Chapter 29
Damien had sunk deeper into his labyrinthian obsession with Elizabeth. The last session in bed was exquisite. He couldn’t think of anything else save for her undulating hips giving him the most thrilling ride since… he couldn’t remember.
He ached for her company and in between their meetings to assuage the waves of melancholia he found it soothing to write poetry.
Against his better judgement he sent her…
Damien’s Lament
Elizabeth, your goodbye was cool when we did part.
Shall I become an ice man to warm your heart?
A little chill to thrill you?
You have tired of my fire.
The burning coals of my desire
Have quenched your flame,
Leaving you free to roam again
Into your fragrant chamber where you are safe to dream.
And I, who once was your king, must let his passion cease.
But no, I will not throw myself into the hands of such a fate.
Damien will save his warmth
And make Elizabeth miss his soft kisses and sweet embrace.
…but he couldn’t play that game. The more he saw her, the worse he became. In truth, he was no longer entertaining. His adoration had become irritating and Elizabeth’s enthusiasm for his company had begun to wane.
He couldn’t write, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, hardly talked: “Yes, no, please, thanks.”
He should never have asked Elizabeth that question. But after they had made love, the way she looked at him, so soft, with that wisp of a smile – that moment had sent him into a spin.
‘The question is,’ he’d said, ‘what is it that makes people fall madly in love with each other? It’s a mysterious process, isn’t it? Not a calculated thing.’
You idiot , said the Voice. You’re asking for it. She’s going to cut your balls off.
‘I’ve no idea. I’ve never been in love,’ she said. Her thoughts wandered out of the bedroom.
There you go , said the Voice. What did I tell you? Now, for God’s sake, shut it!
But Damien pushed on. ‘Do you really mean that?’ The words skidded out of his mouth.
That’s it. Keep on digging your own grave , said the Voice .
‘Mean what?’ Elizabeth tossed the question back. Her skin crawled. What would he say next? How far would he go? Was he going to change the status quo from a casual, airy relationship, to a masochistic nightmare, where inevitably she held the whip, as she had always done, save for once? But that wasn’t love – it was obsession. She buried that corpse deep in her memory.
‘Did you really mean it that you’ve never been in love?’ he said.
‘Yes. I did.’ Sometimes it was fun to hurt.
‘So say it,’ he said.
‘Say what?’
‘Just say you don’t love me.’
‘This is tedious, Damien. Stop.’
He seized her hands and held them to his cheek. ‘I can’t. I love you.’
Bingo! said the Voice. You smashed it. Finally made a full-blown arsehole of yourself.
Why did he take it further? He just couldn’t stop. He was in free fall.
Elizabeth watched the emotions chase across Damien’s face. Why had she given Chang the night off? She didn’t feel safe. His unbridled overflow of emotion suffocated her. Made her feel nauseous. And this was what he called love.
‘Say it,’ he repeated, and squeezed her hands to his breast.
‘I don’t love you,’ she said, ‘but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy your company. It never worried you before. Did you ever love any of the women you slept with? I thought you and I were made of the same metal.’
‘We are. That’s why I want to marry you.’
Ooh, big mistake! groaned the Voice.
‘Please, no. To spend a lifetime watching your partner decay is not for me.’
Damien had withdrawn his hands from hers and grasped his head in despair. A terrible mistake.
He was like all those women he’d caught in his net and thrown back in the sea because they had become needy, wanting more – and now, Sod’s law, it was he who was drowning.
Mindful of his dangerous mood, she said, ‘Come on, Damien, cool down. Let’s have a nightcap,’ and she slipped out of bed.
‘Thanks,’ he said.
Clever Elizabeth knew how to change his mood. Just in case love turned to hate, she slipped her mobile into the pocket of her dressing gown. Chang would be home soon and then she could send Damien on his way.
He looked at the floor, his eyes glazed.
‘Elizabeth,’ he said, ‘can you forgive me?’
‘For what?’
‘For falling in love with you. For boring you. For being a romantic idiot.’
Elizabeth, high priestess, was taking his confessional.
It reminded him of the time he went to confession after Laura had died. He’d read the priest a list of names of the women he’d slept with while she was alive. It had cost him ten Hail Marys and a Glory Be to free him to sin again.
He had a dangerous look on his face. Elizabeth patted her mobile. He needed defusing.
She took two glasses and poured a tot of cognac in each. ‘Yes, I forgive you. A toast to good friends with boundaries. Chin-chin.’
They clinked, her steely gaze holding his just long enough to give him no hope of ever being loved by her.
***
Next morning, Elizabeth called. ‘Damien, I’m so sorry to let you down at the last moment, but I think it’s best that I go with Javier to Anna’s wedding.’
‘Who’s Javier?’ Damien said.
Not clever , said the Voice. You’re digging your own grave. She’s going to enjoy tormenting you.
‘A very close friend who understands me,’ she replied.
‘Elizabeth, is this because of last night?’
‘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 mess things up , 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.