just stick to dinner and conversation, but I knew there was no real strength in my resolve. Stephen intrigued, and if I wasnât entirely sure why, then in part at least it was because of his very respectability, and what I knew lay hidden underneath.
Heâd been patient waiting, presumably an asset in a politician, and was smooth and friendly as he guided me to his car, so smooth and friendly in fact that I began to wonder if he was up to something. After all, weâd had sex, and in my experience even those guys who play the white knight at first tend to drop it after a shag or two.
We drove west, through the city and into the West End, along the front of the Houses of Parliament and in among a duster of tall, red-brick buildings beyond, flats for the wealthy. His block had a garage beneath it, complete with security guard and automatic irongrille to keep out the mob. I could see from the way he was acting that I was meant to be impressed, and I was, a touch, even if it was all more or less what Iâd been expecting.
His flat was equally impressive, furnished and decorated with restrained elegance, mahogany furniture, deep-green leather, nothing garish or cheap. It wasnât really my taste, but it was comfortable, and all very new despite the old-fashioned look, with the sweet-sharp scent of leather catching my nose as I sat down in the settee he indicated. He went into the kitchen, speaking as I heard the chink of metal on glass.
âTonight, Angel, I treat you . . .â
âAngela, but I prefer Dusk really.â
âAngel, if I may. It suits you.â
âSuits me!?â
âA dark angel, maybe, but an angel.â
I shrugged and smiled, flattered despite myself. He was laying it on thick, but it was impossible to be anything other than amused. As he busied himself in the kitchen, just out of my sight, he went on.
âAngel or devil, tonight I treat you. Sit back and enjoy yourself while I cook you a dinner I promise you wonât forget in a hurry.â
âWhy? Are you going to drug me and do obscene things to my semi-conscious body?â
âVery funny. No, Iâm going to treat you as I suspect youâve never been treated before, as a Lady should be.â
There was more than a touch of condescension in what he was saying, and my mouth came open for a sarcastic response, only to dose again. If he wanted to play the generous benefactor to my street waif, then that was up to him, and he obviously thought he was flattering. It seemed silly to make an issue of it whenall he wanted to do was fill me with good things, then presumably fuck me.
He stepped out from the kitchen bearing a tray with two glasses, two plates, bread and butter, a wooden platter with some smoked salmon on it, a jar of fish eggs and a bottle of champagne. He spoke as he indicated each item.
âFor my Angel, nothing but the finest. Smoked salmon, wild, from a little place I know on Loch Fyne, Avruga caviar, champagne
La Belle Epoque
1996. Tuck in.â
âI will, thanks.â
I had no idea what it had cost, but I guessed more than I got in a week, maybe a month. Part of me wanted to point out that I was quite happy to be his Mistress without the gifts, but it was far easier to accept his offer. So I piled some of the caviar onto one of the tiny slices of brown bread and took a mouthful as he worked on the foil of the champagne bottle. The caviar was salty, nothing special really, and certainly not something Iâd pay a lot for.
The bottle came open with a gentle pop, spilling a touch of froth over his hand and onto the carpet. He ignored the spill, pouring carefully with the glass tilted and handing it to me when the deep-yellow liquid had risen halfway up. He watched paternally as I took a sip, leaving me feeling I should make some remark. Unfortunately the stuff tasted like old white wine put through a soda siphon, something Iâd experienced in my last year at school, only