I looked at Cherevine before replying. “It sounds delicious. And what a nice concept.”
His face was a picture. He nodded and made a signal. Instantly the room was filled with servers.
“A moment before you go,” I said. “Clearly everybody here can’t eat the same food as us. What’s the arrangement?”
“Ah, every diner is receiving the equivalent; dishes from his or her own world alternating with dishes from a different but complementary world.”
“Goodness,” I said with genuine admiration. “That must take some organising.”
“Just a bit. If you’ll excuse me?”
I waved him away and the first dish was presented. It turned out to be hard boiled eggs in mayonnaise again. It doesn’t sound much, I know, but it was only the first appetiser and it tasted like you would imagine the perfect hard boiled egg and the perfect mayonnaise to taste. The eggs had the exact degree of rubbery blandness and the mayonnaise was creamy on the tongue but with a sharp bite underneath. I ate with relish.
“That was good,” I commented as I finished the last bite.
“Was it from your world?” Cherevine asked. “It was good.”
“It was…” I stopped as the thought occurred that the idea of eating birds’ embryos might not appeal to her. “I’ll not say.”
The second course was from Cherevine’s world and she clapped her hands when she saw it.
“Oh, tlechidrit. Wonderful.”
Tlechidrit were like miniature naan breads cut open and stuffed with a variety of vegetables in a thick sauce. The combination of the sweetish bread, the crunchy vegetables and sweet and sour sauce was mouth-watering.
And so the meal progressed. I had wondered, at the start, why the portions were small. I found out as course followed course. What the dishes from Cherevine’s world were I don’t know but I recognised a lamb curry, venison stew, a fish I wasn't familiar with but assumed was swordfish or something exotic like that, beef goulash and chicken chow mien. If my local Chinese take-away made chow mien like that, I’d dine there every day. With each dish came a small glass of liquid. There were wines of different colours; dry, sweet, sparkling, chilled and, at one stage, mango juice. We cleaned every plate. When they finally served some thin wafers with a selection of cheeses, I felt I could eat no more. At least until the desert arrived. It was from Cherevine’s world and it was clear she found it a royal treat to judge by the blissful expression on her face as she sucked the last vestiges from the spoon. It was certainly deliciously fruity but rather too sweet for my taste. Still, it was the only part of the meal that I could possibly quibble about.
It wasn't until we had been served with coffee, or tea in Cherevine’s case, that I realised that I’d completely forgotten we were in the middle of a very public restaurant. I also realised we’d hardly exchanged a word all the time we were eating. I reached out and captured Cherevine’s hand.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“For stopping me making a complete fool of myself. I think I’m going to have to rethink my policy.”
“How so?”
I gave a short laugh. “At this point I should be whispering sweet nothings in your ear and trying to convince you to come back to my place for a nightcap. Discussing my relationship with the Lottery Commission is hardly the best topic for seducing the most beautiful woman on Geretimal.”
“Oh, you might be doing better than you think,” she murmured, her eyes downcast.
When she looked up I noticed they had a distinct twinkle. My heart gave a little lurch.
“You were talking about your policy,” she urged.
“Well, if you insist. To put it bluntly, this Lottery means nothing to me and, although I’ve been paying lip service to the fact that it means a lot to everybody else, I haven’t really meant it. So all along I’ve been fighting this…” I gestured at the room, “…public spectacle. The problem is that what I’ve thought I’ve been fighting was corruption. The Commission’s riddled with it.”
“Is it? I just thought it was full of petty bureaucrats who weren’t properly supervised.”
“That, too. The problem is that petty bureaucrats, if not supervised, get delusions of adequacy and that leads to corruption.”
“Delusions of adequacy?”
“Not original, I’m afraid.”
“So what does this have to do with your policy?”
“I need to separate the two. I need to learn to love the publicity while fighting the bureaucracy and corruption. Actually, I’ve just added the bit about bureaucracy. I hadn’t considered that aspect before but now you’ve made me think. Not every idiot I meet is necessarily corrupt. They may simply be set in their ways and unable to see beyond their own little box.”
“Tell me about the corruption.”
“Not here and not now. Airing dirty linen in a public place is never a good idea. Besides, the good people here will want to go home and I bet they won’t leave before we do.”
“You just want to lure me back to your hotel and have your evil way with me,” she said with a grin.
“There’s that, too. That was the best meal I’ve ever had. I’d like to say thank you to the chefs. D’you think that’d be acceptable?”
“I’ve no idea. What did you have in mind?”
“Asking to see them and giving them a standing ovation.”
“When you embrace publicity you do it in style, don’t you? Go ahead. I’ve no idea whether it’s done or not bit it’s a grand gesture and I agree about the meal.”
I beckoned to Sir Wallonnia and asked if he would invite the master chefs out. He seemed a bit uncertain but agreed. After a short wait about ten beings, all dressed in tight green uniforms with large dark green aprons, emerged from the kitchens. They didn’t look entirely happy. As they appeared, Cherevine and I stood, faced them and began the ‘hub. hub, hub’ chant that passed for applause here. The background chatter of conversation ceased and all eyes turned in out direction. For a moment, no-one seemed to know what to do them a being at a near-by table stood and joined in. A few others also stood and, suddenly, the whole restaurant was on its collective feet, cheering as if they’d just finished listening to the world premiere of a symphony. The chefs didn’t know where to look. They stood and shuffled their feet, looking like they wished the floor would open up and swallow them. But they couldn’t hide the smiles that stole over their faces. I held up my hand and the applause slowly died away.
“Sirs and Madams,” I said to the chefs. “Tonight you have created a culinary masterpiece which I will remember for the rest of my life. All meals in future will be compared to this one and all will be found wanting. Any one of you would grace the finest restaurants on Earth. Together you are formidable. I thank you.”
“I agree,” Cherevine said loudly.
The applause started again and, this time, the ten chefs stood proudly, basking in the applause. I held up my hand again.
“All music lovers know that a great orchestra needs a great conductor. And this evening would not have been possible without the efforts of one man. Please step forward Sir Assian Wallonnia.”
Red with embarrassment but beaming, Sir Wallonnia stepped up to thunderous applause. He, too, held up his hand for silence.
“Thank you, Sirs and Madams. We are most grateful for your appreciation of our humble efforts. It is said that beings are inspired by great occasions. If that is so, our inspiration comes from our guests of honour, the Lottery Winner, Sir Crawford MacAdam and his companion Madam Cherevine Zvachnica.”
I was rapidly becoming an old hand at this, I’d done it twice before. I smiled benignly and waved, Cherevine following my lead, as the applause washed over us. After a few moments, I moved round the table, bowed to Cherevine and crooked my elbow. To my surprise she sketched a curtsey and hooked her hand into the crook of my elbow. With Sir Wallonnia leading, we paraded out of the dining room.
“Thank you, Sir MacAdam,” Sir Wallonn
ia said with genuine feeling. “And you Madam Zvachnica. I think you’ve just secured my pension.”
“I’ve no idea how much you made from tonight’s little do but you deserve every penny,” I said.
He gave a wry grin. “Not as much as I’d’ve liked. It cost me enough to set it up.”
“I assume you don’t just mean the cost of raw materials.”
He gave me a calculating look. “I’d heard rumours. You’re not entirely happy with some of the, er, established practices?” I kept my gaze neutral. “No, I didn’t mean just that. Not that I’m complaining. It would have been worth it in any case but your little performance there put the icing on the cake.”
“I hope I didn’t overstep any bounds?”
“Not at all... at least not in a bad way. You never know, you might have started a trend.”
“I hope not. Next thing you know you’ll be cursed with celebrity chefs all throwing tantrums on trivee like two-year-olds. Would you mind if I indulged in a quaint Earth custom?”
I stuck out my hand. After a moment’s uncertainty he stuck his out. I grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously.
“Thank you, Sir Wallonnia, for what’s turned out to be a marvellous evening.”
“It was a pleasure. And if you would like to return sometime in, er, less dramatic style, please contact me.”
“Feed me like that and you’ll have to throw me out.”
He turned to Cherevine, uncertain if she indulged in the quaint custom of shaking hands, too. She resolved the problem by kissing him lightly on the cheek.
“Does that offer extend to me?” she asked with an impish smile.
“Any time, dear lady. Any time.”
The car, I can’t dignify it with the term ‘limousine’ was waiting. There were still at least a hundred people clustered outside, many of them from the media. They tried to throw questions at us as we hurried down the yellow carpet and into the relative silence of the car.
“Thank goodness that’s over,” I said slumping back into the seat.
Cherevine snuggled up to me. “And the best is yet to come,” she said coquettishly.
“Do you mind if we postpone all conversation until we’re home?”
“Not at all,” she said, sliding an arm across my chest with a contented sigh.
No-one waylaid us at the hotel and we slipped gratefully into my suite. I went straight to the bar and poured two generous measures of brandy.
“May I look round,” Cherevine asked as I handed her the snifter.
“I’ll give you a guided tour in a minute. This is brandy. Very potent but necessary after our experiences this evening. There’s some sort of ritual you’re supposed to follow when drinking it but I never understood it. Sniff it and sip it cautiously.”
I suited my action to my words. The amber liquid slipped hotly down my throat and I let out a contented sigh. Cherevine copied my actions. Her eyes opened wide in surprise and her sigh was more a gasp.
“Whoof. Potent indeed. I can feel it warming my tummy.”
“It’s supposed to do that.”
I showed her round my humble abode. She seemed to be interested in everything.
“I feel a bit strange,” she said. “It’s all sort of familiar but isn’t, if you know what I mean. We, too, have tables and chairs and beds and closets and floor coverings and wall decorations and lights but they don’t look quite like yours. What are these?” She was looking at the paintings.
“Paintings. Some of them are art and some merely decorative. My hosts seem to have eclectic tastes.”
“This one is very strange.”
She was looking at a reproduction of Van Gogh’s ‘Sunflowers’.
“Do have art on your world?”
“Not like this, no. We make images but they tend to be representations of people or events.”
Oh, dear. I knew very little about art.
“Art… painting in particular… has been practiced by humans since my ancestors lived in caves. The ability to portray something was seen as magical. Over time the magical element has faded but people have tried to… I’m sorry, I’m not an art expert. When a great artist paints, he tells us something about his subject, something about himself and… manifests some universal truth about us and our relationship with the world. That sounds very pompous. I’m not very good at this and anyway it’s a load of rubbish. People paint pictures for all sorts of reasons; to show a scene they like, to show how clever they are at painting, to represent someone, lots of reasons.” She was looking puzzled. I had an inspiration. “Describe tonight’s meal. Not what the dishes were but how they tasted… how they made you feel as you ate them.”
Her gaze turned inwards as she struggled to find suitable words.
“I can’t,” she confessed at last. “Good food should be experienced not described.”
“It’s the same with art. Either it moves you or it doesn’t. But it’s supposed to affect you. This…” I indicated a nice picture of a vase of summer flowers, “…is just a pretty picture but this…” the sunflowers, “…is art. To me they’re vastly different but I couldn’t tell you how or why.”
She contemplated both pictures for some time.
“To be honest, the vase of flowers is what I’m used to seeing. The sunflowers look very strange and unreal. They don’t look like real flowers at all.”
“They’re not supposed to. They’re… look, I’m no expert. Trying to explain would be difficult enough at the best of times but tonight I’m tired and overwrought and…”
She was instantly in front of me looking up contritely. “I’m sorry. I got carried away. It’s fascinating. You’re fascinating.”
“I’m fascinating? Now I know you’re mad. You’re fascinating. I’m just boring.”
She gripped the lapels of my jacket and pulled herself close to me. The scent of her hair and her perfume, as delicately beautiful as she, invaded my nostrils. The tips of her breasts pressed against my chest. Up till now I’d seen her as beautiful and decorative girl and a pleasant companion. I was suddenly aware of her also as a desirable woman.
Her huge dark eyes looked up into mine.
“You are the most fascinating man I’ve ever met,” she said in a clear, definite tone.
“Oh.”
I wanted to put my arms around her and hold her tightly. I wanted to kiss her long, slender neck. I wanted to touch her porcelain blue skin. Somehow I couldn’t move. I was locked in some sort of statis field. Her eyes searched mine looking for I don’t know what. Whatever it was, she seemed to find it for she relaxed.
“I’d like to go to bed,” she said.
“I’d like that, too.”
The spell was broken. I put an arm around her shoulders and led her to the bedroom.
“My bag,” she said as I started to close the door.
“I’ll get it.”
She was struggling to unfasten her dress when I returned.
“Should I be a gentleman?” I said.
“Gentleman?”
“And not peek.”
She laughed. “We’re just about to go to bed together? Why shouldn’t you look? Don’t you want to?”
I laughed. “More than anything.”
She grinned and shrugged out of the dress. She wasn't coquettish about it or teasing or coy; she just pulled it down and stepped out of it. Underneath she wore nothing but the diaphanous cycling shorts Capellans seemed to wear; no bra, no tights, no stockings, no foundation garment. Just her shorts and high heeled shoes. I stared openly, my mouth agape. She was flawless. From her slim shoulders to her tip-tilted breasts to the delicate curves of waist and hips to the elegantly slender legs down to the trim feet and ankles, there wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t in perfect harmony. She didn’t flush or flinch under my gaze. Instead she regarded me with an amused quizzical look, her head tilted slightly to one side.
“You can close your mouth now,” she said. “And could you pick up my dress, please, while I shower?�
��
I closed my mouth.
“Yes, milady. Certainly, milady. Will there be anything else, milady?”
“There certainly will be.” She picked up her bag and disappeared into the bathroom.
In a kind of daze I picked up her dress and hung it neatly in the wardrobe. It was still warm from her body and smelt of her. I reacted, then became embarrassed about my reaction. I told myself not to be silly. If she couldn’t cause a reaction we wouldn’t be doing much breeding. I took off my jacket, tie, shoes and socks while I waited. She was naked when she returned. She looked different somehow but I couldn’t work out why.
“That’s about the fourteenth rule I’ve broken,” she said.
I realised what was different about her. Without her make-up she looked younger; hardly more than a girl.
“Hmm?” I said.
She pouted and pretended to stamp her foot. “How am I supposed to seduce you if you’re not paying attention?”
“Oh, I’m paying attention, all right. You distract me. What do you mean ‘fourteenth rule’?”
“Uh, uh. My turn for a peep show.”
Why I should be bothered about undressing in front of her I didn’t know. Actually, I did. She was so flawlessly beautiful I knew I would seem gross beside her. Still, I did my best to be graceful as I pulled off my shirt and stepped out of my trousers.
“All of it,” she said, indicating my boxers.
Somehow, removing this final barrier was immensely exciting. I discarded my underwear and straightened. Somewhat tentatively, I looked at her. Well, at least she wasn’t laughing or crying. The expression on her face floored me. It was the same look as had been on mine when I looked at her.
“Shower. Quickly,” she ordered. Her voice held overtones of lust that sent a shiver up my spine.
As instructed I didn’t linger. I hardly needed instruction for I was now as eager as she obviously was. Gone were my hesitations and reservations. She was no longer a delicate princess. She was a desirable, wanton woman and I was a man in lust.
I Won A Spaceship Page 23