“What a big difference.”
“If I were twelve and you were eighteen, it would be a big difference,” I object.
“If you were twelve and I were eighteen, it would be illegal,” he says.
“I’ll keep emphasising the difference interminably.”
“Interminably?” He asks, incredulous. “I must tell Lance to stop it. It was more fun when I could use my cultural superiority to make fun of your limitations.”
“My limitations? Cultural superiority? Ashford Parker, just so you know, I didn’t only achieve your level of cultural knowledge, but I possibly went well beyond it.”
“Don’t challenge me, you’ll lose.”
“Speaking of challenges… we’ve always played in your field. You should play in mine, if you’re not afraid of losing.”
“For example?” He asks.
“I had to attend tea parties, garden parties, lunches, breakfasts,tableaux vivants, auctions, polo tournaments and so on. You’ve always played on your home territory. It would be fair if you competed on mine, for once.”
“I’m a gentleman and I must admit you’re right. Go ahead, choose the field.”
“We’re in London, let’s go to a club! You wouldn’t survive for half an hour.”
“You underestimate me. You believe that a duke can’t possibly enjoy nightlife.”
“I think it’s improbable, yes,” I say.
“Very well, you’ll have a chance to change your mind. What’s the challenge?”
“Who picks up the most.”
Ashford bursts into hearty laughter. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m serious. We go to a club, flirt with people and, at the end, we see who got the most interest.
Ashford nods. “I’m in.”
“Photos that prove kisses are worth double,” I add. Then again, if I have to find someone to help me banish my recent thoughts, kissing a stranger seems the least I can do.
“I can’t go into a club and kiss random women. I’m the Duke of Burlingham! I would end up on every newspaper. That goes for you too, Duchess,” he protests.
“If you’re not gonna do it, it means you’re afraid of losing.”
He sighs, surrendering. This sentence works with any male.
“Come on! After months of etiquette and good manners, we deserve a spontaneous evening. Besides, one of us may even go home with a trophy for a healthy one night stand.”
“Are you suggesting that we agree on adultery?” He asks, looking more and more incredulous.
“We’re an open couple, aren’t we?” I ask, more to remind myself than him.
“Absolutely,” he says.
“So, are you up for this?”
“Choose the club. We’ll go right away,” he tells me, resolutely.
When we get to the club in Shoreditch, Ashford parks the car with a single manoeuvre. I always think that, if I were a car, I would like to be driven by him, because his movements are confident, straight, with no hesitation whatsoever. He never revs the engine, his bends are precise with just a light touch on the steering wheel, and he always accelerates and brakes very smoothly. For each manoeuvre, the steering wheel is moved just as much as it takes, as if Ashford were equipped with a natural parking sensor even in the most demanding situations.
