I didn’t go into work on Monday. I couldn’t bear the thought of bumping into Bill, not after what had happened on Friday. It would be just too embarrassing.

Anna had told me I couldn’t put it off forever. I mentioned it on Sunday afternoon as the conference was starting to wind down. “I can’t go in. What if he’s told everyone what I look like naked? That he almost shoved a butt plug in me?”

“What’s the alternative?” she asked. “Stay home forever? Quit? Run away to Brazil?”

“I don’t know.”

Anna went home Sunday evening but I stayed behind, booking an extra night in the hotel. It wasn’t just the thought of seeing him again that made it impossible to consider going in on Monday. It was a deep, gnawing fear that I would see him, that he would talk to me, that he would tell me any chance I had with him was gone.

That was the real truth. I could handle him boasting to everyone what had happened. It would be awful but it would be survivable. But what if I went in and he simply told me he wanted nothing to do with me?

Mega-bitch would be fine with that. She wouldn’t care.

I cared. I wanted more than anything to be able to turn back the clock, to answer him honestly in the bedroom.

Because I’d thought about it a lot since then. Between drunken conversations with Anna and mulling over things during the convention speeches, I had done quite a bit of soul searching. I wanted to go back and do things differently. I would have admitted that, yes, I did want to be tied down. Yes, I did want to be spanked by his firm hand, held on his lap, squirming with my skirt up and my panties around my ankles, wriggling under his smacking palm as he called me a bad girl over and over. Me agreeing that, yes, I was a very bad girl and I needed to be punished.

That was who I really was. But it was too late to realise it. He’d already told me to forget about it. And that was too painful to bear just yet. I wanted one day on my own before the crushing despair that I knew would come when I returned to work and he acted as if nothing had happened.

That was all without even thinking about that woman who’d kissed him. I was on the lookout for her all weekend, hoping to engage her in conversation, find out who she was. But she’d vanished as if she was never there. She’d probably gone with Bill and it was my own stupid fault that it wasn’t me in his house, in his bed, laid with him between her legs and I was so angry with myself, I could scream.

I phoned Ellie first thing Monday morning, telling her I wouldn’t be in, asking her to field my calls for the day. She didn’t ask questions of the boss, that was good, it meant I didn’t have to lie about why I wasn’t there.

After hanging up the phone, I laid on my back in bed, staring at the ceiling. Half past eight. He’d probably be at the office by now, settling into his desk, looking up to see if I was there. Maybe he’d be by the water cooler, boasting loudly about how he’d bedded the boss but she was too cowardly to go any further, how she was frigid, cold of heart and frozen between the legs. The thought made me feel sick.

I threw back the covers. It was no good staying there. I needed to move, find something to distract myself. There had to be something to do here.

I got dressed, glad I had brought a spare outfit, just in case. It was a pair of black trousers, white shirt, and plain grey jacket, standard business attire.

Then I packed my case. His was long gone. He’d probably tiptoed in to steal it while I was drinking with Anna, laughing at me the entire time.

As I waited in the queue at reception, I kept thinking. I hated him. I loved him. I despised him. I wanted him. Back and forth my mind went. I wanted to think about anything else but Bill kept coming into my mind, how good it had felt to have his hands on my ass, how scared I’d been at the same time. I had no idea what I was supposed to feel and a weekend wasn’t long enough to decide.

“Can I leave my case here for a few hours?” I asked when I got to the front of the queue.

“That’s fine,” the beaming receptionist replied, taking the key from me. “We’ll hold it right here. Did you enjoy your stay?”

“Yes,” I said robotically, keeping my churning emotions to myself. What was I supposed to say? It would have been perfect if I’d been brave enough to admit I wanted to be dominated by a man who works for me? It might cost both of us our job but damn it would feel good to have him inside me.

I turned around and walked out of the hotel, seeing but not seeing the traffic, the people, the buildings.

I wasn’t sure how long I walked for but I ended up in the pedestrianised centre, no cars to be seen. Looking from left to right, I tried to work out how I’d got here but I had no idea. Glancing at my watch, I saw it was gone ten. Had I really been walking for over an hour?

At the far end of the street by the war memorial, there was a tourist information centre. I headed towards it. They’d be able to think of something that could distract me.

Inside was a small shop selling coasters and fridge magnets of Harrogate and the surrounding countryside. Maps and leaflets covered one wall and at the far end, two elderly ladies were standing behind the counter, looking expectantly at me. “Can we help?” the first one asked.

I doubt it, I thought before heading over to them. “Hi, I was hoping you could tell me what to do for the day.”

“Well, that depends,” said the second woman, pausing to take a sip from a mug of tea. “On what it is you like to do.”

“I used to like climbing, when I was younger.”

“Oh, then we have a couple of places for you. Have you heard of Brimham Rocks?”

“Nope.”

“Really? It’s very popular around here for climbers. Or there’s Almsliffe Crag, that’s not too far either. Are you in a car, dear?”

The car. I’d completely forgotten about the car. It was supposed to pick me up Sunday night from outside the hotel and take me home. Why hadn’t they rung up to me in the room?

Because I’d told them I wasn’t taking calls. Well done, Lucy, sterling work there.

I smiled sheepishly. “Perhaps you could give me the number for a car hire firm while I’m here.”

“Of course we can do that. Here, have a look at this.”

She had a brochure open, the page showing the view from the top of a rock formation, green fields undulating away towards a distant horizon. It looked idyllic. “Why do I recognise that?” I asked.

She shrugged. “It used to be on TV, there was a programme used it in the what do you call it?”

“The titles,” the other woman said. “It was Emmerdale Farm.”

“No, it’s just called Emmerdale now.”

“But it was Emmerdale Farm back then.”

“I know that, Connie, but the lady doesn’t need to know that. Go and find the number for her.”

“What? The number for Emmerdale Farm? I don’t think it’s a real farm, you know.”

“No, not for Emmerdale. For her to get a car for the day.”

“Oh, right. Why didn’t you say? The numbers are in the book.”

“Then go get me the book.”

“It’s under your elbow.”

She looked down at the counter. “So it is. Let’s have a look for you, shall we?”

I spent another ten minutes in there with the two of them, their conversation continually simmering between that of best friends and despised enemies. I got the feeling they’d been working together far too long. I also got the feeling they would never retire. If I came back here when I was eighty, the two of them would probably still be behind the counter, ready to check me into the Hotel California.

“All sorted,” Connie said, hanging up the phone for the last time. “You’ve to go down the end of the street, turn right past Primark, then down the hill, if you get to Pizza Hut, you’ve gone too far. Take a left past the car park and the hire place is on the right, Yorkshire Cars, they’ll look after you there.”

“And how do I get here?” I asked, tapping the picture in the brochure.

“You’ll need this,” she replied, sliding a map across to me. “I’ll mark it on with a pencil, that way you can rub it out when you’re done.”

I thanked them both and left with the map in my handbag. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. I couldn’t go climbing in my current clothes. I hadn’t been climbing for years. It was something I used to do as a teenager, a way of dealing with the simmering emotional turmoil of going through puberty without being able to talk to anyone about it. But I hadn’t done it since I’d started working, I hadn’t had time.

Ten minutes later I was in an outdoor shop, spending what little I had left in my account on a change of clothing. I felt like Supergirl, going into the changing room as mild mannered businesswoman Lucy Rhodes, coming out as Climbing Girl, confident of reaching the mountain peaks before breakfast to save the world one foothold at a time.

I carried my suit out in the carrier bag they gave me, making my way down the hill to collect my car. Once I was inside and had the GPS set up, I followed the directions out of town and into the countryside.

It took half an hour to reach Almscliffe Crag. I left the car on the verge at the roadside and walked uphill towards what looked like a miniature extinct volcano, higher by far than any of the surrounding fields.

I had the place to myself. Monday morning, not surprising. Most people were at work.

I did feel a flash of guilt as the sun and climb warmed my blood, got my heart pumping. I was skipping work to go climbing. That wasn’t what the boss should be doing, it was hardly setting a good example.

But something told me this was the right thing to do, a way to clear my head, go back afresh tomorrow, start again. Like when the doors had hit me in the face on my first day. I started again. I could go back, be the boss, ignore Bill, it would all be fine.

I reached the first rock and then it was like going back to riding a bike after years away. I swung an arm up, finding a lip for my fingers and then hoisting myself onto the stone, ignoring the ache in my muscles, already looking for the next fingerhold to grab onto.

It was only ten minutes to reach the top, chalk marks left by previous climbers helping my grip. As I pulled myself upright, I sighed, feeling happy for the first time since Bill had kissed me. I didn’t need him. I could cope absolutely fine without him. I wasn’t a needy person. I was an independent woman.

The view was magnificent, even better in person than it had been in the brochure. The day was crisp and clear, no haze to the sky, allowing me to see all the way to the horizon, a viaduct visible at great distance, looking like a tiny model from this far. A glint of silver twinkled near it, a river sparkling between lush green trees. I stood there for a long time.

I only headed back to the car when I started to need to pee. I found a cafe in the nearest village and made use of the facilities before ordering a coffee, drinking it by the window, warming up slowly as I watched the world go by outside.

It would be fine, I told myself. We all make mistakes. I had said no for a reason, perhaps in another universe, I’d said yes and was in the process of being hauled in front of a tribunal to be fired for trying to sleep with an employee, for bringing the company into disrepute by being found tied to a bed by the maid, Bill brandishing a whip above me.

I drained the last of the coffee and then made my way out to the car. I wanted to go back and climb some more but the day was passing by too quickly. I set the GPS for London, vowing to come back sometime, to climb up there again, glad of a place where I felt at peace.

It was a little after five when I made it home. I left the hire car outside the house. Someone was coming to collect it in the morning so I didn’t need to worry about getting it back up there.

Instead, I could worry about other things. Like why the living room was filled with parcels wrapped up with bows. “Anna?” I called out as I walked inside. “Is there a birthday party I missed or something?”

She appeared from the kitchen, wheeling along the hallway towards me. “Have a look at some of the labels,” she said. “Welcome back by the way.”

“Thanks,” I replied before heading into the living room. I picked up the first parcel. Lucy, it read in capital letters, black ink. “What is this?”

“You should talk to him,” Anna said as I tore the parcel open to find a beautiful cashmere sweater inside.

“Who?”

“Who do you think? Bill, of course.”

“I can’t, Anna. I’m too embarrassed.”

“You’re going to have to talk to him at some point.”

“I turned him down. How am I supposed to face him at work?”

“You don’t have to.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“He’s on his way here.”

“What?” I froze in place, certain I had misheard her.

“He left a note with present number five hundred and eight. Said he’d come round this evening to talk.”

“But he can’t. I can’t see him. Shit, oh, shit. What do I do?”

The doorbell went a second later. The blood drained from my face at the same moment. “Anna, hide me.”

She shook her head, already wheeling herself away. “I’m not here. You can answer it or not but that’s up to you.”