“Good idea,” Tristan chuckles, copying him. He looks up to see Janet staring at them in disgust before turning her ravenous eyes back to Matthew to grill him about his dating experiences.
Despite its unappealing appearance—and dubious ethics—the foie gras is utterly delicious, and Tristan’s plate is cleared in no time. His taste buds celebrate; poor things are more familiar with beans on toast.
“I’d have thought a young man like you would be out on the town every night,” Melvin says after taking a large gulp of red wine.
“I prefer takeaway at home with friends,” Tristan replies, which is only a half lie. He has takeaway most Friday and Saturday nights, but never with friends.
“My wife and I used to go out lots when we first married, but not so much these days… She’s recovering from chemo…” For the first time, Melvin’s voice is low, almost a whisper, a strange expression on his face.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. My dad had prostate cancer a few years ago. He’s doing great now—” says Tristan.
“That’s good,” Melvin cuts in. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s avery strong lady, my Mary. More wine?”
Tristan nods and watches Melvin wave over the waiter to request another bottle. He’s smiling again, filled with bonhomie. Clearly, he doesn’t want to talk about his wife’s illness, but his expression hadn’t been one of sadness—more like guilt. Odd.
Gordon
Gordon finds he cannot tear his eyes away from Janet as she hungrily smears thick, sticky foie gras onto the cracker. She doesn’t seem to notice that she has also coated her thumb; her focus is totally taken with the food carefully balanced on the tips of her fingers. As if in slow motion, she raises the cracker, her bloodred lips parting—Gordon can see her expensive dental work—and it is devoured. Then she finally spots the blob of beige on her thumbnail, and that also disappears into the red cavern. He tries to ignore the twitch in his groin.
Looking down at his own plate, Gordon scrapes a modest amount of the foie gras onto his knife and carefully spreads it around a cracker. Made up of mostly duck fat, foie gras is certainly calorific, but, in fact, the monounsaturated and polyunsaturated fats can be a beneficial part of a healthy diet in small quantities. He picks up his wineglass and takes a small sip of the red wine, allows the liquid to swill around his mouth one, two, three times and then swallows. With its links to lowering heart disease, Gordon allows his wife, Elizabeth, to pour them each a glass of red wine once or twice a week. Elizabeth inevitably tries to persuade Gordon intoa second glass, but then he reminds her the health benefits most likely stop after just one. As he’s always telling his wife, it’s all about moderation, a word this Janet woman clearly doesn’t live by.
As he watches her repeat the process with a second cracker, it takes everything Gordon has to maintain an impassive expression on his face. Inside, he is screaming at this woman:You are disgusting!He thinks back to medical school and the autopsies they all had to partake in. About half of his class rushed off to vomit; a couple fainted right there and then. But Gordon, he loved every second. He relished the feel of the scalpel pushing through the skin, the beauty of the organs fitting together just so. His tutor was amazed by Gordon’s focus at such a young age. The thought still makes him smile. Looking up at Janet now, he pictures the layer of fat he’d find if he cut through her skin with his scalpel. Yellow and bulbous. Perhaps if she saw that, she’d change her ways.
Slowly chewing his modest portion of foie gras (exactly thirty-two times, to aid the digestion process), he briefly closes his eyes with pleasure. It is truly delicious. A small voice inside his head is saying,Go on Gordon, eat it all up. Worry about it later.He looks down at his plate and picks up a second cracker, smears another thumbnail of foie gras on top. Again, he slowly chews and swallows before pushing the plate away from him, away from temptation. He leaves the last three crackers and barely touched foie gras. As he does, he notices his place setting. Pleasingly, it readsDr. Gordon MacMillan, and underneath there’s a tiny drawing of a peacock in a top hat. He peers more closely at it; the peacock looks rather distinguished. Perhaps it is the emblem for some sortof high-profile guest speaker society. Gordon allows himself a moment of excitement.
“Pass that over if you don’t want it,” Janet calls, her fingers wriggling as she reaches across the table for Gordon’s plate.
“Oh, I might have more later,” he responds, a little quicker than he intended, pulling the plate back out of her reach. Gordon suppresses a smile as Janet visibly huffs and turns back to gazing at Matthew. She’s got no idea what a fool she’s making of herself. As if that young, athletic chap would want an overweight middle-aged woman!
“Get it down you, Gordo,” Melvin bellows across the table as if he’s shouting at a rugby referee. “You could do with a bit more meat on those bones.”
“Thank you, Melvin. Perhaps I will have a bit more,” Gordon says and gingerly picks up his knife once again. He takes a sidelong glance at Melvin, who is now leaning back in his chair, his unsightly stomach shaking as he laughs at something Matthew has said. It’s really no wonder that the police force is in such a state, with men like Melvin in their camp.
“You look like you’d make a good winger; there’s no sport better than rugby,” Melvin says to Matthew.
Gordon inwardly rolls his eyes. His dad had loved rugby, too, a die-hard Edinburgh Rugby fan, couldn’t understand Gordon’s preference for his bedroom and books over the muddy sports field. Another niggle of his: how the world is obsessed with sports “heroes” over scientists, who save lives and really do make a difference.
“So sorry to hear about your wife,” Gordon says now, fed up with this mindless sports chat.
Melvin’s smile quickly disappears, and he nods solemnly at Gordon.
“Did you know that a healthy diet can reduce your risk of cancer. In fact, obesity is a cause of thirteen different types of cancer,” he says.
“Well, Mary certainly isn’t obese,” Melvin snaps, putting his cutlery down rather abruptly, causing a loud clatter and silencing the table.
“Oh, no, that’s not what I was implying.” Gordon gives the police officer a reassuring smile. “It’s all about eating plenty of fruits and vegetables, whole grains and proteins. Avoiding red meat, alcohol, and sugary foods.”
“So tonight isn’t helping our chances of living long lives, then,” Vivienne cuts in from Gordon’s left. He looks up to see her cool blue eyes staring hard into his. It’s a look that Elizabeth sometimes throws him when she feels he’s “going on a bit.”
“Well, everything in moderation, I always say,” he splutters, quickly looking toward Janet.
Elizabeth has warned him before about his overzealous “lecturing” on healthy eating. But what did she expect? Conversation at dinner parties naturally turns to food and drink, and he can’t miss the opportunity to educate others.
Gordon goes back to his plate as conversation around the table turns to the recent christening of the royal baby, Princess Something or Other. He sighs into his starter at the inexplicableinterest people have in these entitled little children who just happened to be born into the right family.
God, this foie gras is delicious. He can’t deny it. At home, he made sure that he, Elizabeth, and Louisa followed a strict and balanced diet.
“It’s like a diet camp,” Louisa would sulk, and he’d started to wonder if she was supplementing her meals with high-sugar snacks when she wasn’t at home. He could see her body filling out, her derriere rounding off, her upper arms starting to wobble.
