Page 85 of A Night with Damien Spur

‘No one cooks fish better than Chang,’ Elizabeth said.

James gazed up at the elegant man, dressed in black silk, as he swept past the guests gracefully holding a tray in the air, single-handed. ‘Is he attached to anyone?’ he said.

‘Only to me,’ she replied.

Nicholas felt at ease. Here he was sitting with Sophie, his Aphrodite, who promised him a life of endless pleasure, and they would dance the years away with glorious vacations in the Mediterranean, visits to the theatre, fine dining, galleries and concerts. And at home she would cook exquisite dinners for him and then they would sit together and he would hold his precious princess in his arms, her head resting peacefully against his chest.

‘Sophie,’ he said, ‘I’ll buy a flat in London. Come live with me.’

‘If you really loved me, Nicholas, you would get a divorce and marry me.’

‘Of course.’ He stroked her wedding finger. ‘I can’t wait to make you my wife. You are my life, Sophie.’

The night was full of sweet promises… until the fracas began.

‘You what? You bloody bastard, get off me! I want a divorce!’ a woman shouted from the next-door garden.

‘Shhh! Please, Jane,’ a man’s voice said.

‘Why are you telling me this now?’ asked Jane.

‘I thought I’d better warn you,’ the man replied. ‘It was a joke. Mike posted my profile on the site. I didn’t do it.’

‘Oh yes! Sure, you knew nothing about it. Simon, you’re a bloody liar.’

‘It was just a one-night fling. I didn’t know she was going to start sexting me.’

‘So every time I go to visit my mother you think you have the right to dip your noodle into any tart who’s willing?’

‘Look, I won’t do it ever again. How many times can I say I’m sorry?’

There was silence, underpinned by desperate sobbing.

‘This is a magical script! Carry on, don’t stop!’ Damien called across the fence. ‘On such a night as this even the man in the moon himself must be enjoying watching the action!’

‘Who is that?’ wailed Jane.

‘What are you doing, Jane? Please don’t start with the neighbours,’ Simon pleaded.

She had staggered over to the fence holding a bottle of wine. ‘Why not? At least I don’t have to listen to you.’ There was a rustle and a thud, and then, ‘Hello, Sophie!’ Jane said, peeking through the bushes. ‘Lovely to see you. Can I join your party?’ She lifted her arm and waved the bottle in the air.

‘Well, I suppose…’

‘Great stuff… Simon, pass me a chair,’ she said.

‘Jane, please.’

‘Now, you skunk!’ More rustling and commotion as Jane announced, ‘I need someone to catch me on the other side.’ She kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the seat. ‘Right, which one of you lovely men will be so kind as to volunteer?’

‘With the greatest of pleasure,’ Damien said.

And over she flipped, wrapping both her legs round Damien’s neck.

‘Well, how do you do?’ he said as he gently lowered her onto the grass.

‘Bloody awful! Four years and already he’s a bed-hopper. How do you explain that to a three-year-old kid?’

He sat her at the table and poured her a glass of wine. She had the good grace to sit quietly and listen to Damien talk abouthimself, grateful that she had escaped from Simon’s company. Ironic that everyone at the table had heard the exchange. Strangers, and yet here they were, privy to her husband’s pathetic confession.

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