Jonathan Coe - Number 11

‘Have a bit of patience,’ she said to her cousin. ‘What does it matter? It’s only food.’

‘Rude bitch,’ Sir Peter said, leaning in close to Josephine, and whispering in her ear, ‘Looks like you’ve drawn the short straw tonight. Try to ignore her.’ He noticed that his daughter’s eyes seemed troubled. She was staring across at the adjacent table. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘See that man over there? The fat one with the piggy eyes.’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s that comedian who slagged me off on his show.’

‘Really?’ her father said. ‘Right. Later on, I’ll have a word with him.’ There was a grim note of menace to these last five words, which bled into his next muttered question, a repeat of: ‘Where are these fucking menus?’ Looking around, he caught the eye of a waitress with the name ‘Selena’ on her name tag, and beckoned her over to make his feelings known.

*

Lucinda left it until literally the last minute to make her appearance at table number 11. She arrived at 7.29 precisely. For Nathan, however, who had been sitting there in a state of heightened alertness for a quarter of an hour or more, scanning the room for signs of villainy, it was worth the wait. For a moment, all thoughts of detective work flew out of his head. As for any attempt to conceal his feelings, this was in vain. His jaw slackened and he let out a clearly audible gasp. Lucinda was wearing a plain black cocktail dress and she looked — there was no other word for it — ravishing .

She had arms. She had real, human, female, bare arms, complete with elbows and wrists, suspended from a pair of lovely pale bare shoulders. She had legs, complete with calves, shins, and knees deliciously sheathed in black nylon. She had a figure: a gorgeous, womanly figure at which none of her other clothes had even hinted before. He had already known that he was in love with her: but that love was instantly magnified and intensified a million-fold, and supplemented by a surging, overwhelming wave of desire which made him feel so weak that when he rose totteringly to his feet to give her a peck on the cheek, he was sure that his legs were going to give way.

‘Nathan,’ she said, and unless he was imagining it, her voice was not quite as prim as usual; there was something almost coquettish in it, as though she was fully aware of the effect her appearance must be having on him, and was quietly relishing it.

‘Lucinda,’ he replied. ‘You look … amazing.’ He prolonged the kiss for as long as he dared, relishing the cushiony softness of her cheek, and breathing in the scent of her tantalizing perfume, the fragrance of jasmine with a hint of rose petal.

‘Please,’ he said, drawing back her chair and sighing with admiration as she sank gracefully into it. She brushed back a rogue strand of hair and smiled shyly at the famous TV chat show host sitting next to her on the left, and at Ryan Quirky, sitting across from her on the other side of the circular table. She didn’t recognize either of them. Nathan took his place beside her on the right, and poured her a glass of sparkling water.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I don’t seem to have a menu.’

‘None of us have menus,’ said Nathan. ‘I believe our hosts have got a little surprise planned for us, in that respect. And we should find out what it is in —’ he glanced at his watch ‘— roughly ten seconds.’

Sure enough, ten seconds later, a remarkable thing happened.

From the centre of each table, a circular section was removed, like a little trap door, by hands at first invisible; and through each resulting aperture a man’s head appeared. Sixty different men’s heads, at sixty different tables. The rest of their bodies remained beneath the tables, hidden from view. A ripple of surprise and admiration went around the room.

At table number 11, the head was crowned by a mop of red hair. The head swivelled around slowly through 360 degrees, and each of the twelve guests found themselves being stared at in turn by a pair of piercing green eyes framed by large, owl-like horn-rimmed spectacles.

‘Good evening,’ said the head. ‘My name is Dorian, and I will be your talking menu tonight. I will be here all evening, to tell you about the food, and to answer any food-related questions. I’m afraid I cannot talk to you about any other subject. Nor, sadly, am I allowed to eat or drink any of the delicious items with which you are about to be presented. Don’t feel too sorry for me, please, I am being well paid for my work tonight, and I will be taking home a generous doggy bag. And so, without further ado, allow me to introduce the first item on tonight’s succulent smorgasbord . Ladies and gentlemen, prepare your palates for a selection of our chef’s amazing amuse-bouches !’

Right on cue, a team of waiters and waitresses glided towards the table. The plates laid down in front of the eager diners contained three small, exquisitely crafted items of uncertain provenance. Dorian proceeded to explain.

‘First of all, ladies and gentlemen, you have a cured-beet and Scottish salmon Napoleon with Bibb lettuce, topped with Beluga caviar and marinated in a cumquat distillation. We think you will find it both acerbic and whimsical. Next to that, you will find a cold potato-truffle soup with a hot, butter-poached Yukon Gold potato, parmesan, black truffle, and sea salt of a notorious astringency, especially garnered from the seas around the famous Kwajalein Atoll in the Marshall Islands. And last but not least, throw yourselves upon a periwig of Kumamoto oysters, served with a green apple mignonette dusted with coriander and a fennel-cilantro salad with ponzu dressing.’

Wondering if the food itself could possibly live up to the sensory expectation aroused by these descriptions, the guests sat with their forks poised over their plates, their mouths filling with juices.

‘Any questions, before we start?’

‘Erm … what exactly,’ said the chat show host, ‘is ponzu dressing?’

‘Ponzu, sir,’ said Dorian, ‘is a citrus-based brown sauce from Japan. Not at all uncommon, I’m sure you’ve had it many times before. The word literally means “vinegar punch”.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I have another question,’ said Ryan Quirky. ‘Some oysters are known for their aphrodisiac qualities. Is this true of Kumamoto oysters?’

‘Sir,’ answered Dorian, ‘it is especially true of this variety.’

And with that, they began to eat. But Nathan noticed that Lucinda left her oysters on the side of her plate.

*

Between the main course and the dessert, Josephine slipped outside, ostensibly to have a cigarette but in reality because she could not stand making conversation with Helke for a moment longer. It was cold in Centenary Square, and her breath steamed in the air as she fumbled in her handbag, first for her packet of cigarettes and then, at greater length, for her lighter, which she seemed to have mislaid.

‘Oh, fuck it!’ she said out loud.

‘Do you want a light?’ someone said, stepping out of the shadows.

It was Selena, the waitress, who was also having a quick smoke.

‘Oh. Thank you. That’s very kind,’ said Josephine, too flustered and annoyed to feel particularly grateful.

‘No problem.’ She offered Josephine the end of her own cigarette. ‘Nippy, isn’t it?’

‘Well, that’s what you get for trekking up to the frozen North, I suppose.’

Selena smiled, but said nothing to this.

‘Enjoying the show in there?’

‘I suppose they’ve made an effort. The talking menus are original, at least.’

‘It’s given an evening’s work to a lot of out-of-work actors, that’s for sure.’

Josephine had no wish to get into conversation with this person. This whole evening, which she had thought would be merely tedious, was turning into a nightmare. She looked around her at the unfamiliar cityscape, the steady flow of evening traffic stopping and starting at the lights on Broad Street, the groups of cheaply dressed, rather threatening (she thought) teenagers wandering backwards and forwards past the library, and cursed the organizers for dragging her up here. Birmingham! What were they thinking? OK, so it was a fancy building all right, but still, that didn’t justify forcing her to spend a night in this dismal hell-hole. She would definitely have a word with the steering committee about it at breakfast tomorrow.