Page 78 of A Night with Damien Spur

Elizabeth answered the door. A Pre-Raphaelite beauty her amber eyes and copper hair, enhanced by a peacock-green velvet dress.

Wowser, said the Voice.

‘Elizabeth.’ Damien brushed her cheek with a feather-light kiss. He proffered a bouquet of satiny pink peonies.

‘How kind of you, Damien,’ she said. ‘Do come in.’

Damien followed her up the stairs to the grand living room, which was furnished with exquisite taste. A large deep-seated navy velvet sofa was artfully covered with plump silk cushions in rich hues of burgundy and grey, on the walls hung two huge paintings, both depicting erotic images of love-making, and in the centre of the room, a magnificent bronze of a man and woman entwined in a Kama Sutra coupling was placed on an elegant grey marble table.

‘What a beautiful piece… Must say I haven’t tried that position,’ Damien said, always ready to test the water.

‘I have, with a handsome young Indian called Mitash, whom I met at Oxford. We were both studying chemistry. In our first year, we visited his father who lived in Mumbai. He had a fabulous gallery of erotica which aroused my desire to collect.’

Elizabeth ran her finger down the torso of the male figure. ‘This is from one of the Khajuraho temples that were destroyed. It’s my favourite piece. Utterly captivating. Carnal but at the same time refined.’

Just like the look she gave him.

Damien’s pulse quickened. ‘Elizabeth…’ he began. She tilted her head to one side, and her lips curved in a questioning smile.

‘Yes?’ she said.

‘I… I’m finding this quite strange,’ he continued.

‘Why strange?’

‘Well, I’m not quite sure about the terms of the contract. I thought we were going to chat about art and literature over dinner.’

‘Come on, Damien, I paid for the full monty. You were my prize. Ten thousand pounds for a night with Damien Spur.’

Just surrender,said the Voice.Take it as a compliment; she’s hot for you.

‘Aaah, had I known, I would have brought my toothbrush,’ Damien replied.

‘Don’t worry, I have plenty to spare.’

There was a gentle tap at the door. ‘Come in,’ Elizabeth said.

Chang appeared in a black silk kimono. He gave her a courteous bow and Damien an inscrutable glance. ‘Dinner will be served in twenty minutes.’

‘Thank you, Chang,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Champagne, Damien?’

‘I’d rather a Scotch.’

‘Any preference?’

‘Just a good malt, please.’

‘A whisky for my guest, champagne for me.’ Elizabeth settled herself on the sofa. ‘Come sit next to me. Now then, Damien, tell me about yourself. Who are you?’

‘Who am I?’ Damien was not altogether comfortable with his grand inquisitor. ‘That’s a very interesting question, because I’ve never really asked myself who I am. I just am.’

That’s good, said the Voice.Not too much information. Avoid talking about your inner sanctum. Don’t want to put heroff. Make it all about her.

‘And who are you?’ Damien said.

‘I’m a creature who doesn’t believe in habit. I like adventures, lots of them. When I was at university, I decided there and then that I wanted to do something that would take me to faraway places. Ride a magic carpet seeking the unique, whether it be art or exquisite sensory experiences. What I found the most captivating were the exotic smells of the East.

‘Having read chemistry I had the skill to capture the essence of rarified fragrances. So that is what I am. I’m a perfumer, and I love it… And you, Damien, why did you start writing thrillers?’

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