Authors: Marian Babson
Whiskers & Smoke (13 page)
Other people had no such qualms. We watched as a smartly-dressed couple debated briskly at the tank while their waiter stood by. It appeared that Gino's cousin Rudi had got his promotion to the main dining-room. When they indicated their choices, Rudi rolled up one sleeve, plunged his arm into the tank and caught up the luckless lobster which he transferred to his other hand before plunging back into the tank for the second lobster. It tried to escape, scrabbling frantically across the tank and trying to hide behind a conch shell. Uselessly. Rudi dragged him dripping from the tank and bore both lobstersâclaws waving wildlyâto the kitchen. The other diners applauded.
“Don't worry,” Noah told an appalled Tessa, who was on the verge of tears. “They say the lobsters don't feel a thing. They plunge them straight into a vat of boiling water
and ⦠er ⦠it's over instantaneously.”
and ⦠er ⦠it's over instantaneously.”
“
Who
says they don't feel a thing?” Timothy demanded. “Do the lobsters say it? They're the only ones who'd really know.”
Who
says they don't feel a thing?” Timothy demanded. “Do the lobsters say it? They're the only ones who'd really know.”
“Well, never mind,” Noah said comfortingly. “We've already decided we're not going to have lobster. Nowâ” he rustled his menuâ“let's decide what we are going to have.”
Perhaps Americans have become desensitized to violence. Their television sets pour out a constant stream of muggings, murders, car crashes, beatings, rapes and other horrors masquerading as entertainment. There were nights when the news was even worse. Even driving along their highways, one had to constantly avert one's eyes from the squashed bodies of small animals who had tried to cross the road against the stream of endless traffic. So much violence everywhere. Perhaps they didn't even notice it any more.
“I'll have the baked scallops,” Noah ordered. He leaned forward and confided. “Pitti-Sing is exceptionally fond of scallops. I'll ask for a doggie-bag, in this case a kitty-bag, at the end of the meal and bring some home for her.”
“I'll have the broiled liver,” Timothy said. “And I'll have a kitty-bag, too. Errol is crazy about liver.”
“I'll have a kitty-bagâ” Tessa went straight to the point. “And then I'll have fried chicken. Chicken is Errol's absolutely favorite food.”
“And you, Rosemary?” Noah was looking disgruntled. It had not been his intention to provide a banquet for the animal he hated with a deadly passion. “What, in your
opinion, is the food Dear Errol most likes to eat?”
opinion, is the food Dear Errol most likes to eat?”
“Errol,” I said flatly, “will eat anything that doesn't eat him first.” I continued to study the menu. I seemed to have lost my appetite since the episode of the lobsters.
“May I suggest the Steak Diane, madame?” Rudi leaned over me solicitously. “It is cooked at the table before your eyesâvery delicious.”
“Not tonight.” It was irrational to dislike the man because he had done his job, but I couldn't help it. I tried to keep the distaste out of my voice. “I think I'll have the Chef's Salad.”
“Very good, madame.” Rudi deftly twitched the menus out of our hands and disappeared. The wine waiter took his place and went into a huddle with Noah over the wine list.
“Look, Mummy,” Timothy said. “Look who's over there. It's Greg and Lois!”
They looked up, alerted as he called out their names. For a fleeting instant there was a curiously hunted look on both faces.
“Hi, Greg! Hi, Lois!” Timothy waved to them. “Who's minding the camp?”
“Timothy!” He was learning bad manners from his new friends.
Greg and Lois exchanged glances, then rose reluctantly and came over to our table. I began to understand the hunted look: a Camp Counsellor is never off duty. Not when there's a parent or child anywhere in the vicinity.
“Hello, Mrs. Blake,” Greg said resignedly. “Hi, Tess, Tim, Noah ⦔
Lois echoed his greeting. She was wearing a cool dark
green full-skirted frock tonight, the lighter green jade frog swung from a gilt chain around her neck. I was suddenly glad that frog's legs weren't on the menu.
green full-skirted frock tonight, the lighter green jade frog swung from a gilt chain around her neck. I was suddenly glad that frog's legs weren't on the menu.
“Benjie Adams is holding the fort tonight.” Greg answered Timothy's question, looking directly at me. He evidently thought I might be worried about who was minding the camp. “He's Deputy Administrator. You haven't met him yet because he's just arrived. He took a little vacation after his college term ended. Very good manâall the kids like him.”
“I'm sure they do,” I murmured, since he seemed to be expecting some response.
“Benjie worked for us last year, too. Maybe you remember, Noah? He's terrific at woodcraft, swimming and archeryâ”
“Hey, Greg, climb down, boy,” Noah said soothingly. “You don't have to sell us. What's the matter? Chief Rogers on your back again?”
“And how!” Greg passed a weary hand across his forehead. “They're trying to pin the new fire on the Camp. He was up there all morningâand it was the Changing of the Guard again. He's working on the theory that's got something to do with it. He's got this crazy idea that arson has become some sort of passing-out ceremony.”
“It's mad!” Lois said heatedly. “Totally mad! None of the kids would do a thing like that. Besides, I did the bedcheck myself last night. They were all in their beds and sound asleep long before the fire started. And when those kids sleep, it would take an earthquake to wake them. I tried to tell Chief Rogers that, but he wouldn't believe me. He thought I was lying to protect my job.”
“You can see how he'd figure that way.” Greg was trying to be fair. “Maybe we
would
lie if our jobs were at stakeâbut they aren't. He can huff and he can puff all he likes, but there's no way he can close down the Camp just because he's suspicious of it. We're booked almost solid right through to Labor Day and he hasn't the authority to close us downâ” Greg's voice was rising. “We'll take it to court and put up such a fight that it will be his job on the line!”
would
lie if our jobs were at stakeâbut they aren't. He can huff and he can puff all he likes, but there's no way he can close down the Camp just because he's suspicious of it. We're booked almost solid right through to Labor Day and he hasn't the authority to close us downâ” Greg's voice was rising. “We'll take it to court and put up such a fight that it will be his job on the line!”
“Gregâ” Lois plucked at his sleeve. “Greg, take it easy.”
“I can see you had quite a session with Chief Rogers,” Noah said drily.
“It isn't funny.” Abruptly, Lois turned hostile. “That was a terrible fireâpeople died! Chief Rogers has no right to even suggest any of our campers had anything to do with it. We could sue him for libel!”
“Slander,” Noah corrected automatically. “Libel is written, slander is spoken.” They didn't appreciate it.
“Let's get back to our table, Greg,” Lois said coldly.
“Sure” Greg started to turn awayâwhich gave him a clear view of the entrance. “Oh-oh,” he said, “look who's here.”
Dexter came through the doorway and was half way towards a table for two marked RESERVED when he seemed to become conscious of watching eyes. His anticipatory smile faded, he sighed and came over to us.
“Hi, everybody,” he said. “Hi, Greg.”
“Hello, Dexter,” Greg said. “What a surprise seeing you here. I don't recall giving you a late pass.”
“Uh, no, you didn't. Benjie did. Aunt Luci turned up
unexpectedly and wanted me to have dinner with her. She's touring the Straw Hat Circuit on a pre-Broadway tryout and they're starting in Manchester next week.”
unexpectedly and wanted me to have dinner with her. She's touring the Straw Hat Circuit on a pre-Broadway tryout and they're starting in Manchester next week.”
“Is that a fact?” Greg sounded unbelieving. A collective gasp from the diners made him look over at the doorway.
Lucienne Tremaine made an entrance, came over to join Dexter, allowed us to be introduced to her and bore Dexter off to the reserved table.
“I guess,” Greg said, “Benjie
did
give Dexter a late pass. I would have, too.” They went glumly back to their table.
did
give Dexter a late pass. I would have, too.” They went glumly back to their table.
“What was that all about?” I asked Noah. “Is Lucienne Tremaine really Dexter's aunt, or is it a courtesy title?” It would have been hard to believe, except that Lucienne Tremaine
was
sitting at a table for two with Dexter, smiling as he ordered from the menu. Our waiter was bowing almost double every time she uttered a word. It was clear that he thought this was more like it.
was
sitting at a table for two with Dexter, smiling as he ordered from the menu. Our waiter was bowing almost double every time she uttered a word. It was clear that he thought this was more like it.
The rest of the diners had resumed their conversations, although still casting envious glances at our tableâand at Dexter. It was obvious that most of the male diners thought Dexter didn't deserve such luck.
“I believe she's an extended-family aunt of some sort. Through one of his mother's marriagesâor perhaps one of his father's. Do you mean to sayâ” Noah looked at me curiouslyâ“you don't know who Dexter
is?
Doesn't the name Dexter Herbert ring any bells at all?”
is?
Doesn't the name Dexter Herbert ring any bells at all?”
“He's Dexter Herbert
the Fifth
,” Timothy prompted. “And he's going to give us free tickets to his father's new film.”
the Fifth
,” Timothy prompted. “And he's going to give us free tickets to his father's new film.”
“Good heavens!” It all fell into place. “Is
that
who he
is? I never heard his surname before, he was just introduced to me as Dexter. He really isâisâ” I remembered
the Fifth
â“in direct line of succession?”
that
who he
is? I never heard his surname before, he was just introduced to me as Dexter. He really isâisâ” I remembered
the Fifth
â“in direct line of succession?”
“One of our great stage families,” Noah said. “They may not be the Barrymores, but they've run them a pretty close second across the years.”
“I never expected to meet anyone from that family,” I said. “What on earth is he doing at Camp Mohigonquin?”
“Going through the awkward stage. His mother doesn't want him around to remind her public that she has a son that old; and his father doesn't want him around until he's lost seventy-five pounds, preferably more. So Dexter has been star boarder all summer long at Camp Mohigonquin for the past two years. In the winter, they send him to boarding-school.”
Rudi brought our orders and set them in front of us with the air of one throwing pearls before swine. He disappeared into the kitchen again. When he returned, he was wheeling a laden trolley on which a small conflagration blazed merrily. He careered through the dining-room with it, coming to a dramatic stop at the Tremaine-Herbert table.
“Hasn't he got that spirit lamp turned rather high?” I asked uneasily.
“He likes it that way,” Noah said. “Makes a bigger effect. Just watch. Lucienne Tremaine is about to learn that she isn't the only one who can give a performance.”
Indeed, most of the room was watching. All that was lacking was a spotlight. With a flourish, Rudi dropped a dollop of butter into the shallow frying-pan and added the
steaks when it began to sizzle. Apparently, both Dexter and his aunt had ordered the Steak Diane. No wonder Rudi was not going to waste his time on lesser appetites.
steaks when it began to sizzle. Apparently, both Dexter and his aunt had ordered the Steak Diane. No wonder Rudi was not going to waste his time on lesser appetites.
He turned the steaks, then poured brandy into a larger sized copper ladle than I would have used and set it alight. With loving care, he poured the blazing spirit over the steaks. Yellow flames billowed upwards, then changed to blue. The blue flames raced round and round the frying-pan, flickering, then spurting upwards with fresh fury, persistent, unwilling to die out. When they did begin to show signs of exhaustion, Rudi carefully tipped in a ladle of vermouth which set the whole thing off again.
Bemused, we all stared at the small inferno. I was quite happy that I had not ordered the Steak Dianeâwhat would be left of the steak after all this was not something I cared to contemplate. Others obviously felt differently; I was aware of audible sighs of envy from surrounding tables.
Gino himself brought their meals to Greg and Lois. Absently I looked overâand was startled by the expression on Lois's face. Why should she suddenly look so horrified? I followed her gaze.
She, too, was staring at the blazing frying-pan and I was abruptly in tune with her thoughts: the fires. Slowly, fearfully, her gaze crept round the tables.
Lois was a Registered Nurse; her training would have included a course in abnormal psychology. Could she identify the arsonist in our midst? Or did she only think she might? Her suddenly cool professional gaze halted at a certain face.
Oh noânot Dexter!
And yet, it was the classic retribution
of a rejected adolescent. Dexter was staring avidly at the flames, a strange expression on his face.
That didn't mean he was a firebug
. But the rapt fascination with which he stared into the flames was disturbing. Certainly, he was clever enough to time the fires so that the outgoing campers would seem guilty if suspicion fell on the camp.
And yet, it was the classic retribution
of a rejected adolescent. Dexter was staring avidly at the flames, a strange expression on his face.
That didn't mean he was a firebug
. But the rapt fascination with which he stared into the flames was disturbing. Certainly, he was clever enough to time the fires so that the outgoing campers would seem guilty if suspicion fell on the camp.
I looked away, disliking myself for even entertaining the thoughtâalthough it was Lois who had unwittingly planted it in my mind. I glanced at her again.
Now she was looking directly at Greg. He was staring at the flames with a dark brooding expression that revealed a different side to his character. He was no longer Good Old Gregâeverybody's pal. Greg the Ghoul was more like it. He was suddenly transformed into someone I would not like to meet alone on a moonless night.
Lois seemed to feel that way, too. She was frowning with concern and leaned forward as though to speak to him and break the spell, then seemed to think better of it.
Still the flames danced on. With another flourish, Rudi selected a tin from the rack, aimed the nozzle at the frying-pan and sprayed something over it. The flames flickered and died.
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