Chapter 23
Damien ran his hand over his sleek stomach, admiring his six-pack. He was in good shape. Randy, his trainer, had pushed him to cut down on the alcohol and lower the carbs, which had increased his energy and cleared his head. He was looking forward to spending the evening with Elizabeth Maitland.
He arrived at seven thirty on the dot and rang the bell of the magnificent stucco-fronted Belgravia town house at the corner of Chester Square.
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 her off. 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?’
That’s better , said the Voice, your turn at last.
‘Well, I studied English at Oxford and when MI5 wanted to recruit me as a spy I said yes, although I wasn’t interested in a career in espionage. I was just intrigued to see what sort of games were played. Thus I went through the process and met some interesting people. Speaking Russian made me rather valuable. But I found bouncing back and forth between Russia and London tiresome and actually rather boring. So, finally I managed to extricate myself from the dark and murky world of stealing secrets by faking anxiety attacks. Basically I got a sick note from the doc. However, some of it was good fodder for my books, especially tales from my Russian counterparts, who after a few vodkas told me some terrific stories. I suppose I’m a writer because I like a good yarn, especially my own.’
After his initial discomfort, Damien had started to enjoy talking with Elizabeth. She avoided light conversational clichés. She was both interesting and interested.
You’re doing fine , said the Voice. I’m sure you won’t mind if I leave you to it.
‘So, time for dinner.’ Elizabeth took Damien’s arm and guided him up a circular staircase into a domed turret, a secret, sensual space, lit by candles scented with jasmine and bergamot, which gave Damien’s senses a pleasant, heady lift. By the window, a small round table had been formally dressed for dinner with a white linen cloth, monogrammed silver cutlery and fine crystal glasses.
‘This is my Rapunzel room,’ Elizabeth said.
Chang filled their glasses and placed two plates of large oysters on the table.
Elizabeth took one and deftly slipped it from the shell into her mouth. Damien paled, but did the same.
‘I’m so sorry.’ He started to choke. ‘I really can’t eat oysters. I never could, ever since I had food poisoning. Please could you ask Ching… I mean, Chang, to take them away?’
‘Certainly, the apology is mine. I just assumed that when you said you loved seafood, that you would enjoy oysters.’ Elizabeth buzzed the intercom.
‘Please could you take Mr Spur’s plate of oysters away? Would you like smoked salmon instead?’ she asked, glancing at Damien’s pale face.
He nodded weakly. ‘Thank you. Perhaps some dry toast would be better for now.’
By the time the main course arrived – tender seared duck breast with roasted vegetables – he had recovered.
‘This is divine. Chang is an excellent cook. Where did you find him?’
‘In Hong Kong. It was the ambassador’s party. The dinner was fabulous and I asked to meet the chef. I just had to steal him. So I took him back to London with me. And now it’s time for dessert.’ She rose from her seat and, taking his hand, led him to the bedroom.
***
‘Well done,’ she said. ‘That was fun.’
‘Elizabeth…’ He took a breath.
‘Now don’t say anything you might regret. No lovey-dovey chat. I can’t stand that.’
He kissed her neck.
‘But can I say that I love the way you smell? Rose? Jasmine?’ He inhaled deeply. ‘And sandalwood. Like the sweet scent of an Indian palace garden where a princess sits in the early evening, dreaming of tender kisses from her secret lover.’
Not bad . The Voice was back. She’ll like that.
‘Very good,’ she said. ‘You have an excellent nose.’
‘Thank you…’ He paused, anxious to hold her interest. ‘So, tell me, what makes a fragrance great?’
‘Creating a wonderful fragrance is like composing a piece of music. Both have notes and chords. To make a beautiful scent the composition has to harmonise perfectly to intoxicate the senses.’
‘Perfume, the only dress a lovely woman needs under the sheets.’ He reached out his hand to stroke her breast.
Elizabeth’s eyes flicked towards the bathroom. He was losing her.
‘I’m going to have a shower. Feel free to leave if you like,’ she said, sliding out of bed.
‘Is this the cue for my exit?’ Damien asked.
Oh no! said the Voice. And you were doing so well . Mr Insecure again.
‘It’s your choice,’ she said. ‘But let me be clear, if you want to stay, I don’t like to chat in the morning.’
‘I think that it’s best that we call it a night,’ he said. ‘At least you got what you paid for.’
Good onya , added the Voice. What a great comeback. Maybe if you stay till the morning, you can charge her overtime.
‘Have I offended you, Damien?’ she said, standing naked by the bed.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘But I suppose the intimacy of strangers making love at night might not stand up in the cold light of day. Especially before we brush our teeth.’
That was terrific , said the Voice. So elegantly put.
***
But, after that first night Damien was in free fall. Usually, he found that women got boring and weepy over time, but the more he saw Elizabeth the more he missed her. She was a thrilling lover, but impenetrable outside the bedroom, which fired his obsession.
‘How could I not fall for Elizabeth?’ Damien said to Sophie. They were having lunch at Dino’s, a discreet Italian round the corner from his apartment.
‘You mean she appeals to your masochistic tendencies?’
‘Maybe. I just can’t second guess her. She’s such a contradiction.’
Sophie was keen to talk about her own relationship with Horatio, but Damien couldn’t stop.
‘We went to Antibes last week. Had a glorious time. Made love like angels and then, when we arrived back in London, she disappeared for three days. Wouldn’t return my calls. When I finally spoke to her, she said that I needed to give her some space. It was so bloody random.’
‘Damien, you’ve got to cool off if you want to keep Elizabeth’s interest. Needy is not sexy.’
He flagged the waiter. ‘Another bottle of the Merlot, please.’
‘I don’t want any more wine. Why don’t you just order another glass?’ she said.
‘It’s fine, Sophie.’ He wanted to get back on track. To continue talking about Elizabeth.
The wine helped. Made his stream of consciousness more lucid. Or so he thought. But Sophie stopped the flow.
‘You’re rambling. Can we talk about me for a change?’ She patted his hand and took a sip of water.
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s not going to work with Horatio,’ she said.
‘Why the hell not? He’s a catch and he loves you. Talk about me being a masochist.’
‘It’s not so simple.’
‘Don’t tell me he’s married.’
‘No, but he has a sixteen-year-old daughter with Isabel, the woman who runs the vineyard. The girl can’t stand living with her mother and wants to come and live with him in London, which means with us.’
‘So what’s the fuss? You can’t expect an attractive man like Horatio not to have a complicated history.’
‘No, I understand that. However, what really worried me was that when I rang the chateau Isabel answered the phone, which I fully expected as he told me she lived in a wing of the chateau. But here’s the rub: she didn’t know anything about me, let alone that we were getting married.’
‘He must have had his reasons. Maybe she’s still in love with him and he was worried she’d cause trouble – throw the dishes at him. Anyway, at least he’s not a loser like that idiot Nicholas. Look at the way he behaved at the auction with that ring business.’
‘He honoured the debt,’ Sophie said.
‘So, you still see him?’
‘Well… we speak.’
‘And?’
She shrugged. ‘Nothing to tell.’