Page 100 of A Night with Damien Spur

‘No, she look after our two children.’ The driver looked around thirty, his strong features softened by deep-set, gentle eyes. He wore a spotless, well-pressed shirt.

‘And she cooks for all of you?’

‘Of course. How else to eat?’

‘What a lucky man you are,’ Damien said. ‘And what does she cook?’

‘Everything,’ he said. ‘Lamb, dolma, beef and aubergine… and sometimes she make English food. Roast chicken, shepherd’s pie and stew with dumplings.’

‘Love to come to dinner,’ Damien said, and gave the driver a smile.

The driver looked uncomfortable.

‘Come on, I’m not serious.’ He took a £10 note from hiswallet.

‘For your wife,’ he said. ‘She is fast becoming extinct.’

By the time the driver pulled up outside Quaglino’s, he and Damien were talking like old friends. He waved Damien farewell, pocketing the tip, and Damien squared his shoulders, walking tall as he approached the doorman.

‘Good evening, sir.’

Damien offered a mock salute. ‘I’m here for the wedding… Spur… Damien Spur,’ he said.

You’re so bloody late, the Voice said.Fancy arriving at ten for a reception that startedat seven. Terribly rude.

‘Look, just leave me alone,’ Damien muttered. ‘You’re embarrassing me.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the doorman said. ‘What did you say?’

‘Nothing, just talking to myself. Open sesame, please. I’m dying for a pee.’

‘Downstairs on the left, sir.’

In the quiet of the bathroom, Damien winked at himself in the mirror. ‘No one here. Now, then.’ He tweaked the frill of his white silk jabot. ‘You look a bit pale, but apart from that, not bad for a nutter.’

You look great. Just be your amusing, erudite self, the Voice said.

‘If you say so.’ Damien slipped his hand in his trouser pocket. ‘Just one for luck. Have to be the party me, now.’

Don’t, you mad bugger, the Voice said.

‘Why should I listen to you?’ Damien said.

Because I’m the Voice of Reason – and you’re out of line.

‘Oh no I’m not.’ Damien took a folded paper from his trouser pocket and waved it in the air. ‘You stay outside,’ he said to the Voice, and slammed the door of the cubicle.

***

Ten minutes later, Damien, wedged against the wall at the back of the room, unseen by anyone, watched the passionate couple dance the paso doble.

‘Oh, Javier, you snake, that’s great. Give the bitch what she wants,’ he whispered to himself.

The handsome Argentinian swivelled his body this way and that while Elizabeth dipped and swayed, making beautiful shapes as she circled him.

Damien bit his lip. The jabot felt tight round his neck. A waiter was passing. He grabbed his arm.

‘Bring me a glass of white, please.’

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