Master of the House

‘You should do it for you,’ I muttered, but this was all taking me a long way past my ability to be tough and uncompromising. It was a stretch trying to find any response that wasn’t a dreamy sigh of ‘Oh, Joss’.

‘Doing it for you is doing it for me.’ He pursued the point with bright eyes, a puppy dog jumping up at me for some positive attention. ‘You have something I want. I’ll climb mountains and cross rivers to get it. It’s pretty simple, really.’

‘You’ll … let me think about what you’re saying. You want something from me – the means to get this unwanted lodger off your back.’

‘More than that,’ he said, but I shushed him.

‘And you’re prepared to do whatever it takes to keep me.’

‘Yes.’ His nod was impatient, as if he had spent hours explaining a simple maths concept to me.

‘But then it’ll all be over. Once I get my story, I walk away. So this seems a bit over the top for such a temporary arrangement. Do you see why I’m a little … confused?’

He chewed on his lip and looked out of the window for a while.

‘Perhaps I’m hoping,’ he said with a cough, ‘for too much.’

I tried to be gentle. ‘It sounds like it.’ Inside, I screamed, No, you aren’t. You can have it.

‘But look,’ he said, driven and persuasive once more, making my every resolve bend into a dangerous shape by sheer power of eye contact. ‘Let’s take things a step at a time. I need to be convincing as your dom. Therefore I need you to commit to a bit more than a chastity belt. We can take it as slowly as you like, but we have to make progress.’

‘The trust issue,’ I faltered.

‘Yes, yes.’ He took this up enthusiastically. He had an answer for me. He wasn’t going to let me get away. I felt like a target, marked out. My defeat at his hands was inevitable. ‘That’s what all this is about. You give me tasks, I complete them, your confidence in me is raised. Little by little, perhaps, but ultimately …’

‘You think you can make me trust you?’

‘I think I can try. I think I have to try. Please, Lulu. Will you let me try?’

Chapter Six (#ulink_25055d49-8a2e-534c-b126-a24d8b3c352e)

‘What’s all this about, though, Luce?’

I checked my watch and peered across the Feathers’ garden to the lane beyond. Would he drive or walk? Either way, it was still five minutes until eight o’clock.

‘Can’t a daughter take her mum out for a nice evening drink in the countryside?’

I took a sip of my shandy while mum chugged on her pint of scrumpy and black.

‘I just don’t know why you were so anti bringing Animal along. He’s at a loose end tonight. No gigs, no rehearsals. We were going to have a night in and watch The Lost Boys on DVD.’

‘Gawd, how many times have you watched that film? I bet you could quote the script word for word.’

She grinned. ‘Probably could.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, Jason Patric. Wish he’d come to Tylney.’

‘Perhaps he will one day. Anyway, I just wanted to have a bit of time with you, just us. You worked so hard when I was a kid to get food on the table and I want to say thanks for all you did for me.’

‘Aw, babe. I wasn’t exactly the perfect parent.’

‘Who is?’

She ruffled my hair.

‘It’s good to have you back,’ she said.

That was the moment he sauntered out of the French doors, carrying a tall glass of what I hoped was lemonade.

‘Is that …?’ Mum squinted, leaning forwards.

‘Joss, yeah.’

‘Shit, he’s coming over. Babe, are you all right with this?’

‘Fine, fine,’ I said tersely.

‘’Cos I know there’s history –’

‘Shh!’

He was within hearing range now, making a beeline for us.

He stopped at the table, directed his most charming smile at mum and said, ‘Ms Miles. Would you mind awfully if I joined you?’

Mum looked so thunderstruck I wanted to laugh.

‘What’s all this “Ms Miles”?’ she said, after a moment of stunned silence. ‘You know my name’s Karen. That’s what you always called me.’

‘Yes, but I feel I ought to pay my respects to you, if that doesn’t sound too pompous. May I?’

He waved his hand at the empty seat.

‘Oh. Of course.’ Mum was still thoroughly discombobulated and she kept giving me anxious little glances.

He sat down and took a mouthful of his drink.

‘When life gives you lemons,’ he said, with a covert little half-wink at me.

Yes. Lemonade. I restrained myself from giving him the thumbs-up.

‘Sorry to hear about your dad last year,’ said Mum.

‘Thank you. But I’m the one who ought to be saying sorry.’

‘What, to Lucy?’

‘No, or rather, yes, to Lucy, but also to you.’

He launched into a very sincere-sounding apology for the way he had treated her when she had been his parents’ cleaner. He had spoken to her dismissively, often left messes for her to clear up, made the extent of his privilege and her lowliness abundantly clear in every exchange they had had. I listened, impressed at how fully he detailed his every transgression. I had feared he might try to elude responsibility by invoking his youth or his parents’ influence, but he didn’t. He accepted blame for his own behaviour and begged her forgiveness for it in the most touching terms.