‘Of course you can, you silly mare. There’s no rush. She mentioned Christmas.’
I waited for my heart to stop galloping and tried to take a measured view.
‘Christmas? I’ll be at home. Mum and Dad’s, I mean.’
‘I don’t mean Christmas Day. Just some time over the holidays. You have a car, I have a car. I’m sure something can be arranged. Christ, this is like pulling teeth. I had no idea you were so commitment-phobic.’
‘I’m not commitment-phobic,’ I said. ‘I’m not. I’m just … scared.’
‘That’s what a phobia is,’ he said with exaggerated patience. ‘Listen, love, I know it’s easier for you if I just lay down the law, so that’s what I’m going to do. You’re coming with me to visit my mother at some point during late December. It’s settled. It’s an order. Right?’
‘Oh … right,’ I said, flooded with curious relief. Jasper said it was so. It was so. I squished my thighs together, still damp from our earlier activities, and got another little burst of adoring submission from it.
‘I’m serious about the six strokes, too,’ he said. ‘As soon as we get back to my place you’re going straight into the study and bending over the desk while I fetch the cane. Do you understand?’
I did a quick side-of-the-eye check on the neighbours before murmuring, ‘Yes, sir.’
‘I won’t have you swearing like a sailor in public and showing me up. In fact, I think I might pick up a nice bit of ginger on the way home. What do you say to that?’
‘Oh,’ I moaned, wringing my hands. Ginger was Jasper’s new favourite thing. My bottom didn’t share his enthusiasm for it.
But if he wanted to fig me, then he would fig me.
There was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
Chapter Five
‘Popcorn?’
We were at Jasper’s house, in his home cinema room. The evening before, we had filmed a few minutes of footage at the museum, inspired by the caning and figging scene we played on our return from London, and now Jasper wanted to watch it.
It was dark, a little blustery outside, but every now and again a faint pop or fizz travelled over on the wind from the village firework display. Bonfire Night had passed a couple of days ago, but many had saved their celebrations for the weekend.
‘No, thanks,’ I said, already too nervous to think of eating. I always got this way when I watched myself on screen. I couldn’t think why – it wasn’t as if I didn’t know what was coming. I had this vague fear that I might have forgotten or missed something while I was off in my endorphin haze.
Jasper sat down beside me with his laptop and cued up the start of the film.
‘OK, ready?’
He turned to me and I nodded.
‘Action.’
He pressed Play and put the laptop on the floor. I wanted him to put an arm around me, to scoop me into his side, but instead he sat forwards, fixated on the screen, tense-faced and fidgety.
The lighting wasn’t great and I looked somewhat wraith-like, entering the room in my Victorian underwear. I had the corset by now and I was pinched-in tight. I held my breath in sympathy, watching myself cross the room. Our voices were faint or loud, sometimes muffled, depending how close to the mike we stood, but the dialogue was at least audible.
Jasper sat in the chair by the hearth, his booted ankles crossed on a footstool, looking every inch the lounging lord at leisure.
‘Walters, do you know why I have summoned you?’ he asked.
I stood before him, head bowed. Ugh, that gave me a double chin. The camera didn’t love me in the way it did him. Damn its favouritism.
‘I look awful,’ I commented.
‘Sh, you don’t,’ he said, not looking at me. But he did take my hand and squeeze it while I spoke my line.
‘I don’t, sir,’ said Walters.