Chapter Seven

Thursday 9th May.

'To be willing to march into hell, for a heavenly cause,'

"Come in," Candy called. "Ah Harry! Perfect. I'm finished here. Get my coat will you, we'll catch a cab and grab a bite first. I know a great French restaurant on the West Side; Picholine's have you heard of it?"

"Dinner?"

"The event doesn't start until eight." Candy admitted.

Harry looked at his watch. He'd been told to meet her at 6:30. He could have done so much more with the extra hour and a half. He looked up. Candy was staring at him waiting for him to hand her the coat.

"Is there a problem? I know you're English but you do eat?"

"Yeah, I eat." Harry said and handed over the jacket. He had thought that this could be his chance to carve a path for himself. Take responsibility for the scholarship programme, inspire the younger generation but he was merely a pawn in some elaborate game that Candy was playing for her own benefit. And he'd figured it out within two minutes of walking into her office. What had he got that the others hadn't he wondered? Or maybe it was just that Candy had information about him and she hadn't discovered the other's secrets yet.

She took them to an expensive looking bistro. Harry had been offered a tie at reception, the place was fussy about the dress code but fortunately he had one in his pocket just in case the event later had called for one. American's he'd discovered to his embarrassment early on were still into dressing up. The dining room was dominated by an oversized chandelier and starched white tablecloths. Harry looked at the plates of the other diners; the food was of the ultra-fancy variety and back in London he'd have probably bought a bag of chips on the way home to fill him up.

The waiter pulled out a high backed chair for each of them and as they sat atmosphere between them relaxed slightly. She laughed at one of his jokes and he felt a little more at ease. He wasn't sure if she had laughed because she found it funny, or laughed because the situation demanded it; it was so hard to tell. Nikki would have found it hilarious. They ordered quickly and the starters appeared almost instantly.

Harry couldn't help but watch Candy eat. The restaurant was smarter than any he'd been to in New York yet he couldn't get over their stab and grab style of eating, it seemed entirely unsuited to the surroundings. The fork was placed in the left hand, knife in the right and food cut, then the knife placed on the side of the plate, the fork transferred from the left to the right hand and the food stabbed or scooped on, then instead of being placed in the mouth, the hand was raised half way to the mouth and then the head dipped the rest of the way and the food snatched off it, like some predator snatching its prey and then the whole cycle repeated. Harry surreptitiously looked around; it wasn't just Candy, they were all doing it, although she seemed to have a more vicious snatch than most.

"Did you know it's considered bad manners to hold on to your knife?" Candy asked him.

Harry looked down at his hands.

"Not where I come from," he answered.

"So you're not grabbing a bit of the American dream for yourself?"

"What screwing over everyone in your path to get what you want?" Harry asked sullenly.

"I don't think that is the definition of the American dream, more that anyone can get what they want if they try."

"Bollocks," retorted Harry. "It's a dream, it's a fantasy. I don't believe in fantasy it just brings pain in the long run." He had placed his cutlery down and rubbed the scar on his head remembering the lesson he had learnt as a young boy.

"That's why you British are all so depressed," Candy countered.

"We're not all depressed," Harry said, trying to stand up for all that was British.

Candy snatched another mouthful from her fork.

"You could have fooled me." She replied her mouth still chewing on her food but her eyes boring into him.

"So why me?" Harry asked. He was after all only a pawn in this game of hers; he didn't have much to lose and at least he might find out the rules.

"Why you?"

"Yes, why me above the rest of them. Why not Volosin or Boxleitner or any of the other Vice-Chairs?"

"I may be relatively new to NYU but I know better than to take Professor Boxleitner out in public as the face of NYU. We're hoping for publicity but not THAT kind of publicity."

"Mmm, Harry agreed. Things seem to have been a lot quieter recently."

"Yes, he's in therapy. It was one of the conditions of his disciplinary action. I hear he's trying to broker a reconciliation with his wife."

"Really? After all he's done. Is that woman mad? Why would she want him back?"

"You tell me Harry, what makes a woman attracted to a man?"

Harry pulled at his collar and tie; it had suddenly started to feel constricting and uncomfortable. He couldn't remember the last time he wore a tie. The last time he was in court maybe or Nikki's father's funeral.

"What?" Candy asked aware of Harry's discomfort and pleased to be the one causing it.

"I was just thinking the last time I wore a tie was probably at a funeral."

"I told you, you Brits are always depressed. Here we are in a smart restaurant having an exclusive meal and you're thinking about funerals!"

It was true. He should make an effort. It was up to him that's what all his friends had told him. He had to decide to move forward or go back. He wasn't one for going backwards so it had to be forwards. He looked around the room again aware this time not at the eating patterns of the diners but of the looks they were giving them. Candy was a beautiful woman, he recognised the looks; the ones from the men… incredulous that this pale faced, slightly scrawny looking man, with less than cooperative hair could be sitting in such a place with a woman as attractive as Candy. He recognised the looks well; they were the same as the one's he received whenever he went anywhere with Nikki.

"What about Scott Volosin?"

"Oh, he does plenty of volunteer work already. He runs a Hungarian Saturday school, and does workshops and all sorts. He's also got four kids of his own, I have some method."

"He's Hungarian?"

"Yep, second generation but speaks the language at home, and works hard at the community centre. Why are you thinking of joining?"

"No!" Harry replied quickly.

"What have you got against Hungarians?"

"Bad memories," Harry said.

"What kind of bad memories can a small time pathologist from London have against a whole country?"

"You'd be surprised," Harry admitted. He looked down at his watch. "Shouldn't we be making a move?"

"Yes, I'll get the check,"

Harry got out his wallet.

"I'll claim this as a work expense, there's no need." Candy said nodding her head towards his wallet.

"Err thanks," said Harry suddenly even more uncomfortable than he was earlier. She still hadn't mentioned his stage performance directly. He was beginning to wonder if he hadn't been mistaken. He was beginning to wonder about a lot of things.

The Impossible Dream: Darion & Leigh (Elvis)

Apologies (kind of) to our American cousins for this one, I'm sorry but the constantly changing hands with the cutlery thing is to our eyes bizarre, I have exaggerated in Candy's case but as I'm pretty sure no one out there is a Candy fan, maybe just maybe you'll forgive me… Also perhaps it is a regional style, so apologies again to New Yorkers if this isn't your native style of eating.