Master of the House. Justine Elyot
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and chains?’ I said, just for clarification.
‘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?’
‘Right,’ he said, clapping his hands together. ‘So, what do you think?’
‘I think you’re insane. The alcohol’s rotted away what little you had in the way of brain cells.’
‘Give it to me straight, Lulu.’
‘And stop calling me Lulu. It’s Ms Miles to you.’
‘Don’t dismiss it out of hand,’ he said, leaning forwards again, all intensity. ‘It could work for both of us. And, really, don’t you remember how good we were together? Would it be such a chore?’
‘Chore?’ How could he not see that this would be absolute torture – probably literally? ‘Fuck you and your stupid house. I hope it gets bought up and turned into a theme park.’
Damn, my voice was wobbling all over the shop. I had to get out of there, and fast.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve approached this in the wrong way,’ he said, standing and trying to stop me running out of the door. ‘Lucy, I’m a tactless bastard, but please …’
I opened the door.
‘I miss you,’ he said.
I slammed it in his face.
Don’t you remember how good we were together? The words rattled in my head all the way through the editorial meeting, winding round and round the strands of council meetings and hosepipe bans and air displays and smothering them until I had no idea what had been said at all.
Of course I remembered. How could I forget?
We had spent the whole summer in bed, or if we weren’t in bed we were out in the grounds, on the lake or in a summerhouse, just for a change of scene.
He was inventive, passionate and outrageously horny all the time.
Luckily enough, I was the same.
What happened to me?
I thought of Károly’s parting words for me.
‘It doesn’t feel like losing you. I never felt I had you. You never gave yourself to me.’
He was right, I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not after Joss. After Joss, I had played everything safe, and safety meant keeping my heart to myself. So, when Károly had cheated on me, it hadn’t really touched me, except as a blow to my pride and confirmation that I was quite right not to bother with love.
Now that the initial shock of our meeting was wearing off, I thought more about Joss and how things were with him. The alcohol thing was sobering – so to speak – as was his general air of dejection and defeat. If he wasn’t careful, he might find that it was the tip of a steep decline. Within a few years, the beautiful young man with the world at his feet I had known and loved might be a puffy-faced and red-eyed waster.
I shouldn’t care, but I did.
I spent half a minute doodling on my notepad before I realised that the meeting was over.
‘Oh,’ I said, standing up to find only me and the editor still in the stuffy little room. ‘Right. Better get on then.’
‘Yes,’ she said, giving me a crooked look. ‘Sorry, Lucy, but … do you know what you’re covering today? You seem a bit … distant.’
‘It’s the heat,’ I told her. ‘Goes to my head sometimes. Would you mind …?’
‘Open day at the fire station,’ she said, a tad wearily. ‘Look, I know it’s not international politics here, but …’
‘It’s not that, I promise. I’m happy here. I love working for the Voice.’
‘Good. OK. Well, say hi to those hunky firefighters