Chapter 27
Anna had arrived early to help her sister before the party.
Chang, courtesy of Elizabeth, was preparing the food in the kitchen with his sister, Mae.
‘So lovely to dine out in the garden.’ Anna had folded the last of the eight napkins into an origami water lily and placed it on the table bedecked with crystal, silver and flowers. ‘Such pretty roses, Sophie, and they smell so sweet. It’s a perfect summer night. I’m glad Justin has invited Harry and James. They’re so interesting and funny.’
‘I know,’ said Sophie. ‘And their new cookery book is terrific – Dreams for Queens . My favourite recipe is called “Trans-Siberian Experience”. It’s a chocolate train with a marzipan Putin figure standing on top wearing a rainbow utility kilt and waving a gay-pride flag. There are also some lovely little fairy-themed biccies and a special coming-out cake – six layers of pink frills scattered with silver stars.’
***
All the neighbours seemed to be dining alfresco that evening. Gentle chatter and intermittent laughter wafted through the balmy air from garden to garden as the clear night sky turned indigo, illuminated by the incandescent stars.
Sophie smiled at Nicholas as he sweet-talked her over watercress soup, while Damien played his jaunty self, teasing Anna about her petit-bourgeois prejudices.
‘It isn’t right, it just isn’t right,’ she said.
‘Why isn’t it right?’ Damien asked. ‘Scotsmen wear kilts, why shouldn’t Harry wear a skirt? In ancient Egypt, the main garment worn by men was the skirt. And Roman males wore a skirt called a fustanella, similar to a kilt, for ceremonies and military occasions.’
‘Actually, you would look good in a skirt.’ Anna leant forward, her breasts tipping out of her pink lace dress. ‘You have lovely legs,’ she whispered.
Justin watched, aware of the frisson of sexual tension between them. Had they had an affair? he wondered.
Damien was being charming, but intermittently his eyes would dart to the end of the table where Elizabeth sat, to see whether she was watching him flirt with Anna. He turned to Claudia. ‘Must book another tarot session. Not sure where I’m going,’ he said under his breath. ‘Probably hell if I carry on the way I am.’
Claudia could feel Damien’s leg shaking under the table. Chang had offered him the soup, but he’d waved it away. ‘Not keen on the colour green,’ he said.
‘Where’s Peter?’ he asked Claudia.
‘In the operating theatre,’ she replied.
‘He’s one of the good guys,’ Damien sighed. ‘Mending broken hearts, saving lives; a noble profession.’ He glanced at Elizabeth again. She was deep in conversation with James, who was dressed in a sky-blue silk suit and Harry, who wore a pink silk chiffon skirt with a white sleeveless top and pearls.
They were discussing the merits of creating an edible massage oil.
‘Well, Harry…’ Elizabeth said.
‘Oh, do call me Harriet. I am a “she” tonight and tomorrow morning I might be a “he”, depending on how I feel.’
‘Well, Harriet, I would love to collaborate with you both in creating a really erotic and unique edible oil that smells beautiful and tastes pleasant. Most, if not all, of the products on the market leave a horrific aftertaste.’
‘Indeed!’ said Harriet. ‘Simply vile.’
‘We shall be the three witches,’ she said. ‘The alchemists whose spell invokes the sublime fusion of the senses. The magic potion, a sweet and fragrant nectar, that brings all men and women together to reach the sublime.’
‘How divine!’ Harriet shrieked.
‘We’re in!’ said James.
And so the start of a new adventure was born. Elizabeth sensed that their journeys would converge – what with her perfect nose and their culinary gifts – to create an amazing product.
‘Mmm, stunning.’ James slipped a morsel of the tender seared sea bass in his mouth, relishing the flavour of the lemon and herb butter with the creamed spinach and new potatoes.
‘No one cooks fish better than Chang,’ Elizabeth said.
James gazed up at the elegant man, dressed in black silk, as he swept past the guests gracefully holding a tray in the air, single-handed. ‘Is he attached to anyone?’ he said.
‘Only to me,’ she replied.
Nicholas felt at ease. Here he was sitting with Sophie, his Aphrodite, who promised him a life of endless pleasure, and they would dance the years away with glorious vacations in the Mediterranean, visits to the theatre, fine dining, galleries and concerts. And at home she would cook exquisite dinners for him and then they would sit together and he would hold his precious princess in his arms, her head resting peacefully against his chest.
‘Sophie,’ he said, ‘I’ll buy a flat in London. Come live with me.’
‘If you really loved me, Nicholas, you would get a divorce and marry me.’
‘Of course.’ He stroked her wedding finger. ‘I can’t wait to make you my wife. You are my life, Sophie.’
The night was full of sweet promises… until the fracas began.
‘You what? You bloody bastard, get off me! I want a divorce!’ a woman shouted from the next-door garden.
‘Shhh! Please, Jane,’ a man’s voice said.
‘Why are you telling me this now?’ asked Jane.
‘I thought I’d better warn you,’ the man replied. ‘It was a joke. Mike posted my profile on the site. I didn’t do it.’
‘Oh yes! Sure, you knew nothing about it. Simon, you’re a bloody liar.’
‘It was just a one-night fling. I didn’t know she was going to start sexting me.’
‘So every time I go to visit my mother you think you have the right to dip your noodle into any tart who’s willing?’
‘Look, I won’t do it ever again. How many times can I say I’m sorry?’
There was silence, underpinned by desperate sobbing.
‘This is a magical script! Carry on, don’t stop!’ Damien called across the fence. ‘On such a night as this even the man in the moon himself must be enjoying watching the action!’
‘Who is that?’ wailed Jane.
‘What are you doing, Jane? Please don’t start with the neighbours,’ Simon pleaded.
She had staggered over to the fence holding a bottle of wine. ‘Why not? At least I don’t have to listen to you.’ There was a rustle and a thud, and then, ‘Hello, Sophie!’ Jane said, peeking through the bushes. ‘Lovely to see you. Can I join your party?’ She lifted her arm and waved the bottle in the air.
‘Well, I suppose…’
‘Great stuff… Simon, pass me a chair,’ she said.
‘Jane, please.’
‘ Now , you skunk!’ More rustling and commotion as Jane announced, ‘I need someone to catch me on the other side.’ She kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the seat. ‘Right, which one of you lovely men will be so kind as to volunteer?’
‘With the greatest of pleasure,’ Damien said.
And over she flipped, wrapping both her legs round Damien’s neck.
‘Well, how do you do?’ he said as he gently lowered her onto the grass.
‘Bloody awful! Four years and already he’s a bed-hopper. How do you explain that to a three-year-old kid?’
He sat her at the table and poured her a glass of wine. She had the good grace to sit quietly and listen to Damien talk about himself, grateful that she had escaped from Simon’s company. Ironic that everyone at the table had heard the exchange. Strangers, and yet here they were, privy to her husband’s pathetic confession.
Nicholas felt vindicated. His was a very different affair. Kate had chosen to leave him and didn’t care that he was in love with Sophie. Yes , he thought, you couldn’t compare the situation.
Kate was happy with Greta and now he was free to be with the love of his life.
He looked at Sophie’s beautiful face and felt at that moment a sublime contentment.
He held her eyes with a tender, loving gaze and gently stroked her cheek.
‘How did this happen, Sophie? You are a miracle.’
Well, then…
Chang brought out the dessert: rose-petal panna cotta with damson and lavender Viennese shortbread.
Sophie was happy. Nicholas was happy. Elizabeth, Harriet and James were happy. So were Justin, Anna and Claudia.
Damien and Jane were not.
‘Hard for me to take the moral high ground.’ Damien popped a rose petal in his mouth. ‘I have always enjoyed a this and a that. Given a choice, I would always take both.’
‘Can you translate, please?’ said Jane.
‘Duality. Two women. Split focus… until now.’
She still looked confused.
Oh, my goodness , the Voice piped up with an offended tone. The woman’s an airhead. Why would she understand your cryptic thoughts? What the hell! If you want to spill your heart out to some random stranger, be my guest.
‘The problem is,’ he said, fiddling with his fork, ‘I have fallen in love. Do you see that woman?’ He glanced at Elizabeth. ‘She is my nemesis.’
‘I’m sorry, your what?’ Jane looked at his untouched dessert. ‘Are you going to eat your pudding?’
‘No.’ He shifted the plate towards her. ‘I’ve lost my appetite. You can have it if you like.’
‘Thank you so much. I do like puddings. They’re my downfall.’ She took a bite. ‘Mmm, just right. Not too sweet.’
‘When I’m unhappy, I just can’t eat,’ he said.
‘You’re lucky. I just can’t stop, like now.’
Damien’s eyelids were dropping. He had a habit of falling asleep when he was bored.
Jane didn’t seem to notice until his chin fell on his chest and he started to snore. She prodded him hard with a forceful index finger.
Damien woke up from his cat-nap.
‘You’re an arrogant bugger, Mr Big-shot Writer,’ Jane said. ‘I might not be the most exciting company – but falling asleep…’
‘Not my fault,’ he replied. ‘I was under attack with your mind-numbing chatter.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘You tasered my brain cells.’
Jane looked dismayed. Damien could see her mulling over his words. Was she really that dull? Perhaps that was why Simon had gone online.
‘I’m going home,’ she said. ‘I hope your head feels better.’ She took her chair and clambered back over the garden fence.
Excellent! said the Voice. Now we can move on to the fun stuff.
Damien, happy to be alone with his thoughts, gazed at Nicholas and Sophie, who were cooing like doves.
‘Sophie, let’s go away,’ Nicholas was saying. ‘I miss the sea. Why don’t we go to Italy again, maybe Sardinia?’
‘When?’
‘Whenever you’re free. Sooner rather than later would be best. I know a lovely hotel near Cagliari. Fabulous food, right on the beach, beautiful rooms… beginning of August?’
‘Sounds lovely.’ Sophie’s eyes sparkled in the candlelight. ‘I can’t wait.’
In his mind’s eye, Damien imagined the besotted couple making love. He dipped a finger in his wine glass and lightly circled the rim. The high-pitched sound hummed through the still night air.
Claudia gently nudged him. ‘Damien… Damien?’
‘What is it?’
‘Are you serenading the two lovebirds?’
‘Who?’
‘Justin and Anna.’
‘No, I’m not. Nicholas and Sophie are much more interesting, mainly because they’re an unlikely pair.’ He narrowed his eyes and focused on Nicholas’s face. ‘Look at the way he’s gazing at Sophie, all goggle-eyed. He seems obsessed with her, totally consumed, but then look at his chin…’
Damien had stopped circling the glass.
‘Yes, it’s weak,’ Claudia said. ‘He’s the sort of man who can be buffeted by the wind. Change his mind at any point of time. He’s not a safe bet. But he’s very charming. Sophie likes that.’
‘He’s a romantic, like me.’ Damien had lassoed the conversation back to himself. ‘That’s why I’m always disappointed,’ he said. ‘The reality never matches up to my fantasies…’ He winced at what he could guess was playing out beneath the linen tablecloth between Nicholas and Sophie.
‘Oh, Sophie,’ Nicholas said, ‘you’re very naughty.’ She had slipped her hand under the table and placed it between his thighs.
Put on your social smiley face, Nicholas , thought Damien. Don’t just stare into space, and your mouth – stop gawping.
Damien felt sorry for him. It was embarrassing. It was obvious that Nicholas was a novice and, in a way, it was cruel of Sophie to initiate him surrounded by acquaintances. Better to be in a restaurant, at a corner table, where the waiters ignored such intimacies.
Mind you, Sophie was an excellent player. A sophisticated mistress of the game with her demure smile as she dipped in and out of random conversations with her friends, and her insouciant laugh when someone made a witty remark.
Damien gave her a wink.
Sophie blew him a kiss with her free hand.
‘Nicholas,’ she whispered, ‘isn’t this fun?’
‘If you like torture.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry…’ she said, ‘shall we have a coffee break?’
***
In truth, Nicholas wasn’t sure how he was going to handle the pay-off.
Sophie tiptoed her fingers down to his knee.
‘No, don’t stop, please…’
She trotted her fingers up again.
At last, Nicholas was heading for the home run. Just stay cool, dude. You can do it. Keep that poker face. Nearly there.
It was all going so well…
Until…
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?’
‘Sophie… your husband’s lover…’
Nicholas plucked at the air, trying to retrieve the phone, while Sophie, dodging this way and that, dashed behind the rhododendron bush.
‘Still there, Kate?’ she said. ‘…Ah, good… This will only take a minute…’
‘Don’t.’ Nicholas grasped her arm.
‘Don’t you dare touch me.’ Sophie bit his wrist and gave him a swift kick between the legs. She stared at her lover bent over double, holding his groin. He wanted to say something, but all that came out was a gasp. How could she have ever been drawn to such a pathetic man-boy?
She was ready for her parting shot.
‘Hi, Kate,’ she said. ‘…No… you can speak to him in a minute… I just wanted to say that he’s never going to leave you. He’s a loyal hound. So even if you’ve screwed it up with Greta, he’ll still be coming back to you…’
Sophie threw the phone at Nicholas.
‘Go back to your wife, two kids and your dogs. You’re a lucky man. All I have are your broken promises.’
‘Look, I’m sorry. I know I’m a two-faced bastard but I just can’t abandon a woman who I’ve been with for twenty years. She’s in a terrible state.’ Nicholas had already put the phone to his ear. ‘Kate, are you there?… Yes… I’m coming home. No, don’t worry, I’ll speak to Greta… Yes, I’ll try to make it better.’
He was a con artist and she had been caught. Sophie elbowed him out of the way and marched back to the other guests.
Eight faces looked up at her.
‘Apologies for the fuss, everyone.’ She kept her smiley mask in place and sat on the spare chair next to Damien. ‘Nicholas has a domestic drama.’
‘So then, after all that lovey-dovey stuff, no happy ending?’ he said.
‘Please, Damien, I really don’t want to talk about it now. It’s a party, not a wake.’
‘Okay, we can compare notes later.’ There was a tiny little bit of him that was pleased.
‘How about a toast?’ Damien announced to the table and raised his glass. ‘To Justin and Anna, may your lives be full of love and happiness forever and a day.’
‘To Justin and Anna,’ the others chorused.
Damien glanced at Elizabeth. She caught his gaze and gave him a warm smile.
Damien was thrilled. He had a ringing sensation in his ears, which blotted out all sound, save for his rapid heartbeat, banging against his chest.
Don’t play the sop , the Voice whispered.
Damien relaxed his face and, lifting his left eyebrow in a devil-may-care sort of way, let his mouth slip into his roguish smile.
Not bad. But try not to look so grateful , said the Voice. Remember you’re an alpha male, not some silly lovesick boy.
Nicholas slunk past. ‘Have to leave, an emergency.’ He muttered his apology to Justin and Anna and with a meek goodbye to the other guests he left.
The Voice was tired. Well, what are you waiting for? Take the lead, claim her. Women like that need a bit of welly.
‘Elizabeth, andiamo !’ he said.
She laughed. ‘Where?’
‘To my house.’
‘Do you have a spare toothbrush?’
‘Oh yes, always a plentiful supply for house guests.’
***
Damien didn’t speak as he drove Elizabeth back to his home in Cheyne Walk. He had taken his cue from her silence and let his mind fast-forward to the erotic journey that the night promised.
He was feeling sanguine. The air was sweet, he had his dream woman at his side ready to ride the waves… and so the sudden need to pee surprised him.
Why didn’t you go and wee-wee before you left the party? said the Voice. Remember what Mummy said: a lways go to the toilet before you travel and especially before you go to bed.
Elizabeth frowned. ‘Are you okay, Damien?’
‘Why?’
‘You look in distress.’
‘No, no, I’m fine…’ he lied. They’d arrived, but his neighbour Charlie’s Harley-Davidson was parked outside his house.
Like a hunted animal, he drove round the block looking for another space.
No luck. Bugger Charlie’s Harley. He swiped the bike with his bumper and knocked it sideways onto the pavement.
‘Well, here we are.’ He leapt out of the car and potty-danced to the door.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Elizabeth said. ‘You just go and pee.’