Page 94 of A Night with Damien Spur

‘Well, you were behaving very strangely. You just seem to have lost control. All that romantic drivel. You gave me indigestion with your love talk. I like a variety of dishes to excite my tastebuds. And you’re just too rich for me…’

‘I can change.’

‘No, you can’t.’

‘Just give me a chance.’

‘No. You’re a self-serving love addict,’ she said. ‘And I don’t want a man who needs me. Javier knows how to please me.’

‘You’re very cruel.’

‘It’s for your own good. No point in giving you false hope. Why don’t you go to the wedding with Sophie?’

Damien ended the call. He couldn’t breathe. His alcohol consumption had increased dramatically over the last few months. He poured the last tot of whisky left in the bottle to numb himself from the pain of unrequited love. He checked his watch. It was only 11 a.m.

Sophie rang.

‘Hello, Damien, are we still on for tomorrow?’

‘Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I’ve been in a bit of a rut. Completely forgot.’

‘We were meeting for lunch at Lemonia at one.’

‘Sophie, I don’t really feel up to lunch. Can you come here for coffee instead?’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’ll tell you when I see you. Can you come around 11 a.m.?’

‘Sure. See you then.’

Damien looked at the empty bottle and opened the drinks cabinet. No more whisky. He unlocked the drawer of his writing desk and took out the silver box with his engraved initials. Inside was a little white packet, a razor blade and a neatly rolled banknote.

He sniffed the last line of coke and called Aidan.

‘This evening, my place. Five grams… Okay, four hundred quid, that’s fine.’

Now come on, Damien, don’t messthingsup,said the Voice.

All those cat-and-mouse games and Elizabeth had finally shut him down. “Needy is not sexy,” Sophie’s words echoed in his head, and now he’d blown it.

Chapter 30

When Sophie arrived, Damien was still in his silk pyjamas. He was on the phone.

‘Not enough. I want a bigger advance. Fuck you, Angus. I made you… I’ll self-publish if you keep on selling me short. Now piss off and do your job.’

‘Damien. What’s wrong with you?’ Sophie said. ‘You look and sound possessed. Why are you screaming at your agent like that?’

‘Sophie… don’t interfere.’ He shot her a blind, hateful glance. The blood rush turned his pale skin an angry purple.

Her eyes fell on the writing desk where the white powder was equally divided into ten lines.

‘How much have you had, Damien?’ she asked in a calmvoice.

‘Enough to fire my gun at that bitch Elizabeth,’ he said, and moved towards the desk.

Sophie tried to pull him away, but he’d already taken the banknote and was about to sniff another line of coke when she pushed his arm aside and blew the white powder into a dust cloud that settled on the Persian carpet.

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