‘I mean, who wears a suit at five o’clock on a Saturday afternoon?’ he continued.
‘Perhaps he’s been to a wedding. Perhaps the reception’s here,’ I said, looking around for signs of a bride.
‘Then she ought to have come in something a bit less nightclubby,’ said Tom primly.
‘Ooh, get you, Mr Harpers and Queen,’ I teased.
‘Seriously, I bet you. A snifter for Dutch courage, and then they’ll be at it with the whips and chains until their hour is up. Back in here for dinner. Or maybe this is their post-session drink…but both of them seem to be sitting quite comfortably, so I don’t know.’
‘Why don’t you go over and interview them for next week’s paper?’
He turned back to me and grinned. ‘Shall I?’
‘Best not.’
‘Anyway, I don’t care about them. I’m interested in us and our enlightening afternoon.’
‘Did you find it enlightening?’ I took another sip of nectar. ‘They were about as forthcoming as a brick when I brought up the subject of Mia.’
‘Yes, but that’s interesting in itself,’ insisted Tom. ‘It throws up several possibilities. Either they genuinely had no knowledge of her – and that’s unlikely, I think, given her local connection. I’d expect at least one or two of them to know of her, even if they didn’t know her.’
‘So you think they’re lying?’
‘Well, that’s the alternative. It’s not unlikely, for the reasons I’ve mentioned. Maria seems to be a queen bee around here. Given that Mia mentions attending a couple of fetish events with J in her blog, then I’d be surprised if Maria wasn’t at them, or knew people who were.’
‘Hey, Maria is like a long version of Mia,’ I exclaimed, inspired for a second before coming to my senses. ‘But it couldn’t be her. Wrong age, wrong…tendencies.’
‘Tendencies,’ teased Tom. ‘You mean she’s a lesbian Domme.’
‘Well, yeah.’
‘Whereas you and Mia are straight and submissive.’
I sucked in a breath, looking around to make sure nobody had heard.
‘Sh, don’t go on about it in public,’ I begged.
Tom’s smile broadened. ‘Oh? Why not? It’s a private conversation.’
‘It’s just…makes me feel awkward.’
/>
‘You’re blushing.’
‘Exactly. I hate blushing. Stop making me.’
He leaned into me, eyebrows high.
‘Is that meant to be an order, Ms Cox? Because I think you know who gives the orders around here.’
‘Tom, stop it.’ The blush was spreading to my ears, prickling along my hairline. Something similar appeared to be happening a bit lower down my body too.
‘Oh, you dig yourself deeper and deeper by the second.’ He put one long finger on my wrist and gave it a playful tap. For a playful tap, it certainly set off some powerful reverberations. ‘I’d put that shovel down if I were you.’
‘People are looking at us,’ I moaned, though I had no idea if this was true. I ran my finger round and round the rim of my cocktail glass in an attempt to keep my focus away from my knickers.
‘Let them look,’ said Tom softly. ‘Let them see.’ He stroked my inner wrist – not the one occupied with circling the glass – and let his fingertip burrow beneath my watch strap so that it seemed like a kind of miniature binding. ‘Let them see a girl who’s asking for a sore bottom.’