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coherent.
    Suddenly terrified that whoever was calling might simply ring off, I jabbed the answer button and mashed the phone against my ear.
    â€˜Good morning,’ I said.
    â€˜Good morning. Would that be … Mistress Caine?’ the caller asked.
    â€˜This is the mistress speaking.’ My tone was somewhat formal, with just a touch of ice.
    â€˜I saw your very interesting advert in the paper just now, and thought I’d call to find out more.’ I realised this man sounded both well-spoken and self-assured. There was an edge to his voice that made me suspect he wouldn’t suffer fools gladly, if at all.
    â€˜Ah, yes.’ Time to deliver the carefully worded excuse I’d thought up when placing the test insertion. ‘Unfortunately, they ran it a week early. My dungeon is still undergoing renovation. I’m only open for business from next Thursday.’
    â€˜I see. They didn’t only run the advert a week early. They also placed it in a rather inappropriate section. Unless you deliberately asked for it to go under catering services, because that’s where I’ve just seen it.’
    â€˜Catering services?’
    â€˜Yes.’ He paused for a moment and added, ‘Just underneath an advert for Hassan’s Samoosas.’
    â€˜Hassan’s Samoosas?’ I repeated, thinking that this conversation was somewhat surreal, and that I was beginning to sound like his echo.
    â€˜That’s right. I probably wouldn’t have seen it at all if I hadn’t been parked on a closed highway for the best part of an hour already while they work out how to un-jackknife a stuck petrol tanker. My advice is avoid driving south on the M1 this morning, or if you’re going that way, take along something to read.’
    I found myself laughing. ‘Thanks for the traffic update. And for letting me know my advert went into the wrong section.’
    â€˜Could you tell me what you offer?’
    I took a deep breath. My voice sounded rock steady but my hands were shaking like leaves. I was really going to have to get control of my nerves before I started doing this in person. None of my potential clients would want to be disciplined by a trembling, wet-palmed mistress.
    â€˜All forms of domination. I have large premises in a private, countryside setting in the northern suburbs. I’m offering bondage, spanking, corporal punishment, slave training, humiliation, cross-dressing. I also cater for foot-fetishists and adult babies.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Anal punishment, too, of course.’ God, how I was ever going to manage to push a vibrator up somebody’s backside if my hands didn’t steady up, I really had no idea. ‘Plus any other specifics that you would like to explore. We can discuss your requirements before the start.’
    â€˜And you conduct the session personally?’
    â€˜Yes, I do.’
    â€˜May I ask what your charges are?’
    I took another, metaphorical, deep breath. I’d agonised over this for hours. I’d Googled dominatrix websites all over the world. And while it would be all too easy to undercut myself in the hope of getting in paying customers, this was not what domination was all about. Those who wanted it were usually more than capable of paying a premium rate. So, I was going to charge what I thought was an exorbitant amount, rather than sell myself short.
    I told him my rates, expecting him to ring off immediately. He didn’t. Instead, he said, ‘I’d like to make an appointment now.’
    Now? Already? I gulped my heart back down from my throat.
    â€˜Of course. You can book any time from next Thursday onwards.’
    â€˜Friday lunchtime, perhaps? Twelve-thirty p.m.?’
    â€˜I’ll book you in for that. Your name?’
    â€˜Simon.’
    â€˜This is the address.’ I gave it to him. ‘Please arrive promptly. Is there anything special you will require over and above what