She nods and starts in the kitchen. Sweeping the device over every surface and object, knowing it will detect anything transmitting or receiving a signal. With the kitchen clear, she walks into the bathroom, catching sight of him in his study, sitting at his desk and staring at the multiple computer monitors. The bathroom is abject luxury. A deep corner bath fitted with hydromassage jets and a wet room bigger than the living room of her own tiny flat. All clear, and she moves out and decides swiftly to do his bedroom while he is in the study. Everything clean and tidy. The drawing room clear. The lounge area clear and with the last room to go she freezes at the sight of his half-erect penis clearly visible through the open flies of his trousers while he stares at the monitors as though unaware of his appendage on display.

Fourteen days. You cannot do anything. He is the Prime Minister. You are a police constable.

‘Sir?’ she calls out, forcing her tone to remain neutral.

‘Finished?’ he asks, still staring at the monitors.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Really?’ he asks lightly. ‘Have you done in here?’

She hesitates, thereby passing tiny measures of victory his way. ‘No, I have not,’ she says quickly.

‘Better do it then,’ he says thoughtfully, picking his glass tumbler up to take a big mouthful of the amber liquid.

She enters with a firm step and her hands show no tremble as she commences the security check. Working down the wall, checking the frames of the paintings and prints on the walls. The lamps on the tabletops, the underside of the surfaces and working round towards the desk. A glance over and her left eyelid flits at the four monitors showing images of naked Arabic-looking women. Her mind processes fast with the possibility of finally having evidence then realises that his computer will be one of the most secure in the world. The Prime Minister can access anything without leaving a trace and anyway, if the Prime Minister wants to wank at porn then he can, everyone else does it.

She has to scan the desk. She swallows, gripping the wand.

‘Sir, the desk?’

‘Yep.’ His voice is hoarse and rough with anticipation. What did he think? That she would see the images and be so turned on she would throw herself at him? That the sight of his cock would make her drop down and open her legs? He is not married but famously single and quite possibly the most eligible bachelor in the world. He is relatively young too, not yet fifty.

Oh God, he is erect now. Fully hard with the thing standing to attention in his lap. He smiles, turning his head with a slowly spreading grin. ‘Am I in your way?’ he rasps and clears his throat with a chuckle. ‘Too much whisky,’ he explains. ‘Want me to move back?’