Sleeping Cruelty (39 page)

William nodded: he believed it. In some ways it had eased his grief. Marta’s eyes filled with tears, and when she patted her pocket for a handkerchief, William handed her his.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and dabbed her eyes. She asked if he had noticed how often Laura said that phrase.

‘I have. It’s very endearing.’

Marta folded and refolded the handkerchief on her lap. ‘It isn’t. It’s heartbreaking. If you were to rape her or to brand her with a red-hot iron, she would thank you.’ Marta sighed. ‘They were both forced to say it after whatever they had been subjected to. Justin used to say it as much as Laura. Once he stole some money from my purse, just some loose change, but I was angry. I smacked his hand and he looked at me and said, “Thank you.” When he brought Laura home from the asylum, I used to watch him looking at her as she repeated over and over: “Thank you, thank you for the pain.”’

‘I am in such pain now, Marta,’ he said bleakly.

‘You are not to blame,’ she said kindly.

‘I am, Marta. I said I wanted to be a father to him. I know now it was the worst thing I could have said to him and, anyway, it was a lie. I was incapable of admitting to him, and to myself, that I wanted him to be . . .’ he swallowed, unable to admit even now that he had wanted Justin in every way a man can love another man. He was still ashamed to acknowledge his feelings.

‘You don’t need to say any more, I understand. Remember I used to see you together, see the way he looked at you, and you at him?’

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. ‘Marta, I will protect Laura with my life. No one is ever going to hurt her again.’

Marta was frightened: he had to have an ulterior motive. William saw her anxiety and understood.

‘I want only to care for her,’ said William. ‘Justin changed my
life. I intend to come back here to live, because he is here. Here I’ll be close to him.’

William’s life took on a different perspective in the period after Justin’s death. The coverage of Matlock’s funeral was on the front page of every newspaper, and in all the television news broadcasts. Angela gave the performance of her life as the grieving widow, dressed by Valentino. At long last she was the focus of everyone’s attention. James remained in a child-like state, dependent upon his mother, most of the time unaware of where he was, or that his father was dead. Max returned to the dominant arms of his mother as she searched for a suitable, rich wife for him. They rarely, if ever, saw the Baron whose downfall had been written up in the press world-wide. They now lived totally separate lives.

The Hangerfords divorced and Daphne was obliged to live in more meagre circumstances. The lack of money, however, meant that she lost more weight than she had ever done before and she felt considerably happier with herself. Clarissa discovered that her father had also plundered her trust fund and she conceded to finding work as a nanny.

William returned to London when Sabrina went into labour, producing robust twin grandsons. Considering her new ‘free’ lifestyle, she was appallingly conventional: she had a Harley Street consultant and a private room at the Portland Clinic. Jacob remained steadfastly at her side, only rushing in and out to tell the pacing William that everything was going to be fine. When William held the babies he felt a tremendous rush of emotion. ‘They’ll love to play on my island,’ he said to Jacob.

Charlie seemed to have got his life on some kind of path. He had formed a ‘steady attachment’ to a wisp of a girl, who made wheat-free pies and bread, and wanted to open a ‘health-food café’. William discussed with him where it might lead, but could feel no deep, emotional bond with his son. He knew he should be ashamed of this, but his children had been brought up by
Katherine and he had spent so little time with them. He set aside large trust funds for Sabrina, Charlie and his grandchildren, even though he initially balked at the idea of making their future lives financially secure. Although William now accepted he would never be close to either his son or his daughter, he cared for them deeply. They were getting on with their lives, and he felt no guilt at cutting loose from them. He would always be there for Charlie and Sabrina, if they needed him, but he doubted it would be for more than money. He also drew up a new will, leaving vast sums to charitable foundations, particularly organizations against child abuse.

To his employees he became a calmer figure. One by one his companies were restructured to enable him to have as little to do with them as possible. Rumours spread that he had some incurable illness, and was preparing for death. Nothing could have been further from the truth, of course: he was preparing to live his life and to enjoy it to the utmost. But William had ceased to worry about what other people said. He knew that what you feel inside is more important than anything anyone else thinks.

While in England, William put in order his financial affairs, to leave him free to relocate to the island. He wrote to Laura every week without fail, and telephoned every two or three days. He hired an art teacher for her as she had begun painting, and he was delighted when she said she had been learning to sail. He became paternal, even over-protective, towards her, warning her not to go too far out when she swam, to use sun cream and always to wear a lifejacket. He loved to hear her giggle and call him an old fusspot. Laura became the child he had never been allowed to enjoy.

Marta gave him bulletins on Laura’s progress, and she, too, sounded pleased to hear from him, saying how much they missed him. She listed the new plants she had put into the flower-beds and worried about overspending: she was now keeping the household accounts. William enjoyed these lengthy discussions with Marta, who always asked his advice, even on the
smallest matter. He liked her consideration, but above all he loved her honesty. Only half the staff had been retained on the island, and Dahlia had brought her son over to live with her. She and Marta had become friends and ran William’s island home with an attention to detail that ensured it was always immaculate and ready for his arrival.

Over the course of a year, William saw his work come to fruition. He had handed over to others the day-to-day running of his business affairs. He had sold off many of his homes, and shares in his major US and Japanese companies. The last to go was his London house.

William was overjoyed to return to his paradise island and Laura. As the launch neared the jagged rocks, he saw her, way up on the cliff edge, waiting for him. His heart pounded: she was waving a big yellow towel to make sure he saw her. He watched her run down the path to be on the jetty as the boat came into the harbour. Laura was fit and filled with energy – she was a different woman. She ran towards him, arms wide. William picked her up and twirled her around. She clung to him, kissing his cheeks.

‘Welcome home.’ She held his hand, dancing alongside him as they headed for the golf cart, hopped aboard and drove him herself. She was full of a new confidence, pointing out all the plants and shrubs Marta had told him about.

As they reached the house, Marta came running down the wide stone steps. She hugged him, then both women insisted he inspect everything they had been doing to make the house into his home. After that he had to view Laura’s paintings. Many were of himself, copied from photographs. His heart lifted so high it was flying.

Then Laura tugged at his hand, wanting him to go into his suite. ‘But keep your eyes shut,’ she said. He stumbled and she steadied him.

‘Stop now,’ she said, ‘but keep your eyes closed.’ She and
Marta moved away from him. ‘You can open your eyes now, Willy,’ she said breathlessly.

Straight in front of him, in place of the painting of herself, Laura had hung a new picture. She had commissioned a well-known artist, recommended to her by her painting teacher, to execute a full-length portrait of Justin, barefoot, wearing torn jeans and white T-shirt. His blond hair was bleached by the sun, and his skin deeply tanned. The artist had caught the way he tilted his head before his face creased into his wonderful smile.

‘It’s for you from me,’ said Laura, searching his face for a reaction. She whispered in his ear that she had used her diamonds to pay for it.

William stood in front of the painting, his heart pounding. Laura had seen his dream. It was a dream he had often had since Justin had died, that one day Justin would return, that one day when William was heading back to the island he would see him waving from the high point and would watch him run to greet him as Laura had that day. Now William could walk into his bedroom knowing that Justin would always be there. It was painful, but the pain would be his reminder not only of what he had lost but of what he had gained. Slowly William smiled and his eyes filled with tears. All he could say in a soft, painful whisper was, ‘Thank you.’