The Cook (17 page)

Slowly Ester turned her head around.

“Yes, Ester,” Conrad said, grasping her firmly by the shoulder, “we are getting married. You and I.” Hesitatingly Ester smiled at him. “Conrad . . .” she whispered. And she started to raise her hand to place it on his, but then she changed her mind and let it fall back on the table.

Mr. and Mrs. Hill were coming slowly toward Conrad. Mr. Hill had his arm around his wife, as if to comfort or support her, or give her courage. They stopped just in front of Conrad.

For several seconds they just looked at him.

And then—

Mrs. Hill began smiling at Conrad, through her tears.

38

“Our marriage,” Conrad said later that evening, “shall be a surprise for the townspeople. Instead of being deprived of what they have every right to expect, they shall be treated to a proud wedding and a most sumptuous and unstinting reception. Moreover, that it comes as a surprise will both increase the pleasure and fortify the recollection . . .”

Mr. and Mrs. Hill agreed completely.

And indeed, the townspeople did not learn there were to be two weddings till the very morning of the great day, when they began arriving at the Prominence and overheard the talk of the people from the City: the City people spoke only of the Venn-Hill wedding. And though at first little notice was taken of this—the townspeople thought either they hadn’t heard correctly or that the City visitors were slightly mistaken—finally some clarification became necessary. For the townspeople were speaking loudly to each other of the Hill-Vale wedding so that if a mistake existed it could be corrected; yet the City visitors persisted in referring to it as the Venn-Hill wedding, and they too were raising their voices, also doubtless to rectify.

“It’s
Vale
, not Venn.
Vale
,” affirmed one of the townspeople at last. “You’re saying it wrong.”

The City gentleman thus addressed started to walk away, but several Cobb people gathered quickly around him, and all began repeating the name Vale.

“Daphne
Vale
and Harold Hill,” added the man who had first spoken. “It’s the Hill-Vale wedding.”

“That’s right,” declared an old woman standing beside him. “Daphne
Vale
and Harold Hill are getting married today.”

“Not Venn,” said another voice. “
Vale
.”

The City man, rather mild-looking and middle-aged, was still half inclined to walk away without replying—what was there to say to such people? They would believe what they wanted to. But on the other hand, they meant well . . .

Smiling tolerantly, he withdrew an envelope from the pocket of his jacket. He turned it over several times, as if to make sure it was the right one; then he opened it and extracted an embossed card. He read the few lines of print on it with scrupulous attention.

“I am here,” he said at last, “to attend the Venn-Hill wedding. And so are my friends—so is everyone from the City. We are here at the invitation of the groom. We know no one else. If there are any other weddings hereabouts, so be it. It does not matter. We are interested only in Conrad’s.” And with that he handed his wedding invitation to the person nearest him. “You may let the others see it,” he added, as he heard someone from the back of the group still complaining that the City gentleman had the name wrong.

It was not the City man’s words, but rather the written invitation—the coupling of Conrad’s name with Ester’s—that made the townspeople understand. And they stared and stared at the names on the card, in benumbed silence, until its owner had to ask for it back: the townspeople had forgotten about him . . .

“Could Mr. Conrad Venn be Conrad the cook?” they asked.

But to ask the question was to answer it.

The Hill-Vale wedding was a very quiet affair. Indeed, it resembled a funeral. The bride, who now weighed little more than one hundred pounds, looked very tired and weak. She had a difficult time standing without assistance, and when her father gave her away, he literally handed her to Harold—she had to be passed gently from one arm to the other.

Only the two families and Conrad and Louise were present. Though Conrad had employed a resident nurse from the City to look after Daphne, it seemed advisable to keep Louise on until Daphne had made the adjustment from maiden to wife. And since Louise was to stay for a while at the Prominence, she might just as well be invited to the wedding.

The ceremony itself lasted only a few minutes. Then Daphne retired to the bridal chamber in the north wing, and Harold changed clothes and went to the great kitchen.

The Venn-Hill wedding was something else entirely. It resembled a coronation, as several of the guests from the City commented. Of course the people from Cobb had never seen anything like it.

It was held in a great chamber occupying the entire top of the highest tower, which by virtue of the majesty of its view over the surrounding countryside seemed made to order for the crowning of kings and queens. On all sides light streamed in through tall pointed windows. One end of the ballroom was particularly bathed in the bright sunshine, and there a large high dais had been placed. Its steps were covered with purple velvet.

On the dais were two enormous thrones, their backs more than eight feet high and their broad flat arms at least two feet wide. They were of solid rose-yellow gold. The bride and bridegroom were seated on these gold thrones and looking out, as it were, over their massed subjects.

“My, it certainly is different,” Louise whispered to Dr. Law, who was standing beside her.

“I should say it’s different! There’s scarcely anything resembling a traditional wedding. There’s a man dressed in black and a woman dressed in white. That’s all that I recognize.—And all that martial music! I don’t believe the people of Cobb ever heard such music before.”

Louise nodded—the music was responsible for her presence. She had been tending to Daphne when the sounds of trumpets and drums penetrated the bridal chamber, and Daphne had insisted that Louise attend the wedding. “Then you can come back and tell me all about it,” she explained, as Louise looked reluctant to leave her. “And you needn’t worry about me. I’ll be all right. I’ll sleep.”

Hurrying upstairs to the tower ballroom, Louise met Dr. Law.

“I thought it would be in the chapel,” he explained. “Then I heard the music . . .”

“The chapel wouldn’t be big enough,” Louise answered.

The tower ballroom itself was extremely crowded, everyone standing except the bride and bridegroom. The guests from the City were all up front, close to the dais; the townspeople were in the rear, and Dr. Law and Louise squeezed themselves in among them. “You just missed the wedding march,” a young woman said to Louise. “It was wonderful.”

“I heard it, but I was in such a hurry that I got lost—this place is so big. You must tell me about it later. My mistress will want to hear.”

“You should see the bride’s train!” exclaimed another woman. “It was so long! I’ve never seen a train so long . . .”

Louise nodded knowingly. “I helped to make it.”

“You did?”

“Yes, I stayed up all last night finishing it . . . We had to order more material from the City and it didn’t arrive till yesterday morning.”

Louise felt a hand on her arm and turned; it was Mrs. Wigton. The ex-housekeeper was looking quite happy, and she and Louise gave each other an affectionate little hug. “It’s very exciting, isn’t it?” Mrs. Wigton said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. And look at Miss Ester! This is the first time I’ve ever seen her smile so happily in all the years that I’ve known her! Even as a child she didn’t smile like that. . .”

Louise whispered confidentially, “If you knew how many yards and yards and
yards
of cloth it took to make that girl’s gown! Well, you simply wouldn’t believe it—and I don’t mean just for the train either.”

A stout middle-aged woman made her way over to them. “Have you ever seen Conrad so beaming?” asked Nell. “I never have.”

“You better call him ‘Mr. Venn,’ ” Mrs. Wigton reminded her.

“He’s very handsome when he smiles,” said Louise.

“Yes, he is,” the other two agreed. “Extremely handsome . . .”

“Most people are when they smile,” interjected Dr. Law, who had both been listening to the women and observing the wedding ceremony on the dais. “Tell me, Louise,” he went on, “wherever did those marvelous gold thrones come from? Are they from the Prominence?”

“They’re from the grand ballroom.”

“They’re magnificent!”

“Quiet!” hissed an old crone on Dr. Law’s left. “You’re talking so much I can’t hear what they’re saying up there—”

“Madam,” said Dr. Law loudly, “you couldn’t hear them with a six-foot ear-trumpet—their voices aren’t carrying back this far. If you weren’t so deaf you would know that!”

Just then a loud cheer broke from the people up front—and then another cheer—and then a third: the nuptials had been performed! The ceremony was over! Miss Ester Hill was now Mrs. Conrad Venn!

The townspeople in the back took up the cheer: once—twice—thrice—

Ester was now smiling more broadly than ever, and slowly she began nodding at everyone, acknowledging their cheers: nodding first to the left and then gradually moving her head in an arc to the right, and then slowly back again . . .

At last Conrad raised both hands, signaling the mass of guests to be quiet.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” his voice boomed out. “You are invited, one and all, to descend to the grand ballroom and share in and witness the new-found happiness of the bride and bridegroom. The tables are laden. The wedding cake will be brought in shortly.”

He paused as loud cheering greeted these words, and Ester smiled still more. From up front came many huzzas.

“Tables,” he continued, “are also being set up on the grounds: on such a beautiful day, who would want to stay indoors and eat and drink when they can also go outdoors and eat and drink?”

The tower ballroom rang with laughter.

“And now—” Conrad stood up. He took Ester by both hands and helped her to rise from the deep seat of her throne, which was slightly lower than his. Mindful of her train, she turned to make sure it was all right. It had been draped over the right arm of the throne and then stretched out to the rear of the dais. Now several attendants hastened to straighten it for her. Sure that her train was all right, she smiled very happily and locked her arm in Conrad’s.

For several seconds they stood there motionless, surveying the throng before them. There was a dead, respectful silence. Then Conrad passed his hand over the people, indicating a line between the dais and the door at the other end of the ballroom, and as Ester and he began descending the purple carpeted steps, a passageway slowly opened in the dense ranks of the guests.

“I have never seen him looking so well,” whispered a handsome City lady after Conrad had passed by her.

“Or so happy,” murmured her companion.

And farther along the passageway: “Doesn’t he have a wonderful smile? When he smiles it seems to make everything perfect. I just have to smile back.”

“Well,” smiled a friend, “perhaps everything is perfect.”

And still further along the passageway: “Do you suppose Conrad’s in love?”

“I don’t know.”

“But doesn’t he look as if he’s in love?”

The ranks of townspeople stared at Conrad in awe and bewilderment. Even those who had seen him in formal dress on those Tuesday evenings when he used to dine at the Prominence Inn were overwhelmed as he passed close by them: so handsome, so rich-looking and regal, so sure of himself and his power. And how easily and comfortably all this sat upon him! Veritably, he seemed made for honors. All was his by nature, by right. The townspeople responded instinctively, scarcely breathing in his commanding presence.

The reception began in the grand ballroom, and for a full hour Conrad and Ester stood beneath the great glittering central chandelier receiving all of the guests, shaking their hands, smiling at them, and addressing a few words of greeting and welcome. Mr. and Mrs. Vale stood beside them and also greeted the guests; the Hills were far too busy with the actual management of the reception to act as hosts too. And the Vales, in a sense, represented the other wedding that had been performed. Despite the somber quality of that ceremony, the Vales were now their usual smiling and jovial selves. They joked with the guests about how plump they were and about how ladders had been necessary to get them onto the plateau . . .

“You should have seen how the servants had to push and pull me!” Mr. Vale laughed to Dr. Law. “I just hope I don’t have to leave here in a hurry!”

“Yes, me too,” agreed his wife.

Then Mr. Vale had an afterthought: “Of course, we could always jump!”

Dr. Law smiled at this, rather condescendingly, and moved on to shake hands with Conrad and Ester. Ester had been listening to the Vales and she said, very slowly: “I—couldn’t—jump”—and her great double chins quivered with the effort—“someone—would have—to roll me off.”

Dr. Law laughed. Ester’s eyes, tiny now, almost hidden by puffs and rolls of flesh, twinkled at him for a moment, and then turned to Conrad. Lovingly she gazed at him, into his sharp black eyes.

“Don’t worry, Ester,” he smiled; “you’ll never have to leave here.—Dr. Law”—Conrad extended his hand—“I am most happy to see you. Welcome to the Prominence.”

“Congratulations, sir!” Dr. Law grasped Conrad’s hand. “I am most happy to be here. And I wish you and your bride all the . . .”

Dr. Law’s words were drowned by a great gasp from all the guests clustered near the main door of the ballroom. The gasp was one of surprise. It was quickly followed by a long, low
ahhhhh
of approval.

“The cake!” everyone exclaimed. “Look at the cake!”

The cake, borne on the shoulders of four stout men, was momentarily framed in the grand entrance.

“The cake! Make way for the cake!”

The wedding-cake procession slowly wound its way to the center of the ballroom. Two confectioners, making sure no one got under foot, led it. Harold brought up the rear. He was wearing a high chef’s hat. He looked very tall. In his right hand he carried a broad ornamental sword.

Conrad smiled at Harold as the procession came to a halt before a long table covered with a white table-cloth and piled high with china dishes. Very carefully the bearers set down their burden on the end of the table and then withdrew while all the guests got as close as possible to have a better look at the cake.

It was a towering replica, in white and green and chocolate, of the Prominence set on the plateau. The steps leading up were etched in the side. The moat and water—made of clear icing—were there. The drawbridge was down, ready for crossing. There was all the landscaping, and the ivy on the walls. All the ramparts and battlements stood forth. The windows emitted a creamy light. And there on the top—on the very top turret—were two great figures standing hand in hand: striking reproductions of Conrad and Ester—he all in black and white, she all in white. Both were smiling.

Harold waited till everyone had got a good look at the cake, and the cries of astonishment and approval had quieted down somewhat. Then he stepped forward and touched the cake with the tip of the sword just to the left of the drawbridge—the plateau was one entire, very high layer. “The family sword is very dull,” he whispered to Conrad, who smiled and nodded; Harold had revealed where the cake had already been cut. Conrad would only have to insert the blade and remove the slices. “With the compliments of the cook,” Harold added, handing the sword to Conrad.

Harold watched while Conrad and Ester grasped the handle of the sword and detached the first slice of cake.

And he watched as Conrad impaled a piece of cake, loaded with green icing, on the end of a fork and held it out for Ester to eat.

And he watched anxiously as Conrad sampled a bite himself.

“It is very good, Harold,” declared Conrad, savoring the morsel thoughtfully. “Yes, Harold, it is excellent cake.”

Harold smiled gratefully, and left the ball room to return to his work in the great kitchen.