Page 88 of A Night with Damien Spur

His mobile rang.

Sophie snatched her hand away and Nicholas, his nirvana broken, fumbled for his phone.

‘Damn, should have put it on silent. Sod’s law,’ he said.

Sophie had forgotten how he had the ability to change tack as required.

‘Bugger it.’ The phone was stuck. He tussled with his trouser pocket.

‘Sorry, everyone,’ he announced to the guests. The loud marimba ringtone had cut through the muted conversation.

He moved away from the table.

Elizabeth looked profoundly irritated.

‘I suggest,’ she said, ‘that you trot down to the bottom of the garden, if you are going to have a conversation.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘that’s exactly what I was going to do.’

He knew that she had never liked him, which surprised Nicholas after his generous donation to her charity.

Well, everyone else seemed to like him. His Aunt Iris said that he had “a devilish charm”.

Mind you, there were times when Kate had expressed a deep hatred for him, usually after a bottle of wine.

‘You vain bastard,’ she had said. ‘Just because you flog a few antiques you think that makes you part of the posh set.’ She criticised the very essence of his being, spewed her venomous spleen all over him. An abused husband, that’s what he used to be.

He didn’t miss her one bit.

By the time he’d yanked the phone from his pocket, the ringing had ceased.

He could have left it at that, turned off his mobile and gone back to the table to his fabulous Sophie. But he did not.

He checked the last call… It was Kate. She rang again.

Sophie had followed him to the end of the garden, and surprised Nicholas with a fierce grip on his arm. ‘It’s your damn wife, isn’t it?’

He nodded. His face burned. He was back at the altar, nineteen years old, promising to love, honour and cherish a beautiful young woman.

‘Nicholas,’ Sophie said, ‘if you give way this time, I promise you, we’re finished.’

‘I have to speak to her. It might be about the kids.’

‘Well, off you go, then.’ She waved him away and turned back towards the table.

Elizabeth caught Sophie’s hand as she went back to her chair. ‘Best get rid of him, or he’ll play with you for the rest of your life.’

At the bottom of the garden, Nicholas plucked a dead leaf off a clematis and crumbled it in his hand. ‘What are you talking about, Kate? Who’s in hospital?… Greta?… I can’t hear you… Stop crying and tell me what happened again… Who hit who?… Oh my goodness, how could you?

‘Well, you broke her nose, Kate. Of course she’s going to press charges. Why did you punch her?… Oh bloody hell, you mean the guy who fixed our Mac, the computer man?… When did Greta meet him?… Look, main thing is, are the kids okay?’

Nicholas hadn’t noticed Sophie standing behind him.

‘Give me the phone, you bastard. I want to speak to her.’ Sophie fought like a feral cat. Biting and scratching, she wrenched the mobile from his hand.

‘Hello, Kate…’ she said.

‘Who’s this?’

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