Chapter 21
Elizabeth stood at the top of the sweeping staircase leading down to the Grand Hall of the Ritz Hotel.
Radiant and magnificent in a pale grey silk gown, her swan’s neck encased in a diamond choker, she greeted her glamorous guests, ready to open their hearts and their wallets.
She loved organising charity balls. It made it easier to live with herself. Assuaged her guilty conscience. Allowed her to justify her predatory need to possess and then destroy men who had fallen for her dark charisma.
‘It’s just in my nature,’ she would say to her girlfriends. ‘The sting in the tail. I suppose I’m a woman who can’t be taken unless a man gives me a hard time.’
Damien was the last to arrive.
That afternoon, he’d slept with a girl whom he’d met at The London Library. She’d managed to keep him interested for longer than anticipated.
Afterwards, a little flustered, he’d showered and dressed.
‘Your bow tie’s crooked,’ she said.
‘Never mind, at least people will know it’s not a clip-on.’ He checked his hair in the mirror and turned to the girl lying on his bed and blew her a kiss. ‘Well, I’m off now. You can stay as long as you like, just make sure the door’s closed when you let yourself out.’
‘How generous of you.’ She gave him that look. The one he’d seen so many times: No need to pretend, Damien Spur. You’ve no intention of seeing me again. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ll be gone by the time you get back.’
Damien paid lip service to the end game. ‘I’ll call you,’ he said, and left.
***
‘Hello, Mr Spur.’ Elizabeth held out her hand. ‘So pleased you could make it.’
All those retouched images in magazines were arresting, but in the flesh, she was even more impressive. Copper hair, a refined face, amber wide-set eyes and her skin – glistening, pearl white.
‘Very flattered that you asked me.’ He kissed her hand. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late.’
‘That’s okay. The auction hasn’t started yet. Now then, shall we go down? But first, may I?’ She straightened his bow tie with a confidence that already gave him a thrill.
At the foot of the stairs, celebrity auctioneer suave Danny Archer stood with Claudia scanning the list of donations.
‘Well, Horatio de Beaumont’s weekend at his chateau and a case of Premier Cru Merlot should fetch a pretty sum, Claudia,’ he said. ‘And I love the fine Russian icon from Nicholas Morley, which no doubt will interest your Slavic guests. But the star by far is the evening with Damien Spur. I am sure that there are plenty of chic divorcees here ready to bid for his undivided attention.’
At the Freesia table sat Horatio and Sophie, Adam next, then Lala with her husband, Boris, on her other side. To complete the circle, Elizabeth and Damien.
‘A hen between two cockerels could be fun,’ Elizabeth had said to Claudia when they were arranging the seating plan.
At the neighbouring Orchid table, Nicholas sat between wife, Kate, and dainty Anna, who sparkled in rose pink. Her agent, Justin Baird, seated opposite, smiled at her proudly. Anna’s book, not only a literary hit, was set to be a Disney animation. Next to Justin sat Damien’s agent, Angus McManus and his wife.
Claudia and husband, Peter, hosted the Rose table. Their guests were Vladimir Pushkin and a group of ritzy Russians.
Danny Archer stepped up onto the podium and started the bidding at ￡3,000 for the Russian icon.
So excited was Boris at the prospect of beating his enemy Vladimir Pushkin, who had raised his paddle, that he reached beneath the table to squeeze his favourite part of Lala’s anatomy, only to find that Adam’s hand was in the way.
Locking fingers, an undercover battle raged to win the lady’s favour, but finally it was Boris’s winning hand that aced with his queen in a royal flush. Thus, Lala’s peak of pleasure was intact and, not only that, but Boris had, with his final bid of ￡30,000, beaten off his competition and won the special treasure.
And so the auction sped along with Danny Archer’s skilful patter.
Going, going, gone: a fine pair of diamond earrings, a gold Rolex watch, an eighteenth-century rococo tall case clock, a vintage Hermès bag, the weekend at the chateau and the Premier Cru, Pushkin’s prize for ￡15K and then the beautiful diamond ring that had taken Sophie’s fancy.
Horatio waited as rapidly the bidding rose.
‘Twelve thousand pounds, twelve and a half, thirteen, thirteen and a half, fourteen, fifteen thousand pounds… from the gentleman at the Freesia table,’ Danny called.
Horatio patted Sophie’s hand, and playfully wagged her engagement finger. Jealous Nicholas, eyes peeled, poured another large glass of wine.
‘Do I see ￡16,000?’ Danny scanned the room. ‘Yes, ￡16,000 from the Daffodil table and here’s ￡17,000 back at the Freesia table.’
Sophie smiled serenely at her beau.
At the Orchid table, Nicholas, trembling with rage and alcohol, flapped his paddle. ‘￡20,000.’
‘￡25,000,’ Horatio coolly trounced him.
Nicholas, all rational thought obliterated by the wine, rose from his seat and, swaying back and forth, yelled, ‘￡40,000. Beat that, you pompous prat!’
‘Why is this man so angry with me, Sophie? I’ve never even met him,’ Horatio said.
Sophie lowered her eyes and played with her napkin. ‘Please, Horatio, don’t ask me now. I’ll tell you later.’
But what was there to tell? That she had fallen for a married man. Seduced him and allowed herself the pleasure of his company when he had a space in his diary. Maybe best to keep it to herself.
‘￡50,000.’ Boris waved his paddle from the Freesia table. Lala squeezed his thigh. ‘Thank you, darling.’
‘I’m enjoying myself.’ He picked up his wine glass and toasted Horatio. ‘But we’re missing a player. Come on, Pushkin,’ he boomed. ‘Put your money where your mouth is.’
‘￡55,000, you crazy bastard,’ Vladimir roared from the Rose table.
‘￡58,000,’ Horatio countered.
Nicholas was in again, quick as a whippet. ‘And ￡60,000.’ Kate gripped his arm. ‘Are you insane?’
‘I’m upping Horatio’s game. Pricking his vanity,’ Nicholas whispered vindictively.
‘￡70,000!’ Horatio shouted.
‘Horatio, stop,’ Sophie pleaded. ‘Charity is one thing, but it’s a ridiculous price to pay for the ring.’
‘Don’t you worry. I want to see how far the guy will go.’
‘￡75,000.’ Nicholas challenged his rival with an arrogant stare.
‘Do I hear ￡80,000?’ Danny looked around the room. Silence.
‘I’ll buy you the ring from Asprey,’ Horatio whispered to Sophie, and kissed her ear.
‘That’s it, Nicholas.’ Kate kicked him under the table. ‘Clear out the bank account, why don’t you?’
‘Do I hear ￡76,000?’ Danny asked. Silence.
‘Going… going… gone.’ He banged the gavel. ‘Sold for
￡75,000. Congratulations to Mr Nicholas Morley.’
‘Oh God! What the fuck have I done?’ muttered Nicholas with a clenched smile.
‘You’ve just bought a ring you can’t afford.’ Kate picked up her glass of red wine and threw it at Nicholas’s face. ‘Why would you be so stupid? It’s that Sophie, isn’t it?’ Kate was oblivious to the people around them, turning to stare. ‘You said it was over. But you’re still obsessed with her.’
‘Stop,’ Nicholas hissed. ‘Everybody’s staring at us.’
‘I don’t care. You deserve to be embarrassed.’
Kate jumped to her feet and shouted to her audience, ‘Lords, ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to Nicholas Morley, arsehole of the century.’
The audience gasped.
‘That’s enough, Kate!’ Nicholas grabbed her wrist. ‘Time to go.’
The two of them walked through the stunned guests out of the hotel, Nicholas stiff-lipped, eyes straight ahead, and Kate belligerent, stony-faced.
‘Item number six.’ Danny Archer waved Damien up onto the podium.
‘Let’s see what price you’ll bring,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Perhaps not as much as the ring, but I’m sure you’ll be a lot of fun.’ Damien arched an eyebrow at her.
‘For a good cause,’ she added, smiling.
He crossed the floor, mounted the platform and, turning to the guests, bowed. A tall, graceful figure with his rakish smile and sparkling eyes, he gave a wink that encompassed them all. The women in the audience giggled, and Danny stepped forward to open the bidding.
‘So who will start the bidding with ￡1,000 for a very special night with Damien Spur, literary icon and, by all accounts, fascinating company.’
Damien smiled at Danny and took another bow.
The Voice was surprised. Not bad for a starter. Can’t say I’d pay a thousand quid to listen to your porkies.
A pause. At the Tulip table, a spiky-haired blonde with tanned skin and bony, chiselled features raised her paddle, flashing an impossibly white smile.
Relieved, his ego intact, Damien gave her a charming nod.
‘A thousand pounds from the foxy lady at the Tulip table. And do I hear fifteen hundred? Ah, good!’
‘The Daffodil table at ￡1,500 from the redhead in the gold dress. Getting hotter, and so is Damien. Can we see two thousand…? Look at that! A gent at the Lilac table,’ Danny said.
‘For my soon-to-be ex-wife. A parting gift.’ A rugged, slick, dark-haired man raised his glass. Damien had started to enjoy himself. Danny was fielding bids from all corners of the room.
‘Two and a half thousand pounds? Yes! Foxy lady ups the game at the Tulip table. Three? Back to the gentleman at the Lilac table. Hopefully a generous divorce for the ex-to-be. Where to now? Come on, let’s really play. Do I see four thousand?’
Vladimir Pushkin waved his paddle.
‘Ah! Four thousand pounds from our Russian comrade at the Rose table.’
‘Five thousand!’ Boris shouted from the Freesia table. ‘Damien Spur, you teach me how to write about a bald, ugly traitor, a business crook – all about you, Pushkin!’
‘Boris, loser! You belong in one of your shipping containers in a black plastic bag,’ Pushkin yelled.
‘You vodka-swilling peasant,’ Boris yelled back. ‘You will never beat me on contracts. You’re a pussy, a big fat peasant. Your poor wife. I pity her in your bed. She needs our new product, Venus Viagra. When a woman takes our Venus pills, she could fall in love with a donkey.’
The audience gave a round of applause.
‘Come on, gentlemen, back to the bidding,’ Danny said. ‘This is no place to bicker. Remember we’re raising money for a good cause.’
Damien straightened his tie and grabbed the microphone. ‘I am happy to offer an extra night. Just not sure where I can allocate it in my schedule.’
‘Thank you, Damien.’ Danny whisked the mike back. ‘But the way the bidding is going, one night will be just great. Now… where were we?’
‘We are here.’ Elizabeth’s voice, clear and deep, resonated from the Freesia table. ‘Let’s double the last bid from our Russian friend to ten thousand pounds.’
Damien shifted his gaze to Elizabeth, who gave him a sanguine smile.
Blimey , said the Voice.
‘Shhhh,’ Damien hissed. ‘Don’t interrupt.’
The Voice carried on. You’re a good-looking chap, but I wonder what she expects for that? Hope you’re up to it.
Would you stop? Damien pushed the Voice to the back of his head.
‘Any advance on ten thousand?’ Danny asked. The room was silent. ‘Yes, not a good idea to disappoint our lovely hostess… So, going… going… gone… Here we have one Damien Spur, for one night only, promised to Lady Elizabeth Maitland.’
Damien walked back to the table smiling left and right as the guests clapped. Justin grabbed his arm as he passed him.
‘Well done, old boy,’ he said, ‘but watch your step. She’s a sticky one.’
Damien sat down, ruffled his hair and undid his bow tie.
‘Well, that was a very generous bid,’ he said to Elizabeth.
‘I hope you’re worth it,’ she replied, without smiling. ‘My place, next Friday, 7.30 p.m.’
A handsome Chinese man wearing ceremonial dress appeared, as if by magic. He handed Damien Elizabeth’s calling card.
‘This is my man, Chang,’ she said.
Amazing! said the Voice. Looks like you’re in for quite a night.