Sleeping Cruelty (12 page)

‘You mean you can’t delegate.’ His sharp tone unnerved her.

‘Oh, but I can, my dear. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be worth the fortune I have accumulated over thirty years. I have thirty-five board members, even more top-level executives. Some have been working for me for years. I believe in giving tremendous
responsibility to my team – it’s one of my talents. An even better talent is spotting new blood . . .’

Sylvina listened for a full ten minutes as William outlined his numerous business deals, down to the location of each of his endless factories. Then he described the new Internet site he had set up to sell his games on-line, even drawing with his sticky knife on the pristine tablecloth to demonstrate some new hi-tech computer link that kids could use to play for serious prizes across the world.

She gritted her teeth. The question on her lips was why William was playing around with her, albeit at a price, and why he was allowing Justin free access to his island at what she knew would be an astronomical cost. Darling Justin Chalmers could spend other people’s money even better than she could steal it. He had no morals, unless . . . Was it some kind of blackmail?

‘Is Justin hitting you for cash?’ she asked sweetly.

‘Bloody fortune.’ William stood up and tossed his napkin on to the table. Then he beamed. ‘But he’s building me a paradise.’

‘Really? Well, far be it from me to give you any advice, if that’s what you want . . .’

‘Ah, that’s only part of it.’ He glanced at his wristwatch.

Sylvina couldn’t resist asking, ‘Part of what?’

He walked to the door as if he were not going to reply, but as he reached it he looked back at her. ‘It’s a private matter.’

‘To do with Andrew Maynard?’

His face darkened. There were many layers to William, she thought, and from his expression, she knew that whatever Justin was up to had something to do with the death of Maynard.

‘Indirectly,’ William said quietly, and swung the door with the toe of his shoe. ‘Most of all it’s to do with me, and if Justin hasn’t enlightened you then I feel I shouldn’t. Now, it’s getting late and we don’t want to miss the entire morning. We’re going to the galleries today, aren’t we?’

‘Yes, it’s a private view,’ she said, stubbing out her cigarette. Not that anyone would be examining the paintings, just who
was there. The publicity wheels were already in motion and she and William would be photographed. ‘I suggest you take your time over dressing. Wear the new Valentino dark grey suit, white shirt and silk tie. I’ll meet you in two hours. I must have my hair done, my nails . . .’

‘Okay, whatever you say, ma’am.’ He walked out, leaving her deeply frustrated and still no nearer the real reason behind her ‘contract’ with him and whatever the devious Justin was doing.

William had arranged a bank account for Justin to use during his work on the island. He did not place any limit on expenditure, but gave strict instructions that any new acquisitions must be agreed in advance. These were to be dealt with through his office at home, where Michael would monitor Justin’s costs. Justin sent faxes several sheets long on the refurbishments, detailing everything from art purchases down to the price and size of each towel to be placed in the suites. Time and again Michael gasped with amazement as the costs soared, but whenever he mentioned it to William he was simply told to pay. So he did. The figure mounted daily.

That evening William and Sylvina were to dine with the British ambassador, after a first-night performance of
Dido and Aeneas
at the Bastille Opera. A photographer leaped forward when they alighted from their limousine, drawing the press-pack towards them, the battery of flashbulbs making them feel like royalty. Sylvina was pleased they could not be photographed inside the theatre, as William slept through the entire programme. Returning to the hotel he yawned until she wanted to slap him.

‘I think I’ve had enough of Paris,’ he said eventually.

She would have liked to tell him that she’d had just about enough of him, but instead she said she would need a couple of days to pack and make the arrangements to move on. He didn’t argue. For two days he left her in peace as he took himself off to toy shops. Toy shops! At times he behaved so childishly.

William returned with his arms full of mechanical toys. Sylvina found him sitting on the floor winding them up and crawling around after them on all fours. A few hours later he had taken them all apart. He made fast sketches of each and beamed with delight. ‘I can rip off every one of these. My factory can knock them out at a quarter the price. Obviously we’ll have to make them slightly different, or I’ll be sued, but—’

She interrupted, ‘I have some shopping to do. Would you arrange with your pilot to take off later? I’ve had some alterations done and they won’t be ready for collection till four.’

‘No problem, dear heart.’ He was squatting on the floor with an electronic device that made four toy mice scuttle across the carpet, followed by a larger creature representing a cat. Sylvina walked out as he yelped, ‘Gotcha!’ The furry cat scooped the little mice into its open mouth, and emitted a high-pitched screech.

‘Bloody clever,’ he muttered. Although William had never had toys in his childhood, he was not making up for it now, as Sylvina thought. This was money: this was what excited and cheered him. At long last he was looking forward to returning to work: his energy was back.

Sylvina was loath to leave Paris but now she saw that she had little choice: William was impatient to go home. She decided that Justin was getting a better deal than she was and feverishly upped her spending sprees. She ordered a new wardrobe from Valentino, Givenchy and Christian Dior, with matching shoes, hats and handbags. She had never liked London, but at least she was returning to it in style.

William got back to The Boltons with so much luggage that his chauffeur had to order another car to follow the Rolls. His servants looked on, speechless, as Sylvina was introduced, her suitcases filling the hallway. ‘Michael, this is Countess Lubrinsky.’ William’s secretary gave a small bow, flushing as she acknowledged him with a glacial smile. She told the chauffeur to make sure that all the cases had been removed from the second car, and
asked the housekeeper to see that they were taken up to her suite. Her perfume hung in the air, sweet and heavy. From her body language alone, everyone could see that she loathed the house.

A few days later William burst into Michael’s office, demanding an update on his business. Michael wanted to discuss the exorbitant outgoings of Justin Chalmers. William dismissed his worries with a waft of his hand: he had little or no immediate interest in the island. ‘Don’t fret, for God’s sake, Michael. I certainly won’t be having financial worries for a fair few years yet. Just get me up to date on the business.’

‘But, sir, this Justin Chalmers—’

‘What about him?’

‘Well, his bills are vast! Purchases being shipped in from India and heaven knows where else.’

‘He’s an interior designer, Michael.’

‘So all the accounts I’ve sent you are acceptable? Fine. I’ll confirm that with the accountants.’ He hesitated before continuing. ‘Er, what about the account you opened in the name of Countess Lubrinsky? It’s already in the red.’

‘Top it up,’ said William, bored.

‘But it’s another twenty-five thousand.’

‘Michael, she is to be my wife.’

‘I’m sorry?’ Michael’s voice sounded strangled.

‘You heard, Michael. Countess Lubrinsky and I are engaged to be married.’

‘
Engaged?
’ Michael stuttered.

‘Yes, that is correct. Beautiful woman, isn’t she?’ Then William began to pass the sheets of drawings he had made of the toys in Paris. ‘Get these over to the art department, then on to the factory. I like the cat-and-mouse one. But we’ll have to come up with a different concept. Tell the artists to make it up as a fox and chickens.’

*

William tapped on Sylvina’s door. He was told to enter and found her trying on a gown.

‘Whoever did your décor should be shot,’ she said. ‘This is so ghastly, I feel ill.’

‘I told my secretary,’ he said, looking around irritably. He’d never noticed the blue and white flock wallpaper, depicting Chinese fishermen with little rods.

‘Told him what?’ she asked, as she looked at herself in the wardrobe mirror. Even that was hideous – and, worse, the mirror was so cheap it made her look fat.

‘That we’re engaged.’

She turned sideways for a different angle of herself in the spectacular black velvet sheath dress. ‘Bit premature, isn’t it? Weren’t we supposed to discuss it first? I thought we’d only make an announcement if it was essential. They don’t even know I’m in England yet. We need to be seen around a lot first.’ She smoothed the velvet over her hips. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t run to the press, because we’re not ready to make any announcement yet.’

‘Christ, it’s an engagement, not a wedding date. It’s covered in your fee and you agreed.’

‘I’m not saying I didn’t but, I think you might have had the manners to
discuss
it with me first. It was a silly thing to do, especially after we’ve spent so long working on your profile.’

He flopped into an armchair and opened a magazine. ‘Oh, Michael’s not going to tell anyone. He’s worked for me for years. Have you seen this month’s
Paris-Match
? There’s a photo of us at the races. Very good of you, but not so flattering of me.’

Sylvina peered at the series of photographs. ‘Darling, it’s me who has to be the catch of all time. And, besides, I think you look very sophisticated.’

‘I think I look a bit of a prat.’

Sylvina told William she had hired a well-known PR agent who would ensure that wherever they went a paparazzo would be at hand, the flash of whose camera would draw attention to
them. But William seemed to have forgotten that this had been paid for. Like a young movie-star, he had started to believe his own publicity. And he loved it.

‘You never cease to amaze me,’ she said, turning her back for him to unzip the dress.

‘Why? Is it seeing the man emerge before you? Well, I’ve done everything you told me to do.’ He chortled.

It was hard to believe that in such a short time he had changed so much. There was a confident air about him, and his voice was louder than it had been in Paris.

‘You’re very cheerful,’ she said.

‘I’m glad to be home.’

Sylvina let the gown slip to her ankles and stepped out of it, naked. William reached out, as if to touch her, and she stepped back. ‘Don’t get too confident, William.’

He snatched away his hand as if she had slapped it. ‘It was just a bit of lint on your shoulder,’ he snapped. ‘I should be allowed to touch you, considering the money I’m paying you. But don’t worry, I don’t want to.’ He walked out and slammed the bedroom door shut behind him.

Sylvina sighed. He’d done it to her again. It unnerved her, the way that at one moment he was under her control and at the next she would realize that he could get rid of her whenever he liked. She had to be more careful now they were on his turf.

The couple had dined with film stars and cabinet ministers in Paris, attended premières, had been seen at Longchamps and Auteuil. Now that they were in England the wheels of publicity were turning here. Michael monitored the growing frenzy around the pair with trepidation. He couldn’t grasp what was going on, but knew it was building towards something. Perhaps it was just the announcement of their nuptials, but he had detected that the Countess, far from caring for William, was at times almost disdainful of him. He was sure she was simply bleeding him of a lot of money. And Michael was aware of how
much, because he oversaw her accounts.
Nothing
quite made sense – not just the Countess, but the vast fortune being paid out to Justin Chalmers. And when he took a call from William’s financial adviser, who was fishing for information, Mr Flynn appeared as nonplussed as himself at the astronomical sums being moved to the British Virgin Islands. He asked if Michael had any notion of what was going on.

‘I believe he’s having the island refurbished.’

‘The amount he’s shelling out could refurbish bloody New Zealand. This is just a small place, isn’t it?’

‘I’m not aware of the detailed instructions, just that the island is being prepared for Sir William to stay there with some guests.’

‘Well, please ask him to contact me. He’s not returned any of my calls . . .’ There was a long pause, then Michael heard a light cough. ‘Just between you and me, Michael, I know he took quite a public thrashing over this Maynard business. He’s not having some kind of breakdown, is he?’

‘No, he seems in very good spirits.’

‘Ah. Well, get him to call me because I don’t want to continue throwing money at this chap Chalmers until I’ve spoken to him. I need more details.’

Michael hung up, and addressed himself to another of Sir William’s scrawled messages. The Countess did not wish to remain in The Boltons so he had arranged to rent a house for her in Mayfair. Having now formally announced their engagement in
The Times
, they were at last holding centre-stage, and Sylvina felt it would look better if they did not appear to be cohabiting.

‘We’re not,’ William had said petulantly.

‘We’re under the same roof, dearest, and that to Meryl Delaware means we’re swinging naked from the light fittings. We must appear to be above reproach, exceedingly respectable.’

‘Fine. Go ahead and do what you want.’ William was growing bored with her constant requests for hand-outs.

Sylvina insisted on installing a maid, cook and butler in her new home and ordered that the floral displays be changed every
three days. She adored her luxurious surroundings, but William was irritating her. She tried to contact Justin, but after leaving several messages she gave up. She knew that William and he kept in regular touch, but when she asked how the ‘project’ was coming along William said simply that it was costing enough to be more than just ‘coming along’ and he hoped it was almost completed. So did his financial adviser, who had demanded a meeting to discuss the island situation.