Behaving Badly Part 16

'What species?'

'Erm-oryctolagus cuniculus.'

'Wabbit,' he said.

'Very good,' I laughed.

'I had one when I was a kid. I used to pride myself on being able to say that.'

There was a moment's silence. 'So...have they come out well?' I asked. 'The photographs?'

'Oh, I don't know. I haven't printed them yet. That's not why I'm ringing.'

'Oh.'

'No, I was just phoning you...'

There was another tiny silence. 'Yes?'

'Well... I was...sorry that I didn't have that beer with you on Tuesday.'

Oh. 'Oh, well, don't worry, David-that's fine.'

'So, I just...wondered if you'd like to come out for a beer with me?'

He's asking me out? My heart did a swallow dive. 'O-kay...'

'In fact, I was wondering if you were free tomorrow,' he went on. 'But I guess you're busy,' he added casually. 'It's such short notice and you probably have plans.'

'No, I'm not doing anything. That would be...nice. Um, where did you have in mind?'

'Well, we could go somewhere near you, or, if you don't mind coming over to Clerkenwell, there's the St John restaurant. They've got a very good menu.'

'Yes, I could come over there. So you mean dinner, then?' I added uncertainly.

'I guess I do mean that. You do eat dinner, I hope?'

'Yes. Yes, I do. Dinner's fine.' Then, over pudding, I'll tell you the terrible truth about myself...

'That's great then.'

And you'll loathe me for the rest of your life.

'I'll book the table,' I heard him say, 'and I'll only ring you back if I can't get one, otherwise I'll meet you there at, what, seven thirty? It's at 26 St John Street.'

'I'll find it.'

'Great. See you there.'

The thought of seeing David had an odd effect on me. I felt relieved on one level-filled with terror on another-but at least it distracted me from Land Ahoy! I'd been dreading the first episode for weeks, but, as it was, I felt able to watch. That night I lay on my bed, with my tiny portable perched on the chest of drawers, clutching one of Herman's wrinkly paws. As the opening music played, the name 'Alexander Darke' appeared, in a curlicued script, virtually filling the screen. He was playing the s.h.i.+p's commander, Francis Flavell. And now there he was. There was Alexander. I felt my heart-rate increase as the camera panned in for a close-up. He looked so dignified as he strode about the quarterdeck in a gale, barking orders, his face streaming with spray and rain.

'How does she steer, Mr Tree?'

'Holding steady, Sir!'

'Take her to windward, Mr Tree! To windward I say!'

And now the s.h.i.+p was creaking and listing as the sailors pulled on the rigging.

'She's run aground, Sir!'

'Man the decks!'

During the commercial break, Daisy phoned me. 'Are you watching it?' she asked.

'Yes,' I said bleakly.

'Do you feel okay?'

'I feel...strange. I keep thinking, I was going to marry that man.'

'Well, I must say I'm glad that you're not. Anyway, what do you think?'

'Well, objectively, I think he looks fantastic. There's no doubt about it, Daisy,' I added flatly. 'This is going to make him a star.'

'I hope not,' she said. 'Otherwise we'll keep on seeing him and I don't want to, after what he did. If people only knew...' she added crossly. 'Ooh, it's starting again...'

The storm was still raging and one of the mainsails tore in two, like a tissue, then a human figure dropped into the swell.

'Man overboard!' one of the sailors screamed. 'Man overboard! Mr Fenton's gone in!'

'I know that chap,' I said to Daisy. 'That guy who just fell in the sea. He's a stuntman. He comes to my puppy parties.'

'Does he?'

'He does self-defence cla.s.ses too.'

'Really? Well, we must go to them, Miranda. Shall we do that?'

'Okay,' I said absently. 'Why not?'

And now the camera cut to Alexander, who was ripping off his coat and leaping into the sea to save his first mate.

'Look at that!' Daisy shrieked. 'Alexander's jumping in after him. Can you believe it!'

'That's not really Alexander. That's a stuntman too.'

'Well, obviously,' she said. 'I'm not sure I can take this,' she added as there was a close-up of Alexander thras.h.i.+ng about in the water. 'I seriously think I might puke.'

'It's only a drama, Daisy,' I said wearily.

'I know that. Anyway, I'm turning him off.'

I managed to watch it to the end, and, as the closing credits scrolled down the screen, I remembered how thrilled I'd been when Alexander got the part. He very nearly didn't get it because the producers were worried that he wasn't a big enough name. He had five screen tests-the whole agonizing process took over a month. But the casting director-who'd spotted him in The Tempest-insisted that he was the one. And then, at long last, Alexander's agent phoned him to say that he'd got it. I remember shrieking with joy.

I'd felt so relieved for him-it was the big break he'd been waiting for-and I felt terribly proud. I'd often imagined how we would watch Land Ahoy! together, on the night it was screened; we'd probably throw a small party, just for close friends. But here I was, watching it with Herman, not having laid eyes on Alexander for nearly two months.

'And you can see the second episode of Land Ahoy! at the same time next week,' said the announcer over the final bars of the theme tune. I switched it off.

'No thanks.' Once was enough.

The next day I went filming for Animal Crackers; I had to drive out to Oxfords.h.i.+re to film a pair of aggressive guard geese-they were vile-one of them nearly broke my arm. But it was frustrating because there was a tractor in the next field and every time I tried to do my piece to camera it would start up. Anyway, Clare, the producer, had a copy of The Times, and while we were hanging about I read the TV review. It was captioned Alexander the Great. Alexander Darke exuded heroism from every pore, the reviewer declared. I felt ill. He was public property now.

We eventually got the geese done, then we all drove to Bicester to film this goat which was having an ident.i.ty crisis. It had convinced itself it was a horse. Finally, at half past six, I got home with Herman, exhausted, and contemplated the evening ahead. I left a message for Daisy, telling her that I was seeing David. Then I opened the wardrobe. What should I wear? I opted for a simple white dress and a lime green cashmere cardigan, and put a little mousse in my hair. I got the tube, because I wanted to have a drink-if not several-the only kind of courage I'd have would be Dutch. I'd looked up the restaurant. It was near Farringdon. At seven forty, I pushed on the door.

David was already there, at the bar in smart jeans and a white tee s.h.i.+rt with a blue linen jacket. He saw me and waved. We had a gla.s.s of champagne-I drank mine pretty quickly-then we went through to the dining room. It was refectory style, with white painted walls and simple wooden tables.

'So here we are,' he said as we were seated.

'Here we are,' I repeated. 'It's nice.' The waiter brought us the menus.

'They have some quite amazing things here,' David said, as the waiter poured our mineral water. I glanced at the menu and felt suddenly sick. Rolled pig's spleen. I read. Braised sweet-breads...fried calves' brains...black pudding...roast bone marrow...boiled ox-tail...

'Seen anything you like?' I heard him ask.

'David-'

'What are chitterlings?' he enquired.

'A pig's small intestines. David-'

'Hmm?' he said, as he continued to peruse the menu.

'There's something I've got to tell you.'

'Yes?' He looked up. 'Is it serious?'

'I'm a vegetarian.'

'Oh. Oh dear. I'm so sorry,' he added, pulling a face. 'This is just about the worst place I could have brought you then.'

'It's not your fault. I should have warned you. But I didn't know the restaurant was quite so meat-orientated. It doesn't matter,' I said. 'I mean, I used to be a vet. I've seen plenty of chitterlings and spleens in my time-but they were usually attached to live animals I was doing surgery on.'

'Do you want to leave?'

'No, it's okay. I could just have...' I glanced down the menu. 'The Welsh rarebit.'

'That's not very much.'

'I'll be fine.'

'Well, I won't have anything too ghastly. I'll have the widgeon-that's a duck, isn't it, could you stand watching me eat that?'

'Yes. In any case, I'm not that strict. Usually, going to a restaurant doesn't bother me because there's normally a pasta or rice dish I can have, but here it's nearly all meat.'

'It is-and their speciality's unusual cuts. In fact, it's absolutely offal,' he quipped. I smiled. 'Why did you go vegetarian?' he asked as he caught the waiter's eye. 'Was it an animal welfare thing for you?'

I fiddled with the stem of my winegla.s.s. 'Yes. Yes, it was.'

'So you're a veggie with a sausage dog!'

I smiled. The waiter came back and as David spoke to him I glanced again at his damaged hands, resting on the table, and had to fight the sudden urge to cry.

'Is white wine okay for you, Miranda?' I nodded. The waiter returned with a bottle of good Chablis. I had a large sip and began to relax. Then our first course arrived-mozzarella salad for me, and potted shrimp for him-and I noticed that David held his fork in a slightly odd way, as though he couldn't grip it properly. Now he was asking me about my work. And that made the conversation go well because I always have lots of good stories. Then it was my turn to make enquiries about him.

'Did you always want to be a photographer?' I asked, my heart pounding.

'No. I was going to be a doctor, actually.'

'Really? You mean, you read medicine?'

'Yes.'

'Where was that then?'

'At Cambridge.'

'You went to Cambridge?' I said. You went to Cambridge and you had to leave early-because of me.

'But I went off medicine,' he explained as he put down his knife.

'Oh,' I said, innocently. 'Why?'

'Because, well, I had to leave university halfway through my course.' Now I remembered his neighbour saying that he'd 'left early'. 'I had an...accident,' he said. He nodded at his hands. 'You probably noticed.'

'No, I-'

'So I had to take several months off. And the college were very understanding about it, and they told me I could do the year again. But by the time I was, well, better-if that's the right word-I wasn't sure about medicine any more.'

'Why not?' I asked quietly. I could feel my heart race.

'Well, I just didn't want to be a doctor after that. Maybe because I'd had to spend a lot of time in hospital. Having skin grafts. It takes ages-well, you'd know all about that,' he added.

My breathing suddenly tightened. 'How? How would I know?'

He looked slightly puzzled. 'Well...because of being a vet.'

'Oh...yes...of course.'