Chapter One

The man seated opposite on the tube train had been looking at her for some time now. At first the train had been crowded, and his sight of Sophie obscured, but once they passed Baker Street there were fewer passengers. He had stared at her openly, arrogantly even, his eyes moving from her face down over her body and back up again. It was a warm day and Sophie was lightly dressed in a white T-shirt, rather tight, accentuating her breasts, were supported by a natural-line bra which held them in position without unsightly seams showing through. Below she wore a flared skirt, very short, in a flimsy cotton printed with a bright flower-pattern. As she sat, the skirt rode up her thighs, but she was careful to keep her legs close together. On her feet were high-heeled white sandals. Her toenails, painted scarlet, showed through the opening of the shoes.

At Paddington most of the remainder of the passengers got off. At her end of the carriage there was only herself, the man and an elderly woman engrossed in a paperback. The man continued to stare at her. He was about fifty, suavely dressed in a dark suit with expensive shoes. His tie had some sort of badge on it, a club or a school she supposed. She didn’t want to look him in the eye, but as she was wondering who he might be, she saw him open the palm of one hand, and with the index finger of the other trace the outline of a letter S. In the pit of Sophie’s stomach she felt a tingling, as if some electric current were passing through her, a sensation caused in equal part by fear and desire. She knew she had no choice; that she must now go with this man and do his wishes. One part of her wanted to run, one part was held in thrall. Was this how the rabbit felt when cornered by the fox?

She knew she must respond. She held out her right hand, opened the palm, and with her finger wrote an answering S. She glanced around; no one was paying them any attention. Just then the train slowed and stopped, at Warwick Avenue. The man stood up and got off the train, not bothering to look behind to see if Sophie was following. He had seen her sign of acquiescence and was confident that she would come with him.

On the escalator she stood a couple of steps behind him. Once out in the street, the man set off at a brisk pace, Sophie trotting behind, her sandals clicking on the pavement. They arrived at a mansion block and the man entered. He strode across to the lift and held the gate open for her, without looking at her. When they got out of the lift he led the way down the corridor, finally stopping in front of a door and opening it with a key.

She stepped through and stood in the hall as he closed the door behind them.

“Follow me,” he said. His voice was emotionless. He walked do