'Linda will call for coffee,' said Birdie. 'She certainly doesn't have to fetch it herself. I'm sure that the students in the pastry kitchen can spare a few minutes to bring it over.' Linda nodded timidly and went to the wall phone near the door. 'We will all sit down now. Verger? What is it you have to tell us?'
Verger walked to the head of the table with impressive slowness. The five kitchen chefs sat stiffly in their chairs. Chef Jean Paul pulled mournfully on his mustache. Quill sank back into her seat, between Birdie and Bea. Verger thrust his chair aside and, standing, grasped the edge of the table with both hands. 'The Wall Street Journal will announce today that Taylor Incorporated has acquired the property at one Sea View Drive in Palm Beach County, formerly known as the Florida Institute for Fine Food. As of next week, I want you all out of here.' He glared at Linda. 'Especially you, cookie. You I want out of here today. The way you maintain this place, I'm amazed it hasn't fallen around my ears.'
The assembled group looked at him like frozen rabbits. Franklin snapped his gum, apparently in mild distress. The sound was profoundly irritating. There was a small, dismayed gasp - from Linda Longstreet, Quill thought - but no more reaction than that. Of course, it wouldn't have come as a surprise; the altercation between Tiffany and Verger at Le Nozze had hit the six o'clock news; since then, the town had been rife with rumor.
'I'm calling a press conference later in the day to go : into the specifics.' He grinned. Quill told herself his teeth were not pointed; it was merely an illusion of the light. 'But if anyone here in this room objects, I want to tell you this. A lot of people have tried to take me down before.' He lowered his head, thrust out his jaw, and repeated in a stagy rumble, 'Yes, they've tried to kill me.' There was a kind of swell around the table as if some mammoth Moby-Dick were about to rise from beneath an ominously still ocean.
'You don't mean that, Verger,' Birdie said.
Taylor raised his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. 'You don't believe it. Sure. I can read you. Don't think I can't. You think I would have come as far as I have if I couldn't read you all like a book? Hunh!' He made a sound that managed to be expressive of contempt, lofty amusement, and menace all at once. 'Yep-per,' he said cockily. 'They tried to beat me. Bankrupt me. Run me out of town. Me! I don't take this kind of bulls hit lightly, ladies and gentlemen. Not from the press, not from my so-called colleagues in banking. Not from the goddamned Supreme Court of the United States of America. Not from...' He rolled his eye upward. 'Anyone.'
'Do get to the point, Verger,' Birdie said tartly. 'What are you planning on doing with these buildings?
'Miss Quilliam'll tell you that. I just wanted you to know - you don't like it - you can lump it. I just wanted you to know.'
'Verg?' Ernst Kolsacker looked at his watch. 'The helicopter's on its way. The freeway's backed up again, and you'll miss the Concorde if you don't fly to the airport.' He looked mildly exasperated. 'I told you Miss Quilliam had agreed to take care of this.'
'You wanna see something done right, you do it yourself, Ernst.' His eyes swept the room in a menacing way. 'You all got what I just said. You listen to this broadie here and take it like troopers. Quill? You stay here and take care of any questions. 'Kay? All right?'
He turned to Franklin Carmichael and said 'Frank? We got all this covered?' Franklin jumped, slapped his hand against his breast pocket, found it empty of a cigarette pack, and pulled out another piece of nicotine gum from his pants pocket. He popped the foil packet, tossed the small square into his mouth, and began to chew.
Verger clapped his hand heavily on Franklin's shoulder. 'Good man!' He thrust his thumb up in triumphant farewell. He turned and went through the door, Franklin Carmichael in his wake like an obedient tug. Ernst Kolsacker stood aside and closed it softly after them. He then pulled up the chair Taylor had dragged away from the table and sat down. There was a brief hesitation, then a babble of noise broke out.
Linda's face was pale. 'He's going to evict us.'
Quill nodded, tremendously relieved not to have to actually say it.
'He dares?' Chef Jean Paul rose to his feet with a shriek. 'This pig. This swine! This vache stupide has bought my kitchens! And he does not want me to cook? Quel imbecile!' He shot a nervous glance at Ernst and hastily sat down.
'What in the world for!' Linda wailed. 'Why? Why? We knew about the sale of the building, of course. Everyone did after that scene in Le Nozze. But to fire us all? Why, what in the name of goodness is he going to do with all the equipment?'
They all looked at her. Quill rubbed the back of her neck. She coughed slightly. Ernst Kolsacker was looking at her with a slight smile. She sent him an appealing glance and the smile broadened. Not for the first time since she had come to Florida, Quill felt she was a pawn in some lunatic chess game. She got to her feet. 'I want to assure you that Mr. Taylor - ' she began. She cleared her throat. 'Mr. Taylor has apparently purchased just the institute's buildings. Not,' she said hastily, 'the program or anything like that. The Florida Institute for Fine Food is still a... a... viable entity.' Two of the kitchen chefs eased back into their seats. Heartened, Quill continued, 'You don't exist because of this building. This building exists because of you.' Without realizing it, she held up her hand for silence. It seemed to work. The outbreak of noise quieted. 'I've been thinking about it. You clearly have a wonderful place here, with loyal staff and dedicated students, and why can't your board of directors find another facility-maybe even nicer than this one - where you can all run the program in peace?' She sat down, slightly breathless.
'Do you know how much a facility like this costs, Miss Quilliam?' asked Birdie coolly. 'It's a nice idea, but really, dear. This is a four-or five-million-dollar plant at least.'
'But it's profitable, Birdie.' Bea looked alert. 'And I must say, it would be nice to have a little more control over things.'
'But what is he going to do with this building?' shouted the manage a gare.
'Well, um...' Quill looked again at Ernst Kolsacker. He shook his head sympathetically. 'He's going to bring the Southern Fried people in. In sort of a training center.'
'Fried food!' shrieked the salad chef. 'Fast fried food?'
'I will not give up my kitchen to such. Me? Non!' roared Chef Jean Paul. 'I will kill this son of a sea cock. This bastard. This canaille.'
'You don't think. Birdie and Bea, that we could find another building for everyone?' Quill said. 'I mean, it's profitable, surely?' She raised her eyebrows at Linda Longstreet.
'Profitable,' said Linda. 'Well.' She twisted a piece of tissue her hands and bit her lip. 'On a month-to-month basis it's profitable, yes. But overall...'
