Acquired Tastes (37 page)

He picked up his hold-all. Something inside clinked ominously. 'Lead the way, dear lady. I'm ready for action.'

Vanessa recovered herself. 'You're not walking round dressed like that. We might bump into a security guard. Cover yourself up,' she ordered, holding out a thin cotton robe that had been hanging behind the door.

Fergus shrugged and slipped it on. It didn't meet around his front and barely came to his knees. If anything, it made him look worse.

Vanessa looked around for something else but there was nothing. The room was bare. She would just have to pray that the security guard remained at his desk. She opened the door and looked up and down the corridor. It was empty. She tried to hurry Fergus through the building but his high heeled shoes made haste impossible. She heaved a sigh of relief when they reached the comparative safety of the studio.

'Wait here and don't move until I turn the lights on,' she ordered, leaving Fergus standing in the gloom.

Fergus blinked as light flooded the studio, and then began to roar with laughter.

The
Forbidden Fruit
set looked like a 1930s Hollywood version of heaven. Swathes of soft pink gauze were draped from ceiling to floor and rosy-cheeked cherubs cavorted among pink fluffy clouds, their chubby limbs entwined in what, on closer examination, proved to be less than cherubic positions. On one side of the set a mock marble staircase curved upwards to nowhere and on the other stood a huge phallus-like tree, around which was entwined a green serpent, a shiny red apple in its jaws.

In the middle of the set was a low couch, whose upholstered pink cushions were in the unmistakable shape of female genitalia.

'That's meant to be your consulting couch,' Vanessa called from the back of the studio, as she walked down between the rows of chairs.

'Freud couldn't have done it better,' he guffawed.

Vanessa waved her hand at the set. 'Hugo claims it's a post-modernist,
faux-naif
interpretation of sex, whatever that is.'

'It says a lot about the British psyche. It's sex dressed up and disinfected so that it doesn't look like sex,' snorted Fergus. 'The visual equivalent of a vaginal deodorant.'

He sat down on the couch and stroked the labia shaped cushions. 'But this sums up the cosy television chat show exactly. It's just perfect for a spot of mutual masturbation, don't you think?'

Vanessa began unbuttoning her blouse. 'Let's get on with it, shall we,' she said, briskly, stepping out of her skirt. 'Where do you want me, on the couch?' She stood naked in front of Fergus, her hands on her hips.

'My dear girl, haven't you been listening to me? Sex is not just some minor bodily function you can satisfy with a quick scratch. Nor is there just one simple physical route to satisfaction, or haven't you been reading the letters that have been coming in, either?'

Vanessa crossed her arms. 'Okay, if that's the way you want me to play it. What do you want me to do - dress up as a French maid?'

'Tsk tsk,' Fergus wagged his finger. 'Oh ye of little imagination. Fetch me my bag.'

Vanessa tossed her head impatiently and walked over to where Fergus had left his hold-all. She started to open it.

'Bring it here.' Fergus barked the command so sharply, Vanessa obeyed automatically.

'Good,' Fergus said approvingly, 'that was your first lesson. Tonight you must do anything and everything I tell you without question or you will be punished.'

He dug around in his hold-all and produced a leather mask and a large, metal-studded dog collar with a lead attached to it. 'Put these on,' he commanded.

Vanessa swallowed hard. The mask looked like something from a medieval torture chamber. It had no hole for the eyes and a metal bit across the mouth.

'Look Fergus, we agreed to have a little fun, maybe a few games but there's no way I'm going to …'

'Scared?' Fergus challenged her, holding her gaze in his.

Vanessa looked away. 'No, of course not, don't be ridiculous. I just don't think we have time for a Halloween party, that's all.'

Before Vanessa could protest, Fergus fastened the collar around her neck. He gave the lead a sharp tug. 'This time I won't punish you for disobeying me, but next time …' He pulled a cane out of the bag and swished it through the air.

Vanessa's eyes widened. 'You wouldn't dare!'

'The question, my dear Vanessa is, would you? I fear you have a jaded palate from too much tasteless, fast food sex, so I thought I might spice things up a little bit. Haven't you ever thought about inflicting pain on someone?'

Vanessa's eyelashes flickered.

'And what did that thought engender in you?' Fergus pulled the lead so that Vanessa was forced to look into his eyes. He smiled. 'Ah, just as I thought, pleasure. But the most exquisite pleasure comes after denial, so your second lesson is going to be submission. It will be a new experience for you, as will humiliation. You see, my dear Vanessa, you have nothing
I
desire, but I have the means to
your
pleasure here in my hand,' he swished the cane again, 'and here,' he indicated his crotch, 'and
you
are going to have to beg for them.'

He pointed at the floor. 'Get down on your hands and knees.'

Vanessa looked down. The floor hadn't yet been cleaned and painted for the recording and was thick with dust.

'But it's …'

'Down!' The cane whistled through the air.

Vanessa sank to her hands and knees.

Fergus held out the mask. Vanessa pulled it on and then tried to speak. Fergus bent down and pushed the bit between her teeth, silencing her. With a satisfied grin, he teetered off across the studio, tugging Vanessa along on all fours behind him.

Alicia sipped her mug of tea as she gazed thoughtfully out of the window. Although it was not even six-thirty in the morning, she was already dressed. The garden below Zelda's flat was largely occupied by a huge oak tree, and what little of the rest of the garden Alicia could see, looked very overgrown. But she didn't suppose anybody in a building divided into flats like this would care about gardens. She wondered how her little garden back in Heartlands was looking. The roses were at their glorious best at this time of the year. There had been no rain for weeks, and she really should have been there to water them.

Alicia had not given much thought to Heartlands and her cottage, but seeing Vanessa and Fergus last night had reminded her of the home she had fled so unhappily almost two months ago.

She turned away from the window and looked at the video tape lying on Zelda's coffee table. It would have been much easier to let Vijay hide it somewhere at the studios in readiness for today, but she had not wanted to let it out of her sight, at least not until absolutely necessary. Now she had the instrument of Vanessa and Fergus's downfall, she did not intend to let anything go wrong.

She had expected to feel upset watching them having sex in the studio last night, but she had felt quite calm. Jeremy and Vijay, on the other hand, had very peculiar expressions on their faces until she produced a bag of popcorn. They relaxed after that, putting their feet up on the desk and munching handfuls of the stuff like children at a Saturday morning cinema show, laughing at Vanessa and Fergus's ridiculous antics. They waited until Vanessa and Fergus left the studios, and then, emboldened by what they had seen, walked out of the front entrance past an open-mouthed security guard. Outside in the street they linked arms and walked laughing to the nearest pub.

She had originally intended to send the tape to Vanessa's boss, but a remark by Vijay in the pub had given her another idea. For once Jeremy promptly agreed to her new plan, as the sight of Vanessa and Fergus together had made him forget all caution. However Vijay had taken a lot of persuading as, to be fair, it meant him taking more risks. He had eventually agreed, but she just hoped that, when he woke up sober this morning, he would not change his mind.

Alicia finished her tea. The agreed rendezvous back at the studios with Vijay was not for several hours, so she and Jeremy had plenty of time for a large fried breakfast. She intended to enjoy today and she wouldn't do that if she was feeling hungry.

Gabriella swallowed the last of the handful of vitamin pills which she took in lieu of breakfast, tied a large silk Hermes over her hair and placed her satellite dish-sized sunglasses firmly on her nose before heading for the lobby of her hotel. Mornings were not her best time.

'Darling! You look absolutely wonderful, fresh as a daisy,' Philip cooed, as she stepped from her taxi outside the Silver Screen Studios.

Gabriella avoided his embrace and proffered a single smooth cheek, which Philip meekly kissed.

'You look wonderful too, darling,' she countered although she had never seen Philip looking so tired. There were bruise-like purple shadows under his eyes and his skin looked puffy and grey. Her skin, on the other hand, looked as near to a twenty-year-old's as two hours at the hands of the skilled make-up artist she had visited on her way to the studio could render it. Philip had told her there would be a make-up artist provided for her, but she did not trust the kind of hearty 'we'll just give you a little dust of powder' girl who normally worked in the make-up departments of TV studios. For some reason they thought the same awful shade of pale pink lipstick suited everybody, when in fact it suited no-one.

The taxi driver, who had been holding the door for her, reached into his cab and picked up her black crocodile case.

'Can I carry this in for you, Miss Wolfe?' he asked eagerly.

'Philip will take it, won't you darling, and make sure you give him a nice large tip, I like to keep my fans happy.'

Gabriella swept her voluminous serape over her shoulder and left Philip to pay the disappointed taxi driver. By the time he had counted out the correct notes, Gabriella was already in reception. He scurried after her.

'I thought we'd have a read through of the script over coffee first. It will give you and Dr Archibald a chance to get acquainted, and then I thought we'd …' he began.

'Philip darling,
please
,' Gabriella interrupted him. 'My biological time clock says I should still be asleep, so don't rush me. First, I want to go to my dressing-room, then I'd like a few moments alone to compose myself and then - and only then - will I discuss the changes I want in the script.'

'Changes? But I thought we'd agreed…'

'Philip
, my dressing-room please.' It was a command that brooked no disagreement.

Philip led the way down the corridor and opened a door. 'I'm afraid this is the best we can offer,' he said.

Inside was a small room dominated by a large, brightly lit mirror and a dressing table, on which stood a vase containing a dozen red roses and an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne. A single bed, a chair, and a clothes rail with a few wire hangers dangling from it, completed the furnishing. Another door led to a bathroom.

Philip anxiously watched Gabriella's face as she looked around.

'Well, it isn't exactly Hollywood, is it darling, but the flowers are wonderful,' she said picking up the gold embossed card which had been placed beside the vase. She smiled. 'From you, how sweet.'

She snapped a bloom off and tucked it into Philip's buttonhole then kissed him. 'For you, for luck. Now be a darling and wait outside just for a few minutes. There are times when a girl needs her privacy.'

She ushered him out of the door and locked it behind him before sitting down at the dressing table and opening her case. She took out a silver brandy flask, unscrewed the top and took a long drink. Then she found a small silver pill box and placed two tiny pills on her tongue. Frankie, her hairdresser, had said they worked wonders for him, kept him bright-eyed and bushy-tailed all day long. She toasted herself in the mirror with the flask and drank some more brandy, before spraying her mouth with breath freshener. Then she checked her nose for shine and locked her case. After giving her hair one last pat, she opened the door.

'There, all better. Now, where were those people you wanted me to meet?' She gave Philip a radiant smile.

Philip straightened up. 'About those changes, I really do think…'

'You mentioned refreshment?'

Philip gave in and led the way to a large room on the next floor which was serving as the Right Pryce production office for the day of the recording. Rosie was sitting at a computer, playing with the keys, when they walked in. She jumped up and rushed forward.

'Oh, Miss Wolfe, how nice to see you again, it's so nice to have you back. Is there anything I can get you? I've got tea or coffee and some Danish pastries or some jam doughnuts.'

'Thank you… er, dear.' Gabriella could never remember the name of Philip's production assistant. 'I'd just like a glass of mineral water with a slice of lemon. I don't like stimulants at this time of the morning.'

Rosie bustled out.

Gabriella dropped her script on to the table. 'Now, about this script, Philip darling, I can't possibly work with it. It simply
has
to go.'

Philip sank into a chair. He didn't trust himself standing up. 'Gabriella, darling. At this stage it would…'

But he was interrupted as the door swung open and Vanessa walked in smiling. She waved a cheery hand in their direction and made for the coffee pot. Philip wondered whether he was hallucinating, Vanessa never smiled. At least, not the way she had smiled just then. She looked almost
happy.

Mug in hand, Vanessa turned. 'Have you read the script?' she asked.

'Yes, I have,' Gabriella replied, 'and as I was just saying to Philip, rarely have I been presented with such an incompet…'

'What Gabriella would like to say,' Philip hastily interrupted, 'is that she likes it, but thinks there should be a few small changes here and there. Purely stylistic, you understand.'

Any semblance of contentment melted from Vanessa's face. Her eyes narrowed and her lips became a thin red line.

Recognising the familiar danger signs, Philip intervened again. 'Perhaps we had better delay further discussion until Dr Archibald arrives. He will be here soon, won't he Vanessa? It's after nine.'