The Devil's Cook (3 page)

“Well, blast his treacherous little, heart He's simply never around when I want him. Are you sure you don't know where he went?”

“I said I didn't. Don't you believe me?”

“No. And it may take you quite a while to convince me, so I guess I'd better come in while you try.”

She walked past him into the room and sat down on the sofa, crossing her knees and thereby displaying—thanks to the short skirt—a pair of legs that were extremely ornamental as well as useful. Farley followed her as far as a chair, into which he collapsed.

“There's nothing to be gained by nagging me,” he said. “I've told you all I know.”

“Nevertheless, it might be interesting to speculate.”

“Well, it's obvious enough, if you ask me. No speculation is necessary.”

“I'm not so sure. Just because he was secretive is no sign he had some kind of assignation, or something. As a matter of fact, if that were the case, the little devil would probably have bragged all over the place about it. Men have no honor in such matters.”

“Do you think so?”

“Still, one can't discount the possibility entirely. He might do something like that just to annoy me.”

“Why should it annoy you if you don't know?”

“He may tell me afterward. In the meantime, I'm forced to speculate, which is even worse than knowing. What time did he leave?”

“About two. Just a little while before Terry left.”

“Was Terry here?”

“I said so, didn't I? I thought I did.”

“I'm sure you didn't. What did she want?”

“She wanted to borrow three fresh carrots for the ragout.”

“What on earth would make her think she'd find fresh carrots in this warren?”

“Well, it just happens that we had some. Ben bought them yesterday at the market.”

“If that isn't just like him! He's completely unpredictable. It shows, however, that he would be useful around a house. I wonder if I shouldn't be a little more generous and give him a fair chance.”

“It might keep him home weekends. Incidentally, speaking of generosity, how about a fiver?”

“You had your monthly allowance from our wayward daddy. What the devil did you do with it?”

“My monthly allowance is hardly adequate. By the time the old man gets through paying alimony, there's not much left for his lawful progeny.”

“As you know, there isn't anything at all for
this
lawful progeny. As an efficient secretary with a thorough command of shorthand, as well as attractive legs, I earn my own way. When are you going to get that law degree, anyhow? You're already two years past due.”

“You know I had to lay off and work a couple of years.”

“Perhaps you'd better lay off and work a couple more. Every month, what with twenty bucks here and ten there, you're costing me at least fifty bucks.”

“Oh, come on, Fan. A lousy fiver won't kill you. I need some gas for my car.”

“Why don't you sell that heap? What business has a pauper got with a car?”

“Are you going to let me have the fiver or not? Be a good sis, Fan. Some day you'll get it all back with interest.”

“I suppose I'll have to. Here, damn it. And make it last.”

She dug the five out of her purse and, after wadding it in her hand, tossed it to him. It fell short between them, and he eyed it for a moment, as if not quite sure that picking it up was worth the effort.

“Thanks, Fan, you're a doll. I'd offer you a beer, but Ben and Terry and I drank them all.”

“That's all right. I prefer a martini, which I'm going up and fix for myself this instant.”

“I don't suppose you'd want me to come up and have one with you?”

“You're right, I wouldn't. You have your ragout. And wash your face and hands before you go, for God's sake.”

Fan got up and left, stepping carefully over the crumpled five-spot. Walking to the stairs, she saw that Orville Reasnor had vacated the vestibule.

Upstairs in her apartment she peeled to the buff, showered and, after a fierce struggle, got into a sweater and a pair of adhesive pants. This done, she went to the kitchen and mixed two martinis, one of which she poured and began to drink. Since she had been practically deserted by Ben, the devious little devil, she supposed she might as well eat out of the refrigerator and spend the evening at home. There was a small steak to broil, a potato to bake, and some head-lettuce for a salad. There was also this martini to finish drinking, another to follow, and more where they came from if it began to seem like a good thing. Later, for amusement, there was
Joseph Andrews
in the bedroom.

Not so amusing as Ben, Fan thought.

Where had he gone? Fan wondered.

And with whom?

If anybody?

3

At the precise time that Fanny was placing her potato in the oven, her brother Farley was crossing the hall. It was one minute to six, and Farley, following Fanny's departure from his apartment, had not only washed his hands and face, he had also put on a reputable shirt, and a pair, of pants with a crease in them. His hair was brushed; his shoes, which had replaced the soiled sneakers, were shined. He had not gone so far as a coat and tie; but he had at least transformed himself into a presentable dinner guest, however casual. As such, with an air of anticipation, he knocked on Terry's door.

The door was opened by a tall young man with that particular kind of thinness which forecasts, instead of increasing corpulence, a gaunt and cadaverous middle age. His hair, still thick, was light brown and limp, brushed laterally across a long skull from a low part on the left side. He looked out upon the world, including Farley, through thick lenses set in enormous black frames. Although he was still on the nether side of thirty, he already gave a harried effect, as though he had hunted too long in economic cyles in search of a way out.

“Oh,” he said, “it's you, Farley. What can I do for you?”

“Hello, Jay,” Farley said. “I've been invited to dinner. Didn't Terry tell you?”

“Terry isn't home yet. Do you happen to know where she went?”

“She mentioned an appointment, but she didn't say with whom or where. I'm sure she expected to be back by six, though. No doubt she's been delayed.”

“No doubt. Terry's always being delayed for one reason or another. Well, you may as well come in and wait.”

“Thanks.” Farley stepped into the room and waited while Jay, after peering down the hall, closed the door behind him. “I hope I'm not imposing.”

“Not at all. Sit down, Farley, and I'll fix you a drink. Gin or Scotch?”

“Scotch.”

“Soda?”

“Plain water.”

“That's good. I'm not sure I've any soda left, now that I think about it.”

Jay went into the kitchen and took a bottle and glasses out of a cabinet. Farley, at ease in a chair, could hear him excavating ice in the refrigerator. The simmering ragout filled the room with the most delectable odor, of bacon and steak and carrots and onions and potatoes. A happy combination, thought Farley. He regretted that he wasn't very hungry. What he wanted most was the Scotch and water that Jay was now conveying. He accepted the glass Jay offered, raised it in salute, and took a large swallow.

Jay, holding a glass of his own, sprawled in another chair. His long thin legs gave an effect of disorganization.

“I'd better warn you,” Jay said, “that we may have a long wait. Promptness is not one of Terry's virtues.”

“She specifically said six. She'll probably be along in a few minutes.”

“I wouldn't count on it. No affront intended, old man, but she's probably forgotten all about inviting you.”

“In that case, perhaps I'd better not stay.”

“Oh, no. I wouldn't hear of your leaving. If she doesn't show up soon, we'll eat the damn ragout ourselves. That's what we're having, you know.”

“I know, I can smell it. Besides, Terry came over earlier to borrow some carrots for it.”

“Terry never has everything she needs for anything. What time was she over?”

“It must have been shortly after one. Ben hadn't left yet. He's gone for the weekend now. I think that's why Terry took pity on me and invited me to share your ragout. She and Ben and I had a beer together.”

“You said she mentioned an appointment. Did she mention what time it was for?”

“I think she said three, but I'm not sure.”

“Well, she'll be here when she gets here. That's about all you can say. It's an ulcerous job keeping up on Terry's whereabouts. I learned long ago not to try. Would you care to hear some music while we're waiting?”

“That would be fine.”

“Any preference?”

“Anything you like.”

Jay gathered up his scattered legs and went over to the player in a kind of slow-motion lope. Adjusting his glasses on his nose, he peered down into the machine.

“There's a Beethoven quartet already on. How about that?”

“Beethoven? Ah.”

Farley would have been just as agreeable to an offering by the Beatles; he had no taste for music of any kind. But the pretense of listening would relieve him of the necessity for making conversation, which would be a relief to Jay as well. So they sat silently in the shimmer of sound and the odor of ragout, and their glasses were empty when the recording was finished. Jay got up again and refilled glasses and turned the recording over.

“We'll hear one more,” he said, “then we'll eat. And to hell with it”

His voice was edged with a kind of resigned bitterness. However empty Jay's belly was of food, Farley thought, it was full to capacity of Terry. Small wonder, really. Even after maximum concessions to Terry's obvious allure, a man had to resent eventually the ease with which she kept slipping the ties that bind.

Not being able to think of anything appropriate to say, Farley said nothing. They sat and listened, or pretended to listen, and there was still, one string quartet and a Scotch highball later, no Terry.

“That's
it,
” said Jay. “I won't bother to apologize, Farley. Let's eat the damn ragout before it dries out.”

Farley looked at his watch. “Terry's an hour late, Jay. Aren't you concerned?”

“Why should I be? This is an old story.”

“Just the same, I'd feel better if we at least made some effort to find out where she went. Honestly, Jay, she was so definite about the invitation and the time that I just can't believe she forgot or ignored it.”

“It's decent of you to be concerned, but I assure you it's uncalled for. Anyhow, what can we do? She doesn't seem to have told anyone about her plans,
whatever
they were.”

“Are Ardis and Otis Bowers home from the university yet? Perhaps they'd know.”

“No chance. Ardis loathes Terry, quite justifiably, and poor Otis isn't allowed within speaking distance if Ardis can prevent it.”

“It wouldn't do any harm, Jay, to ask them.”

“All right. Let me turn down the heat under the ragout first.”

He went into the kitchen with the empty glasses, and returned in a moment without them.

“That should hold it all right,” he said. “Talking with Ardis and Otis will get us nowhere, Farley, but I suppose you're right about making some sort of effort. Let's go.”

In the hall, at the foot of the staircase to the second floor, Farley, with one foot lifted to the first tread, stopped suddenly. He had been struck by an idea, apparently, and he stood pinching his lower lip while he considered it.

“I was just thinking,” he said. “Orville Reasnor may have seen Terry leave. If so, he could probably tell us about when it was. It seems to me Terry mentioned an appointment at three, but if she was a lot later than that getting away it might explain why she's so long getting back.”

“I doubt it.” Jay was clearly impatient. “Anyway, I'm skeptical of Orville Reasnor's ability to contribute anything enlightening to anything.”

Farley, with Jay abreast, took a turn and descended a short flight to the basement. He knocked on the door of Orville Reasnor's bachelor quarters. In a few seconds the door swung open to reveal Orville. His lack of shirt or shoes, his attire of long Johns and heavy socks, indicated that Orville had been roused from a well-earned nap, and the indication was supported by his belligerent expression. Clearly, he was anticipating a gripe.

“Evening, Doctor,” he said to Jay, ignoring Farley. “What's the trouble?”

Orville invariably conferred the doctorate when speaking to a member of the University faculty. Sometimes, as in Jay's case, it was appropriate. One always had an uneasy feeling, however, that Orville used it not so much as an expression of respect as, on the other hand, of some esoteric personal insult.

“No trouble, Orville,” Jay said. “Mr. Moran and I were expecting my wife home for dinner about six, and she hasn't got back yet. We thought, if you happened to see her leave, that you might remember what time if was.”

“I never saw her. If she'd have left between a little before two and a little after five, I'd have seen her.”

“Oh? Why so?”

“Because I was working all that time in the vestibule. She'd have had to go right past me.”

“Well, she's gone. Maybe you just forgot.”

“Not Orville Reasnor. I don't forget so easy. That's not to say she couldn't have gone out the back door into the alley. The hall's a lot higher than the vestibule, and I couldn't have seen nothing in the hall when I was down on my knees, which most of the time I was.”

“I guess that's the way she went. Thanks, Orville.”

“I wouldn't worry none if I was you, Doctor.” Orville's little eyes had acquired a sly expression; his lips, surrounded by the day's growth of gray stubble, twitched on the verge of a grin. “She'll be back in her own good time, I expect.”