‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘I’m a mess, Theo.’
‘What do you need?’
‘I need to get away,’ I told him. ‘Just for a few weeks.’
‘Come and stay with me,’ he’d said. ‘I’ve got plenty of room.’
And so I’d packed, and I’d got on the first available train, and paid a taxi driver an extortionate amount of money to bring me here. It wasn’t easy. Nothing is easy any more. Sometimes just putting one foot in front of the other feels like climbing a mountain. But I did it.
Theo is just as I remember him. Oh, he’s filled out a little, and he’s clearly shaving more than once a week, but otherwise, he’s exactly the same. The same hazel eyes with the same wicked glint. The same unruly dark hair. The same half smile, a little cautious, a little restrained, as if he doesn’t know whether he’s allowed to smile or not. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt with a pair of Raybans hooked in the front. It suits him.
‘You look different,’ he says.
That would be my ex’s doing. The blonde hair, the clothes. He liked me to look a certain way, so I did my best to make sure that I did. I wanted him to be happy. ‘Different good or different bad?’ I ask Theo, lifting a hand to touch the ends of my feathered haircut.
‘I can’t decide,’ he says. ‘You don’t look like you.’
I bite my lip, drop my gaze to the floor. I will not cry. I will not.
‘That bad, huh?’
I nod.
‘Oh dear,’ he says. ‘Come on, let’s get you inside.’ He moves closer and takes my case. I packed it in a rush, and I have a sudden panic that I’ve forgotten something vital, like money and clothes. I never used to be like this. I used to be so decisive, so sure of myself. I don’t know what the hell happened to me.
He motions me forward, and I walk towards the door. ‘What is this place?’
‘It’s a club,’ he says.
So my suspicions were right. ‘A nightclub?’
‘Not exactly,’ he replies. ‘Although we do open at night.’
‘Do you own it?’
‘Part of it.’
Inside, it’s quiet, and warm. Theo closes the door behind us, and I take a moment to look around me, to drink in the quiet. The lighting is low, the walls painted a soft cream. It smells clean. Definitely not a nightclub, then.
‘Go through,’ he says, nodding further along the corridor.
I walk along it, my heeled boots loud on the polished wood floor. Doors lead off to either side, but all of them are closed so I can’t see where they lead. Stylish black and white photographs decorate the walls. On closer inspection, I can see that they’re arty nudes. I suppose you could even call them erotica. I glance back at Theo, a little confused.
He simply gives me that half smile.
I keep walking. At the end of the corridor, I turn left, and find myself in a large, open space. It could possibly be a nightclub, only Theo said that this place wasn’t a nightclub. Leather sofas line the walls, and in the middle of the room is the most enormous circular bed.
‘OK,’ I say, coming to a halt. ‘This is not a nightclub.’
‘I already told you that,’ he says.
‘Then what is it?’
‘Somewhere women can explore their fantasies.’
‘What do you mean, explore their fantasies?’
‘Exactly that,’ he replies. ‘Somewhere they can come and ask for things they can’t get elsewhere.’
‘I’m not sure I follow,’ I say. My heart is pounding a strange, heavy beat, and I grip the handle of my bag more tightly, trying to ignore the slippery dampness of my palms.
‘Maybe it’s better if I show you,’ Theo says. ‘Come with me.’
I follow him across the space, away from the leather sofas and the great big bed. At the other side of the room is an archway. We walk through it. Theo turns to the left and pulls a bunch of keys from his pocket. He selects one, then unlocks the door. ‘In here.’
It turns out to be a perfectly ordinary office. White walls, desk, chair, keyboard and monitor. There’s a ficus in the corner, a half-full wastepaper basket, a coffee machine. Theo sets my case down by the desk, offers me a coffee. I accept. It seems rude not to.
Then he steers me into the chair, turns me round to face the desk, and switches on one of the screens that sits on top of the desk.
As he turns away and sets the coffee machine going, the screen flickers to life in front of me. At first, I’m not sure what I’m seeing.
And then I can’t believe it.
It shows a pretty room with a four-poster bed. There are vases of flowers everywhere, and lace and frills, all very feminine. A woman is sat on the bed, hugging a pillow to her chest, staring intently at the man stood in the corner. He’s naked, blindfolded, and he’s got his hands behind his back.
He’s also got an almighty erection.
I am still staring at that, shocked, when the door of the room opens and another man enters. The woman on the bed shifts her position, leaning forward, clutching the pillow even more tightly. If there was any sound, I’m sure I would be able to hear her whimper.
He closes the door softly behind him. He walks slowly towards the restrained man in the corner, and then he sinks slowly to his knees in front of him.
I slap my hands over my eyes before I see what happens next. ‘What the hell is this?’ I squeak.
‘Well,’ Theo says, ‘the woman, who we’ll call Mrs X, has a particular fantasy involving watching her husband with another man.’
‘Turn it off!’ I tell him. ‘Turn it off or I’m leaving.’
I hear the sound of a cup being set down on the desk. I feel the air move, his aftershave brushing against me as he leans over and turns the screen off. ‘You can look now,’ he says.
I move my fingers slightly. I don’t move my hands until I see the blank screen. I’m breathing too fast, and my heart is racing. I can’t believe what I just saw. I’m shocked, so shocked I’m almost panicking.
And I’m aroused. I don’t want to be. I know that it’s wrong. But it’s happening anyway. I get to my feet, needing to be away from this place. I shouldn’t have come here. It was a mistake.
I turn, and see Theo watching me with those dark eyes. God knows what he must think of me. I sink slowly back into my seat. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘For overreacting,’ I tell him, dropping my gaze to the floor. ‘For being such a prude.’
‘You’ve got nothing to apologise for,’ he says. ‘I should probably have found a better way to explain this place to you.’
‘You don’t have to try and make me feel better,’ I reply.
‘I’m not,’ he says. ‘I’m just being honest. I wanted to be open with you about this place. I didn’t want to keep it a secret, have it turn into an issue.’
That makes me wary. I’ve had enough honesty to last me a lifetime. My ex was big on it. ‘So…how does this place of yours work?’ I ask, wanting to steer the conversation away from things I don’t want to talk about, to think about. Needing to make it not about myself, and driven by an inexplicable prurient