‘Whips and, indeed, chains,’ he confirmed. ‘Although I prefer a more subtle approach myself.’
‘You do?’
He looked a little touched by my bemusement and he leaned forwards.
‘Dear sweet innocent Lucy,’ he said softly. ‘Did you never think?’
‘I … you were a bit … I suppose, looking back, it makes a kind of sense. But I never framed it that way. For me you were just on the slightly domineering edge of normal … slap and tickle … I didn’t think it went any deeper than that.’
‘Normal.’ He sat back again. ‘That would be you, would it?’
‘I’ve never been normal.’
He liked that answer.
‘I know. I’m surprised that you’re surprised, to be honest. I always thought you had a touch of that tendency in you.’
‘What … whips and chains?’
‘God, shall we cut the tabloid-speak now, please? I’m talking about dominance and submission. You loved being told what to do and made to do it. In bed, I mean, not out of it.’
I looked down at my lap, remembering the lurid adolescent fantasies I used to have about him. I wanted to deny his assertion, but it was at least half true. It struck me that every time we had made love, he had been doing what he wanted to me, and I had been letting him. And finding the skewed dynamic endlessly arousing.
It probably wasn’t normal. But I wasn’t here to discuss the minutiae of our dead sex life. I made an effort to stay on track.
‘I don’t know why you think that, or what the hell it has to do with this alleged scoop you claim to be offering me.’
‘It has everything to do with it,’ he said.
I pushed my chair back and half-rose from it.
‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that,’ I said, scanning his face intently. ‘If you think I have the slightest idea of getting tangled up with you again –’
‘Sit down,’ he said, and the commanding tone I knew so well did its fatal work on me. ‘Hear me out.’
‘Go on.’
‘I’m not vain or stupid enough to believe that you will ever fall for my bullshit again, Lucy. I’m not out to mess with your heart. But there’s a way to get invited into the inner circle of our loaded friend which will involve our at least seeming to be attached to one another.’
Fuck that, then, was on the tip of my tongue, but I was too intrigued to dismiss him out of hand. I wanted to at least hear what preposterous non-starter he had in mind before I emptied his oak-aged Macallan all over his unnecessarily attractive head.
‘It would be a charade, Lulu. A performance. An undercover job, that’s all.’
‘What would?’
‘My lessee has always said he would invite me to one of his parties if I got myself a collared submissive.’
A sip of coffee went down the wrong way and I spent the next few minutes trying not to choke.
‘Are you OK?’ said Joss anxiously.
I nodded.
‘“Collared submissive”,’ I coughed out by way of explanation for my fit. ‘What?’
‘Come on, you aren’t slow. I’m sure you can work it out for yourself.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of. That I have. What you’re saying is that, if I pretend to be your, your collared submissive, you and I will be invited to Mr Mysterious’s dodgy parties. I will gain an explosive story for the national press and you will possibly get your Hall back? Right?’