By His Command. Justine Elyot

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      ‘I’ll meet you at the multiplex, then,’ I said, desperate to get away now for some reason. My heart was pounding and my throat had closed up.

      ‘Yeah – sevenish?’

      I nodded, unable to say any more, and escaped up the stairs.

       This is not a date. It’s not infidelity. It’s just called having a life. He wouldn’t object to that, would he?

      In the Victorian master bedroom, I sat down – against the rules, but I was a bit beyond caring – in the frilly, flouncy pink armchair by the dressing table.

      I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, the smell of old fabrics and mothballs calming my senses. I loved this room. I even loved its name. ‘Victorian master bedroom’. It reminded me of Jasper and the heady, intense summer we had shared.

      Jasper Jay. My lover, my master, my addiction.

      But he had stayed in France while I came back here to take up my new job at the museum.

      He would be wrapping up filming any time now and there would be parties, perhaps on the beach in Nice where we had spent three glorious September weeks. What a different world that had been, waking up in the villa at whatever hour of the morning, wound up in sheets, Jasper already at the set hours before. I would mooch and eat fruit and drink sparkling water and swim in the pool and wait for him.

      He was always worth waiting for.

      I got up and toyed with some of the items on the dresser. I picked up the heavy silver-backed hairbrush and thought of Jasper brushing my hair with it. Or perhaps he would find another use … no, scratch that. He would definitely find another use for it. My bottom clenched at the mere thought.

      I picked up the cut-glass perfume bottle and squeezed the tasselled bulb, spraying lily-of-the-valley scent on to my wrist. Not hundreds of years old – we refilled the bottle on a weekly basis. Jasper smelled of Russian leather and spices. To fill my nostrils with that again … oh, just the memory of it sent me back to the chair, my knees shaky with sensual longing.

      When would I hear from him again?

      After I left France, we had Skyped several times a day in the first week, then the frequency had declined, bit by bit, until now the last communication was some days ago. I’d made allowances for the mad dash to wrap up filming on schedule – after all, he’d already had to factor in one serious delay when his star broke his leg – but even so … four days.

      I should be glad of the opportunity to experience life as a Victorian girl would; having to wait for the post to hear news of her sweetheart. How awful it must have been for them, especially with lovers and husbands at the front of some war. It was pathetic of me to pine over four days without a Skype call or text. Honestly, Sarah. Get a grip.

      I could hear the others’ chat and laughter, muffled, from downstairs, then the doorbell jangled.

      I opened my eyes. We didn’t have any other parties booked in, as far as I knew, until well after lunch. Had the office staff forgotten to add one?

      Rob answered the door. I couldn’t quite make out what he said but it was something to do with the next performance being at three.

      The responding male voice made me shoot to my feet. It sounded like …

      I heard my name mentioned.

      I had to grab hold of the chair arm.

      ‘She’s upstairs … hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?’

      Footsteps, creaks on the stairs.

      I ran to the pier glass and tried to ensure that I looked halfway presentable in this stupid Victorian ruffled dress with a bustle attached to my backside. Honestly, talk about an impractical uniform!

      Breathe, Sarah, breathe. Don’t faint. I wasn’t wearing an actual corset, but I had a pretty tight Lycra girdle around my waist, to make the dress look properly period, and I was reminded of it now as I fought to swallow my gasps.

      I wasn’t going to let him surprise me. I would go to him.

      I strode over to the bedroom door and swung it open. He was there, right before me. It was him.

      Now what?

      ‘Oh,’ I said, and my crushed ribcage and wobbly legs and panicking breath and fizzing head closed in on me, a wall of blackness rising up and taking me over, away, away …

      ‘You can take role-playing too far, you know.’

      I opened my eyes and saw, through a blur of coloured spots, Jasper’s face close to mine while he dabbed a cool, scented handkerchief across my brow.

      ‘Mm hmm?’

      I wasn’t sure where I was but I thought it was the sofa in the best drawing room. If Colin caught us on it … The idea was too irrelevant to take root. I had far more pressing ones swirling round and about.

      ‘Just because you’re dressed like a Victorian lady, you don’t have to go getting fits of the vapours,’ he said.

      ‘I …’ I tried to sit up. Jasper’s arm was tight around me and I couldn’t. ‘Why?’

      ‘I’m sorry?’

      I tried again, but my mouth was dry and my lips too quivery to work effectively. ‘Why? Are you? What? Here? Why?’

      He fumbled in a bag and took out a bottle of water.

      ‘Here,’ he said, uncapping it and putting it to my lips. ‘You need to drink.’

      I swallowed a few gulps and felt the stirrings of revival. Better than sal volatile.

      ‘Why didn’t you email? Or text? Or anything?’ I demanded, able now to struggle to an upright position against the tension of Jasper’s arm.

      ‘Sorry, work’s been absolutely manic. Besides, I wanted to surprise you.’

      ‘Surprises are overrated.’

      ‘Oh, no, no, no,’ he tutted. ‘You don’t mean that.’

      I could see where I was now. It was the best drawing room and Rob and Lucy were lurking in a corner as if ready to dash for first-aid assistance.

      ‘She’s fine,’ Jasper said to them. ‘You don’t need to hang around. But thank you.’

      Rob hesitated, but Lucy dragged him away by the elbow.

      I groaned and hid my face in Jasper’s shoulder.

      ‘I’m going to get fired,’ I wailed. ‘My dream first job and I lasted three weeks.’

      ‘Don’t be daft. They can’t fire you for fainting, especially when they make you wear … are you wearing a corset?’

      He prodded my stomach. I could tell by the way his breathing deepened that he was starting to feel turned СКАЧАТЬ