Inheritance (48 page)

"No! God danm you, you whining, blackmailing son of a bitch, get out of here!" Her voice shook with fury. "We'll send your money—whatever we owe you—but you're through! Get out! And stay out!"

"But you cannot—! You need me! You are desperate without me! At eight o'clock is dinner—" He saw Laura's face and took a step back. "Hungry people in the dining room—!"

Almost blindly, she strode across the room and picked up the telephone. "I told you to get out! If you don't—if you're not out of here in one minute—^I'll call the police and have you arrested for attempted blackmail."

His mouth worked as he tried to decide if she was bluffing. But he couldn't; he couldn't be sure. A minute passed. Laura began to stab numbers on the telephone. "Bitch!" he blurted, and without a glance at the sous chef and pastry chef who

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were trying to make themselves invisible in the comer, he turned on his heel and marched down the room and through a back door to the locker room. Laura waited until she heard the outer door open and slam shut. She hung up the telephone. "See if he's gone," she said to the two chefs in the comer.

They scurried to the locker room and in a moment were back, nodding.

Laura's breathing was becoming more regular. Her face still bumed, but the redness had faded from the room; once more its white tiles and stainless steel were crisp and cool. Along one wall, on three Garland ranges, tall pots gently burbled, giving off fragrant tendrils of steam; oven lights clicked on and off like small spodights; a pair of industrial Cuisinarts and two KitchenAid mixers were poised for action on a counter that was a patchwork of utensils, spices, and ingredients. "Can you finish his dinner?" she asked the chefs.

"I only make dessert," said the pastry chef.

"I don't do the whole show," said the sous chef.

"Some of it's done," added the pastry chef. *Three pat6s as a first course, and the scallop bisque. And there's a sauce . . ."He shrugged. "Enrico likes to keep some tricks close to his chest."

Where she had been hot, now Laura was cold. Two hundred people for dinner. Two hundred people who were supposed to depart smiling at the end of the weekend and tell their friends all over the world about the very special, superbly run Beacon Hill hotel, where everything was done perfectly, for their pleasure and comfort.

Hungry people in the dining room.

And Laura Fairchild's temper in the kitchen.

"Go on with the desserts," she told the pastry chef. "And you can do the salads," she said to the sous chef. "You can do the salads, can't you?"

"Sure."

"Do you know what the entree was to be?"

"Veal with mushrooms. And red pepper mousse ... I think . . . with some kind of sauce. And wild rice with something."

Laura nodded. Wonderful to start with such a wealth of information. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Judith Michael

She almost ran across the lobby. She had to find Currier. He would know someone to call. Was there an agency for temporary chefs who could step in three hours before dinner? Or maybe he had a friend; he had friends everywhere. Oh, God, I've ruined it, she thought. I've thrown it away. Everything was perfect, they were having a wonderful time, and now it's going to be terrible, and that's what they'll tell everyone. Laura Fairchild can't run a hotel; she's still a little girl from the slums of New York, with a lousy temper, trying to make people love and admire her. Trying to con them out of their love. She's still a thief. She's still a failure.

She paused beside the table where Mary was wrapping the last of the day's Christmas gifts and looked into the lounge. Conversation and laughter flowed through the tranquil room, punctuated by an occasional guffaw and the clatter of china and silver. Some guests were beginning to leave, to dress for dinner. Beside the mirrored wall, the harpist played tunes from the Jacques Brel show they would be seeing later that night. And, at a small table beside the fireplace, Rosa and Kelly smiled at each other with the comfortable look of a new friendship that was going to work.

Rosa looked up and saw Laura's face and her smile faded. Kelly followed her gaze, and the two of them shoved back their chairs and reached Laura in a minute. *'What h^pened?" Rosa said. "Who died?" Kelly demanded.

Rosa.

Laura shook her head. Of course not; it was ridiculous; it only showed how desperate she was. She couldn't put Rosa to work; Rosa was her guest. And besides, she was used to family parties, not a dinner for two hundred.

"What does shaking your head mean?" Kelly asked. "Nobody died? Nothing happened?"

"I just fired the chef," Laura said. *The worst possible time, but he said something and I got angry and . . . kicked him out."

*That temper again." Rosa nodded wisely. "I warned you and warned you. Ah." Her face grew thoughtful. "At a guess, I'd say you were shaking your head because you can't trust his staff. Yes?"

*There's nothing to trust. They don't know much ... or

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they're pretending they don't; I think they don't want the responsibility. I'm looking for Wes; have you seen him? He may know someone I can call."

"Well now," said Rosa slowly. She looked at Kelly, then back to Laura. "Dinner is at eight o'clock?"

"Yes, and I can't hold it; we leave at ten for a ten-thirty show." She looked beyond them. "I thought he was here. I'm sure he'll have a name I can call. A lot of the work is done, but someone has to know how to put everything together and get it served properly."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Rosa said. Her eyes were bright, and she looked at Kelly again with a smile.

"Strange," Kelly chimed in laiily, "it's what I was thinking, too. Of course, far be it from me to tell you how to run this joint, but you do seem to need some talent, and Rosa tells me she's a high-class chef, and I'm pretty good at giving orders. Between the two of us we'd have your kitchen humming in no time and give you service you could be proud of."

"You're not here to give service." Laura put her hand on Kelly's arm. "Thank you. I did think of Rosa, but it isn't fair. You're here to have a good time, not woric."

"If I want to work, young miss," Rosa said huffily, "it's not for you to tell me what I'm here to do or not do."

A laugh broke from Laura. "You're right. But I still can't ask you to do it. You're used to a family kitchen, Rosa, not a place that serves two hundred. This isn't a home, it's a— ^*

"I am perfectly aware what it is." Rosa drew herself up. She came only to Laura's chin, but her head was high. "I told you I've cooked for a lot of these people—a few of them recognized me even though they thought they weren't letting on that they did—and I've cooked for two hundred at dinners in the tent. What's the menu?"

"I don't think—"

"All I asked for was the menu, my young miss."

"Veal with mushrooms and red pepper mousse."

"Well, in some ways he's not so dumb. That's easy and impressive. Veal with morels, I'd bet with great confidence, and the mousse is something any self-respecting cook has known for years. I could do it with one hand tied behind my back. Probably blindfolded, too. I've made this very menu,

Judith Michael

young lady, and if you don't think the people who ate it at Mr. Owen's table or Felix's and Leni's weren't as finicky as these you've got here, you've got another think coming."

"There's only one thing," said Kelly. "I draw the line at cleaning up. I want to see Jacques Brel and drink champagne and feel frisky. I owe it to John: I promised him I'd do some serious playing since he had to stay home and mind the lodge. But until showtime, it sounds like fun, and as far as I'm concerned, Laura, since we're here and nobody else is offering, how the devil can you resist?"

"Resist what?" Currier asked, coming to the lounge from the lobby.

"Turning her kitchen over to us," Kelly replied before Laura could stop her. "The chef is gone, and we're going to finish dinner if Laura allows us."

His look fastened on Laura. "Gone? You let him quit?"

"I fired him. I'm sorry, Was, he said . . . well, it doesn't matter what he said. I shouldn't have done it, but I did, and then I came to ask if you knew someone we could ask—^"

"Of course I do. Just a minute." He was holding his anger in; they all saw it. "A couple of restaurants folded recently, and I knew the chefs at both of them. I'll call; we'll have someone here in half an hour."

"And if you don't?" Kelly asked. "If they're out of town or in bed with the flu?"

"Then we'll find someone else," he snapped. 'This is a hotel, not a sorority. We hire professionals whom we can rely on—"

"Unless they turn to blackmail," Laura murmured.

"What's that?"

"It's not important. Wes, I've made up my mind. I want Rosa and Kelly to do it. Kelly knows as much from Damton's as anyone we could hire, and Rosa can finish what Enrico started; I know she can."

"Without any doubt," Rosa said. "Seventy-four years old and there isn't a kitchen in the world I can't handle. But you're making it harder for me, keeping me here chattering instead of getting to work. I'm very big on plunging right in and doing instead of talking, as Laura can tell you, Mr. Currier, and I do know my way around a kitchen." She stood before them, round and determined, her color high.

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*That isn*t the issue," Currier said. *This is an important dinner, we aren*t going to take any chances with it."

"Yes we are," Laura said. "I'm sorry, Wes, but I want to do this. I beheve in Rosa and Kelly, and they believe in me, and I'm going to go with that. It may turn out to be a lot more reliable than professionalism, whatever that is." She held out her hands to Rosa and Kelly. 'Thank you. Whatever you need, let me know. Rosa, I wish I could come in and help you; it would be like—weU, I can't; I have too much to do out here, ril leave it to you and Kelly. And thank you both. I can't tell you how much— "

*Tell us later," Kelly said easily. *This is going to be a blast. How about Farley? Shall we cook up some dog food for him?"

"What a thing to joke about," Rosa said reprovingly. "We'll save him some veal; he'll wake up starving and thoroughly ashamed of himself. Come on, come on, I can't wait to get to work."

Currier and Laura watched them walk through the lobby and disappear through the restaurant door. They made an odd pair: Kelly tall and big-boned, black hair fanned out in a wild halo, her stride long; Rosa small and round, almost waddling as she tried to keep pace, her gray hair pulled into a neat coil at her neck, her head tilted up as she talked to Kelly.

'That wasn't smart," Currier said coldly. "It wasn't good business; it wasn't even good friendship. If they ruin your evening, the friendship is ruined, too."

"We're all taking a chance. But they won't ruin it, Wes."

"That's blind faith and nothing else. What in God's name possessed you to fire Garibaldi?"

"He told me he'd heard I'd been a thief, and in jail— "

"He tried to blackmail you?"

She nodded.

"Danmed idiot. But that's no reason to fire him three hours before dinner."

She did not answer.

"I told you when you insisted on using the name OWL Development that sentiment has no place in business. Neither does emotion. If you can't bring yourself to keep them separate, you'll destroy yourself."

Judith Michael

"No. I won't do either." She looked at him with clear eyes. "I don't allow myself much sentiment these days, Wes, but when it's important enough I do. I don't think I'll do it to the point of destruction, but you'll have to trust me on that."

He met her look. Or what? he wondered. K I don't trust you, will you tell me to get out of your life? You can't; you're tied to me financially. If I push the issue, will you give in?

He gave it only brief thought. It was not the time or the place to have a confrontation; they'd have to wait until after the weekend. After Rosa's dinner. Christ, what a half-assed gamble. He hadn't thought she was capable of anything so stupid.

Guests passed them as they left the lounge to dress for dinner and the nightclub show. They stopped to remark on the furnishings, the service, the food, and especially the smooth operation. "Amazing, for a new hotel!" Amelia Laughton exclaimed as her husband, Sid, nodded. "Such attractive surroundings," said Carlos Serrano, kissing Laura's hand. "Exquisite taste," said the Itahan couturier Flavia Guameri, showing all her teeth as she smiled. Laura thanked them warmly, thinking it could either blow up in three hours, or she would have another triumph. She thanked everyone who praised her, on and on, until they were all gone and only she and Currier were left.

"We haven't had a minute alone for the past three weeks," he said. "On Monday we'll take off for a few days. I've made reservations at a place I like on St. Thomas."

"I can't, Wes, not yet. We've got bookings for the next three weeks, and Flavia told me she'll be back for a showing at Ultimo next month, and she's bringing friends—^"

"You have a staff. You have your brother. You can't be here every minute."

"I can be here when I'm needed. When did you ever leave a project in its first week?"

"I left it at night so I'd have some energy for my companion."

That was fair, Laura thought; she'd been too tired lately to make love. "You're right; I haven't been much fun to be with. Can I have a few days to settle down? Then I promise I'll be back to normal."

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"But not ready to go away, I gather."

"Not yet. Maybe . . . maybe in the spring."

He started to say something more, then changed his mind. "I'm going to change for dinner. Are you coming?"

"In a minute. Fll join you upstairs."

He left for the suite they had taken for themselves for the weekend, and Laura stood still, savoring the brief privacy and the quiet, broken only by the sounds of the waitresses clearing the tables. She'd have to change her schedule; she owed Currier energy and attention. They wouldn't be having so many clashes if she gave him more time instead of letting the hotel absorb her almost every minute of every day.