Confessions from an Escort Agency. Rosie Dixon

your limbs on the chaise-longue,’ he says.

      ‘I think this settee would be a better idea,’ I say, sinking down gratefully. ‘I don’t know what’s come over me.’ It occurs to me at the time that this is an unfortunate choice of words but I think it best not to draw attention to it. I take another sip of port and find my head drawn back irresistibly to the surface of the settee. How sleepy I feel.

      ‘Poor child,’ says the old man. ‘You have been through much.’

      ‘And vice versa,’ I say, swallowing a yawn. ‘I wonder if I ought to report what has happened to the college authorities.’

      ‘And who did you have in mind?’ says the nice old man. I can feel his gentle hands running over my body – no doubt looking for pieces of evidence that can be brought against people. It is quite nice, really.

      ‘I think I ought to go to the very top,’ I say.

      ‘Capital suggestion.’ The old man’s enthusiasm carries over to the speed with which he scrambles on top of me. How strange. I could have sworn – but no, it can’t be.

      ‘The Master,’ I say.

      ‘Speak, child. I am listening.’

      ‘You mean—!?’ I say as the settee takes off and starts to jerk across the room.

      ‘Yes, my dear. I am The Master.’

      CHAPTER 3

      ‘You’re back early,’ says Dad.

      ‘A fleeting visit,’ I say.

      ‘Did you have a nice time?’

      ‘Lovely, thank you.’

      ‘Nice house?’

      ‘Smashing.’

      ‘Was your friend all right?’

      ‘Fine.’

      ‘You’re lying!!’ Dad bangs his fist down on the table and the Bemax leaps into the air. ‘She rang up at midnight last night to ask where you were!’

      Oh dear. I might have guessed that Dad was up to something. He doesn’t usually ask me if I have had a good time.

      ‘I missed the train,’ I say.

      ‘There’s other trains.’

      ‘Yes – well, Geoffrey gave me a lift.’

      ‘Geoffrey!?’ Dad’s face contorts like a breakdown in an elastic band factory. ‘Is that the long streak of rubbish who practically wrote off my car?’ I nod weakly. ‘I’m not surprised he drives around in a hearse. He’s going to end up in one if I ever get my hands on him.’

      ‘Where did you spend the night?’ says Mum. This is the sixty-four thousand dollar question and I gulp nervously. How can I tell them the truth? I can hardly believe it myself. And to think I used to support Oxford in the boat race.

      ‘With that swine Geoffrey, I suppose?’ says Dad threateningly. I am about to deny this ridiculous accusation when I think again. Perhaps he would be the lesser of many evils. Geoffrey has always said that he would do anything for me and Mum has a soft spot for him.

      ‘The car broke down,’ I say.

      ‘Humph!’ snorts Dad. ‘That’s what they always say.’

      ‘We had separate rooms,’ I say. ‘I insisted.’

      ‘Why didn’t you tell the truth in the first place?’ says Mum.

      I begin to snivel. ‘Because I knew you’d never believe me. You always think the worst of me!’

      ‘Stop that snivelling!’ barks Dad.

      ‘Don’t be harsh on the girl, Harry. You are inclined to find fault if you can.’

      ‘Those are tears of guilt!’ storms Dad, sounding like Billy Graham. ‘Oh, if I could just lay my hands on that swine!’ Just at that moment there is a ring at the front door bell.

      ‘Must be Natalie,’ says Mum.

      ‘If she’s lost her key again, I’ll tan her hide,’ snarls Dad. When I hear him talk like that about Nat, I realise how worked up he must be. Normally he can never find a bad word to say about my beloved sister.

      ‘It’s always better to tell the truth in the first place,’ says Mum, once he has left us. ‘It avoids so many misunderstandings.’ I am just beginning to agree with her when I hear an angry shout from the front doorstep and a scream of pain.

      ‘Oh my lord,’ says Mum. ‘What’s happened now?’

      We run to the front of the house and I nearly cry out in horror at what I see. Dad is chasing Geoffrey round the front garden. Geoffrey is waving a cardigan which I recognise as mine and shouting something like, ‘She left it in the car, I tell you!’ His face is horribly bruised and I don’t think that all the bruises can have been caused by Dad. In fact, the way Dad is shaping up I doubt if he can have caused any of them. He takes a wild swing with his garden rake and the cherub’s head goes flying again. Oh dear, I know he took the whole of one evening trying to replace it.

      ‘You swine!’ shouts Dad. ‘Defiler of young girls! Don’t let me ever see you round here again. And if anything happens, you marry her. Is that understood?’

      The neighbours’ windows are going up faster than the cost of living and I feel absolutely humiliated. As if I have not been through enough recently.

      ‘Dad, please!’ I shout. ‘Geoffrey hasn’t done anything.’

      ‘Get out of my garden!’ Dad does another swing with his rake, the top comes off the handle and lands about three gardens away. ‘Out!!’

      Geoffrey looks as if he is about to say something and then shrugs his shoulders and drops my cardy on the hedge. I can see that he is making a big effort to keep himself under control. Say what you like about Geoffrey but he has been a good friend to me over the years. He climbs into his car and, with a slightly embarrassed little wave in my direction puts the mighty machine in gear and reverses powerfully into Dad’s car. It is as if the first time had been a practice run.