Page 128 of A Night with Damien Spur

‘So you want me to do it again?’ Sophie asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Okay. It’s your call.’ Sophie’s lips curled into a hurt pout. All that work and now she wouldn’t have time for a morning swim.

‘You have great talent,’ Anna said. ‘Serve the story. Remember it’s sci-fi so you don’t need all those background scratches. And the moon, it’s a symbol – a fluid circle, a tint of lemon…’

‘Right, then. I’d better get on with it.’ Sophie whisked the drawing off the easel and clipped another sheet of paper to the board.

‘Have your breakfast first.’

‘Anna, it’s one thing for you to make sure that I produce what you want, but please don’t tell me when to eat. I am not a child.’

Anna laughed. ‘Quite right,’ she said. ‘Sorry if I’ve ruined your appetite.’

***

That afternoon, Anna returned and there it was. The first image. Clean, stylish, the boy and the teddy magicked up by a swish of the pen. The sweet nose, the chin tilted to the moon.

‘Sophie! That’s perfect!’ she said. ‘Exactly what I wanted. You’re a star.’

‘That’s good. And here,’ Sophie handed her the drawing, ‘is the other illustration I started this morning.’

Anna was enchanted. Abba de Giggler in all his glory, arms outstretched, a laughing Buddha.

‘Yes, yes. That’s my hero.’

And so the week progressed. Sophie forgot about distractions. Her drawings came first, punctuated by a swim or a meal. In the evening, she and Anna sat together listening to the cicadas.

No need to speak. They sat gazing at the night sky. Finally at peace with each other.

Chapter 41

Washed ashore by fate, Damien had so far survived his crazy life. Just when he thought he couldn’t breathe anymore, the current dragging him down into the depths of his despair, fate had pulled him up again. And his Voice. Guiding him through stormy seas, always there to keep him company, give him inspiration.

Protecting him against the minefield of temptations that defined his life. Generously allowing him a few friendly affairs since Elizabeth. Pleasant interludes without expectation on either side. But there was no spark of love… until Ariana.

Don’t fog the boundaries,the Voice warned.Just keep it professional.Don’t make a fool of yourself in LA. It’s your song and her music. And that’s it.

***

Airports were dangerous places. So many bars, so manytemptations.

Damien sat by the window in the first-class lounge, nursing a Virgin Mary.

His night flight had been delayed. The man next to him was sipping a whisky, and already had another shot lined up on the table.

He looked up and peered at Damien.

‘Don’t I know you?’ he said with a Californian twang. ‘Yes, I do! Damien Spur, the writer.’

‘The very same,’ Damien replied, eyeing the glass of golden liquid.

‘Well, that’s a coincidence.’ The man took out a copy ofWriting in the Sandfrom his hand luggage and waved it in the air. ‘Great job, you’ve got me hooked from the first chapter,’ he said. ‘I’ve always been a fan of yours.The Empresswas a phenomenal debut. And then the second,Legends Never Die. Fantastic. A really intriguing thriller. Couldn’t work out the ending. Fabulous twist. The gardener and his wife, who’d have thought it! Can I just say one thing?’

‘Pray tell,’ Damien said, still distracted by the whisky.

I know the man’s a bore, but don’t even think about it, whispered the Voice.

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