‘My God, it sounds like passion incarnate.’
‘You’re teasing me.’
‘Yes, I am. But, Sarah, it sounds drier than the dust on my top-shelf collection of Victorian erotica.’
‘Yes, but you work in a world where looks and appearances and visual impressions are all-important. That’s not the world for me. It’s you people and your film stars that are responsible for so much angst and low confidence and crappy self-esteem. Hardly anyone can look like a movie star – yet we all go crazy trying to do it and feeling like shit if we fail.’
He paused, blinking at me over the rim of his glass.
‘That’s a fair comment,’ he said eventually. ‘And an interesting one.’
‘Not really. I think it’s quite a commonplace point of view.’
‘It’s your point of view. That’s what makes it interesting to me.’
‘I’m just a normal person, Jasper.’
‘And I’m not.’
He lifted the cloche on a risotto.
‘We should eat,’ he said.
Spooning a pile of sticky rice studded with asparagus on to my plate, he continued the theme.
‘So what’s normal nowadays, then, Sarah? What are the normal people doing? Tell me all about being normal while you sit there on your sore, spanked arse drinking champagne at my table wearing nothing but a lewd bodystocking.’
That dazzling, cruel smile again. I clamped my thighs together, shamefully aware of the absurdity of my situation.
‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked quietly.
‘Because I want to. And you want me to. Deny it – go on.’
I wanted to, but I couldn’t.
‘So tell me about your paper-dry boyfriends of yore. Tell me what you did with them.’
‘There was only one. He was a student in my year.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Hugh.’
‘And Hugh … I’m trying to picture him now … a university scarf, a bicycle, spectacles.’
‘Two out of three,’ I said with a grimace. ‘No scarf.’
‘He was the first then?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m jealous of him.’
‘No, you aren’t.’
‘I am. What was he like?’
‘Nice.’ I couldn’t think of another word, which seemed a little damning.