I stand at the doorway, astounded. The walls are papered with gorgeous gold-sheen Chinoiserie depicting vintage roses and beautiful birds. A massive four-poster bed is at one end. The bedspread is a mixture of teal, turquoise, and deep forest green. The floor is a dark wood, with an antique cream and emerald carpet. There is very little furniture, but each piece looks like it was bought at an auction at Christies.

From the tall windows one can see the front garden of the house. The opulent brocade curtains are held back with thick ropes of piled yarns twisted together. One of the windows has been opened a crack and a cool breeze rustles the long bullion fringes of the curtains, making the silky cords shimmer in the afternoon light. On the ground, they puddle into a soft meringue of exquisite color. A peppery smell mixed in with the sweet scent of potpourri catches my nose.

It is so beautiful it almost feels like being in a dream, an ephemeral fantasy world; but I feel stricken, filled with apprehension. To step inside this splendid room will be to enter my cage.

“Come on in, lass and I’ll show you how everything works,” Anabel invites, looking at me with open speculation now.

I look at her ruddy face. I have nothing to fear. There is nothing particularly malevolent about Thorne or this place. It is just my overactive imagination. I straighten my spine and square my shoulders. “What is behind those doors?” I ask, taking two steps into the room, and pointing to the three tall doors leading away from the room.

Anabel motions to each one as she explains their uses. “That door is your walk-in closet, lass. There are some clothes there for you and you can get anything else you want over the next few days. The second one is your bathroom. And that last door is … Mr. Thorne’s bedroom.”

I feel my cheeks flush with scorching heat. I didn’t think he would be this close. The house is so incredibly large he could have put me in any room that he wanted. He must want to keep a close eye on me. “Right,” I say briskly, to cover my embarrassment.

“Let me show you how the shower works, lass,” Anabel croons, and starts walking towards the second door.

“Thank you,” I say, when she has shown me how the heater and shower work.

“Supper, which will be served in the dining room, is at six o’clock. I will send Theresa, the maid, up to escort you down at quarter to. If you’d like a sandwich or a snack before that, just ring that bell, and I’ll be more than happy to sort something out for you.”

I want to hug her. She is so kind to a complete stranger. Thanks to her warm, caring face I feel far less anxious now than when I arrived at the house. I thank her, and she leaves, closing the door behind her.

Jet lag is starting to kick in and the bed looks more comfortable to me than I want to admit, but I decide to take a shower. First though, I give in to curiosity and take a look in the closet. I’ll need something appropriate for dinner.

The ‘closet’ is almost the size of the bedroom. The floors in here are covered in a plush cream carpet. The walls are lined from ceiling to floor with shoes and clothes. Clothes that I have never seen before. In the center of the room is a comfortable couch, an armchair, and a dressing table.

I run my hands along the coats to my right and look down at the shoes underneath. The clothes and shoes have been coordinated by color and type. Next to the coats are sweaters and jackets, beside them are evening gowns, next to them, dresses, and it continues like this to the very end. Each item of clothing starts dark and gently changes to lighter hues. Whoever arranged these clothes must be very meticulous. I have an idea it is not Anabel.

I take a pair of shoes and sit down on the cream armchair to try them on. They are Christian Louboutins; pointed black pumps with red soles. They fit perfectly. I look all around and discover that every shoe is in my size. I step out of the Louboutins and walk barefoot on the soft carpet. I take a dress from a rack and hold it up. It is also in my size. I look around me in surprise. Thorne bought all these expensive designer things for me. I wonder how he even knew my size. Did his investigators go through my things in my apartment? Then an even more curious question. How is all this a punishment for stealing? A shiver runs through me at the thought of what is really expected of me.

I am just about to explore some more when I notice a turquoise rotary telephone on the coffee table. I pick it up. There is a dial tone.

I turn the dial to a telephone number that I have had memorized for years. It rings three times before there is an answer.

“Hello?” a cautious voice answers.

“Hello, Melody,” I say, happy to hear the bubbly voice of my childhood friend.

“Chelsea is that you? My, what a surprise,” she exclaims with a little giggle. “It says number unavailable. Where are you calling me from? And what time is it over there now?”

It is unusual for me to call her on the telephone. Normally, I would send her a text, or we would have a face to face chat on Skype or something, but calling her from an unavailable number never happens. “I’m in London, Melly,” I say with a laugh.

There’s a long, stunned pause on the other end. When I left London two years ago, I swore I wouldn’t be coming back for a long, long time. Not unless I had to, and we both knew what I meant by that.

“What are you doing here?” she asks. There is deep curiosity mingled with fear in her voice.

“Thorne found me,” I whisper. I don’t know if there are hidden cameras or if Thorne is watching my every move.

“What? How?” Melly screams in a high-pitched shriek.

“Private investigators. Obviously, I was not as careful as I thought I was. He turned up at my office and gave me an ultimatum. It was either come back to London with him or go to prison.”

“Wow! Since you’re not rotting behind bars, what gives?” she asks.

“I’m to stay with him at his house for three months. Looks like he’s bought me a closet full of the most beautiful clothes and shoes too, but there’s a catch …”

I wait for a response but there is none. Melly stays eerily silent.

“In return I have to be his … companion. For the next three months I must live with him and provide him with sexual favors.” I close my eyes with embarrassment as I say these things. It makes me feel dirty. I can’t even begin to imagine what Melly must think of this sordid arrangement.

“That’s it?” she asks, her voice astonished.

“What do you mean, that’s it? Did you not hear what I said? I’m here to be his fuck buddy, Melly,” I spit bitterly.

“Hold your horses, girl. Did you not hear what you said? A gorgeous and extremely wealthy man searched the globe for you. He’s keeping you safe in his mansion, he’s bought you a closet full of, I can only imagine, designer gear to put on your back and in exchange you have to sleep with this hunk? Goodness gracious, Chelsea, I wish I could be you. If a man who looked like that wanted me to be his lover, I would bloody well jump at it. No questions asked. If I thought that’s what stealing three hundred thousand dollars would get me I’d become a thief tomorrow.” Melly starts giggling.

Her laughter makes me laugh too. I thought for sure that she would be cursing and swearing on my behalf, but instead she’s almost congratulating me. Which is weird, and oddly comforting. I was feeling dirty and she threw open a door and let the sunlight in.

“Oh silly girl. This is what the best romance fantasies are made of,” she mumbles dreamily.

In the middle of my laughter, I hear the sound of the door behind me open. “I have to call you back later, Melly,” I whisper quickly, and hang up. Slowly, I turn to face the door.

Thorne is standing there, his black pupils fixed on me.