distinctive individual who never follows the crowd.’
‘That’s crap !’ the woman exclaimed. ‘A few minutes ago, you were talking about science, but I’ve never heard anything so ludicrously unscientific .’
Apparently unfazed, Yvette endeavoured to continue, only to be interrupted by someone else.
‘What bothers me,’ a slim, well-groomed woman remarked, ‘is that I couldn’t eat eight chocolates without feeling distinctly sick.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ a younger female piped up. ‘I could eat a hundred without the slightest trouble.
‘I’m not sure the thing’s workable at all.’ The speaker was a man, this time, with a top-drawer accent and a classy suit to match. ‘I mean, we sample each other’s chocolates, but so what? I can’t see it’s any advance on ordinary speed-dating – just a lot more pricey.’
‘And, anyway,’ another bloke put in, ‘won’t all the different tastes get muddled up? – especially if we have only a few minutes to judge them on our palate.’
Eric was tempted to chip in himself – he had objections by the score – but he didn’t want to run the risk of alienating Penelope, who, for all he knew, might be passionately committed to the concept of chocolate-dating . Besides, he was feeling slightly intimidated by the Sloaney types who had spoken up so far: colour-supplement people, with the ‘right’ watches, shoes, shirts, bags and hair-cuts. His own hair was cut by the local Vauxhall barber – a friendly Pakistani, who charged a friendly fiver. A further source of shame was the fact he hadn’t understood some of the words in use this evening – feuilletine , torrefied and couverture , to mention but a few – unforgivable ignorance for an information professional .
‘Ladies and gentlemen’ –Yvette’s tone had changed; its pillowy plushnow tempered with a hint of steel – ‘we’ll have time for questions afterwards , OK? But first I’d like to finish, if you don’t mind, so that we’re all clear about the basics.’
Her laser-gaze – authoritative, compelling – quelled any last ripples of dissent. ‘Now, as I was saying, whether you’re sophisticated and smooth, or breezy and bohemian, zingy or laid-back, we can produce a chocolate to express your personality. Tunisian Bharat, for instance, might suit you if you’re deep and complicated, with contradictory strands to your nature. When you first eat a Bharat, it’s piquant and peppery on the tongue, then the warm sensation of cinnamon develops, followed by a gentle floral aftertaste .’
Blimey, Eric thought, wondering if he had strayed into a wine-tasting, or a convention of perfumiers ? But he mustn’t let himself be cowed. Clearly, chocolate had its hierarchy, just as did wine and scent, but there was no reason why he shouldn’t progress from Milky Bar to port-and-Cointreau truffles or geranium ganache – the two aristocrats now flashing up on-screen . After all, despite leaving school at sixteen, he had managed, through sheer willpower and a distance-learning course, to gain a degree in librarianship , and actually achieved his dream of chartership, just three years ago. And, even if he missed out on the Saturday bash, he could still decide his chocolate personality. Was he a tough nut or melting cream? Unfortunately, the latter. Yet if he planned to interest Penelope, he must add a touch more class. How about cassis and hibiscus, or pomegranate and passionfruit? Yes, she was now running her exquisite tongue over his pomegranate protuberance , and expressing her approval with little moans of pleasure. His mind leapt ahead to Christmas – a horizontal Christmas. Why get out of bed, if she were lying naked beside him?
He stole another glance at her, wishing she wasn’t quite so dauntingly chic. Aiming high in chocolate was one thing; aiming high in women more frightening altogether. Yet the new dating book kept stressing that simple self-belief could turn one’s aspirations
‘That’s crap !’ the woman exclaimed. ‘A few minutes ago, you were talking about science, but I’ve never heard anything so ludicrously unscientific .’
Apparently unfazed, Yvette endeavoured to continue, only to be interrupted by someone else.
‘What bothers me,’ a slim, well-groomed woman remarked, ‘is that I couldn’t eat eight chocolates without feeling distinctly sick.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ a younger female piped up. ‘I could eat a hundred without the slightest trouble.
‘I’m not sure the thing’s workable at all.’ The speaker was a man, this time, with a top-drawer accent and a classy suit to match. ‘I mean, we sample each other’s chocolates, but so what? I can’t see it’s any advance on ordinary speed-dating – just a lot more pricey.’
‘And, anyway,’ another bloke put in, ‘won’t all the different tastes get muddled up? – especially if we have only a few minutes to judge them on our palate.’
Eric was tempted to chip in himself – he had objections by the score – but he didn’t want to run the risk of alienating Penelope, who, for all he knew, might be passionately committed to the concept of chocolate-dating . Besides, he was feeling slightly intimidated by the Sloaney types who had spoken up so far: colour-supplement people, with the ‘right’ watches, shoes, shirts, bags and hair-cuts. His own hair was cut by the local Vauxhall barber – a friendly Pakistani, who charged a friendly fiver. A further source of shame was the fact he hadn’t understood some of the words in use this evening – feuilletine , torrefied and couverture , to mention but a few – unforgivable ignorance for an information professional .
‘Ladies and gentlemen’ –Yvette’s tone had changed; its pillowy plushnow tempered with a hint of steel – ‘we’ll have time for questions afterwards , OK? But first I’d like to finish, if you don’t mind, so that we’re all clear about the basics.’
Her laser-gaze – authoritative, compelling – quelled any last ripples of dissent. ‘Now, as I was saying, whether you’re sophisticated and smooth, or breezy and bohemian, zingy or laid-back, we can produce a chocolate to express your personality. Tunisian Bharat, for instance, might suit you if you’re deep and complicated, with contradictory strands to your nature. When you first eat a Bharat, it’s piquant and peppery on the tongue, then the warm sensation of cinnamon develops, followed by a gentle floral aftertaste .’
Blimey, Eric thought, wondering if he had strayed into a wine-tasting, or a convention of perfumiers ? But he mustn’t let himself be cowed. Clearly, chocolate had its hierarchy, just as did wine and scent, but there was no reason why he shouldn’t progress from Milky Bar to port-and-Cointreau truffles or geranium ganache – the two aristocrats now flashing up on-screen . After all, despite leaving school at sixteen, he had managed, through sheer willpower and a distance-learning course, to gain a degree in librarianship , and actually achieved his dream of chartership, just three years ago. And, even if he missed out on the Saturday bash, he could still decide his chocolate personality. Was he a tough nut or melting cream? Unfortunately, the latter. Yet if he planned to interest Penelope, he must add a touch more class. How about cassis and hibiscus, or pomegranate and passionfruit? Yes, she was now running her exquisite tongue over his pomegranate protuberance , and expressing her approval with little moans of pleasure. His mind leapt ahead to Christmas – a horizontal Christmas. Why get out of bed, if she were lying naked beside him?
He stole another glance at her, wishing she wasn’t quite so dauntingly chic. Aiming high in chocolate was one thing; aiming high in women more frightening altogether. Yet the new dating book kept stressing that simple self-belief could turn one’s aspirations
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