Page 76 of A Night with Damien Spur

The bastard really got him. Shot him in the balls. Horatio had called his bluff, and now Nicholas was stuck.

He’d phoned his bank – not enough leverage for a loan. Funny that. Never been in debt and yet he couldn’t get credit.

‘That’s what happens when you pay in cash,’ his friend Skid said. ‘Start borrowing, Nick, and they’ll know who you are.’

And that Claudia. Her phone messages had made him sweat.

‘Nicholas, answer my call, please,’ she had said in her sweet, breathy voice. It had a steel edge that cut through him like a knife.

Later that afternoon he called her.

‘Please could you give me Boris’s office number,’ he said.

‘Why haven’t you answered my calls?’ Claudia replied.

‘I’m sorry. I was going to ring you earlier, but I just haven’t had the chance,’ he lied.

‘Well, let’s get to the point. How do you want to pay the £75,000 for the ring? Cheque or bank transfer?’ she said.

‘Just hold on. I’m not sure yet. I know I have to pay for the ring, but I wasn’t myself last night. I was drunk. I… I don’t want to talk about it… Look, Claudia, I need a little time to sort this out. You’ll get the money…’

And that’s when he called Boris.

‘Alexa, play Mozart’sRequiem.’ Nicholas lay with his headpropped on a cushion, eyes glazed, pale-faced waiting for Boris to return his calls. He’d rung twice so far. Nicholas knew that he must resist calling again, or Boris would sense that he was desperate. He must be cool, casual.

Nicholas ran a speech in his head.

Hello, Boris, a little prob last night with my winning bid for the diamond ring.I was a bit tipsy. You know, all the excitement of the game. So, don’t want to dig into my funds at the mo. Markets are down and£75k makes a bit of a dent. Wondered if you might like to buy another icon or two… for a quick sale? Want to settle asap. Don’t want to let the charity down – it’s a question of honour.

He poured himself a whisky and a large glass of water.

‘Come on, you bastard, ring me back.’ He punched the cushion. ‘Bet you’re doing it on purpose. Probably know I’m drowning in my own sweat.’

Nicholas was in the bathroom when Boris finally rang.

He had left his mobile on the table. Struggling with his trousers, he hopped into the living room.

Kate had just returned from the garden centre. ‘Shall I answer the call?’ she said, more out of curiosity than kindness.

‘Leave it, please,’ he said, and snatched the phone. ‘Hello, it’s Nicholas Morley. I’m trying to speak to Mr Smirnov.’

‘Hold, please,’ said his secretary. ‘I will put you straight through.’

‘Hello, Nicholas. What’s up?’

‘Ah, Boris, we are ships that pass in the night.’

‘Ships? What ships?’

‘It’s a saying. It means we are missing each other,’ Nicholas said.

‘You are very nice man, but I cannot say I miss you. But I’m flattered you miss me.’

‘That’s fine. It’s just another expression.’

‘I know. Only joking. What can I do for you?’ Boris said.

Kate planted herself in front of him, arms crossed.

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