Vanessa Architect Of My Destiny

It had never been my intention to remain in London for long. My plan had been to live there just long enough to get the lie of the land and get my business up and running. After that, I would move out west. Not all the way back to Bath, but perhaps to somewhere like Maidenhead. I took a six-month lease on a first floor flat just off Hyde Park Square. And then I met Vanessa.

Ed Browning was a chap who I sort of knew from university days. I guess you could say that he was a friend of some friends. We tended to run into each other from time to time. Mainly at parties. By the time that I moved to London, Ed had set himself up as a wine consultant, working mainly with restaurants and independent wine retailers. Funny where a master's degree in urban geography can take you.

I had been living in London for about six weeks when I ran into Ed outside Victoria Station. 'Up to town for the day?' he said. I explained that I had moved to London, albeit only temporarily, while I set up a business helping people to manage the repair and restoration of listed buildings. Ed nodded. 'I have a pal who probably needs your help,' he said. 'He has a Grade II Listed house that is only half there. One end of it was damaged sometime towards the end of the Second World War, and it's still being propped up with steel girders fifty years later.'

I nodded. 'Yes, there are quite a few of those still around. I think immediately after the war people didn't have the money. And then, by the time that they had saved up a few bob, it all got too hard. Too many hoops. Too much strife from the planners.'

'We should get together,' Ed said. 'Tell you what, I'm conducting a Chenin Blanc tasting for a client on Wednesday evening. You could come along as one of my skilled assistants. We can go for a drink and a natter afterwards.'

'I'm not sure that I know too much about Chenin Blanc,' I told him.

'That's OK. You'll be in good company,' he said. He tore a page from a notebook that he was carrying and scribbled an address. 'The Strand,' he said. 'Say five-forty-five? You can help us set things up.' And then he was flagging down a cab.

On Wednesday, I arrived at the venue a little early. I had been worried that I wouldn't be able to find it. I was still learning my way around London. Ed was outside, unloading boxes from the back of a van. 'Oh, good,' he said. 'Here, grab a couple of these.'

When we got inside, I was pleased to see that he already had another couple of 'skilled assistants': Daniel and Louise. 'What do you need me to do?' I asked.

'Just put this apron on, and take your lead from Dan.'

The apron had a name tag on it. George. 'George?' I said.

Ed nodded. 'Yes. People like to be able to call you something.'

'But I'm not George.'

'It's only for the next couple of hours,' Ed said.

'And what do I do if people start asking me questions?'

'About George?'

'No. About ... well ... about the wine. What it's supposed to taste like. Stuff like that.'

'I usually find it's best to answer a question with a question,' Ed said. 'If they ask what the wine is supposed to taste like, I usually ask them what they think it tastes like. And then just nod. And if they are way off, just explain that everybody's taste buds are slightly different. One man's peach is another man's ginger.'

Fortunately, for the first half an hour or so, no one asked me any questions. And then Vanessa (the guests all had their own name tags) sidled up to me and said: 'This wine tastes like cough drops. I think it may be off.'

She had handed me her glass, and so I held it up to the light, and then I swirled the wine and held the glass to my nose. I could see what she meant about cough drops. 'Interesting, isn't it?' I said. 'How one person's peach is another person's ginger.'

'Bullshit,' she said. And she smiled.

'I'm pretty sure there's some Sauvignon Blanc out the back,' I said. 'Let me go and get you a glass of that. I shall be right back.'

When I returned, Vanessa was talking to an older man in a suit that had clearly been tailormade by someone who knew what they were doing. She smiled graciously as I handed her the fresh glass of wine. 'Thank you ... George.' And then she turned to the man: 'Seb, this is my old friend George. I'm sure that I must have mentioned him. George and I were at university together, weren't we, George?'

The older man frowned, but then nodded. 'Oh. Right. Yes. Probably.' And Seb (his name tag said that he was Sebastian) extended his hand. 'How do you do?' he said.

'How do you do, Sebastian? Can I get you something?' I asked.

'Umm ... no thanks,' he said. 'I think we are going to have to pull for shore shortly. I have an early flight tomorrow.'

'Why don't you go on?' Vanessa said to him. 'I'd like to catch up with George.'

Sebastian hesitated - but only for a moment or two. 'All right,' he said. 'I'll probably be asleep by the time you get in.' And then he turned to me. 'Nice to meet you, umm, George,' he said.

'Likewise,' I told him.

Sebastian kissed Vanessa on the cheek and then strode purposefully in the direction of the front door.

'Right,' Vanessa said, 'I'll leave it to you to come and find me when you're ready to go. By the way, this wine is very much better. Are you sure that the other one wasn't off?'

I just smiled.

'The tidy-looking blonde woman in the lilac-coloured suit and the floral blouse,' I said to Ed when I caught up with him a few minutes later. 'Was she at university with us?'

Ed peered in Vanessa's direction. 'Umm ... I don't know,' he said. 'I don't remember her. But she might have been. Why?'

'She says that she was,' I told him. 'Well ... she says that she was at university with me anyway.'

'In that case, she probably was. To be honest, my memories of university are a bit fuzzy.'

'She wants to catch up with me later,' I said.

'Oh.' Ed nodded. 'Well, in that case, you should let her. You and I can catch up another time. A bird in the hand and all that.' And he grinned.

After the tasters had drifted off, I started to lend Louise and Dan a hand with the clean-up. 'No. Leave this to us,' Ed said. 'Go and look after your old classmate. And see if she remembers me. You never know. I must be due for a bit of luck.'

I took off my apron - and George's name badge - and went off to find Vanessa. 'Right,' I said. 'I'm here. Now ... where to?'

'Where do you live?' she asked.

'For the moment, I live here in London,' I told her.

She laughed. 'Yes. But whereabouts in London? In case you hadn't noticed, London is a big city.'

'Oh. I have a flat just off Hyde Park Square. Sort of between Lancaster Gate and Marble Arch.'

'Perfect,' she said. And, before I had a chance to say anything else, we were out of the door, and she had flagged down a cab.

I gave the cabbie the address, and about five minutes later we were pulling up outside my front door.

'Do you have any Scotch?' Vanessa asked.

'Yeah. I think so.'

'Good,' she said. 'I need something to get rid of the taste of that wine. Are you sure it wasn't off?'

'No idea,' I told her. I unlocked the door and led her up to the first floor landing where I unlocked the door to my flat. 'Were we really at university together?' I asked.

'I don't know,' she said. 'Where did you go?'

'Manchester.'

'Umm ... probably not then,' Vanessa said. 'I went to Bristol.'

I found the Scotch, some glasses, and some ice, and poured a couple of generous shots. 'Oh ... and my name's not actually George,' I said.

For a moment or two, Vanessa seemed confused. 'Your badge said George.'

'Yeah. I was just filling in for George,' I said. 'As you might have deduced, I know bugger all about wine. I'm actually an architect.'

Vanessa nodded. 'So that wine that I thought was off probably was off,' she said.

'Quite possibly,' I said. And I handed her a Scotch.

Vanessa took a sip, quite a large sip. And then she looked around. 'Is there a bathroom?' she said.

'Why? Do you need a bath?' I asked.

'No. But I need a pee,' she said. 'And then we need a bedroom. And, no, I don't need a sleep. Well ... not yet anyway.'

'Fair enough.' I pointed to the corridor. 'The bathroom's on the left; the bedroom's on the right.'

She handed me her glass. 'I'll let you look after this for me,' she said.

'That chap,' I said, when she joined me in the bedroom. 'Sebastian.'

'My husband.'

I nodded.

'Oh, don't worry,' she said, 'he'll be fast asleep by now. And by the time that I wake up in the morning, he'll be halfway out across the Atlantic.'

Vanessa took off her jacket and carefully placed it over the back of the chair in the corner of my bedroom. Then she took off her skirt and carefully placed it with the jacket. She was not wearing any knickers.

Vanessa took another sip of her Scotch and then lay down on the bed and spread her legs. 'You know what they say,' she said.

'You might need to remind me,' I told her.

'It ain't going to lick itself.'

And that's how it all started.

It was about ten-thirty when I put Vanessa into a cab and sent her off in the direction of Holland Park. I remember going back inside, pouring myself a large glass of fizzy water, and asking myself: 'Well ... what just happened there?' I also remember waking up in the night and wondering if it had all been a dream. But her perfume was still on the pillow, so I decided that it probably hadn't been a dream. Of course, there was always the possibility that I hadn't actually woken up and I was still dreaming.

The following morning I went to look at some potential office space just off the Marylebone High Street. It was a narrow Georgian building, in need of repair both inside and out. Judging by the basement (which the chap showing me around referred to as 'the lower ground floor'), at some stage someone had tried to use the building as a café or restaurant. Another one of the many that hadn't made it.

'Who owns the freehold?' I asked.

The chap looked annoyed, as though it was none of my business who owned the freehold. 'I do,' he said eventually. 'Well, my family, anyway.'

I nodded. I hope sympathetically. 'It's a bit of an orphan, isn't it?' I said. 'Being so narrow. Over four floors. Grade II listed. Have you done an estimate of what it would take to bring it up to scratch?'

'We've looked at it,' he said.

'Well ... location, location,' I said. 'It has that in its favour. I imagine that you've managed to stay under the radar. But this area is on the up. I'd have thought it's only a matter of time before the council comes calling. Assuming that they haven't already.'

The chap smiled nervously.

'Why don't we do each other a favour?' I said. 'I don't want to pay your asking rent. It's not worth that much to me. And you're going to need some expert help to steer your repairs and renovations through the sea of red tape. Not to mention help in finding quality trades people at a sensible price.'

'I know plenty of people,' he said. 'I have them knocking on my door every day.'

'I bet you do. And I'm also willing to bet that at least half of them are cowboys. That patch job,' I said, pointing to the door frame. 'Two years old? Three at the most? And it already needs doing again.'

'What are you suggesting?' he asked.

'We do a deal on the rent, and I make up the difference with some serious consultancy.'

'How much of a deal?'

'You write down your best number, I'll write down mine, and we'll see how close we are.'

It took a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, but, in the end, we got there. 'George, isn't it,' I said as I shook his hand.

'George,' he confirmed.

'It's been a bit of a week for Georges,' I told him.

I left George to sort out the paperwork and wandered back to the Marylebone High Street. I walked up one side as far as the St Marylebone Parish church, and then back down the other side. Back in those days, Marylebone High Street was nothing like the thriving place that it is today. The few service shops - butchers', bakers', ironmongers' - looked as if they had been there since Adam was a lad. And I seem to recall that there were at least half a dozen 'charity' shops. But there were also more than a few classic Georgian buildings in need of repairs and renovations.

After making a few notes in my notebook, I headed back across Baker Street and Edgware Road, and down to my flat. I was just putting the first of the keys into the first of the locks when I noticed the small card tucked in between the door and the jamb. 'Phone me,' a handwritten note said. On the other side was printed: Quay Questions, Research on which you can rely. Vanessa Harris, Principal. And there was an address and a couple of phone numbers.

Harris? I assumed that it was the same Vanessa - although we hadn't got that far the previous evening.

'Ah. George,' she said when she answered the phone.

'Or not,' I suggested, 'as the case may be.'

'Too late,' she said. 'I've already seen your badge. Your nametag. Among other things.' And she laughed.

'So ... research,' I said. 'Will there be more questions?'

'There could be,' she said. 'I need to be over your way this afternoon. I noticed a pub just along the street from your place. The Duke of Somewhere? I thought we might work on your wine palate. What are you doing about five-thirty?'

'It sounds as if I am going to be getting a lesson in how to recognise my Chenin Blanc from my elbow.'

'I'll meet you there,' she said. 'Although we might give the Chenin Blanc a wide berth. I've never quite understood its appeal.'

By the time that I arrived at the pub, Vanessa was already there. 'I hope you like bubbles,' she said. 'I got us a bottle of cava. It's not champagne, but it's not bad. Slightly yeasty, and almost bone dry.' She carefully poured a second glassful and pushed it across the table towards me. 'Salut,' she said, raising her own glass.

'Salut.'

She was right about the wine. It was brut nature, with no added sugar whatsoever. And, ice cold on a warm afternoon, it was very pleasant indeed.

'Nice,' I said. 'I would never have chosen to order this. But it's certainly one to remember for the future.'

'It reminds me of Barcelona in the summer,' she said.

'Do you like Barcelona in the summer?'

'I do. Do you?'

'I've only ever been to Barcelona in the winter. I'm not sure why. But then winter in Barcelona is hardly like winter in North Yorkshire, is it?' She smiled.

'And was your husband asleep when you got home last night?'

'I assume so,' she said. 'When he knows that he is going to have to get up early, he sleeps in another bedroom.'

I nodded. 'And he was gone when you woke up this morning.'

She smiled again and took a sip of her wine. 'And have you had a productive day?' she asked.

'I think so.' And I told her about my office space negotiations.

'That sounds like a win all round,' she said.

'Nothing's signed yet,' I told her. 'But ... yes. It could work. Tell me about Quay Questions.'

'We're a field research company,' she said. 'We do the fieldwork for several of the business-to-business and customer research companies.'

'Clipboards on the High Street,' I said.

'Well, yes, that. But, increasingly, we use the telephone. And I can foresee the day when the business-to-business will be via computer.'

'And you are the Principal.'

'Yes. That was Seb's idea. Actually the whole thing was Seb's idea really.'

'Is Seb involved in research?'

Vanessa shook her head. 'Seb has many fingers in many pies,' she said. 'But not research. His pet project at the moment is Night Express. You may have heard of it.'

I nodded. 'A grocery store that opens just when the other guys are closing. There's one in Edgware Road.'

'Seb thinks it's just a matter of time before one of the big guys makes him an offer he can't refuse.'

'Or they could just decide to stay open twenty-four hours,' I said. 'The big guys, I mean.'

Vanessa shook her head. 'They wouldn't want the overhead. Keeping a big store open through the wee hours costs too much. Well ... that's what Seb reckons anyway. And he's a wiz when it comes to numbers.'

For the next three-quarters of an hour or so we sipped and chatted like old friends. Perhaps in some parallel universe we really had been at university together. And then I realised that all I had eaten that day was a couple of slices of toast. I was hungry. 'Feel like something to eat?' I said.

'I do,' Vanessa said. 'What are you thinking?'

'Well, there are plenty of places around here. Or we could go back to mine. I made some lasagne the other night. It's one of my specialties. Lasagne and salad?'

'I'm impressed,' Vanessa said. 'Sounds perfect.'

While you may or may not believe me, my intention at that point was purely to get a few calories on board. But Vanessa had other ideas. And after we had enjoyed the lasagne (which was very nice) and the salad - washed down with a glass or two of a light Italian red from somewhere down south - we ended up back in the bedroom. And that's where we spent a busy night.

It started out innocently enough - well, as innocently as a quick finger fuck with someone else's wife can ever be. But then, after her first orgasm, Vanessa suddenly had most of her clothes off and she was lying on her back with her legs spread. 'I need you inside me,' she said. And then she added: 'Pretty please.' And she gave me a very naughty smile.

The finger fuck had got her well primed, and my cock slid into her like the proverbial hot knife into a pat of butter.' Oh, yes,' she said. 'Oh, fuck, yes.' And then, just as I thought that she was going to crest the wave for a second time, she pushed me off. 'Girls on top,' she said. 'Didn't they teach you anything at that fancy school you went to?'

'It was a boys-only school,' I said. 'Girls were another species - a little like tigers and giraffes. The only time that we ever saw them up close was when we went over to St Cecilia's for ballroom dancing lessons. And then our respective minders watched us like hawks. Although it was rumoured that Jeremy Staines did manage some sort of sexual connection with one of their undermatrons.'

'I hope the rest of the class chipped in to buy him a chocolate fish,' Vanessa said. And then she was lowering herself onto my cock and riding me in the manner of a champion cowgirl.

'Do you have a small overnight bag?' Vanessa asked the next morning, when I returned to the bedroom bearing mugs of tea.

'I do.'

'May I borrow it?'

'Umm ... yes, of course. Are you going somewhere?'

'Home,' she said. 'But if I just arrive home in the same suit that I wore yesterday, my nosey neighbours will assume I pulled an all-nighter. If I'm carrying an overnight bag, they may be more inclined to think that I was out of town. For work. Conducting a focus group somewhere in one of the home counties perhaps.'

I smiled. 'You know all the tricks, don't you?' I said.

'Not all of them. But a few of them,' she said. 'A girl has to look after her reputation.'

I neither heard from nor saw Vanessa for the next few days. Not that it mattered. I had plenty of other things to be doing. And it wasn't as if I was in love with her or anything. It was just ... well, it was just what it was. Nothing more, nothing less.

And then she phoned. 'How are you?'

'Busy,' I told her.

'Oh. Sorry. Am I interrupting something?'

'No, no. I mean ... just busy in general. Things are coming together. I suddenly have three live projects and a couple of possibilities.'

'Well, that's good,' Vanessa said.

'It is,' I assured her. 'It certainly is.'

'Is there room in your busy schedule for a quiet glass of wine?'

'Always,' I said. 'Especially if I am to share it with a beautiful lady.'

'Then shall we say six o'clock at The Duke of Wherever?'

'I shall be there,' I told her. And then I added: 'Unless there's somewhere else you'd like to try.'