Back Famine
Chapters (35)
  1. Cover
  2. Famine
  3. Copyright
  4. Contents
  5. Dedication
  6. Book One
  7. One
  8. Two
  9. Three
  10. Four
  11. Five
  12. Six
  13. Seven
  14. Eight
  15. Nine
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Book Two
  20. One
  21. Two
  22. Three
  23. Four
  24. Five
  25. Six
  26. Seven
  27. Eight
  28. Nine
  29. Ten
  30. Eleven
  31. Twelve
  32. Thirteen
  33. Fourteen
  34. About the author
  35. An Invitation from the Publisher

A chubby, intent-looking man on the television was holding up a pack of indigestion tablets, and saying: ‘Acid indigestion? Over-eating? There’s only one sure way to feel better fast.’

How right you are, thought Karen. All you have to do is let the worst crop blight in America’s history run riot – just long enough to gather in as much money as you possibly can from a spurious help-the-farmers appeal fund. That’s the sure way to cut out over-eating, particularly other people’s, and that’s certainly the way to feel better fast.

She felt strangely confused emotions about Shearson Jones this afternoon. Last night, once everybody had showered and changed into formals, the staff of Lake Vista had laid on the kind of meal that Karen would have classified as a banquet, but which Shearson had simply dismissed as ‘supper.’ They had started off with soft-shelled crabs on toast, followed by chicken croquettes, lamb cutlets with tartare sauce, beef tongue in aspic, salads, fresh fruits, ices, cheeses, and liqueurs. She had watched in sheer amazement as Shearson Jones crammed his mouth with course after course, swilling his food down with mouthfuls of vintage French wines, and only a gentle kick under the table from Peter Kaiser had reminded her not to stare too intently at her host’s gastronomic enormities.

Early this morning, wandering around the house on her own, she had asked one of the Muldoon brothers, as innocently as she could, if Lake Vista was stocked with sufficient food to see them through a period of shortage. The brother had grinned and taken her on a tour of the kitchens, where two Chinese chefs were kept constantly busy while Shearson was in residence. He had taken her, too, to the cold store, where beef and lamb and venison carcasses hung in hundreds; and to the wine cellars, which had been excavated almost a hundred and fifty feet into the rock.

‘We could live here for six months without ever going to a market once,’ said the Muldoon brother. ‘Even if we had the senator here, eating his usual five meals a day.’