Acquired Tastes

by Simone Mondesir

  He had arranged to meet Gabriella half an hour before Vanessa was due, as he needed to lay careful groundwork. As much as he loved her, Gabriella could be as difficult as Vanessa, so now he had Vanessa onside, he wanted to make sure Gabriella would not be a problem. Two difficult women who both liked doing things their own way would be a lot to handle.

  He had told Gabriella very little about Forbidden Fruit on the telephone. She would never have agreed to come back to England if she had known the series did not as yet have a guaranteed network slot. He had also judiciously avoided explaining that, at this stage, all he had was the finance to make a pilot, not a series. Those sorts of details could be dealt with so much better face to face, and he had a feeling that once she had spent some time in her old London haunts, she would want to stay and therefore be more malleable.

  Philip took a last look at his reflection, straightened his tie, fluffed up his pocket handkerchief, and then plunged into the cool, dark green interior of the restaurant.

  Its discreet entrance, marked only by a small brass plaque, gave no indication that this was a restaurant and this, combined with the formality of the lobby and its ice-cool receptionist, kept casual diners away. It had the ambience of an old-fashioned London men's club, with membership restricted to the chosen few, Philip thought as he appreciatively sniffed the air which was scented with expensive cigars.

  As he was led through to the bar, or the clubroom as the receptionist called it, Philip decided that it was most definitely a dark blue suit and crisp white shirt sort of place. Decorated in an even deeper shade of green than the reception area, the clubroom was furnished with large, comfortable leather chairs, whose high backs and sides allowed discreet conversation. Unlike similar Soho establishments, full of glossy-haired, slim young media folk in unstructured suits, nobody looked up when someone walked in the door to see if they were famous or useful. This place had been designed for people who were both, and their waistlines were thicker and hairlines thinner as a result. Philip felt instantly at home.

  He had only just sat down when Gabriella was ushered in. They would usually have kissed in greeting, but Philip felt this would have been inappropriate in the setting, so he clasped her hand warmly with both of his.

  'Gabriella,' he said in an emotional voice.

  'Philip,' she replied in the deep, husky voice he remembered so well.

  They settled down opposite each other.

  'I hope you don't mind, but I have already ordered them to put their best champagne on ice,' Philip said. 'I thought we needed something fitting to mark what I hope will be the start of another long and happy association.'

  'My darling, you know me. I'd have champagne running from all my taps if I could, it's absolutely my most favourite liquid refreshment.'

  As Gabriella spoke, a waiter arrived with the champagne. They watched in silence as he opened the bottle and filled their glasses.

  Philip held up his glass. 'To the most extraordinary woman I know.'

  'To the success of the new series, may it make both of us very rich,' responded Gabriella, holding up her glass so that the pale, straw-coloured liquid sparkled in the light.

  Whether it was the soft light or skilful makeup or both, Gabriella looked remarkable, thought Philip. By his reckoning, she had to be at least fifty-two at least - maybe even the wrong side of fifty-five - yet her skin was still creamy smooth and even her neck, an area which he knew to his cost, usually betrayed the tell-tale creepy signs of age, seemed unlined. Her mane of hair was a shade or two lighter than the raven black it used to be, and styled so that it came forward in becoming little wisps rather than being swept uncompromisingly back the way she used to wear it. But her large, almost coal black, eyes were still dramatically outlined with kohl, and her lips were still painted her hallmark crimson.

  It was difficult to judge whether her figure had altered as she wore a cleverly-cut, caramel coloured dress, whose swathes of material were draped in such a way as to emphasise her still voluptuous body, and to disguise all but the most serious of figure faults. The dress stopped just short of her knees as she did not need to disguise her legs, which were as shapely as ever.

  Aware that she was under scrutiny, Gabriella took a long gold and jet cigarette holder out of her clutch bag and slotted a Sobranie cigarette into it. A waiter instantly materialised with an ashtray and lighter.

  Gabriella leaned forward to light her cigarette. She inhaled deeply and then looked full into Philip's eyes.

  'Not bad for an old-aged pensioner, am I?' she laughed throatily.

  Philip reddened. He hadn't realised his appraisal was so obvious. In an unconscious gesture, he put his hand up to his thinning hair.

  'It's all down to hormones, Philip darling, you really ought to try them. I have this marvellous doctor in Italy who gives me the most wonderful pills and knows exactly how to treat me,' Gabriella said with a theatrical wink.

  Philip gave her a tight smile. 'I've promised myself I'll let Mother Nature take her course gracefully and leave the pursuit of youth to the young, but it's a promise that gets harder to keep with every passing day.'

  'Mother Nature sucks,' Gabriella said forcefully. 'Who says the young are the only ones who should have fun, it's wasted on them. I don't want youth, I want beauty.'

  'And that, my dearest darling, you have in full measure.' Philip raised his glass in salute.

  Gabriella exhaled a long stream of smoke which she watched spiral upwards, before turning back to Philip.

  'So tell me about this new series,' she said, her expression suddenly businesslike. 'Is it going to put me back at the top of the ratings?'

  Philip placed his elbows on the arms of his chair and clasped his hands together. Then, with carefully chosen words, he described Forbidden Fruit.

  Gabriella listened intently, occasionally interrupting him with a question. When he had finished, she sat looking thoughtful.

  'It sounds very commercial,' she said at last, 'although this Fergus character worries me. I don't like academics. They always think their research should be treated like a sacred cow, which normally means it gets to sit in the middle of the road, blocking progress and shitting.'

  'Leave Fergus to me,' said Philip firmly. 'I'll get rid of him once I own the rights to his research.'

  'And what about me?' Gabriella asked. 'I don't like being just the pretty face on the screen. I want editorial control over my role and the content of the programme. I have my image to think about.'

  'Now, Gabriella darling,' said Philip soothingly, 'you know I would never do anything that would harm you, so there must be trust on both sides. Vanessa will be your producer for all the little day to day things, but I am the executive producer so I will have the final say on everything that goes on the screen. I'm sure if there are any problems about presentation, we can sort them out when they happen. I always think that if there are too many hard and fast rules drawn up at the beginning of a project like this, the fluidity of thought and ideas that are essential for the creative process are stultified.'

  'You always were the diplomat, darling, you'd have made such a great ambassador.'

  Smiling, Gabriella raised her glass yet again, but as she drank, she lowered her lengthy false eyelashes, screening her thoughts. Perhaps her agent could get her the right of veto over the script. It was useless trying to push Philip now. She knew him well enough to know when he wasn't going to back down, and he knew as well as her that she badly needed this series to put her back on the British television map. However, now she was back in town, it would be worth investing in a couple of lunches with some of her old contacts just to check out the lay of the land with Philip and with Right Pryce Productions, it might just give her some extra bargaining power.

  Philip sipped his champagne. To his relief Gabriella had not asked him any awkward questions about the Network, but there was no way he was going to give her control over the script. It went with the territory that all presenters thought that they were experts
on the subject they were presenting, but they were hired for their looks and their ability to read autocue, not their brains. He made a mental note to make sure that the clause in the contract which dealt with script approval was watertight.

  He glanced at his watch. 'I've asked Vanessa to join us for lunch. I thought it would be a good chance for you two girls to get to know each other. I think you’ll get on like a house on fire.'

  Almost on cue, Vanessa walked in. Philip stood up to make the introductions.

  'Gabriella, I'd like you to meet Vanessa Swift. She’s developed the idea for Forbidden Fruit and will produce the series.'

  Gabriella extended a languid hand from the depths of her chair. She drew deeply on her cigarette and blew the smoke up to the ceiling before drawling, 'How do you do?'

  Vanessa gave the suggestion of a smile and barely touched Gabriella's hand with the tips of her fingers. 'I'm delighted, Miss Wolfe, I remember your show well. Such a pity you've been off our screens for so long.'

  Gabriella's eyes flashed, but before she could reply, Philip intervened.

  'Perhaps we should go into lunch,' he said, hastily signalling a waiter.

  Sixteen

  Lush green foliage that would not have embarrassed a tropical rain forest filled the restaurant, providing leafy screens between the tables, and climbing upwards towards the vaulted, glass canopied ceiling. A waiter led Philip, Gabriella and Vanessa to a corner table in the shade of a triffid-like Monstera deliciosa.

  As they were seated and handed menus, Gabriella crooked her finger at the waiter. 'I'd like another bottle of that lovely champagne.'

  The waiter looked at Philip, who smiled with more grace than he felt. The champagne was exorbitantly expensive and had only been meant as a welcoming gesture. He’d hoped they would move onto the house wine during their meal.

  'What an excellent idea, Gabriella. I'm sure Vanessa will join you, but I'd just like some still mineral water, please.'

  'And I'd like a dozen oysters followed by Lobster Thermidor,' said Gabriella, handing her menu back to the waiter.

  The waiter tapped her order into the small computer he held in his hand, and then looked questioningly at Vanessa.

  'The asparagus and courgette timbales with beurre blanc sauce, then the quail with fresh figs.'

  'And the tomato and basil sorbet followed by venison steak with sage butter for me,' Philip added.

  'The vegetables of the day are mange-tout sautéed in butter with almonds, onion purée with sage, steamed fennel and dill, and our chef's salad today is an English country garden leaf and herb salad, garnished with Nasturtium flowers. Would you like a selection, sir?'

  'Please, please,' Philip waved the waiter away then turned back to Vanessa and Gabriella. 'Well, isn't this nice,' he announced with a cheerfulness which lacked conviction.

  No agreement was forthcoming.

  Both women seemed suddenly fascinated by their long, manicured nails. Philip knew it was fanciful, but he couldn’t help being reminded of lions flexing their claws before the kill. However, if they were hungry lions, who was their prey? He gave a nervous little laugh.

  'Philip, darling,' Gabriella purred, placing a proprietorial hand over his. 'You don't seem quite yourself.'

  Philip looked down at Gabriella’s talon-like nails, and the huge diamond rings which encrusted her fingers, more like weapons than ornaments, and felt a little frisson of pleasure, or was it fear? Mentally he took a deep breath. He should not have drunk champagne on an empty stomach. He slipped his hand out from under Gabriella's and picked up his glass of mineral water.

  'Perhaps I find myself overwhelmed at being in the company of the two most beautiful women in the restaurant.' He raised his glass to each of them. But his attempt at rapprochement did not have quite the effect he intended. Two mouths smiled in acknowledgement, but two pairs of dark eyes swiftly surveyed the room. Satisfied of the truth of Philip's statement, their eyes momentarily locked. Having eliminated the rest of the competition, there were now only two in contention for the ultimate prize, and there could only be one victor.

  Vanessa made her bid first.

  'PP, sweetie.' She leaned across the table and picked an imaginary thread from Philip's shoulder, in a gesture that suggested more than just workplace intimacy. 'You're such a flirt. Sometimes I wonder just how I manage to resist you.'

  Gabriella's eyes flashed dangerously.

  Philip hastily brushed his jacket where Vanessa had touched him. 'I like to think I have a good working relationship with all my employees.'

  His use of the word 'employees' caused a tiny smile to dance across Gabriella's lips, while Vanessa looked discomfited. Philip felt a sense of despair.

  He had intended this to be a friendly, relaxed lunch, a time for Gabriella and Vanessa to get to know each other, with good food and wine as the catalyst. It was the way he had always done business. But then, he thought, morosely sipping his mineral water, the good old days seemed to be over. He couldn't even enjoy a glass of wine anymore without his stomach protesting.

  The silence at the table was interrupted by a waiter who arrived with their first course.

  Philip's sorbet tasted like sand in his mouth. After two mouthfuls he pushed his plate away.

  'Is there anything wrong, sir?' asked the waiter who had been hovering anxiously.

  'No, nothing at all.' Irritated, Philip waved him away.

  Gabriella was dispatching her oysters with great relish. She paused for a moment.

  'You should have had the oysters, Philip darling, they're absolutely perfect.'

  She slid another oyster from its shell on to her waiting tongue and swallowed. Her eyes closed with pleasure. Philip fancied he could see the progress of the oyster along the contours of her smooth white throat.

  Gabriella opened her eyes. 'They say that eating oysters is like angels copulating on your tongue.' She reached over and caressed Philip's hand with her index finger. 'Methinks you could do with a little of that, Philip darling. You have a very bad case of too much work and no play making Philip a dull boy.' Her voice deepened. 'I've always known what makes you feel better.'

  Philip put his hand to his mouth and gave a little cough, shooting a warning glance in Vanessa's direction. But the exchange had not escaped her hawk-like gaze.

  Gabriella pouted at him and then made a great show of turning towards Vanessa. 'Tell me … Vicky, isn't it? What programmes have you produced that I might have seen, bearing in mind that one tends only to get the cream of British productions shown abroad?'

  Philip swiftly intervened. 'Vanessa used to work in the light entertainment department at Capital Daytime before I poached her.'

  'Really? ' Gabriel raised a plucked eyebrow. 'I heard they were letting a lot of people go. The place has never been the same since Toby Trafford left. He was the real creative force there. I don't think the department has won a single award since his departure. All they do now is make tacky, low-budget game shows. Did you know Toby?' she asked Vanessa.

  Vanessa glared poisonously at her. 'He left before I arrived. Derek Percival was department head during my time.'

  'Old porky Percy?' Gabriella laughed derisively. 'You remember him, don't you Philip? Poor man, he'd burnt out even before he left the BBC. No wonder Capital Daytime has been having problems.'

  To Philip's relief, a waiter began to clear the table before another one arrived with their second course.

  'This looks absolutely delicious,' he said with an effort, as he cut into his venison steak and it oozed blood. 'This place is certainly living up to its reviews, don't you think?'

  As he chewed he tried to think how he could rescue a situation which was fast heading for disaster. The antagonism between Gabriella and Vanessa hung about the table like an uninvited guest. Philip felt a burning sensation in his gut and cursed the glass of champagne yet again, it didn't seem to be agreeing with the rich venison steak.

  'Are you quite all right, Philip darling?' Gabriella asked loo
king solicitous. 'You've gone a little pale. Perhaps we ought to order a tisane to act as a digestif for your tummy.' She pronounced 'tisane' and 'digestif with a French accent.

  'I'm fine, really I am,' Philip insisted.

  'Are you sure, Philip darling?' Not to be outdone in solicitude, Vanessa put her hand on his arm. 'You do look a little odd.'

  A cold sweat broke out on Philip's face. He mopped it with his napkin. 'Will you excuse me for a few minutes?' he said struggling to his feet and heading in the direction of what he hoped were the toilets.

  A waiter came forward and guided him around a large clump of ferns.

  Philip could feel the acid indigestion closing like a steel band around his chest. He always suffered when he got agitated and that was beginning to happen a lot lately.

  The toilets were thankfully empty, and he stood looking in the mirror, holding the edge of the washbasin as the nausea made his head whirl. His normally healthy, pink skin had an unhealthy green pallor. Philip felt inside his pocket for his tablets, which he carried in a small enamelled box that normally snapped open with just a little pressure.

  This time it didn't.

  In his frustration, Philip banged it hard on the marble topped washbasin causing it to spring open, spilling all his pills on to the floor.

  Clutching his chest with one hand, Philip went down on his knees and felt around with his other hand. It was difficult to see the pills on the elaborately patterned, tiled floor, and Philip was too vain to admit that he needed glasses.

  As he was scrabbling around, the door behind him opened.

  'What the dickens …?' boomed a loud voice.

  With some difficulty, as any movement made the pain worse, Philip swivelled round on his knees and found himself looking at a pair of highly polished, cap toe Oxford shoes topped by the turn-ups of a black, pin-striped suit. His gaze continued to travel upwards, following the knife-crease in one trouser leg, then over an expansive stomach only just held in check by a waistcoat straining to remain buttoned-up, until it finally met the slightly bloodshot, bulging eyes of Sir Norman Fluck, the newly appointed chairman of the Committee for Media Morality.