I needed to escape the madness of Paris. Julien, Lucien, Etienne, all of them. Fortunately a knight - Sir Alistair, in fact, for it was he – arrived to save this damsel in distress.
Alistair has this great idea that I should join him in Oxford for the weekend. He’s often promised to give me a whistle stop tour of the city. Now’s his chance – under cover of a business meeting – to do so.
Alistair is an authoritative guide, taking me through the highlights – the Bodleian Library, the Radcliffe Camera, Blackwells bookshop, then down towards the river for a visit to his old college, Christ Church. The cathedral is very impressive, the detail of the stained glass windows amazing. Unfortunately the dining hall, where they made the Harry Potter films, is closed while the students take lunch. The sun is shining on the meadow and we sit outside the pub for a quick glass of beer. Alistair glances at his watch, says he has another appointment this afternoon, but has booked us a table for tonight, at Browns.
I spend the afternoon at my hotel, have a swim and a sauna, and feel refreshed when the taxi arrives just before eight. I’m wearing a tight fitting turquoise dress, nicely distressed hair, heavy make up, expensive perfume from Paris, and the six-inch heels. I feel ready for anything.
The restaurant we’re going to, Browns, is apparently renowned for it’s atmosphere. I can see why, it’s very popular. The place is crowded, mainly young people, the tables close together. Alistair and I are ushered to our table and I start to feel good. Four girls on the table next to us are drinking and laughing. Everywhere the sound of chatter fills the air. Waiters buzz past with plates of great smelling food.
Alistair orders a bottle of champagne. The waiter takes our orders, I opt for a crab and avocado salad to start. I tell him about my being head hunted in Paris, and my uncertainty surrounding that.
Oddly enough, he was about to suggest something similar himself, so he says.
You want me to work for you?
Maybe, but there’s something else. Caroline has demanded a divorce.
I tell him I’m sorry, if I’ve caused him any problems.
He smiles. No, it was going to happen anyway, he says. Actually, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me for years.
He squeezes my thigh, leans closer. I’m feeling high.
But won’t a divorce be costly, I say.
He shrugs. Money isn’t everything, you know. Besides, she deserves a decent settlement. But I won’t be destitute.
That’s good, I’d hate to see you cleaned out.
The thing is Sandrine, he takes my hand in his, I don’t want you to work for me. I’d offer you an equal partnership.
Are we talking business here, or something else?
It could be anything you want, he says.
That’s very generous.
He looks me right in the eye.
I’m in love with you, he says. I can’t stop thinking about you.
I need to think about it though, I say.
I get up and walk slowly to the toilet, taking care not to fall off my heels. The vertigo is making my head swoon. I think he just asked me to marry him. Lady Ella. Sounds good.
In the taxi we hold hands and Alistair has his arm around me. I don’t want the night to end, he whispers, stay at my place. I nod absently, the drink has taken hold.
Alistair’s hotel is sumptuous, far grander than mine. The four poster bed has silk sheets and another bottle of champagne awaits us. He lifts me onto the bed and pushes my dress up, and soon I feel his tongue between my legs, tickling me. Trouble is, I've had too much too drink, and I just don't feel good.
After a minute or two I roll onto my side.
Alistair tells me to wait while he goes for a piss. His erection is quite huge.
I lie back and think of England, Harry Potter, and the dreaming Oxford spires. I’d be crazy to turn him down, wouldn’t I?
But there's this nagging doubt - would it still be the same, if I weren't his mistress, his femme fatale?
I tell him that I'm sorry, I'm just too tired. Tomorrow morning, I promise. He looks disappointed, but concedes defeat.
I wake up first, naturally. The windows are open and a warm breeze flutters the curtains. It's only half light, and the only sound is the rain falling steadily outside. I pull off the covers and shiver, then cross to the balcony, to light my first cigarette of the day. I'm thinking about Alistair, and whether it'd work, me being his partner. The problem is, I don't find men that attractive - I'll never love a man the way I love Helene, for instance.
I dress quickly and sneak out via the fire escape, taking care to carry my heels for fear of the noise they might make. Half an hour later I'm sitting on a train bound for London. I'm thinking about Alistair, and how he'll react to my note - the one that says thanks for a great night, but it's better this way.
I imagine him screaming and swearing, and I struggle to suppress a giggle. The guy in a suit opposite looks up from his paper, glances at my legs.I pout at him and pull my knees up.
Alistair is right, I'm a naughty girl, and I deserve to be spanked.
