Acquired Tastes (11 page)

'Such a good turn out tonight.' Zelda indicated the room with her glass. 'You should come to St Ethelred's more often, Vanessa dear, we do so
adore
having distinguished guests like yourself to dinner.'

Vanessa smiled frostily and drank down half of her whisky.

Alicia checked her watch. It was getting awfully late, if only Fergus would arrive. She began to debate with herself as to whether she should go and phone him, he could be very forgetful at times.

She turned to let Vanessa know she was going to use the phone in the bursar’s office, but before she could speak, there was a loud crash and the room fell silent.

'Who the hell put that table there? Damn fool place to put a table, if you ask me. Shirley, a large whisky and none of your short measure nonsense.'

The crowd in front of Alicia and Vanessa parted like the Red Sea as every head craned to see what was going on. Vanessa glimpsed a barrel-chested man with a head of wild, rust-red curls and a beard to match, trying to disentangle himself from a side table he had knocked over. He appeared to be unable to perform the simple task of lifting his leg up and out from between the cross bars, and instead was dragging the table along with him as he walked.

'Drunk again,' Zelda said loudly, so that it would carry. 'I know he's your friend, Alicia dear, but he really is the limit. He ought to be banned from polite society.'

There was a murmur of agreement.

Alicia's cheeks burned. 'I'm sure it was just an accident,' she protested faintly. 'It's so crowded in here, perhaps he didn't see …'

Fergus finally managed to get his leg free and gave the table one last kick, which sent it careening across the room, causing several people to jump out of the way.

'Goal!' he roared and then drew himself up to his full height, which was about five-feet, six inches, and hitched his rather shabby corduroy trousers up around his sizeable waist. They immediately slipped down again, so that the crotch was only six inches above his knees.

Winter and summer, Fergus had never been seen wearing anything else but these trousers and a navy blue Aran sweater that was beginning to unravel at the wrists. Together with his weather-beaten skin, which made it impossible to guess his age - it could have been anything between thirty-five and fifty-five - they gave him the air of the captain of some rusting tramp ship.

That impression was further emphasised by his unsteady rolling gait as he walked across to the drinks table, where Shirley was holding out a tumbler full of neat whisky with a smile that transformed her face.

He grinned at her and downed the glass in one. 'Another one of those, my little darling, and I'll be right as rain.'

His voice was deep and resonant with a slight Scottish burr. Holding his refilled glass, he turned and surveyed the room. 'What are you all looking at? I could sue for industrial injuries caused by that table.'

Heads turned away and conversations started up again.

Fergus spotted Alicia and raised his glass in salute. 'There you are my pretty. Now where's this poncey media woman you want me to meet?'

Vanessa felt an unfamiliar prickle of apprehension. She was used to men looking at her lustfully, as though they’d like to eat her, but the wolfish yellow-brown eyes narrowly inspecting her had a sharpness that suggested Fergus was not quite as drunk as he wanted his audience to believe, and that when it came to eating, his appetite was not only voracious, but distinctly carnal.

'You're a bit of a spindle-shanks. I like my women with meat on their bones, like Alicia here,' Fergus declared in loud, jovial voice, putting his arm around Alicia's waist and giving her a squeeze.

Alicia blushed deep rose-red and gave him an embarrassed but adoring smile, but it was lost on Fergus. His eyes continued to hold Vanessa's.

'Still, you're probably built for speed rather than comfort as my old mum used to say.'

Fergus downed his whisky in one gulp and gave Alicia a resounding kiss on the cheek.

Vanessa drew herself up to her full height, which in heels was nearly five inches taller than Fergus. His provincial cave-man attempts at charm might work on someone as unsophisticated as Alicia, but they were wasted on her.

'It's a pity your old mother didn't teach you manners as well as clichés,' she said caustically. She turned to Alicia, who was rather ineffectually trying to extricate herself from Fergus's grasp. 'Alicia, I thought you had better taste than this …
drunk.'

Fergus gave a bark of laughter. 'Another puritan. And here was me thinking it was only universities that were full of small-minded people.'

At this, all the Senior Common Room faces that had been staring in their direction looked away.

'Fergus … Vanessa … Please … ' Alicia pleaded, looking helplessly from one to the other.

'I haven't come all this way to bandy words with an inebriated Scot.' Vanessa managed to make the word 'Scot' sound like an insult. She nodded curtly at Alicia, and then turning on her considerably high heels, stalked out of the room, her nostrils flaring.

Fifty pairs of interested eyes followed her to the door, and then swivelled back to Fergus and Alicia.

Alicia fumbled for a handkerchief and blew her nose. This wasn't what she had planned at all. 'I'm not really meant to tell you this,' she gulped, 'but Vanessa has only come to Heartlands to meet you. I told her about your research and she thought it might make the basis for some sort of television programme. Now she will probably abandon the idea and go straight back to London.'

Fergus straightened up, instantly alert. He patted Alicia's shoulder. 'There, there my pet, I'm sure there's no real harm done. Run after her and bring her back. I'll behave myself, I promise.'

Alicia gave him a watery smile. 'You promise?'

'Cross my heart and hope to die,' Fergus squeezed her hand. 'Now, off you go.'

Alicia gave him another grateful smile and trotted off after Vanessa.

Fergus watched her go, shaking his head. How could such innocence be contained inside such a voluptuous body? It was almost too much for a man to bear.

At first, he thought it was a ploy. He had met many a professional virgin among the ranks of academic women, and he had always found that all they needed was a bit of encouragement to shed their inhibitions, but not Alicia. Her innocence was not an artful ploy, it was the innocence of the unawakened - the classic Sleeping Beauty in psycho-sexual terms - and that was what made stalking her so interesting. True, it was taking a little longer than he expected because Alicia scared easily, but there were plenty of gratifying energetic young undergraduates around who were willing to help him with the practical side of his research into sexual fantasies, and keep him amused while he waited.

But once the term had ended and the long summer months stretched ahead, he intended to make his move. He considered Alicia as his vacation project, to be accomplished at his leisure.

Alicia was breathless by the time she caught up with Vanessa's long-legged stride, and plucked at her sleeve to slow her down. 'Vanessa,
please
… I know Fergus can be difficult and he was a little drunk, but…'

'A little!' Vanessa stopped and wheeled round to face Alicia. 'How could you have anything to do with such a hideous little man, Alicia? I would have credited you with more sense.'

'But you don't understand. Underneath all that bravado Fergus is really very sensitive. It's just that he's a…' Alicia searched for the right words, 'a bit of a free spirit. If only you'd take the time to get to know him …'

'Nothing could ever possibly alter my attitude to that man. I think its best I pack my bags and go back to London.' Vanessa started walking again.

'But what about your programme?' Alicia called after her, 'I thought you had a deadline.'

Vanessa hesitated. Philip would be furious and quite likely to fire her on the spot if she didn't come back with something. She thought quickly. Fergus was only some third-rate academic. If she dangled the promise of television exposure in front of him, he would be down on his hands and knees, simply begging to do her bidding. He was a man after all, and she knew how to handle them.

'At least
talk
to Fergus. How could that hurt?' Alicia pleaded, spurred on by Vanessa's silence.

Vanessa turned, only to find Fergus standing behind Alicia, the expression in his eyes both cocky and amused.

'Have you two girls made it up yet? I've had enough of that lot back there for one evening. Why don't we give High Table a miss and go to that little Ey-tie place on the Green. Is that agreeable to one and all?' He looked from one to the other.

'Why don't just the two of you go?' Alicia suggested eagerly. 'It will give you a chance to get to know each other better.'

Vanessa shrugged her shoulders; she did not want to show too willing. 'If you insist.'

Fergus patted Alicia on her behind. 'Run along with you then. I'll deliver your friend back to you at the end of the evening safe and sound, Scout's honour.'

He turned to speak to Vanessa but she had already strode off, her head held in such a way as to forbid further conversation. Fergus fell into step beside her.

You could tell a lot from the way a woman walked, he had found, far more than from the way she dressed. Some women walked with their breasts thrust in front of them, suggesting a womanly confidence in their sexuality, others walked from the hips, with a pelvic sway that promised a certain athletic sexuality. With Vanessa, the eye was drawn down to her spiky three-inch heels. Some women teetered girlishly on heels, their precariousness a signal they would not run far if chased. But Vanessa's heels struck the ground like weapons, and far from suggesting a quick surrender, they seemed to issue a challenge.

Fergus grinned to himself. There was nothing he liked more.

He was still smiling happily as they reached the restaurant. With an exaggerated flourish, he held the door open and ushered Vanessa inside.

The
O Sole Mio
Trattoria was an Italian restaurant left over from the Sixties. White stuccoed walls festooned with empty Chianti bottles, a large, yellowing, panoramic view of Naples, antiquated photographs of Italian football teams wearing knee-length baggy shorts and tinny musak strangling an operatic aria.

Gianni, the owner, greeted them effusively, and showed them to a dimly-lit table at the back of the restaurant. With a knowing wink at Fergus, he lit a candle inside a red glass container. He then picked up a napkin and with a great flourish, shook it out of its folds and tried to arrange it on Vanessa's lap. She pulled it from his hand and shooed him away. He backed off with a little bow.

Fergus reached for a bread stick. 'A carafe of your house red to start, Gianni,' he commanded, and then leaned across the table and pointed the bread stick at Vanessa. 'The wine list is a middle-class rite which serves to keep the working-class in their place, and excludes women from making choices. Ever seen a waiter willingly offer a wine list to a woman?'

'You, on the other hand always offer women a choice, I notice.'

Fergus looked puzzled for a moment and then roared with laughter and slapped the table. 'Quick, aren't you? I like that in a woman.'

Then, to Vanessa's astonishment, he pushed back his chair and went down on one knee. He held his hands clasped together as though in prayer.

'Miss Swift, I hereby beg your forgiveness. The wine cellars are yours to command, just tell me what you desire.'

Gianni rushed over with his arms in the air. 'Dr Archibald, is there something wrong? Have you dropped something?' He got down on his hands and knees beside Fergus and began looking around.

Fergus grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. 'Just bring the damn wine, Gianni, that is…' he looked quizzically at Vanessa, 'if Madam so wishes.'

Vanessa nodded, forcing her lips to form the semblance of a smile. If she had to play along with this embarrassing pantomime she would do it, there was a lot at stake.

Breathing heavily, Fergus struggled back into his chair just as Gianni arrived back with the wine. He poured a mouthful into Fergus's glass and waited for him to taste it, but Fergus gestured at him impatiently to fill the glasses.

Vanessa raised hers with a gracious incline of her head and then sipped. She winced involuntarily.

'Piss awful, isn't it,' Fergus said cheerfully, downing his glass in one, 'but it's better than paying a fancy price for a pretty label. Now, what are we going to eat?'

Vanessa studied the oversized, gold-embossed, mock-leather menu which had been placed in front of her. The lengthy selection suggested an overstocked deep freeze. Fergus closed his with a decisive snap and waved it at a hovering waiter.

'Spaghetti Carbonara to start, and a proper sized serving mind, then steak and chips. Just show mine to the flame, I need some red blood.'

'And for the Signorina?' the waiter asked.

'Avocado vinaigrette followed by the grilled Spring chicken and a green salad, but no cucumber,' Vanessa ordered.

The waiter bowed again and combined the movement with topping up their glasses.

'Now, let's get down to business,' Fergus put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. 'Alicia tells me you're interested in sex.'

Vanessa sipped her wine before replying. 'I wouldn't put it quite that way, Dr Archibald. I merely mentioned to Alicia that I thought your theories were quite interesting and could, and I must emphasise it is only a possibility at the moment,
could
form the basis for a programme I am planning.'

'That's a pity. I'm very interested in sex and they're not theories, I've put them to the test.'

His eyes held hers for a moment. Vanessa looked away. She was uncomfortably aware that sex, her own chosen weapon in situations like these, was being turned against her. She drank some more wine. After a couple of mouthfuls, it began to lose its rough edge.

'Your
theories
seem to challenge most accepted teaching, Dr Archibald. How would you answer the charge that they were merely a recipe for sexual libertinism, rather than a serious psychological study?'