedding rather than tax Daphne’s strength with all the exertions of a honeymoon.

The lawyer decided there were no legal impediments to the performance of the marriage at the Prominence. This pleased Conrad immensely. The lawyer also told him something about the last Cobb’s will: any of the surviving Hills and Vales who chose to reside at the Prominence after the joining of the two families had to provide in
his
will that all of his property should pass, on his death, to the bride and bridegroom, and then to their heirs and descendants, except for life interests and limited legacies to their children and certain collateral heirs. The purpose of this provision was obvious: to join the estates together, just as the families had been joined, so that the last Cobb could finally rest in peace, secure in the knowledge that he had succeeded in passing down intact the vast Cobb holdings.

Conrad reported this to Mr. Hill and asked him whether he was aware of the provision. Mr. Hill answered that he hadn’t looked at the will for many years but that he thought he remembered something of the kind. Anyway, his own will would only require a few minor revisions for compliance.

“Does Mr. Vale know about it?”

“I don’t know, Conrad.”

“Then perhaps we should get him over here for a little talk.”

When Mr. Vale came, Conrad told him about the provision, and then added, “I assume we are all going to move to the Prominence. There seems no point in maintaining these separate mansions. They represent a family feud which is much better forgotten.”

Mr. Vale, fat and friendly, looked a little puzzled at these words.

“But, Conrad,” he remonstrated mildly, “I thought it had already been decided that we would all move to the Prominence—Eva has spoken to Mrs. Hill about it many times. I thought it was just taken for granted that that was what we all wanted.”

“Good,” Conrad answered. “That’s all I wanted to hear.—You understand the provision of the will?”

“Yes, certainly,” said Mr. Vale. “But it doesn’t make any difference to me. I’ve already made my will, leaving everything to Daphne, or in case she marries, to Daphne and her husband, and their heirs. All that remains to be done is to insert Harold’s name in the document.”

Conrad replied he was glad to hear that there was no impediment to the Vales’ taking up residence at the Prominence immediately after the wedding.

“None whatever,” agreed Mr. Vale. “In fact, that’s what we’ve been doing all these weeks—getting ready to move from our mansion to the Prominence. That’s a lot of work, Conrad . . .”

No one was working harder than Harold Hill.

After Harold and Daphne had become engaged and the move to the Prominence had been assured, Conrad and he had many discussions about the great kitchen there. Conrad still refused to visit it, saying there would be plenty of time, but he told Harold that a kitchen such as he described was a godsend, both to cooks and diners, and that not to employ it to capacity would constitute a rejection of a gift of the gods; surely calamities would follow in the wake.

“Great cooks,” Conrad said, “require great kitchens. And vice versa. They also require great diners, and ditto vice versa. Harold, you will be a great cook. The Prominence kitchen shall make you one. And you, in turn, will make it great—no, I mean it,” he said as the young man tried to demur; “I absolutely promise it. When we get to the Prominence you’ll see what I mean. Meanwhile, we must make all preparations and learn as much as we can. Here, at the Hill mansion, you can only learn how to cook and to be responsible for the dishes. It is not feasible to have you supervise other cooks—besides, first things first. There will be time enough at the Prominence for you to learn to be in charge of other cooks . . .”

It was in this context—the pending move to the Prominence—that Harold had begun to do more and more in the kitchen. There was no time for him to go to the mill any more and he didn’t try to make the time. When he wasn’t in the kitchen or on a shopping trip, he was in Conrad’s room poring over the books. And after he had been shopping with Conrad the two of them would go to the Shepard’s Inn, and while Conrad drank a few beers and gossiped with whoever was there, Harold would sit in the corner and read one of the cook books he had brought with him.

And then, when the wedding date was suddenly advanced, Harold’s efforts to perfect his skills so that he could move into the Prominence kitchen and try to do it a little justice, became positively frantic: if he could have absorbed all that was in Conrad’s books and at the same time spent twenty-four hours a day in the kitchen—if this had been humanly possible, without doubt Harold would have done it.

36

“The wedding will be a very small affair, just the families and the best man.”

Conrad leaned back and called to Nell for another round of drinks.

He had just told everyone that the wedding between Daphne Vale and Harold Hill was to take place a week from the coming Thursday and not two months hence in June, as all had thought. The news caused quite a sensation. He explained that the change in announced plans had not been made public because not till yesterday had the actual date become certain; all had hinged on some special clothes for the bride. These had arrived yesterday from the City.

“Why the rush?” someone asked. “I thought June was the month for weddings . . .”

“The health of the bride-to-be,” replied Conrad quietly. “It is delicate, and daily grows increasingly so.”

Several of the men expressed amazement at this. Looks passed back and forth among them.

“We heard nothing about that,” said one of the men. “Everyone thought, now that Miss Vale isn’t fat any more she is in good shape.”

Conrad smiled and said that the secret had been well kept. “You see,” he explained; “now that Rudolph, Maxfield, Betsy and Mrs. Wigton are gone, there are no sources of information at the Hill mansion. Eggy, of course, is still there, but he sees no evil and speaks no evil. Whatever is known in Cobb about the goings-on at the Hill mansion must be learned from one of the Hills themselves, from Daphne or from me. There is no other way of finding out.”

Yes, that made sense.

“Conrad,” said one of the men, “you said the wedding would be a family affair except for the best man.”

The speaker paused, and waited till Conrad nodded that he was quoting him correctly.

“All right then, Conrad—who is going to be the best man? That’s what I want to know.”

“Yes—who is going to be the best man?” asked several voices at once.

Conrad picked up his stein and blew the froth from the top. Then he drank it all off and set it down with a bang.

“I am, gentlemen—I’m going to be the best man! Nell! Bring us another round!”