Read Online Acquired Tastes by Simone Mondesir - Free Book Online

always wore Jermyn Street suits and shirts. Even at his most casual he wore cavalry twill trousers and a sports jacket. But the man standing awkwardly in front of her wore a scruffy T-shirt, filthy ripped jeans, and a pair of ancient trainers which in some past life, may have once been white.
    She indicated the bulging carrier bags at Jeremy's feet. 'This is your audition for your new career as a bag-lady, I take it?'
    Jeremy made a weak attempt at a smile. 'I'm sort of between homes at the moment.'
    Vanessa raised an eyebrow. 'Really. And to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you?'
    'Would it be possible to speak inside?' Jeremy said, rubbing his buttocks, 'I arrived a bit early and your doorstep is a bit hard.' His jeans bagged about his thighs.
    'I'll give you five minutes and that's it, so it had better be good,' Vanessa said crisply, putting her key in the lock.
    Jeremy picked up his belongings and followed her inside.
    'Leave those in the hall,' Vanessa commanded, 'I don't want you bringing anything unpleasant into my flat.'
    Jeremy meekly put down his suitcase and bags and wiped his hands on his T-shirt, and his feet on the mat, before stepping into Vanessa's flat. He blinked and looked around. Every surface was white.
    What had once been a grand, ornately decorated drawing room had been stripped of every cornice, fireplace, dado and architectural indulgence leaving flat, featureless walls. Only the floor offered any contrast and that was made of blond beech wood. There were no books, pictures or ornaments, none of the bric-a-brac of life to give a clue to the personality of the occupier.
    Vanessa indicated a white leather sofa. Jeremy nervously wiped his hands on his T-shirt again and sat down, gingerly.
    'Well?' demanded Vanessa, sitting in a white leather armchair opposite him and crossing her long legs.
    Jeremy took a deep breath.
    'I know we're divorced,' he began.
    'Really? ' Vanessa raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 'And whose fault is that?'
    Jeremy looked at his hands. His finger nails were filthy. He tried to hide them. 'I didn't mean…' his voice faltered.
    'Then perhaps you shouldn’t have screwed around with that woman.'
    'But I didn't, at least I hadn't. Not when you said I had, and if you hadn't been so… so… well… perhaps I might not…'
    'Are you trying to say
I
was responsible for you committing adultery?' demanded Vanessa.
    Jeremy shrugged helplessly. He had never been any good at arguments.
    Vanessa relaxed back into her chair. She was enjoying herself. 'Am I to assume from your current homeless state that you are no longer living with the right-on PC little Ms Belle?' Her voice was as light as a soufflé.
    Jeremy's jaw twitched as he tried to control his emotions. 'She's found someone else,' he said at last.
    'Did I hear you right? She's found someone else.' Vanessa's voice was shrilly triumphant. 'This definitely calls for a drink.'
    She jumped to her feet and headed for the kitchen.
    Jeremy stared at the ground, misery blurring his vision. He knew he should not have called Vanessa, but he had nowhere else to go. He'd spent the last week living in a cheap hotel near King's Cross, venturing out only to buy an occasional hamburger. But the other rooms in the hotel appeared to be rented by the hour, and the grunts and squeaks coming through the paper thin walls at every hour of the day and night had prevented him from sleeping. Although he would not have thought it possible, the sound effects had succeeded in making him feel even more wretched than he already did.
    After a few days of this, he had finally got enough courage to go home and face his mother. However, when he telephoned her from a booth on King's Cross station, a contrite and repentant speech ready, his brother James had answered.
    'Jeremy old boy, how are you?' his brother boomed in a voice loud enough to hear even over the station announcements. 'We were only talking about you at dinner last night. Mother still seems a trifle