But I stopped at the study door and lifted my hand and …
I heard his chair creak.
I knocked.
He didn’t reply.
I knocked again.
‘Come in.’
The study was a glorious room and his desk was one of my favourite pieces in the whole house. Mahogany with brass handles and a green leather writing area in the shape of a cross, on top of which his computer looked somewhat incongruous. He should be writing longhand with parchment and ink. There was a raised gallery at the back of the desk, along which were perched a procession of film awards, the Palme d’Or in pride of place.
I breathed in the beeswax and stillness, letting it calm my jangling nerves.
‘Sarah,’ he said, sitting back in his oxblood leather chair. ‘Now we come to the real test.’
‘Do we?’
He opened a drawer and brought out the strop. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, staring at it.
‘When I was at university,’ he said, ‘I directed a Gilbert and Sullivan opera. The Mikado. Do you know it?’
‘Yes,’ I said, discombobulated by this line of conversation.
‘There’s a song in it about how the Mikado dispenses justice. He’s particularly keen, he says, to let the punishment fit the crime. I like his way of thinking.’
He stroked a finger along the strop. My eyes followed it, hypnotised.
‘I see,’ I said, filling in the tense space with the useless remark.
‘So what punishment do you think would fit your crime, Sarah?’
He smiled up at me, for all the world as if he had asked me what flavour ice-cream I preferred.
‘I think you’re the Mikado around here. I think it’s your decision.’
‘Ah, my decision. Yes. That’s a good answer. And I like the bit about being the Mikado too. The emperor. Monarch of all I survey.’ He tapped his fingertips on the strop, then picked it up and slapped the end into his palm. ‘How far has your interest in this kind of thing gone?’
‘This kind of thing … meaning …’
‘You know what I mean. What have you actually done? If anything.’
‘Nothing. I’ve only …’
‘Fantasised?’
‘Written about it,’ I said defiantly.
‘Ah,’ he said, leaning back in his chair. ‘I thought you might know the score. You’ve played this so well, like an old hand. But you’re new to it all. And, lucky for you, I’m not. You do want to try it, don’t you?’
‘I’ve always wanted to.’
There. I had crossed a line now. I had delivered myself right into his hands.
‘Good. Come over here then.’
He put the strop back on the desk as I drew level with him and he placed his hands on my hips. He rose from the chair, regaining the height advantage he had temporarily lost. He was so unnervingly close, as close as a lover. He would barely need to move at all to kiss me.