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.Here, Marla, if you could just hold the filet while I wrestle this ham into the slits I’ve made.”“Phillip’s truly rich,” said Marla, “and he’s not like that.”“I am not,” replied Bethancourt, who was letting Cerberus lick the pâté off his fingers, “as rich as Eve Bingham.Nor do I find her sort of lifestyle very tempting.” He leaned back with his wine and watched in fascination while Astley-Cooper recklessly hacked off the edges of the ham that were left exposed outside the filet.Marla had backed away from Astley-Cooper and his knife, which was flailing rather dramatically.“And you must be rich yourself,” she said to him, kneeling to let Cerberus have a turn at her fingers.“Nonsense,” replied Astley-Cooper.“Whatever gave you that idea?”“Well, this house and all.”Astley-Cooper looked immediately depressed.“This house,” he said, “would be a drain on anyone’s resources.It’s no wonder I haven’t any money left.It’s a miracle the bloody thing is still standing.‘Built to last,’ indeed!” He snorted.“You’ve missed a bit,” said Bethancourt, pointing at the filet.“Ah, yes.” Astley-Cooper attacked the offending piece of ham, which seemed to restore his good cheer.“Getting back to Eve Bingham,” said Bethancourt, “is she seeing anyone, do you know, Marla?”“Three or four that I’ve heard of.”“But no one serious? Not contemplating marriage or anything of that sort?”“Goodness, no.She spreads her favors around where it amuses her, that’s all.So far as I’ve heard, no one’s managed to amuse her for very long.”“Running with the wrong crowd,” remarked Astley-Cooper.“What people like that need is stability—oh, dear.”“What is it?” asked Bethancourt, moving forward.Astley-Cooper had stepped back from the counter and was gazing dolefully at his creation.“They say to reshape the filet, but it won’t reshape; it’s gaping.”Gaping, Bethancourt thought, described it very well.“String,” he said succinctly.“What a marvelous idea.I wonder where Mrs.Cummins keeps it.”This involved a rummaging through all the kitchen drawers, which were numerous.Bethancourt, glancing at his watch, decided that dinner could not possibly be ready before half ten, and was thankful that he had bought three bottles of wine.He poured himself another glass.It was Marla who eventually found the string.Astley-Cooper cut off about four yards and proceeded to tie up the meat in as many directions as possible.Bethancourt, amazed, hovered nearby to watch.“There!” exclaimed Astley-Cooper, surveying his handiwork.“Now, we’ll just pop it in the oven for exactly …” he consulted his cookbook, “twelve minutes.It says to baste frequently.Phillip, can you take care of that while I just roll out this pastry dough? There’s some beef stock in the refrigerator.”Bethancourt basted while Astley-Cooper exuberantly covered the counter in flour and began to roll out the dough.Once he glanced suspiciously at Bethancourt, who had sat down at the table and was lighting a cigarette.“It says to baste frequently, Phillip,” he said reproachfully.“Frequently does not mean constantly,” retorted Bethancourt.“Really, Clarence, if I don’t leave it alone part of the time, it’ll never cook properly.”“Yes, well, there is that, I suppose.” Astley-Cooper flourished his rolling pin.“So,” he said, rolling industriously, “why all the questions about Eve Bingham? Do you think she murdered her father?”“I don’t know,” replied Bethancourt equably.“Phillip,” said Marla sharply, “you can’t possibly think—why, he was her only family, for God’s sake.”“By her own admission, she barely knew him,” said Bethancourt.“That doesn’t mean she killed him.”“No, it doesn’t.I didn’t say that it did.” He rose.“Twelve minutes are up.”“Perfect timing,” said Astley-Cooper.“I’ve just finished the dough.My, doesn’t it look lovely.Now, all we need do is slap a layer of foie gras over the filet and pop it into the dough.”“Um,” said Bethancourt diffidently, “don’t you think we’d better take the string off first?”“Oh, yes—I’d forgotten it.”It took several minutes of silent struggle to remove the vast web of string, but at last it was done, with only minimal damage to the filet, and Astley-Copper and Bethancourt began coating it with the pate.“I say,” said Astley-Cooper after a moment, “it doesn’t stick very well, does it?”“It’s supposed to be a thin layer,” replied Bethancourt, doggedly spreading.“I think we just have to go more carefully.”Careful was not a term descriptive of Astley-Cooper’s method of cookery.It was quite some time before the filet was appropriately coated.They shifted it over to where the dough lay, and Astley-Cooper began folding the pastry around it and muttering to himself.“Phillip,” whispered Marla, “what about things to go with? Vegetables, I mean.”“He’s probably forgotten,” Bethancourt whispered back.“I’ll try and bring it up tactfully once the thing’s in the oven.”Marla nodded.“I’m awfully hungry,” she said wistfully.“Have some more wine.”“Phillip,” called Astley-Cooper, “do you think you could help with this? It doesn’t seem to be going awfully well.”Bethancourt sighed.“I know absolutely nothing about wrapping beef in pastry,” he said.“Well, neither do I,” retorted Astley-Cooper.Bethancourt went to help.“Perhaps,” he said, picking gingerly at the dough, “Marla should start on the vegetables or whatever while we’re working on this.”“Oh, Lord,” said Astley-Cooper.“I always forget [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]