In Bed With Lord Byron

can take control, we can have balls, we can go out and get it whenever we want it—’
    ‘Well, I can’t disagree with that,’ said Byron.
    ‘And when we’ve finished with them, we can damn well tell men where to go,’ I continued, relishing the collapse of Byron’s smile. ‘Germaine Greer is my idol!’
I kissed my ruler and pointed it at him. ‘I fight for her legacy!’
    ‘This Germaine Greer,’ Byron cried, ‘is my sworn enemy! Once I have killed you, I shall challenge her, and then we’ll see how well she manages, hmm!’
    And with that, he threw himself at me. I let out a scream and half jumped, half fell off the table. I staggered backwards; the backs of my knees collided with the sofa, and I sank on to it and
lay prone, irritatingly enough in the manner of a damsel in distress.
    Byron climbed on to the sofa and caught my waist between his knees, perusing me through narrowed eyes. I scrabbled about a bit and – oh, the shame – he easily reduced me to a heap
again by digging his tickly fingers in my ribs. I giggled hatefully. Then I felt the cold curve of the knife flat against my cheek. I gulped. Surely Lord B. hadn’t really been serious when he
said he was going to kill me?
    ‘I shall kill you now,’ Lord B. murmured, ‘and you shall suffer
un petit mort
.’
    ‘More like un petit suicide,’ I said tartly.
    Then I heard the shrill of the phone ringing and I tried to shove Byron away.
    ‘No!’ I cried. ‘No, no, no, NO!’
    ‘A woman says no when she means yes,’ Byron crooned, his lips still warm in my neck.
    I tried to push him off, desperate now, but he pinned me down, and then the phone stopped.
    ‘Look,’ I said desperately, ‘in this century, if a man uses force on a woman, he gets his balls chopped off, OK?’
    He let me go pretty quickly after that.
    Rising to his feet, he slumped sulkily on to the sofa and muttered, ‘This Germaine has a lot to answer for.’
    I ran over to the phone, pressing 1471 with shaking fingers. The bloody BT woman informed me that they did not have the caller’s number to return the call. I was convinced it had to be
Anthony. But when I called him back it went back to voicemail. I nearly screamed with frustration.
    Right, I thought. If I can’t speak to him, I’ll go and see him. Right now.
    I looked over at Lord Byron, who was now examining my PC with a dangerous look in his eyes. Shit, I thought, I can’t leave him here on his own. Unless . . .
    ‘Byron, I’ve thought of something that I think you’ll find very interesting. It’s called the internet . . .’
    Byron was indeed very intrigued and impressed, his eyes shining with wonder. By the time I left, Lyra had jumped on to his lap in a furry white ball and he was stroking her absent-mindedly
whilst surfing with glee. Having discovered Google, he cried, ‘Before you go, Lucy, you have to hear about this – I’ve got 1,070,000 sites all devoted to me!’
    Arriving at Anthony’s office, I could hardly believe how nervous I was: butterflies frantic in my stomach, throat misty, words jumbly, brain electric-shocked. I’d
decided it was best simply not to bring up our row. We’d only get back on to the subject of his mother, and that was best avoided. I’d just act like everything was hunky-dory.
    Anthony’s smug secretary smiled a smug smile at me.
    ‘Hello, can I help you?’
    She always did this, even when we were dating – acting like I was a complete stranger she’d never seen before in her life.
    ‘Hi.’ I was horrified that she might see my nerves. ‘Um, is Anthony in?’
    She looked me up and down and then looked at her nails.
    ‘I think he’s busy.’
    ‘He’s in a meeting?’ I gulped. ‘I can wait.’
    ‘He’s not in a meeting, he’s just incredibly busy.’
    ‘Well – could you ask him if he’s so incredibly busy he can’t see me for five minutes?’
    ‘OK. Take a seat.’
    I took a seat. The smug secretary shuffled some papers about. Well, wasn’t she going to even call him, or did she work by telepathy? I bit my tongue, my nerves at breaking point. I
thought: when did I last feel like this, approaching Anthony? The answer came quickly: the night of our second one-night stand.
    We’d arranged to meet at Charing Cross tube station. I was fifteen minutes early and when I arrived he was already waiting for me. He was wearing a suit with a silk tie that kept flapping
in the breeze; his hair had caught a drizzle of rain and sparkled