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?'
Fergus pointed a breadstick at Vanessa. 'The purpose of study should be to increase knowledge, but the purpose of the study of sex has been to limit knowledge by creating sexual zones which are considered abnormal and perverse, and therefore forbidden. People used to believe the earth was flat and prophesied doom and destruction for anyone who tried to sail over the horizon. But look what happened when they did - a whole new world opened up. Well, I believe there's a whole new sexual world out there if we but dare to explore it. You know what they say, Miss Swift.' Vanessa found herself forced to look into his eyes again. 'Travel broadens the mind.'
Fergus grinned evilly and snapped the bread stick in half.
Vanessa toyed with the stem of her wine glass. She felt totally disconcerted and what was worse, he knew it. She was grat
eful for the arrival of Gianni with her avocado and a large plate of spaghetti for Fergus.
'Would the Signorina like a little pepper?' Gianni asked, flourishing a wooden pepper mill over a foot long.
Vanessa waved him away.
'Now take that pepper mill,' Fergus said. 'It is an archetypal phallic symbol, but why do they have such large ones in Italian restaurants?'
'It is because it prevents us having to refill them too often, Dr Archibald,' Gianni explained patiently, as he grated pepper over the spaghetti.
'There you have it!' said Fergus slapping the table. 'A collective national fantasy. Not only is the phallus gigantic, but it is also perpetually fecund so it can pump out its seed without pause!'
Gianni put the pepper mill down on the next table as though it had scalded him, and scampered off to the safety of the kitchen.
Vanessa tried to suppress a smile at the little head waiter's discomfiture and dug into her avocado, but her smile turned into a grimace. The pear was under-ripe and the vinaigrette too sharp. She pushed it away and watched Fergus, who was totally absorbed in the task of eating.
He attacked his spaghetti with a speed and lack of inhibition which astonished her. Bending down so that his face nearly touched the plate, he sucked the wriggling strands of pasta through fleshy lips shiny with orange sauce, seeming only to pause for breath when the great mound on his plate had gone. He then mopped up the last traces of sauce with the remains of a bread roll, and popped it into his mouth.
Ignoring Vanessa's glass, he emptied the remnants of the carafe into his own, and then held it aloft and roared: 'Gianni!'
Gianni came running, another carafe already in his hand. He cleared the table.
Fergus unwrapped another bread stick. 'What kind of programme are you proposing to make. A documentary?'
'Not exactly,' replied Vanessa. 'I was thinking along the lines of an audience participation programme.'
Fergus looked thoughtful.
He pointed the remains of the bread stick at Vanessa. 'And can you give me one good reason why I should help you? You media people are arrogant buggers. Not all of us are prepared to sell our soul to get our arses on the box.'
Vanessa's eyes narrowed, but she kept her voice light. She sensed she had him interested. Everything always came down to a question of price. 'It's difficult to say at this stage of a project how much, if any, remuneration might be entailed. Your involvement in the project would depend to what extent we used your research, if at all.'
'What you mean is, that you hope you can buy my ideas for the price of dinner, as I am assuming you are picking up the bill for this evening, and then you will pass them off as your own. Isn't that how it's done?'
He held up his hand as Vanessa started to protest.
'God didn't grant you a monopoly on wits just because you live in London. you metropolitan folk look down on the provinces and on the people who live there, but not all of us have cabbages for brains. If you want my ideas, you're going to have to pay for them, my girl, but before we discuss that, I like to be able to trust the people I work with, so why don't we get to know each other a little better?' He grinned libidinously, as he refilled her wine glass.
Vanessa lowered her eyes to hide her triumph. He was hooked! All she had to do was play along with his ridiculous little charade and she would have him eating out of her hand.
Just at that moment, Gianni rattled over with a trolley and began serving their main course. The bowl of chips he placed in front of Fergus was enough to feed four people.
Claret-coloured blood oozed over Fergus's plate as he cut into his steak. He popped a large chunk of meat into his mouth and munched contentedly, as Vanessa toyed with a limp lettuce leaf.
'You don't appear to have much of an appetite,' said Fergus, pointing his fork which had another large chunk skewered on it, at Vanessa. 'Food is like sex, you should learn to savour the texture as well as the taste.'
He popped the steak in his mouth, reached for his glass, and held it up to his nose. He sniffed, his eyes half-closed.
'And you must never forget the power of smell,' he said, talking with his mouth full. Vanessa looked away. 'It is our most under-rated sense, and yet it can be the most provocative.'
He opened his eyes and Vanessa felt drawn to meet his gaze once again even though it was against her better instincts. He really did have the most oddly compelling eyes.
'Have you ever wondered why the yeasty smell of freshly baked bread sends people into orgasms of desire, and I use the term orgasm deliberately? Champagne has the same effect. They both give off that same, evocative, yeasty fragrance as our bodily secretions do at the height of sexual excitement.'
To her consternation, Vanessa felt her cheeks growing pink. She buttered a roll, trying to regain her composure.
Fergus sensed her discomfiture and grinned. 'Ah, Miss Swift, I think that you, like most of the population of these repressed islands, have never truly explored the outer shores of your senses. We think our eyes tell us all we need to know: that this one has long legs and blonde hair, or that one has broad shoulders and slim hips, ergo we are attracted to them. But if you close your eyes and allow pheromones to do the talking, your sex life would never disappoint you.'
Vanessa bridled. 'Not that it is of any concern of yours, Dr Archibald, but my sex life has never been disappointing. And as to your absurd theory, any of our senses can be led astray, even our noses, which is why so many people can be led by them.' Vanessa indicated the scrawny chicken on her plate. 'Rather like this meal, it is my experience that most people promise a damn sight more than they can deliver.'
Fergus speared a large forkful of chips and popped them into his mouth. 'I think your problem, Miss Swift,' he said chewing, 'is that you have been going to the wrong restaurants.'
Vanessa picked up the chicken and with a twist, pulled it apart. She had no intention of discussing her sex life with this man. Holding the chicken leg in her fingers, she began to tear at its flesh with her small, even white teeth.
Fergus watched approvingly. 'The Greeks have a saying: for fish, chicken and women use your fingers.'
'And do they add: and for steak and men use a sharp knife?' Vanessa retorted.
Fergus threw back his had and laughed. 'Miss Swift, I think we may get along, after all.'
He topped up their glasses. They had nearly finished another carafe of wine.
Vanessa licked her fingers and picked up her glass. She was beginning to feel quite heady. 'I'm curious to know how you carried out your research. For instance, how big was your sample?' she asked.
'Large enough. I conducted most of the interviews myself, especially the women,' replied Fergus.
'And do you think - and I stress this is purely a hypothetical question at this stage - that people would be prepared not only to talk about their intimate sexual fantasies on television, but also take part in some form of enactment?'
Fergus raised a quizzical eyebrow at her and then crooked his index finger at Gianni who was hovering nearby. 'I'd like a large piece of the Black Forest Gateau you claim is home-made, and don't be stingy with the cream.'
Gianni looked at Vanessa, 'And for the Signorina?'
'Just coffee for me. A large espresso.'
'And two large brandies, Gianni,' Fergus called after the waiter's retreating back.
He turned to Vanessa. 'One of the key elements in sexual fantasy is exhibitionism. Fantasies are largely about that which is forbidden, so, by performing a sexual act in a public place, thereby risking discovery, or by deliberately performing in public, the sexual fantasy is given added excitement. Most people crave excitement, Miss Swift, but few dare to take risks except in their fantasies. So in answer to your question, yes, I do think you will find people who are willing to perform for you so the rest of us can become voyeurs - it's another popular fantasy.'
Gianni placed a mountainous piece of Black Forest Gateau, barely visible under a layer of thick cream, in front of Fergus, and
gave Vanessa her coffee.
Fergus spooned a large piece of cake into his mouth, closing his eyes with pleasure. Then he opened them and looked at Vanessa.
'Tell me, Miss Swift, have you ever made love in a public place?'
The coffee burnt Vanessa's mouth. She coughed, shaking her head.
Fergus swirled the brandy around the bottom of its balloon glass. 'You know, I've often thought of a brandy glass as being rather like the womb,' he said, as his large square hands closed round the glass, caressing its contours. 'It needs warming up to release its true taste and fragrance.'
He ran a stubby finger around the rim of the glass. Vanessa watched, fascinated despite herself. 'Its shape is voluptuous but the entrance is smaller than the body of the glass, and it seems to close around your face before you feel that golden liquid trickling down your throat.'
He drank deeply. 'The perfect climax to a good meal.'
His eyes caught hers and held them for a long moment.
To Vanessa's intense irritation, she felt a powerful surge of heat between her thighs. She gulped some more coffee, suppressing the desire to groan. She had to remain in control of the situation so that Fergus would think that he was getting what he wanted. She sipped her brandy and watched him.
He was noisily scraping his plate as he finished the last few mouthfuls of his Black Forest Gateau. When the plate was completely clean, he used his hand like a cat's paw to wipe his beard, removing traces of the meal.
The restaurant was now empty apart from them, even though it was only half-past ten. Gianni and the other waiters were loudly and visibly clearing up, occasionally glancing pointedly in their direction.
Fergus placed both his elbows on the table and leaned forward. Vanessa followed suit. Their faces were only inches apart.
'I was thinking, Miss Swift, that you might be interested in a little role-playing to test my theory about exhibitionism. I have the feeling you're the kind of woman who needs her palate tempted by more adventurous dishes.'
Vanessa parted her lips slightly, moistening them with her tongue. Reaching across the table she lightly caressed his hand with a long finger.
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