Fifty Days of Sin by Serena Dahl Page A

with
expensive-looking faux antique pieces – or are they real antiques?
Although I love the antique sofa in my room at college, my
knowledge on the subject of old furniture doesn’t match up to my
knowledge on the subject of old politics and events, so I can’t
tell. But either way, it’s beautiful. We go to the kitchen, and he
pours me another glass of red wine and then one for himself.
    “Thanks, Adam. I’d better sip
this, and you can play catchup.”
    He leans over and lightly raises
my chin, then kisses me softly on the lips. “I like the sound of
playing,” he says with a glint in his eye. “But I need some
sustenance first. Is risotto okay?”
    “Risotto sounds lovely,” I
reply. I watch as he pours some liquid into a saucepan – stock, I
presume – and he switches on the heat underneath. Then he selects
vegetables from the fridge and starts to chop a selection, and
measures out risotto rice on a set of scales. I’m impressed – he
looks like he knows what he’s doing.
    While he gets the risotto
cooking on the hob in a large green Le Creuset casserole dish, we
tell each other about our days at work. All the time I watch his
practised touch with the cooking, stirring, adding more stock and
putting in chorizo, and I admire his strong, lean body and the
perfection of his handsome face. When it’s finished and he’s
stirred in parmesan shavings he puts it on the plates with a little
salad and brings it to me at the kitchen table.
    “Bon appétit.”
    “Thanks, Adam, this smells
wonderful.” I tuck in, and soon find that it’s even better than it
looks and smells. “Is there no end to your talents?” I ask him.
    “I’m glad you like it.” He
grins.
    “Did your mum teach you to
cook?”
    “No, funnily enough she didn’t
ever ask me to cook at home. And when I went to university I didn’t
have a clue.”
    “What, she didn’t even teach you
to make her famous treacle tart? So where did you learn to cook
then?”
    “I watched Nigel Slater on the
telly. And Jamie Oliver. And Gordon Ramsey, and the contestants on
Masterchef.”
    “You sound like you watch
nothing but cookery programmes. I didn’t know you were such a
foodie.”
    “Well, I love good food and it’s
nice to be able to make it at home, exactly how I like it. I could
eat out all the time, but I wouldn’t want to. So I made the
effort.”
    “I’m glad. It’s delicious. And
the wine is lovely too.”
    He finishes first, and watches
me struggle with the last of my risotto. “I really can’t eat all of
this,” I tell him. “It’s a fantastic risotto, but you’ve given me
enough to feed an elephant.”
    He laughs. “I can’t think of
anyone less like an elephant than you. Okay, I’ll let you off the
last little bit. I just thought you might need to keep your
strength up.”
    “Oh, really?”
    “Hmm, yes. Considering what I’ve
got in mind for you.”
    “That sounds promising. What
exactly have you got in mind for me?”
    “Now that would be telling. This
is probably a silly question, but would you like dessert?”
    I tell him I couldn’t manage
another thing, so we leave the kitchen. “I’ll give you the upstairs
tour now if you like.” It’s just as tasteful and elegant as the
rest of the house. He shows me a study, three guest bedrooms, a
large bathroom and then leads me into the last of the rooms I’ve
seen upstairs. “And this is the master bedroom.”
    “Mmm,” I manage. My heart is
thumping now. He takes my hand.
    “I think you should try out the
bed.” He pulls me to him gently and kisses me lightly on my lips.
Then I smile up at him, and tentatively sit on the edge of the
bed.
    “Go on, lie down. You can’t test
a bed by sitting on it.” His handsome face is wearing a look of
amusement.
    I do as he tells me, and lie
down in the middle of the bed.
    “What do you think? Nice
bed?”
    “Lovely bed,” I tell him. “Nice
hard mattress.”
    “Do you like it hard?”
    “Yes, Adam, I do like