‘Thank you, for the flowers. They are beautiful.’
‘Come here,’ he says and half sits on the table behind him. His voice is very soft. There is something in it she does not understand. She is nineteen and he is a man of the world. She goes willingly to him. He catches her by her waist and pulls her to him until she is trapped between his thighs. She feels the heat that comes off his body.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I didn’t know.’
She shakes her head. ‘You weren’t to know. It’s my fault. I should have warned you.’
‘You look very beautiful tonight.’
She blushes. He watches her blush, then runs his finger along her lower lip. ‘Are you for real?’ he whispers.
She looks at him without comprehension. He wants to tell her then. But what? Tell her what? There is nothing to say. They are worlds apart. This will end in three months. He is being a fool. The expression in his eyes changes.
His mouth twists. Something cold creeps into his eyes. ‘We’d better go or we’ll be late.’
Feeling the change she steps away from him. She does not understand. Hot and cold. Perhaps it is a game. But he will not beat her. She can survive three months. She thinks of her mother and says. ‘Yes, we don’t want to be late.’
Fuck. He wants to kiss that mouth. He doesn’t want to go out. He wants to drag her by the hair to the bed and fuck her until she is so sore she is screaming for him to stop. The sick pull she has on him irritates and angers him. It is unnatural. He straightens and offers her the crook of his arm. His voice comes out hostile and clipped. ‘Shall we?’
She bites her lip. Now he is angry with her. Nothing makes sense. Why is he angry with her? Confused, she threads her arm through his and they leave the apartment.
He drives out of London to Bray. The Fat Duck is nestled in the middle of the English countryside. The women are wearing expensive clothes and the men are all in suits. She has never been anywhere so glamorous, but it is bitter sweet. She has lied to her mother. She is with this man as his whore. And all of this will come to an end in three months’ time. A young man with a French accent settles them into a waiting area and offers them delicate little bites of food and two glasses of champagne. The champagne is compliments of the house. Apparently Blake is well known at this establishment.
‘They are called amuse-bouches, mouth amusements,’ Blake explains and watches as she nibbles on the tiny offerings. Mushroom and hazelnuts with basil oil and salmon mousse. ‘Well?’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever had anything so delicious in all my life.’
The sommelier comes to help select the wine that will perfectly complement the food they intend to have, but Blake knows exactly what he wants.
‘The 1996 Clos du Mesnil.’
The sommelier seems pleased with Blake’s choice. The wine is brought and presented to Blake. When he nods, it is uncorked and a small amount is poured into a deep glass and given to Blake. He swirls it, sniffs it delicately, and pronounces it acceptable. A fifth of Lana’s glass is filled. She raises it to her lips and tastes it. What passed for wine until now seems abrasive mixtures of grape juice and vinegar. With complicated scents that tease her nose and a distinctively smooth taste that slides down her throat the wine is truly spectacular.
Lana studies the menu with fascination. It is no wonder that this restaurant is so famous. It has a uniquely original menu. There is something called the mad hatter’s tea party with mock turtle soup, a pocket watch and toasted sandwich. Then there are snail porridge, crab biscuits and quail jelly, chicken served with vanilla mayonnaise, shaved fennel and red cabbage gazpacho with mustard ice cream, and something else she can’t recognize served with oak moss and truffle oil.
Blake chooses roasted foie gras to start. Lana sighs inwardly. She is not eating force-fed goose liver.
The waiter looks at her. ‘I won’t bother with a starter, thank you.’
He orders the lamb with cucumber.
‘I’ll have the same,’ she murmurs.
The waiter moves away, and he looks at her strangely. His eyes are pitying. ‘You can’t read, can you?’
Her head tilts back. ‘Of course I can. I am a qualified secretary.’
‘What was I supposed to think? Jay told me you signed the contract without reading it and this is the second time you have ordered the same as me and you hardly touched your food the last time. Why?’
She decides to be honest. ‘I don’t know which utensil to use to eat what.’
He is so surprised, he leans back in his seat and regards her quietly. Not taking his eyes off her, he raises a hand slightly. Immediately, a waiter comes to his side. ‘The lady would like to see the menu again, please. And hold the earlier order.’
‘Of course, sir.’
He returns with the menu. ‘Would you like a moment with it?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘I know what I want. I’d like the mock turtle soup to start and the poached salmon.’
When he is gone, Blake says, ‘With utensils always start with the ones that are furthest out from the plate and work your way in. I will help you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘So what have you done today?’
Well, I got taken off the books for er…inappropriate behavior so I went off in search of another temporary agency.’
He frowns. ‘I don’t want you to work for the duration of our contract.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I want you to be available to me day and night. I might want to have you at three in the morning or between meetings in the afternoon,’ he explains brutally, and Lana feels a sexual thrill clench at her lower belly.
‘It should be no problem for you.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Don’t you live on an estate where nobody works and everybody just scrounges off the state?’
She shakes her head in wonder. ‘Wow, that’s one sweeping generalization you’ve just made there!’
‘Why, is it not true?’
‘While I was a child growing up my teachers and the governmental offices where my mother had to go for her weekly handouts, in subtle and unsubtle ways, tried to force into me the opinion you have just expressed. That we were parasites. I always knew there was something inherently wrong about any train of thinking that could so conveniently dismissed all the unemployed and dependent as parasites. But we did seem to be living off others. Then one day I learned the true nature of the parasite and it changed my life.’
He looks at her intently.
She smiles. It does not reach her eyes. ‘I learned that a successful parasite is one that is not recognized by its host, one that can make its host work for it without appearing as a burden. As such it must be the ruling class in every capitalist society that is the real parasite.’
‘How is my kind a parasite to yours?’ he scoffs.
She takes a sip of the wonderful wine that he has paid for. ‘How much tax did your family pay last year?’
He leans back and regards her curiously. ‘We paid what was legally due.’
Now it is her turn to scoff. ‘Let me guess. Almost nothing.’
He shrugs. ‘There is nothing wrong with legitimate tax avoidance schemes. I don’t see how we are being parasitical, because we won’t let the government take what is hard won and rightfully ours, and pass it onto the bone lazy masses who don’t want to work and expect others to fund their lifestyles. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say the system in this country is mad. Girls have babies when they are teenagers so the government will set them up in a flat and pay them a stipend for the rest of their lives. Crazy.’
She shakes her head slowly. ‘Do you really believe what you are saying?’
‘Of course. Do you think teenage girls getting pregnant to secure a home for life is right?’
Their food arrives. It looks more like a work of art than food. Lana reaches for the spoon that is furthest away and Blake nods.