LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

      He had to mean it? Didn’t he?

      My mother certainly thought so.

      ‘Oh, look, it was years ago,’ she said warmly. ‘You were just a kid and you didn’t know any better. I thought nothing of it.’

      ‘Thank you,’ said Joss. ‘But I know it’s always bothered Lucy, and it was important to me that I make my peace with you, and her.’

      Mum laughed. ‘Make your peace? I think you’ve got a few years in you yet.’

      ‘I hope so.’ He laughed back. ‘But you know what I mean, I think.’

      ‘Yes, I do. You’ve really changed. You’re a really decent bloke now. I hope your dad’d be proud of you.’

      His smile wavered then returned to full beam.

      ‘Thanks.’ He finished the last of the lemonade and stood. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I’m afraid I must be going.’

      ‘Oh, dear, all ready?’ Mum was in two-pints-down flirtation mode and she batted her eyelashes quite shamelessly.

      ‘I’m afraid so. Thank you again, Ms Miles, for being so understanding. It means a great deal to me.’

      With that, he left. Or rather, with a parting glance at me, the meaning of which was absolutely clear.

       I’ve done what you asked. Now it’s your turn.

      ‘Well,’ said Mum, staring after him. ‘What a turn-up.’

      ‘Yes. Have you finished that? I’m ready to go.’

      ‘What? But the night is young.’

      ‘I know, but I have things I have to do.’

      Back in the car on the way to drop mum in Tylney, the expected interrogation began.

      ‘So, tell me, Luce, you’re not getting involved with him again, are you?’

      ‘Not in that way.’

      ‘I bloody well hope not. It’s his fault you buggered off to Hungary for seven years and I only got to see you once in a blue moon.’

      ‘No, it isn’t. I wanted to work in Hungary.’

      ‘You wanted to run away from him.’

      ‘How could I run away from somebody who wasn’t chasing me?’

      ‘There was more to that than met the eye. I’d put good money on it. I don’t think he wanted to treat you the way he did.’

      ‘Mum, just because he’s smooth-talked you tonight doesn’t mean you can rewrite history. He treated me like a doll. No two ways about it.’

      I needed to calm down a bit. I was well over the speed limit. I relaxed my foot on the pedal and tried to breathe.

      ‘I bet he was under pressure. Boys from his background can’t just see who they like, you know.’

      ‘Mum, this is the twenty-first century. Everybody can see exactly who they like. And if they can’t, then they can do the other person the favour of steering well fucking clear.’

      Mum sighed and fidgeted with her friendship bands as we passed the ‘Welcome to Tylney: Historic Heart of the Vale’ signpost.

      ‘I wish you’d told me at the time what was going on,’ she said.

      ‘He made me keep it a secret. What an idiot I was. As if that didn’t tell me everything I needed to know about our future.’

      ‘You live, you learn,’ said Mum, but I was in no mood for philosophical insights. I stopped the car in the alleyway behind Tylney Pet Supplies.

      ‘Aren’t you coming in?’ she asked, halfway out of the door, having noticed that I hadn’t turned off the engine.

      ‘No. I’ve got to see a man about a dog.’

      She gave me a long look.

      ‘That man wouldn’t happen to be a lord, would he?’

      ‘Mum, it’s OK. It’s business. He wants to work on a story with me, that’s all.’

      That’s all.

      I knew, and I think she knew, that there was a lot more to it than that.

      But she contented herself with a ‘Be careful’ before shutting the car door and skipping up the fire escape to the flat.

      When I parked the car at Willingham Hall, I could see a dark figure sitting on the front steps. He was waiting for me.

      He hurried across the gravel and intercepted me before I could change my mind.

      ‘Was that what you wanted?’ he asked breathlessly. His shirt collar and two top buttons were undone, taunting my efforts to keep a level head.

      ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, it was exactly right. Thank you. I just hope you meant it.’

      ‘I did. I do,’ he said, leading me to the door. ‘Every word. I know I used to be a dick, Lulu. It’s not pleasant to have to confess to it in public, but it’s no more than I deserve.’

      ‘I’m glad you see it that way.’

      We were inside the house now, standing a little awkwardly in the splendid but dusty reception hall. It needed mum’s touch. Perhaps he could re-hire her.

      ‘So,’ he said, after a heavy pause. ‘I think we should stay out of the bedroom to begin with. My office?’

      ‘Where you work? Where Fran works?’

      ‘OK, perhaps not. The breakfast room isn’t looking too disastrous and there’s plenty of space in there.’

      The breakfast room. Where he had bent me over the table and had me until the silver plate rattled on the cloth.

      ‘Lead on.’

      His smile lingered a little too long.

      ‘Exactly,’ he said.

      The morning room was one of my favourites in the whole house, spacious, airy and with a beautiful view out over the back terrace and the gardens beyond. Even in darkness, it had a friendly, cheerful sort of vibe for which I was grateful.

      ‘You’ve done a bit of research, I know,’ he said, perching his backside on the breakfast table while I took a seat by the windows. ‘So I imagine you’ve read up on submissive training. I don’t think I can proceed in the standard kind of way, though, because I don’t think you’re a submissive.’

      ‘Don’t you indeed?’ I was fascinated, and slightly offended by this claim. How could he say he knew me that well? ‘And why’s that then?’

      ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. I think you like most of the aspects of submission. But my guess

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