Page 1 of A Night with Damien Spur

Chapter 1

Damien Spur wasn’t afraid of being on the edge of a precipice. He usually took a deep breath and jumped.

Sometimes he wondered how he’d lived so long, what with his desire to flood himself with every wicked pleasure, which would probably speed him along to an early death.

But tonight there was no danger. He’d kept his nose clean. He was Damien Spur, the star novelist, who had written another brilliant thriller.

It was a warm summer’s evening in early June and Central London was a happy bustle of tourists and after-hours office workers enjoying glasses of chilled wine and alfresco dining in the street cafes, pubs and restaurants. Not quite the seasonal mass migration to Mediterranean climes yet, and so a perfect opportunity for book promotions and parties.

Time to celebrate, said the Voice in his head, as Damien stepped out of the limousine his publisher had sent for him.

‘Leave me alone,’ growled Damien. ‘I can do this on my own.’

But, despite being an extraordinary writer with many successes behind him, he didn’t believe that. Not really.

Apart from his literary gift he was also dangerously attractive. His eyes, an arresting navy blue, fixed a gaze that allowed no secrets, which some people found unsettling. But that warm smile, which reached his eyes and came unexpectedly, was a formidable weapon.

Especially when it came to women.

So tonight, impeccably dressed in a relaxed navy linen suit and white shirt, he ignored the Voice laughing quietly at him and stepped into the magnificent room overlooking Hyde Park, without any need to make his presence known.

Everyone was waiting for him; an electric thrill sparked through the crowded room.

He swooped a drink from a passing tray and was instantly surrounded, strangers throwing compliments at him like confetti.

‘Love it, Damien, love it! You’ve done it again. Great reviews.Writing in the Sand, a page-turner, a sixties-mood thriller. Ernest Hemingway meets Raymond Chandler.’

Though it had been said before, his smile lit up his face. Hemingway. Chandler. His literary heroes.

And then someone asked the inevitable question. ‘What next?’ Which was fine. There was always another novel in the pipeline, or a film deal.

Most of the time, the stories just came to him. Sometimes, he would wake in the middle of the night and the words flowed like a burst dam. At other times, he’d wait. Let the characters talk to him, lead him, and he would follow.

The Empress, his first novel, written in his early twenties, had been a huge success. That was swiftly followed by his next book,Legends Never Die, another winner. And so his prolific output had continued, which had kept his agent, Angus McManus, happy for over fifteen years.

Damien Spur, star of the stable, always raced through his bestsellers, keeping pace with his readers’ insatiable appetite for his books, while Angus cracked the whip.

‘Come on,’ he said when Damien slowed down. ‘Get that brain into gear. Spin those yarns.’

It suited Damien, spurred him on.

He loved being famous, making huge amounts of money from the gift the good Lord had given him. He thrived in the limelight.

Yes, but nobody knows you like I do,said the Voice in Damien’s head.

Oh, shut up, thought Damien, catching sight of a dazzlingblonde standing tall amidst the usual dull literary flotsam.

Please, please, for once, just leave me alone. The blonde looked fresh and confident. Wide-eyed with a glittering smile, surrounded by a group of men eager to joust for her attention.

He wound his way towards his target. En route, he grabbed Elsa, a sexy ex, and paused to slip a smile at the lens of his favourite pap.

‘Damien, you bastard, great to see you,’ she whispered, and gave his ear a sharp nip. He winced at the camera. She smiled sweetly.

Click, click.

‘Hey, George, make sure you send me the images before you print.’

‘Yuh, boss!’ he said.

---