Sleeping Cruelty (24 page)

‘So, it’s Matlock, his wife Angela and son, Baron von Garten, his wife and son, and the Hangerfords. Nine is a nice easy number to control. You don’t want to get too ambitious.’

They drove in silence for a moment before William laughed. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing them all arrive on the island. Let’s just hope they accept.’

‘They will,’ Justin said, and even placed a fifty-pound bet on who would reply first.

But William shook his head. ‘No, I won’t play around, not any more, Justin. This is too important. If we don’t hear within a week or so, we’ll get Michael to make a personal call on my behalf. Fuck it, I’ll make the calls myself, better that way.’

‘If you have to,’ Justin said, and suggested that, if need be, William could renew his friendship with Angela Matlock, just to ensure an acceptance. ‘After all, it’s a very special Paradise—’

‘Trap,’ William said.

First to reply was the ‘horse thief ’, as Justin had nicknamed Cedric. He was soon followed by Baron and Baroness von Garten’s acceptance, but the Matlocks did not reply, and William, to Justin’s frustration, flatly refused to make personal contact with Angela. ‘You just remember who’s running the bloody show,’ he said. ‘I do not want to contact Angela fucking Matlock. You get him there, or get that bloody Sylvina to help. Just get Matlock on to the island.’

‘If you want Matlock, you shall have him.’

The truth was, Justin was at a loss as to how to handle Matlock’s lack of interest. He never replied to an invitation and he was impossible to get to. He was an obsessively private man whose only interest apart from making money was fishing.

Strangely enough it was an article published in one of his own newspapers that gave them Humphrey Matlock. Meryl Delaware lunched with Justin at the Ivy and Justin leaked to her there, in confidential tones, the names of the guests who were to stay at the spectacular island. On pain of death, she must not mention Sir William Benedict’s name, he said. Neither should she mention that the Prime Minister and his wife had been invited. So was . . . Justin leaned close to her ear, and whispered.

‘No, that can’t be true. Are you kidding? But he’s Matlock’s biggest rival. Are you sure?’

Justin grinned and rubbed together finger and thumb. ‘Money, my darling. He’s switching parties, so rumour has it, and with wealth like that . . .’

Meryl Delaware had a scoop she had to handle carefully. But that blond boy couldn’t be trusted and printing even the smallest hint about the ‘Big White Chief ’ might have dire repercussions for her waning career. At five she decided to call his PR woman, who she detested but lunched with. Perhaps now all those lunch bills she had met would start to pay off . . .

Elaine Dunn’s crisp voice was eventually on the line. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Meryl, but the Chief’s in today. What can I do for you?’

Meryl dragged on her cigarette. ‘Actually Elaine darling, it’s about your
numero uno
. I’ve heard a rumour and I just wanted you to verify it.’

‘Well, you know, Meryl, if there’s anything—’

‘It’s just an enquiry, Elaine. I don’t want to know who he’s shafting! It’s just – can you tell me if it’s true that he’s a guest with the Prime Minister on Sir William Benedict’s island this Christmas?’

There was a pause then Elaine’s voice lowered. ‘I don’t think so. I know he received an invitation but I’m sure he turned it down. For God’s sake don’t print that.’

‘Oh, I won’t, of course I won’t. I just wanted to check out the truth of the story. Both Matlock and his
bête noire
have been invited, you see. Do you know anything at all?’

‘No more than I’ve just told you and now I really have to go – we must have lunch.’

‘Yes, we must,’ Meryl said, as the phone went dead. She drained her glass and lit another cigarette. ‘Lying little shit.’ She thought of Justin. Still, she’d had a free lunch.

Elaine, however, wrote a memo and passed it to Matlock’s
private secretary: the note said she had it on reliable information that the Prime Minister was to join a party on the most exclusive Caribbean island for Christmas. The other guest rumoured also to have been invited was Matlock’s biggest competitor.

Meryl Delaware had played right into Justin’s hands: there was no way Matlock would walk away from an invitation of this calibre. But she had slightly overplayed her relationship with Elaine. After Elaine discovered that Matlock had accepted the invitation, she was warned that he wanted his privacy guarded and required the source of the rumour about his vacation. Elaine was asked to speak to him personally. ‘The woman really is a bit of a lush nowadays, sir. I have no idea how she came to know about the guest-lists, but I’ll make sure it’s never printed.’

‘That has already been taken care of, but thank you for your diligence. It is greatly appreciated.’

Elaine sighed with relief. Matlock never appeared to acknowledge Meryl Delaware, or Elaine’s indiscretion in speaking with her, but the cryptic message that went round to all editors and magazines was that Matlock’s organization no longer required the services of gossip-columnist Meryl Delaware.

Later that evening, as Justin made arrangements for their departure to the island, William was in his study, sifting through documents that required his signature. He was pleased to note that the case against the Baron was now moving forward swiftly. Perhaps that was why the stuck-up bastard had accepted the invitation.

Then his mood swung to a darker place. He had found an envelope from the Metropolitan Police. It contained a short note of sympathy and enclosed Andrew Maynard’s suicide note in a plastic cover. William sat staring at the waterstained note with the blurred writing. Then he opened a drawer and searched through it until he found an old memo from Maynard. He compared the two pieces of writing. Obviously the police must have checked that it was authentic but to William something was
wrong. He took into consideration that Maynard must have been drunk and drugged, so perhaps his scrawling, looped hand would appear different.

Dear William

I have no ambition left, just heartbreak and terrible longing
.

I am sorry
,

Andrew

William delved around in his desk and withdrew more letters. In one, written to him on thin airmail paper, Andrew had signed off ‘Longing to return to work’. It was the word ‘longing’ that did not match the suicide note. The letter ‘L’ was looped on the note but Maynard’s Ls were straighter. He chewed his lip.

The office door banged open and Justin appeared. ‘Right, we’re all set. We leave early in the morning, first flight out.’

William looked up, covering his papers.

‘Did you hear what I just said?’

‘Yes, yes, just clearing my desk, join you in a moment.’

Justin closed the door and William sat for a few moments longer. He knew that Justin had been the main beneficiary in Andrew’s will, but that had been a mere few thousand.
What was he thinking of?
He gathered up his papers, replaced them in the drawer and joined Justin in the drawing room.

Chapter Fourteen

W
illiam was holding his ‘script’, making final notes as Justin joined him after his morning swim.

‘Morning,’ Justin said cheerily.

‘Morning. I’ve been rethinking a few moves.’

Justin held out his hand for the thick pile of carefully typed notes.

‘Can’t afford any mistakes,’ William said. ‘We’ve only got two more days. So let’s start from the top. I don’t think I should be on the jetty to greet everyone.’

Justin raised an eyebrow. ‘Why not?’

‘Angela might just freak; who knows how she’s going to feel at seeing me again? She might persuade Matlock to do a U-turn off the island.’ Justin nodded. ‘So, you make up some excuse, say I’ve been delayed. It’ll be more dramatic and I’ll make a good entrance
after
they get nice and relaxed . . . What do you think?’

Justin nodded. It irritated him that William was making this last-minute adjustment but he had to admit it made sense. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yes.’ There was a heavy pause. ‘Partly to protect myself . . .’ William began and paused. ‘When things get under way, perhaps I should find some excuse to leave the island. This will obviously protect me from any repercussions, should there be any.’

Justin couldn’t have asked for an easier way to make sure William was out of the way when the game commenced. Nevertheless, he sighed and studied William with a concerned look. ‘I don’t know about that. It sounds as if you’re backing out.’

‘Think about it, Justin. I get called away – we’ll make up some emergency. I travel to London for a few days and what goes on here has nothing to do with me because I wasn’t here. And it’ll leave Laura alone. It’s a far better idea than me staying.’

‘You’re right,’ Justin said. ‘You’re a wily old codger, aren’t you?’

William shrugged. His plan meant that whatever Justin and Laura got up to his hands would be clean. He hadn’t liked the ruse about the Prime Minister being a guest and was worried it might cause problems.

‘But you’ll be here for their arrival. You don’t want to miss that, do you?’ Justin asked.

‘’Course not. I’ll hide in one of the beach houses and make a grand entrance. In fact, you could say I got called away again to check on security for the rest of the guests.’

‘My, my, you’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?’ Justin said, with a grin.

William was thoroughly enjoying himself. He loved the script sessions, which invariably involved discussions with the staff, who had been briefed one by one: Dahlia would co-ordinate the ‘girls’ who, on the surface, were attentive servants, their other attributes to be offered quietly at the right moment. The handsome Kurt had been primed to prepare workouts and ‘special extras’. The massage rooms, sauna, steam room and the gym were all filmed continuously, as was every other area of the island. Every sexual predilection could be catered for and recorded.

Opening night was near, the cast waiting in the wings, but the man still nominally deemed the ring-master remained supremely unaware that Justin was pulling the strings. It was obvious to all except himself that William Benedict was dancing to Justin’s tune.
Nevertheless, all the staff were instructed to maintain the pretence that William ran the island, and due to his rearranging sections of the plans, there was no reason for him to believe otherwise.

Justin lowered the binoculars. He was standing precariously close to the cliff edge he had nicknamed Suicide Point because of the sheer drop down to the rocks below. He could hear the plane but it was hidden by clouds. He looked down, without trepidation, at the swirling, foaming water below, battering against the lethal, jagged rocks.

‘Here we go,’ he said. ‘William, time for you to hide.’

William’s stomach churned. So many months and all this preparation. He crossed his fingers. ‘Good luck,’ he said.

‘You know the agenda, William. Wait till the coast is clear, then into the seaplane. A launch is waiting for you just beyond the two rocks.’

‘Roger and out,’ said William, saluting.

Through the clouds, the seaplane suddenly emerged, much lower. ‘I’ll wireless you when we need the love scene!’ Justin yelled after William, who laughed as he headed for his prepared hiding place.

Justin trained his binoculars on the seaplane. It dropped lower and lower, and then, like an osprey, hovered before swooping down to the waves. It made a smooth landing on the water, then motored slowly towards the jetty. Justin made his way down there, training the binoculars on the disembarking passengers. Baron and Baroness von Garten were already on the quayside, looking around with astonishment. Even with their nonchalant disregard for the trappings of vast wealth, they were unable to hide their surprise. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,’ murmured Justin.

He looked down at his list and ticked them off in the column headed ‘Arrivals’.

Klaus von Garten was six feet tall, wearing white shorts and leather thonged sandals, his Gucci shades pushed back on his forehead. His statuesque wife Christina stood beside him. At
forty-four, she was still the envy of many women: the surgery to her face and neck had ensured she was unblemished by age, and enhanced her Germanic high cheekbones and full lips. She was beautiful, intelligent, bilingual and had great social graces. She oozed class.

Next to alight from the plane was a rather handsome boy of about eighteen, whom Justin recognized as the Baron’s son, Max. He had a lovely, rangy adolescent body with long, slender arms and legs and strawberry-blond silky hair. Behind him came another boy. Justin double-checked with the profile in his folder: James Matlock. Smaller in stature than Max and already tanned a deep golden brown, Justin could tell that, although James was around the same age as Max, he was far more worldly. He was athletic, with strong muscular legs, a tight torso, and even his worn shorts and T-shirt had a groovy ‘I’m cool’ look, unlike the beige chinos and white shirt worn by Max. Justin knew he would enjoy breaking them in.

Next came Cedric, Lord Hangerford, fat, puce and sweating, just as William had described him. He was followed by his fatter wife, Daphne, and their daughter Clarissa. Then came another woman, mousy, plump and nondescript. Her face was pleasant enough and she obviously took care of herself: her pale skin was barely wrinkled, even though she was in her late forties if not early fifties. Her blonde hair, probably natural, was cut into a simple style, neither elegant nor flattering. So this was William’s ex-girlfriend, the ‘pretty, sweet’ Angela, Matlock’s wife.

Justin’s heart beat fast as a man emerged from the hatch behind her. It could only be Humphrey Matlock. He double-checked with the folder. The man looked bigger and heavier in the flesh. He was at least six foot two and his black hair, greying at the temples, was thick and glistened with hair oil. He wore dark glasses, had a cigar clamped between his teeth and wore a light alpaca suit and open-necked shirt. Bingo! They were all here.

Dahlia stood in front of a line of boys ready to take the
luggage. Justin giggled with pride. She was a stunner, Dahlia, tanned to a dark gold, wearing a demure YSL black dress, neat black ballet slippers, her dark hair coiled severely at the nape of her neck. Justin observed the way the Baroness ran her eyes over Dahlia, struggling to ascertain who she was. Since when had a housekeeper looked like this and worn such elegant clothes?

‘Welcome,’ Dahlia said, ‘to the Paradise. I am Sir William’s housekeeper.’

Buggies were waiting to drive them up to the house, leaving the luggage to follow with the boys. The sun beat down and they fanned themselves as they drove the long way round to take in the wondrous gardens, eventually pulling up at the main entrance. There Justin stood in the doorway.

‘Hi there, folks,’ he said, grinning at the Baron and Baroness.

‘He seems at home,’ said the Baron to his wife, as they passed into the hall.

‘According to the magazine clippings we were sent, he designed the place. Remember how much we liked his villa in France? Met him at one of Sylvina Lubrinsky’s dinner parties.’

The Baron raised his eyebrows. He had not wanted to accept the invitation, especially after insulting William and even more so after his withdrawal from their business transactions, but his wife had insisted. They were in financial trouble and perhaps a new deal could be negotiated with William.

The next buggy held the Hangerfords and close behind them came Matlock and Angela. They were discussing the gardens. The Matlocks were avid gardeners – or, at least, avidly capable of instructing their gardening staff. Neither of them had ever seen such opulence, though, quite so many rare blooms in such profusion.

Dahlia arrived in the foyer in time to introduce them to their personal maids. Ruby for the Baron and Baroness, Kiki for their son Max, Nina for James Matlock, Ella for the Hangerfords, and Dahlia herself for the Matlocks. The curvaceous Ruby, with her wide brown eyes and long hair, wore a simple white
linen tunic, white shoes. Kiki was darker, almost six feet tall with beaded hair that sparkled around her head. Her sister Nina was stockier, with the muscular build of an athlete. Ella was the shortest, with a square, masculine body, wide shoulders and strong hands, whose strength she demonstrated by picking up a large carry-on bag belonging to Daphne Hangerford. ‘This way, please,’ she announced, her voice deep.

Last but not least was Kurt, in white shorts and tight T-shirt. He was the type to make any teenage girl swoon. Any adult woman with any sense would bypass him fast.

The Baron and Baroness passed covert looks to each other as they were led to guest suite three. Ruby opened the massive oak doors to reveal inside a male servant awaiting their orders, a tray of iced drinks already laid out on their private veranda. The Baron accepted a glass of chilled vintage Krug champagne, while his wife poked around, noting the fridge stocked with caviar and chilled wines, and fresh fruit piled on iced platters. She grabbed one of the magazines left for her perusal then saw the folder titled ‘The Paradise’. It gave details of the facilities: the gymnasium, masseurs, the beauty treatments, the cinema, beautifully drawn maps of the island, which highlighted the sporting facilities and the beaches and coves. She carried it to her husband on the veranda and sat next to him.

Sipping his Krug, the Baron could hardly take it in. No hotel or private residence he knew could match the island’s outrageous luxury.

‘Well!’ she said softly. ‘Sir William certainly knows how to put on a good show. The place feels more like a hotel than a private residence.’

‘You complaining?’ said the Baron, irritated by her need always to find fault. But for once she wasn’t and by now they had both been silenced by the stunning view.

Their son Max had been allocated one of the bungalows and he loved it. Initially he had not wanted to join them on holiday, hardly relishing the thought of being hemmed in on an
island with them both. He had spent little time with his parents during his childhood: he had been sent away to school at an early age and his holidays had been spent in the care of nannies as his parents jetted around the world. But when he had come into adolescence, they had suddenly wanted to have him constantly at their side. His mother found him especially useful, using him as her walker when she was invited to a function that his father would not attend. At these events she monitored what he wore, to whom he spoke, what he ate and drank, and never gave him an opportunity to move from her side, a protective diamond-studded wrist resting firmly on his shoulder at all times. She would laugh and tease him about being the man in her life, and God help him if he so much as glanced in the direction of any young female his own age: his mother would immediately run through the girl’s social background and her unsuitability. As a result, Max was naïve and shy at eighteen, having only a fleeting knowledge of the opposite sex.

Suddenly James Matlock jumped over from his veranda next door and strolled into Max’s bungalow suite. ‘It’s fucking mind-blowing,’ he said, looking around. Max flushed as James opened the fridge. ‘We can get really pissed,’ he exclaimed, and laughed.

The boys had met on one or two occasions before, and had sat next to each other on the plane; Max had been reduced to tongue-tied shyness, as James talked about the girls he hoped to get his hands on. Unlike Max he was well experienced, and enjoyed broadcasting the fact in a loud whisper.

‘I’ve got my own maid,’ Max said, nodding to the bedroom to indicate to James to mind his language.

‘So have I,’ James said, winking. ‘You want to do a tour?’ he asked, going back out on to the veranda.

Max followed. ‘Okay. But perhaps I should see my parents first.’

James shrugged, he had no intention of getting a lecture from his old man. He climbed back to his own quarters.

Max found himself alone with Kiki, who passed him a menu. ‘All you have to do, sir, is request the time and state where you’d like to eat – the beach, sun deck, here in your room, wherever – and your order will be brought to you. Dinner is served in the dining room from seven thirty until ten.’ Max smiled shyly, wondering if he should tip her. ‘May I suggest, sir, I put some sun block on you, especially on your shoulders? It’s very dangerous to go without at this time of the day.’

Max hesitated, but Kiki gestured for him to go into the bedroom where she had already set up a padded massage-table covered in soft white towels with a tray of oils.

In the adjoining suite James was already lying on his veranda while Nina rubbed sun-oil over his back and shoulders. He had a hard-on, feeling her strong hands smoothing on the sweet, perfumed oil, her big breasts sweeping over his back. He reckoned this was going to be the best holiday of his life. Nina leaned in close, letting her breasts slide up his arm. ‘If you need any extras, sir, you only have to ask,’ she said.

‘Extras?’ he repeated dumbly.

‘Intimate massages. I am here to see that you are totally satisfied.’

This was a cocky little son-of-a-bitch, Nina thought, and she could see his crotch swelling as she moved her hands expertly over his beautiful young body. She was rather glad she’d been allocated a boy rather than one of the older men. She liked breaking in young guys, but she reckoned this one was no virgin.