Emma Sayle - Behind the Mask - Enter a World Where Women Make - and Break - the Rules

I say hello when she introduces her guests as Alfred and Kinsey.

There are blank expressions on their faces. ‘Our names are not Alfred and Kinsey,’ says one.

‘They are tonight,’ she smiles wickedly. ‘It’s in honour of my hero, Alfred Kinsey. Boys, I guarantee you are going to learn a lot here.’

They still look bemused. ‘We’ve never heard of the man.’

‘Listen and learn, boys. All you need to know is that we have him to thank for starting the sexual revolution back in 1953. If you can believe it, he was branded a Communist and investigated by the FBI – for saying that women have orgasms.’

One of the guys laughs in disbelief. ‘Really? That’s insane!’

Trolley Dolly shakes her head. ‘I know. As crazy as claiming the earth is flat. Thank God we live in more enlightened times – but a lot of that is down to Kinsey.’ She beams. ‘So wear his name well, my friends, and let’s see if you can prove his theory all over again! Follow me!’

She leads them off in the direction of the stairs. I suspect Trolley Dolly’s prey have no inkling of the frantic activities unfolding upstairs, but they soon get the hint when she flings off her coat and reveals that she’s wearing a black balconette Agent Provocateur bra, with flashes of hot-pink silk under the bust and along the straps, matching knickers and nine-inch killer designer heels.

‘It’s a Maddy bra. You like, gentlemen? Just call me Maddy tonight,’ she purrs. ‘See you later, Emma. I am going to show these lovely boys around now. I hope you don’t mind. Catch up tomorrow?’

‘Sure.’ I wink back. ‘Let’s be in touch. Enjoy yourself.’

Kitty comes up and tells me that things are going well. It’s in full swing now and won’t start winding down for another hour or two. I’m no longer needed. The party will run itself, the staff is managing the bar, Kitty and Jupiter will clear up and lock up.

There is only one thing I can do now, as I am feeling restless, frisky and very playful. The scenes unfolding around me have affected me despite my best efforts. I take out my phone to make a late-night booty call to Mr Black.

I call his private number. He picks up on the third ring.

‘Emma? It’s two in the morning,’ he says.

‘You’re still up. Is it a problem?’

‘I never have a problem where you’re concerned, Emma.’

‘I want to come over. Just for a little while.’

‘You can stay all night. Where are you?’

‘Round the corner. Usual place. Mayfair.’

‘My driver is on his way. Two minutes.’

I tuck my phone away. It’s time to leave the party now: I know everything is going smoothly. I need a little action of my own.

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