The Count From Wisconsin Read Online Free Page B

doesn't count. Continue, Henri."
    The nervous young man looked at Kate, then shifted his gaze to the stars as though asking for divine intervention and continued as ordered. "He is kind to children. He hardly ever"—he swallowed noisily—"kick old females or dogs and"—his expression was pained as he finished in a constricted voice—"he has not chop up anyone since the doctors have change dhis medication."
    By the end of Henri's incredible speech, Kate had to hold on to the wall to keep herself upright. She watched through tears of laughter as the "monsieur" shooed away the young man with a careless "That was fine, Henri," before turning to Kate. "Now will you let me feed you?"
    "I have to admit I'm curious," she said, trying to catch her breath. "Promise you'll tell me all about the time in jail that doesn't count," she added as she moved through the door with a confidence that most certainly would have been shaken had she seen the gleam in her companion's dark eyes as he followed her.
    "You won't regret it," he said as they walked down a dark hall. "They like me in the kitchen."
    He began to whistle and the sound echoed in the dim hallway. Kate was just beginning to wonder if they actually were going to the dungeon when he opened another door and they walked into a huge, brightly lit kitchen.
    The room seemed to be filled with bustling, people. Two women arranged food on large silver trays; several men carried huge stainless-steel bowls from a walk-in refrigerator. Tall metal pots as big as milk cans sat on the stove.
    The wonderful smells pervading every corner of the room caused Kate's stomach to resume its unhappy protestations. She looked up at the man beside her and said longingly, "You distract them and I'll grab a tray."
    He laughed. "That won't be necessary. Just come with me."
    Kate followed close behind as he moved across the room, then slowed warily when he stopped beside a small man who was in the process of rapping a wooden spoon across the knuckles of a very large man arranging food on one of the trays.
    The small, dark chef was wrapped in a voluminous apron and wore a white beret-type cap on his dark head. When he turned to scowl impatiently at the intruders in his kitchen, Kate quickly hid her hands behind her back, then glanced up at the man beside her.
    "Moustafa, wonderful Moustafa," he said in a humble voice. "May we have some food? Just a crumb to hold off starvation? Something you had Intended to throw away?"
    "Food!" the small man exploded, his accent one Kate didn't recognize. "It's not enough that I prepare food of the gods to throw to unappreciative pigs, now you want I should watch the pigs eat?"
    The string of expletives that came next could only have been a mixture of every language known to man, and Kate's mouth dropped open in wonder at his proficiency.
    She leaned close to her new friend. "They like you in the kitchen, huh?"
    He laughed, then continued to cajole the small, volatile chef. "But you won't have to watch us, Moose. We'll sit quietly in the pantry and I swear youll never know we're there."
    "Take it! Take It all," the little man fussed. "Here . . . here, would you like my watch and ring also?"
    Kate's companion picked up a small platter and began to fill it with an assortment of the food that key before them. Five minutes later they sat on a sturdy wooden table in the roomy pantry, their feet swinging beneath them as they dined on crab legs and caviar, sweetbreads and souffle ... what he called "a gentle sufficiency."
    With a glass of wine In one hand and a piece of exquisitely tender crab meat in the other, she made an inarticulate sound of pleasure; then, after removing a drop of wine from her lower lip with the back of her index finger, she turned to the man beside her.
    "Moose?" she said Incredulously, then started to giggle as she repeated, "Moose?"
    He swallowed a mouthful of cheese unsteadily, punching her gently in punishment as his choking laughter increased her