Free The Wilt Inheritance by Tom Sharpe Page A

one after an operation and wouldn’t wish the experience of the procedure on anyone, even Uncle Harold, miserable old bugger that he was. He decided to move the conversation on to a more pleasant subject.
    ‘By the way, I’ve found an excellent cook,’ he said. ‘She’s been here since Friday, and by God she’s prettyspecial! Her name is Philomena Jones but she doesn’t mind being called Philly. What she can do with a goose is quite remarkable …’
    Lady Clarissa tried to think what one could do with a goose other than roast it. She couldn’t see it being fried or boiled.
    ‘First she smears it with bacon fat and butter. She calls that “schmatzing it”. Then she stuffs it with pâté de foie gras and blood pudding and … oh, yes, I forgot. She cuts the head and neck off first then puts them back just before she serves it up. She’s extremely artistic. For pudding last night there was a choice of zabaglione or plum duff, followed by Limburger cheese the like of which I’ve never tasted before.’
    ‘I can well imagine. I had some once and found it absolutely revolting. Just the smell was enough to put me off the stuff for life,’ said Lady Clarissa with a shudder.
    ‘I suppose it’s an acquired taste, but I can tell you that I’ve never dined and lunched so well in my life as I have over the course of this weekend. Goose, duck, partridge, pheasant … you name it, Philly can cook the lot. Of course, she varies the stuffing. She’s been mixing fried snails with garlic and …’
    ‘Hold it there. Just tell me where she gets the snails from. I hope they come in a tin?’
    ‘Great heavens, no. She goes into the kitchen garden and collects them. Eating off the land and all that. Philly’s a forager, Clarissa. And damned good at itshe is, too. Yesterday we had stuffed breast of hedgehog for an hors d’oeuvre. She’d baked it in clay to remove the prickles, of course. Utterly delicious.’
    ‘And doubtless extremely healthy,’ said Clarissa sarcastically. ‘In other words, I’ve only to leave you here alone for a couple of days and you completely ignore the cardiologist’s strict instructions not to eat vast quantities of fat and to stick to chicken and fish as much as possible. Instead I come home and find you indulging yourself in a positively lethal diet of goose stuffed with foie gras and black pudding, not to mention the other disgusting ingredients. And where on earth did you find this Myra Hindley of a cook?’
    Sir George smiled.
    ‘As a matter of fact, in court. She was sentenced to a month’s community service for poaching. So to save money I took her on here to do her community service, which means she’s extraordinarily cheap. Actually she costs nothing except for what she eats herself. I mean, I give her bed and board. That way I get to eat magnificently and we save money into the bargain.’
    ‘Perfect,’ said Clarissa. ‘Just tell me one other thing before you drop dead. Is this woman Philomena Jones a gypsy?’
    Sir George hesitated for a moment.
    ‘Do you know, I hadn’t thought of that,’ he said finally. ‘She certainly lives nearby and the man sheusually lives with has been sentenced to six months for something or other. I think it was causing bodily harm to a gamekeeper. Had I known his wife, if that’s what she is, was such an excellent cook, I’d have used my influence to see the court gave him a much longer sentence.’
    ‘Brilliant! Utterly brilliant. No wonder she wants you dead,’ said Clarissa, staring out of the window while considering what to do about this. She did not want to become a widow again. Not just yet. On the other hand, she had no intention of sharing her husband’s notion of gourmet cuisine. Garden snails and hedgehogs were … she tried to think of an adequate description and failed. Instead she tried another tack.
    ‘Am I wrong in thinking this creature is fat?’
    ‘As a butterball,’ said Sir George. ‘Whatever a butterball