"You're having a son?" Jasfoup frowned. "Who's the mother?"
"Wouldn't you like to know!" Winston grinned.
"My asking seems to bear that out," said the demon, "yes."
"Well I'm not telling." Winston donned a jacket from the rack and shrugged it on, crossing to the full length mirror to see how it hung. "Not until it's born, anyway. It's early days yet and I don't want you messing with it."
"I'm hurt," said the demon. "Not once in almost six hundred years have I ever harmed a child." He brushed lint from Winston's lapel. "That looks good on you," he said. "You should steal it."
"Certainly not. You're going to buy it for me thanks to that little job I did for you last year."
"Was the glory not sufficient?" Jasfoup clicked his tongue. "Very well." He handed Winston the matching trousers. "What will you call the boy?"
"I thought Richard," Winston said, turning sideways to the mirror to check he hadn't put on weight. "Richard's a good, strong name. Richard the third, Richard the Lionheart, Richard Burton."
Richard III had the twelve year old Edward V and his younger brother suffocated; Lionheart massacred the Saracens and Burton made cheap, tacky suits like this one." Jasfoup shook his head. "Don't choose Richard," he said. "You don't want your son to be a Dick."
Image: Lionheart - Kate Bush