Sleeping Cruelty (14 page)

Fortified by a few glasses of wine, William walked out to face the baying mob. He read a short statement he had written himself, and felt his anguish rising. Eventually he broke down. The flashbulbs popped. On returning to his house, he felt that the press conference had been the straw to break his back. He was appalled that he had lacked such self-control, and refused to watch any newsreels or read another paper. Now he was seriously contemplating ending it all.

Then everything changed. The fickle world turns on a fivepenny piece. The press began to depict him as a wronged lover and the public loved it.

Michael hired a PR agent, who played heavily on William’s shock and trauma at the revelations. William was amazed by an avalanche of sympathy letters and articles. He was now seen as a man seduced by a gold-digger who had betrayed him. The débâcle went on long enough for William to be sickened at first then amused that without making any effort himself he had come out smelling of roses.

Sylvina and Sharee had unwittingly given William a new public image, and to Justin, this turn of events was a gift from heaven. He had dropped the scoop to Meryl to spite William for dropping the plan. But the miraculous turnaround also meant that William’s putative guests would be sure to accept an invitation from such a popular media star. He called William to talk him into leaving London to visit the almost completed paradise island.

‘I can’t right now, Justin,’ said William, tired from all the interviews and phone calls.

‘Right now is the perfect time. William, are you there?’ There was a pause. ‘I want you to think about our plan,’ Justin began.

‘At the moment I can’t think about anything.’

‘But you have to.’

‘Justin, I can’t talk now. Call me later.’ He hung up.

At the other end of the line Justin’s face twisted into a paroxysm of fury. Then, in a fit of rage, he smashed the receiver to pieces against the wall. He berated himself for acting too rashly.

He had been sure that the exposé would make William even more eager for revenge, but it seemed to have had the reverse effect. ‘Will this idiot never come to his senses?’ Justin muttered to himself. Gradually he calmed himself. It was just a setback. He’d leave it a day or so then call again. The fish was still on the line, he assured himself, just wriggling dangerously. Justin would land his quarry, even if it meant drawing him out to the island and slitting his throat himself.

Chapter Eight

A
few days later Justin called William again.

William was surprised to feel genuinely pleased to hear from him, but with the Sharee story, he was desperate to get out of London. He couldn’t face going to work. ‘I’ll get the next flight out,’ he said.

‘What?’ Justin asked loudly.

‘I said I’ll be flying out as soon as I can.’

‘Oh, fantastic. By the way, I’ve ordered four jet-skis, and I told you about the speedboat, didn’t I? Expensive, but out here it’ll be an eye-popper. Hopefully it’s arriving today. Let me know what time your flight gets in, and I’ll have a boat fixed up to collect you, if yours hasn’t been delivered. Hello? Are you still there?’

‘I’ll have Michael call you, Justin.’ William hung up and pressed the intercom. ‘Michael, arrange a flight for me, would you? I want to leave as soon as possible.’

‘Where to, sir?’ came Michael’s clipped tones.

‘The island. So get Mrs Thingy to pack enough suitable clothes for a fortnight.’

‘You have board meetings the day after tomorrow.’

‘Cancel them.’

Michael accompanied William to the airport, ostensibly to take notes and instructions, but his boss seemed distracted.

‘The new mechanical toys are ready for you to test, sir. Do you want me to send them out to you on the island?’

‘What toys?’ William asked.

‘The fox and hens, remember?’

‘Oh yes, yes, just go ahead.’

‘What about the patent?’ Michael asked, aware that they had been copied from some William had bought in Paris.

‘Well, I reckon we can get away with it. I’m sure I remember seeing some designs for a similar toy done by one of my boffins years ago. If they do decide to take on the Benedict Corporation, which I’m sure they won’t, we’ll be able to pass it off as ours anyway. In fact, Michael, get my lawyers to look into the company that made that cat-and-mouse thing and root out our old files. Maybe we can sue
them
!’ With that, they arrived at the airport.

The speedboat’s engine was cut and it cruised into the small, immaculate dock. It was late afternoon and still blisteringly hot, but a sea breeze kept the air fresh. Justin, deeply tanned, was wearing cut-off blue jeans, a white T-shirt with torn seams and a faded pair of flip-flops. His gold Rolex wristwatch glistened in the sun, and a pair of black Armani shades hung from the neck of his T-shirt. A boy in white shorts and dirty sneakers was at the controls. He jumped deftly out of the boat on to the quay, and Justin hurled him a coiled rope, which he tied around a wooden post.

William was sitting in the small harbour café with a whisky and soda. He had landed in Miami, then booked the Cherokee two-seater to taxi him to Tortola, the adjacent island; his own had no airstrip. Another seaplane landed at the same time, and William was irritated to see Count Frederick Capri, whom he recognized from Justin’s villa in France, greet the disembarking passengers.

His mood darkened as he watched the lithe, handsome Justin strolling towards him. He seemed to know everyone who
passed, waving and laughing, speaking fluent French one moment, Spanish the next. William sipped his drink and squinted into the sun as Justin made his way towards the café veranda and leaned against the railing. ‘You made it,’ he said, smiling, his white teeth dazzling against his dark skin.

His hair had grown quite long since William last saw him and he wore it combed back from his high forehead. It was bleached almost white.

‘The boy’ll get your cases,’ Justin added, slipping on his shades and checking his watch. ‘We shouldn’t leave it too long, there’s a bit of wind and it might get choppy. Besides, I want you to see the island in the best possible light – when the sun is just slipping down.’

They walked to the quay, got into the boat and surged off. William pressed his back into the leather seat. Justin sat next to him, tilting his face to catch the last rays of sun. ‘So the Countess buggered off,’ he said.

William shrugged. He could smell Justin’s sun-oil, and glanced at the small diamond ring he wore on his little finger.

Justin hooked his arm around William’s shoulder. ‘This is nerve-racking for me. It’s been almost eighteen months, did you know that?’

‘Time passes quickly,’ William said, uneasy with the man’s closeness.

‘I have created a paradise,’ Justin said, tightening his arm. ‘Sometimes it was hard for me to remember that I was creating a place for you, not me. I’ve grown to love this island with a passion.’

William would never forget the next few moments. The boat cut through the water, passing between two jagged rocks. A mist began to sweep towards them, blurring the ocean and the sky, creating an illusion of nothingness. Then the island appeared, like a mirage. White turrets, boundary walls, white cliffs and sparkling latticed windows. As they drew closer, the mist parted, and William made out undergrowth, trees and shrubs in a blaze of different colours.

The quayside, jetty and pathways leading to the mansion were as white as the turrets. Large Chinese lanterns hung from ropes, swinging gently in the wind, and the tinkle of wind-chimes and bells echoed across the water. William half rose, his lips parted, as they cruised past man-made beaches and cascading waterfalls. The perfume from the lilies was so strong that the heady smell wafted over the water like incense. The boat passed hidden coves equipped with small jetties and lines of jet-skis, sailing dinghies and windsurfers. Sunbathing terraces, covered with brilliant white canopies, rows of polished sun-beds and picnic tables, jutted out from the rocks; diving boards reached out into the sea. As the boat curved inwards to the main landing, jetty-boys in white blazers and shorts stood like sentries waiting for their arrival. The boat-boy eased into the jetty alongside a sleek cruiser covered in white tarpaulins and a small, elegant launch. Five white golf carts were parked nearby.

Justin climbed up on to the jetty, speaking in French to the boys, who then assisted William from the boat, collected his luggage and stacked it on a golf cart. William stood still, taking it all in. ‘Stunning,’ he said, in awe.

Justin was delighted at the impact of his creation. But this was just the beginning and he was determined to milk every second. ‘I’ll show you the grounds first.’ He veered off the pathway into a shaded, narrow, rough lane where the ferns and the palms made it darker and more mysterious. They turned a corner on to a clearing with an Olympic-sized marble swimming-pool. The water, lit from beneath, was a vivid turquoise. Sun-loungers were covered in the same brilliant colour; parasols and tables were placed on different levels. A straw-covered gazebo accommodated a bar, where a man stood waiting to serve drinks. Crystal glasses glittered, and mountains of fruit in ceramic pots were dotted on the tables around the pool. Justin escorted William to a jacuzzi built on a higher level, and a large swirl pool with an elaborate mosaic floor.

The tour continued round the entire island, taking in secret
pathways, or ‘lovers’ walks’, as Justin described them, until at last they headed around the rear of the mansion, past the servants’ quarters to a shady cobble-walled yard. ‘The servants live in the area away from the master rooms, but they’re connected by phone and intercom,’ Justin said, pointing out the hidden wires. Following his gaze, William looked upwards. ‘The cameras are for the security monitor in your master office. You can see what’s going on over the whole island with one flick of a switch.’

They returned to the cart and headed back towards the main mansion entrance. Justin had restructured the building, turning a warren of small rooms and corridors into vast open spaces. The doors leading into the main hall were thirty feet high and had come from an Indonesian monastery. They were carved with spectacular fretwork, and in the centre of each was a wooden lion’s head, its jaws wide open, holding a gleaming brass knocker. Justin had a flair for mixing the old with the new and the combination was perfect. The hallway was tiled in black and white marble. Above, a huge domed ceiling was vaulted with thick wooden beams, a minstrel’s gallery snaking its way around the hall. Overhead, fans whirred quietly, and carefully positioned lights cast beams on paintings the size of living-room walls. Tapestries, oil paintings and a full suit of armour gave the feeling of a medieval castle, yet the room was light and airy. The wide double staircase was made of polished Japanese pine and had a frail appearance that belied its strength and weight. The windows opened on to balconies and verandas. All the rooms seemed to be interconnected: one wall slid back to reveal a modern, open-plan drawing room with white cushioned sofas, low tables, paintings, china displays on plinths of polished wood, Japanese bowls, rough local pottery, and, dominating each room, a wide open fireplace. ‘I’ve installed the finest air-conditioning system. The engineers were here for months.’ Justin pointed around the room, to the floor and ceiling, but William could see no grids or outlets – they were all hidden from sight.

Besides a row of six small bungalow-type residences for staff
and guests, there were eight suites, each with its own bathroom. There was also a drawing room and a dining room with a long monastery table and big carved chairs, plus a smaller table for more intimate dining. The breakfast room had no walls, and was designed so that guests could drink their morning coffee with spectacular views on every side. However, when it was windy or wet, the touch of a button would electronically activate glass panels to shield them.

Nothing in his wildest dreams had prepared William for this extravagance. Justin insisted on tours to the servants’ living-quarters, going into long descriptions about the kitchens and wine cellar, which he wanted William to see. Then he led William into a gargantuan study. It was a modern room, with a futuristic-looking desk, a hi-tech computer and printer, a huge television and a bank of security monitors. Although William was now aching with tiredness, Justin gestured for him to sit. He crossed to the desk, spread out the architect’s drawings of the mansion, and with a red pen indicated the areas they missed on the tour and the positions of the hidden cameras. He began to fiddle with an array of switches in the large panel at the side of the desk. The monitors fizzled into life, revealing every possible area of the island.

‘You can keep an eye on everything, William,’ Justin said, unable to hide his pride in his work.

‘Very impressive,’ William said, so exhausted he could hardly keep his eyes open.

‘We need to discuss the finances,’ Justin said, rolling up the drawings.

‘Not now. I need some sleep. Perhaps in the morning.’

Justin checked his watch. ‘Will you want to dine? Only you should really meet all your staff.’

William removed his jacket. His shirt was stained with sweat. ‘A light supper in my suite. Offer them my apologies. I’ll meet them tomorrow.’ He looked around, unsure where to go.

‘I’ll send the chef to your room,’ Justin said, opening a door
in the corner of the study. ‘Tomorrow we’ll discuss the grand plan.’

William took a deep breath. ‘No, we won’t, I’m here for a holiday, nothing more. All that revenge stuff was nonsense, as stupid as my arrangement with Sylvina.’

Justin’s heart sank, but he kept a smile on his face. ‘You get a good night’s sleep. Maybe you’ll think differently in the morning.’

William glared. ‘No, I won’t. As I said, I’m here for a break, and God knows I certainly need one. All that silly stuff is best forgotten. I don’t even want to discuss it again. Goodnight.’

As William made to leave, Justin gave a small bow. ‘Welcome home,’ he said softly.

‘Thank you. You’ve done one hell of a job.’

Justin directed him to his suite, then closed the door and leaned against it. ‘You’ve done one hell of a job,’ he repeated sarcastically. ‘Fucking prick,’ he muttered, under his breath. The dumb bastard didn’t want to play! Well, so be it,
he
would play. He hadn’t spent eighteen months setting it up and half of his life waiting for this opportunity just to let it slip away. It might take a little longer, but he was sure he could persuade the buffoon to do exactly as he wanted. No one was going to stop him now.

William showered and changed into a pair of cotton pyjamas that had been laid out on his bed. His suite seemed bigger than the first floor of his London house. He padded to the balcony, opened the doors and walked out. Like a golden globe sinking into the sea, the sun’s last rays reached out like tentacles into the darkening sky before it disappeared. William gasped. It was the most extraordinary sight he’d ever seen. Soft lights came on automatically, and he rested his hands on the veranda rail. He breathed deeply. The air was cool and sweetly perfumed, the night caressing, almost like a naked woman reaching out to hold him. As emotion welled up inside him he felt close to tears and gasped to regain his composure. He felt as though he were
caught in a dream. But it was reality. This was his paradise. It belonged to him and no one else.

There was a light tap on the door and William let in a small Frenchman who introduced himself as Monsieur Dupré, the chef. He handed William the menu, a thick sheet of manila paper with looped writing. William barely glanced at it. ‘I’d like some melon, a little scrambled egg and maybe some salmon.’

‘Of course, Monsieur, and . . .’ He passed William the wine list. One glance told him it was on a par with that of the Ritz. He asked for a bottle of chilled Pouilly Fumé and some iced lemon tea. Dupré bowed and backed out, closing the door silently behind him.

The tray arrived on a steel trolley with silver domes placed over delicate pale blue porcelain. The cutlery, of silver and eighteen-carat gold inlaid with ivory, was laid out on the damask cloth. The fluted goblet was chilled and frosted, and the wine stood in an ornate silver bucket.

‘I’ll serve myself,’ William said briskly, anxious to be left alone to savour yet another of Justin’s touches of elegance. The eggs were cooked to perfection, the salmon melted in his mouth like butter. The warm crusty rolls were fresh, just as he liked. The melon, cut into fine slivers, was garnished with segments of lemon, strawberries, pineapple and apricots. William ate sparingly, and after a glass of wine, his eyes drooped. He didn’t finish his meal but went into the bedroom, fell on to the damask-covered bed and into a deep, dreamless sleep.