Back at our table, we sip at liqueurs, nibble at slivers of mint chocolate. "It's late," says my Master. "Time for us to say goodnight."Will rises. "Goodnight, Richard." He stoops to kiss my cheek. "Good night, Beth. I'll be in touch next week about the next stage of the project."Irene's brow furrows…I rise, returning the cheek kiss. "I'll have something for you later in the week, Will. To first draft level, at least."… and her eyes narrow. She mutters furiously at her husband, who merely shrugs her away. And my Master hasn't missed any of it. His gaze flicks this way and that; me, Irene, her husband; but he appears calm.Grace too, takes me at the shoulder as we exchange kisses. "It was lovely to meet you, Beth. We should all get together for dinner sometime.""I'd like that." But I'm already reaching for my Master's proffered hand. "Good night, everyone."As we cross the floor to the elevator, although his expression is steady, his lips are pinched. The doors swish open, then clo

"Something wrong, Master?"His attention jolts toward me and the frown evaporates, replaced with a smile. "It's nothing, my Love." Tapping off the screen, he straightens up, sliding the tablet aside. The smile broadens, creasing up into his eyes. "My apologies. I shouldn't do this at breakfast, should I. A time when we should be enjoying each other's company. Talking together. I have an entire workday in the office to deal with my messages. Oh…"… He raises a finger… "… On the subject of talking, that girl from the newspaper you hit it off with at the charity gala. Schmidt's niece. Claudia was it? She's sent me the article she wrote after that impromptu interview you set up between us."He re-opens the tablet, tapping through screens until a page of text opens up, then slides it across the table to me... "… This is what she's sent in for my approval."I speed-scan the contents… Mr Haswell spoke at length on the responsibilities of the wealthy and the privileged to employ their wealth

Winter jasmine blooms brilliant yellow behind the glossy red stalks of a stand of dogwood. Snowdrops peek out at the base, promising a spring still several weeks away. But despite the earliness of the year, sunshine has thawed the frost and, armed with boots, gloves and woollens, the garden is a winter paradise.Claudia, notebook in hand, has arrived with an arsenal of questions, obviously picking up from her previous conversation with my Master. The garden itself provides a cue."It's a gorgeous house and the garden is beautiful. You must feel very… privileged… to live in such a lovely home." She swallows hard, holding up her phone to demonstrate it is set to Record. "May I?"My Master slants a look her way. "You may."Inhaling, he pauses, then continues. "Yes, you are quite correct. I am indeed privileged. And the privileged have a vast range of options when it comes to how they make use of their wealth. That wealth can be used for necessities… The basics of life… Or for personal ben

My Master is wearing his customary white linen shirt with the black jeans he knows I like. I've noticed recently that his wardrobe contains more of both jeans and shirts than when we first met.Unravelling his tie, for a moment, he looks about to slide it from under his collar. Then, glancing sidelong, he takes one of the cuffs I set out, letting it dangle. "Good choice," he says. Taking off the tie, he lays it across the back of a chair. Holding my eyes, he unfastens the top button of his shirt. "The rest are yours, Elizabeth."Gliding my palms up his chest, I slip open the second button, then the third, working my way down before, glancing up for permission, I tug the shirt free of his belt and unfasten the final button.My Master. So handsome. Older, but he cares for himself. His chest hair is flecked silver. Nonetheless, his abs and pecs are taut, his waist firm and tight, his belly flat.Below his belt though, he is not flat. The dark fabric of his jeans strains, the buttoned fro

What are my options?Not looking a gift horse in the mouth.I tap in the number. "Hello, I'd like to speak with Chancellor Wilmore, please. Tell him it's Beth Haswell."A routine, 'One moment. I'll see if he's available,' is followed by a tinny rendition of 'The Four Seasons', then a cheerful voice. "Beth, good to hear you. I did wonder if you would call. I imagine I can guess what this is about?""Hello, Leo. I'm sure so. You offered me the services of your math department in a possible traffic modelling exercise…""That's right. As I mentioned to you when we first met, your project would be an ideal exercise for some of my post-grads. It's a variation on a knotty mathematical puzzle known as the Travelling Salesman Problem…"My brain glazes… "Sorry?""The travelling salesman problem," he repeats. "The question seeks an answer to this dilemma: Given a list of cities, what is the optimal route to include all destinations, taking into account the distances between each city, while visit