Free Over the Knee by Fiona Locke

must know, I bought a pashmina and some underwear.’
    ‘What kind of underwear?’
    Now he was trying to embarrass me. Well, it wouldn’t work . ‘Sexy little things,’ I said brazenly. ‘French knickers, if you must know.’
    ‘What colour?’
    God, he was unflappable. ‘Blue.’
    ‘Not red?’
    The question took me aback and I shook my head slowly.
    ‘Would you mind showing me?’
    I hesitated, then reached into the bag and took out the knickers I had bought. I waved them in front of him like a flag and several passers-by paused to watch the display. ‘See? Blue. Like I said. Would you like to touch them?’
    ‘That won’t be necessary, Miss Harker,’ he said, completely unruffled. ‘Would you mind showing me what you have in your coat pockets?’
    My eyes flashed. ‘Oh, now this is going too far.’
    ‘If you have nothing to hide …’ he began reasonably.
    He had accosted me on the street, where people were watching and making the obvious assumptions. It was humiliating. Galling. Fuelled by the fury of the wrongly accused, I snapped, ‘Right. You want to see?’ I plunged my hands into both pockets, intending to find my Underground pass and nothing else. But, to my surprise, my left hand met something soft and lacy. Slowly, I drew out an incriminating scrap of scarlet material.
    The guard raised his eyebrows at me.
    I could scarcely get the words out. ‘Those – those aren’t mine,’ I protested feebly. ‘I mean, I looked at them. I considered getting them –
buying
them – but I didn’t!’
    He nodded grimly. ‘Yes, I can see you didn’t buy them.’
    ‘No, you don’t understand!’ Desperately, I cast back in my mind. Was it possible I could have been so absent-minded? That I had just shoved them into my pocket instead of putting them back? No. It
wasn’t
possible; in fact, it was inconceivable.
    But, all the while, the security guard was watching me impassively, his face betraying nothing, not even triumphant glee over this turn of events.
    A nervous laugh escaped. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘This is clearly a misunderstanding. I’m sure the girl at the lingerie counter will remember me. I’m happy to pay for these, but you have to understand I didn’t steal them.’
    ‘Do you know how many times I hear shoplifters say that?’ the guard asked wearily.
    ‘But I’m not a shoplifter!’
    ‘No, I’m sure you’re not,’ he said with patient condescension, as though I’d claimed to be Joan of Arc and was now insisting I wasn’t mad.
    Several people had stopped to watch our little drama. I wanted to scream at them that I hadn’t done it.
    The guard took my arm again. ‘You can explain it all to the manager. Now, come along.’
    Dread began to gnaw in my stomach like a hungry rat. My eyes burnt with tears of shame and my legs felt too weak to carry me. A sour-faced woman with two little kids stood watching me with righteous gratification as I passed them in disgrace, the contraband knickers dangling from my hand. For a crazy instant I pictured myself collapsing on the street. I’d wake up in hospital to find the whole mess sorted. A simple misunderstanding and good-natured apologies all round. No hard feelings.
    Suddenly, I remembered. ‘Wait! That woman at the front door …’
    ‘Come along, Miss Harker,’ he repeated, this time more firmly. ‘Fifteen years ago I might have dealt with this on my own, but nowadays I’m afraid that’s beyond my authority. So it’s a matter for the police.’
    I knew full well what would happen if the police got involved. There was no way they’d believe such a ludicrous story. A strange woman came from outside the store and shoved something into my coat pocket as I left? Why? It had happened so fast I doubted if I could even identify her.
    But what had the guard said? If he had the authority? The police hadn’t been called. The manager didn’t even know yet. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked cautiously. ‘Deal with it on your own?’
    The