‘Do you think he wants me for a special one?’
‘Looks like it. A chambermaid, at least.’
‘And his wife doesn’t mind?’
‘She has her footmen.’
‘Right.’ I wanted to laugh at the extreme role play absurdity of it all, but Maz seemed to take it all quite seriously.
‘This is still so new to you, isn’t it?’ said Justin, propping himself on his elbow beside me, stroking my back and shoulder blades.
‘I never thought this stuff really happened outside the pages of dirty books,’ I said. ‘I mean, everyone’s heard rumours of people who are into partner-swapping or kink, but nobody can ever substantiate them.’
‘Well, private lives are private, aren’t they?’ said Justin reasonably. ‘People aren’t going to bring it up in day to day conversation. But I bet you know lots of people whose lives behind the bedroom door are much more interesting than you’d guess. I mean, who would guess it of you?’
Good point. Cherry Delaney, mousy music teacher in glasses and sensible shoes. Who would see Keris Delray the submissive fucktoy behind that?
‘So next time I’m in the staff room, I’ll be wondering which of them are pegging their husbands on a Friday night,’ I said with a cackle.
‘Staff room?’ said Maz. My blood ran cold.
‘It’s a, like, an online forum. For tutors,’ I lied, but the words came out too fast.
‘Sure,’ said Maz. She knew I was lying. ‘It’s OK, you know. Whatever you do is OK. Private. Nobody else’s business.’
I thought of the new clause in the teaching contract. Bringing the profession into disrepute. Would the General Teaching Council see it that way?
I yawned.
‘Whatever,’ I said, channelling Kacey. ‘I could sleep for a week. Think I’ll just …’
I rolled over, too tired to cope with uncomfortable thoughts any more, and shut my eyes.
It was a week before I heard from His Lordship. In a way, every day that my inbox stayed empty of his imperious presence was a relief. Perhaps I wouldn’t have to deal with this, after all. Perhaps I could make do with my playmates Justin and Maz until whenever Stuart the Seafaring Surgeon returned, or some other less baroque and bizarre opportunity for living my fantasies presented itself.
On the other hand, I was consumed with curiosity, and the memory of his behaviour that weekend made me squirm and weaken at the knees every time it crossed my mind. He had made me feel special in a way nobody had since Stuart.
To Justin and Maz, I was just another kinky friend. To him, I would be more than that. And yet, I knew I wouldn’t be his only one. Oh, it didn’t make sense.
Neither did Patrick Superhead. His attitude towards me ping-ponged wildly between inappropriately intimate and icily professional. One day we met to discuss equipment for the new music studio and his fingers kept brushing against mine as he showered me with compliments on my ideas and enthusiasm. The next day, at rehearsal, he barely looked at me.
I wanted him in the worst way, and yet I didn’t want him. I didn’t feel I deserved him. What was I, after all, but a trashy slut who let strange men do rude things to her in public? What decent man would want me?
It seemed that the whole world was engaged in a conspiracy to do my head in.
So when the phone rang that Friday night, after Patrick had bidden me a terse “have a good weekend” and left, I was hoping it was Lou inviting me for a wind-down curry, or maybe Maz with a suggestion for Sunday afternoon.
Instead, the instantly recognisable, rather thespian tones of His Lordship caressed my ear.
I almost dropped the phone, then wrestled it back to my ear.
‘I didn’t give you my number,’ I whispered.
‘No, Justin did,’ he said. ‘You sound a little shocked to hear from me.’
‘I was expecting maybe an email or something.’
‘I prefer to deal in person.’