Page 125 of A Night with Damien Spur

‘I’m coming to France tomorrow with Anna,’ Sophie announced. ‘Let’s meet at the Eden Rock for cocktails on Tuesday, 7 p.m. Dinner at your villa? What a lovely suggestion. I’ll tell her.’

Sophie hoped her sister would come, though Justin had fallen out with David Grant, an art dealer. Something about a ceramic Picasso bowl. Justin had been gazumped by a Russian banker.

‘Sold it, Justin. Sorry,’ the dealer had said when he’d called.

‘But you agreed my price,’ Justin replied.

‘I know but Chernov offered me double what you were going to pay. How could I refuse?’

‘By showing some bloody integrity.’

Justin had slammed down the phone.

Anna was sad. She liked the Grants. No more friendly dinner parties with the chic intelligentsia – artists, writers, critics – and the occasional banker or entrepreneur. No more sparky conversations that fired the guests, especially when it came to politics or sex.

On one such evening, the illustrious Russian artist, Nicolai Prokofiev, an enthusiastic advocate of polyamory, had professed to having a wife and two mistresses.

‘Why not?’ he said. ‘No one gets bored, especially me. Natalia, my wife, is delighted to have time off after twenty years of marriage.’

Anna, who sat next to him, was fascinated. ‘How does thatwork?’ she said.

‘I bed Maria on Monday and Wednesday; Davina, Tuesday and Thursday; Friday and Saturday it’s my darling Natalia, and Sunday… I replenish my alpha energy. That way everyone has a part of me.’

‘Well,’ Anna said, ‘do your women have other “friends”? Surely that’s only fair.’

‘No, my dear,’ he said. ‘I give them plenty. They don’t need extra lovers.’

Anna liked him. He stroked her arm, disarmingly attentive, staring at her with a brazen intensity. She flushed.

Justin’s blood was up. ‘Okay, Nicolai, that’s enough,’ he snapped.

The red wine had coursed through his veins. He banged his fist on the table so hard that his coffee cup jumped, spraying brown liquid on his neighbour, Frances Nestor, editor ofArt World. Justin looked flustered and apologised.

‘No matter,’ Frances said. ‘Remember that Nicolai flirts with everyone.’

Nicolai threw back his leonine head and laughed. ‘Come, let us raise a glass to love:L’amour!’

Justin caught his wife’s eye. ‘L’amour,’ he chorused with the other guests and, knowing that a jealous man can go too far, he blew her a kiss.

***

‘Where’s the housekeeper?’ Sophie said. ‘I’ve got a coupleof things that need ironing.’

‘On holiday,’ Anna replied.

‘Oh no! I can’t iron, I’m left-handed.’

‘So send it to the cleaners. Sophie, you’re going to have to pull your weight here. Surely you can make your own bed.’

‘Yes…’

‘And we can clean the house together.’

Sophie’s eyes scanned the vast expanse of marble floor. ‘Can’t we hire a replacement just for this week?’

‘No, we can’t.’

‘I thought I was here to paint.’

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