‘Jasper, don’t!’ But I was so hot and bothered I could barely see straight. I pushed my plate away.
His foot nudged mine under the table, then smooth leather ran up my calf.
‘You’re my muse, Sarah,’ he said. ‘Do this for me.’
‘I can’t.’
‘OK, let me change my offer.’ His foot was stroking its way up and down my leg, maintaining a close and inescapable connection. ‘We continue working through the scenes, blocking them and acting them out. But I film them – just using a static camera on a tripod, no third parties. That gives you a little more time to make your decision. If you still aren’t comfortable with it, I’ll hire an actress. Nobody will see these scenes – they’ll stay in our private library. But if you change your mind, we’ll have them re-shot properly by the crew. What do you say?’
‘So we just carry on doing what we were doing at the museum? Except you’ll be filming?’
‘Yes. I have to see it on film, Sarah, or I don’t know if it’s working. Please?’
‘As long as nobody sees it. You absolutely promise?’
‘Absolutely. The decision is yours.’
‘Well, all right. But I’m pretty sure I won’t want to play the part in the actual film.’
‘I hope you change your mind. You’re perfect for it. If our on-screen chemistry is anywhere near our off-screen … well …’
He put the last forkful of food into his mouth and fixed me with his eyes, their expression both playful and serious; a Jasper speciality. I’d never known a man who could do that before.
‘I’m just trying to imagine my parents’ faces,’ I said, with a sudden horrified laugh. ‘God. My Dad would kill you with fire.’
‘Would he now? What if they knew about us … do they know about us?’
I shook my head.
‘Why not?’
‘Well … it’s a bit soon, isn’t it? Do your parents know?’
How did we get here? This seemed ridiculously like reality, like the kind of concerns people in normal relationships had. I’d never considered that Jasper and I had a normal relationship, more a kind of very intense, concentrated connection.
‘I might have mentioned something to my mother,’ he said, sounding as if he challenged me to tell him that he shouldn’t. ‘She’s always on at me about when I’ll settle down with a nice girl, produce grandchildren, blah blah.’
More laughter burst from my lips. It seemed crazy that Jasper – mysterious and glamorous and gloriously sexy Jasper – had a mother who bent his ear about all the usual motherly things. If I could imagine his mother at all, it was a very jaded Norma Desmond type in a turban, lounging by a pool holding a small white dog. Famous auteurs who have had secret affairs with European royalty surely didn’t come from suburban semis with a swing set in the back garden.
Perhaps they did.
‘Am I a nice girl then?’ I asked, reciprocating in the footsie game, slipping off my shoe and sliding my toes inside his trouser leg.
‘You’re a very bad girl,’ he said, lowering his voice beyond the earshot of our neighbours, thank goodness. ‘But I think that’s nice. Like the old cream cake campaign. Naughty but nice.’
‘I’m only bad because you make me,’ I whispered. ‘You’re an evil influence on me. You make me do things I’d never have dreamed of.’
‘Oh, really? I’ve mesmerised you, have I?’
‘Yes, you have. You’re like a kinky Svengali.’
‘Oh, I like that. I’m that bloke off the telly talent shows with a riding crop.’
‘Please don’t!’ My half-horrified laugh drew attention to us once more. ‘I’m eating.’
‘Some people would find that image erotically arousing.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m not one of them.’