Berry And Co. by Dornford Yates

Author:Dornford Yates
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Berry & Co
ISBN: 9780755127061
Publisher: House of Stratus
Published: 2013-06-10T04:00:00+00:00

7

How Jonah Obeyed His Orders, and Daphne

and Katharine Festival Backed the Same Horse

Berry laid down his knife and fork and raised his eyes to heaven.

“This,” he said, “is the frozen edge. I’m getting used to the distemper which is brought me in lieu of soup, and, although I prefer salmon cooked to raw, you may have noticed that I consumed my portion without a word. But this…” Contemptuously he indicated the severed tournedos upon his plate. “You know, they must have been using the lime-kiln. Nobody could get such a withered effect with an electric cooker. Oh, and look at our olive. Quick, before it shuts up.”

Jill began to shake with laughter.

“I can’t help it,” said Daphne desperately. “I know it’s awful, but what can we do?”

“There must be some cooks somewhere,” said I. “The breed isn’t extinct. And they can’t all be irrevocably suited. I always thought the Cooks’ Brigade was one of the most mobile arms of domestic service.”

“I’ve done everything,” said my sister, “except advertise. Katharine Festival put me off that. She says she spent seven pounds on advertisements and never got a single answer. But I’ve done everything else. I’ve asked everybody I know, my name’s on the books of every registry office I’ve ever heard of, and I’ve written and sent stamped addressed envelopes to every cook whose name I’ve been given. Three out of about sixty have replied, saying they were already suited. One came here, practically said she’d come, and then wrote to say she was frightened of the electric cooker. And another wanted a hundred a year and a private bathroom. It’s simply hopeless.”

“If,” said Berry, “we survive this meal, I’ll write to Jonah and tell him to bring one back with him. If he can’t raise one in Paris, he ought to be shot. And now let’s have a sweep on the savoury. I’ll bet it tastes of paraffin and looks like a pre-War divvot.”

“Let’s try advertising,” said Jill. “Katharine mayn’t have had a good one.”

“I agree,” said I. “I’ll get one out tonight. A real snorter.”

In silence the traces of the course which had provoked the outburst were removed, clean plates were set before us, and the footman advanced with a dish of nauseous-looking fritters.

Daphne instinctively recoiled.

“Hullo,” said Berry. “Another gas attack?”

With an effort my sister recovered herself and took one with a shaking hand. Loyally Jill followed her example, and, with tears running down her cheeks, induced a glutinous slab to quit the silver, to which it clung desperately.

I declined the delicacy.

With compressed lips the servant offered it to my brother-in-law.

Berry shook his head.

“Mother wouldn’t like me to,” he said. “But I can see it’s very tasty.” He turned to his wife. “What a wonderful thing perfume is! You know, the smell of burnt fat always makes me think of the Edgware Road at dusk.”

“Hush,” said I, consulting the menu. “De mortuis. Those were banana fritters. That slimy crust enshrined the remains of a once succulent fruit.”

“What?” said Berry. “Like beans in amber? How very touching! I suppose undertakers are easier than cooks.

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