Sleeping Cruelty (17 page)

Justin closed his eyes and remembered Laura standing up on the high rocks near their villa in the South of France. She had been holding what appeared to be a perfectly almond-shaped piece of green glass. She had laughed softly, that husky, whispering laugh. He had never heard such a sound on anyone else’s lips, and as always it touched him. He could see her in his mind as clearly as if she was standing next to him. He remembered the way she held up the glass to the light, transparent, delicate and frighteningly fragile.

‘I have a frozen piece of the sea, Justin,’ she cooed. ‘Look, doesn’t it remind you of me?’ Then she turned away from him
and that sweet, delicate laugh he loved so dearly was swept away with the wind and swallowed up by the sea below. She held the glass in the palm of her hand. The light glittering off it made it appear like a green eye. ‘You look at it and it seems smooth,’ she whispered, stroking it. Then she turned it over, drew one slender finger across it and blood came to the surface. It formed a single droplet, which she pressed against Justin’s lips, then licked off the residue herself.

‘Don’t break your promise, Justin, we have a right to draw blood. We have waited so long. We need to make it happen, and make it happen soon.’ Justin was sure that, after this evening, at long last he had in his grasp the one person they wanted to bleed to death.

Chapter Nine

I
t was after eleven when William finished his breakfast. He had been apprehensive about seeing Dahlia, but when he went into the kitchens she hardly acknowledged his presence. She had been reprimanding a delivery service about certain supplies that were due to be collected from the mainland. She behaved as if the previous evening’s events had not occurred. ‘Excuse me, Sir William,’ she said, cupping the receiver in her hand, ‘I won’t be a moment. The fruit I ordered hasn’t arrived.’

He gave her a rueful smile, and asked if Justin was back. At that moment the man himself breezed in. ‘You want a spin in the Sunseeker?’ he asked.

William followed him. Dahlia was still immersed in her phone call.

Sammy was waiting with the boat already uncovered and the engines ticking. William and Justin climbed aboard as Dahlia ran towards them, out of breath. ‘Can you pick up the groceries, Justin? They’ll be ready for collection.’

‘Fine,’ Justin yelled as he gave the signal for Sammy to move off.

William staggered backwards as the boat surged forward. Justin took off his sunglasses, and slipped them into his pocket. ‘I’d remove your hat and shades. The wind’ll whip them off.
We’re going to open her up today. She can do sixty-eight knots, you know.’

William lowered himself deeper into one of the leather seats and did as Justin advised. The boat’s engines were so loud it made conversation impossible, but Justin tried nevertheless, shouting for William to look at the small navigational computer by the wheel, and then at all the various dials and speedometers. The wind billowed his shirt and ruffled his hair. Justin laughed with the sheer exhilaration of speed, then turned to William. ‘You want to take the wheel?’ he shouted.

‘Better not,’ William bellowed, then changed his mind. ‘Okay, show me what to do.’

He made his way to Sammy’s side, where the force of the wind was eased by the shelter of the windscreen. Justin stood right behind him, and at first he helped him steer, shouting instructions into William’s ear.

William felt like a schoolboy, bellowing at the top of his voice, ‘This is marvellous.
I love it
.’

Justin took over the wheel as they came in to dock at Wickam’s Cay on Tortola. The marina was crammed with yachts and cruisers of all shapes and sizes. Navigating a path between the buoys and moored boats, he pulled in as close to the delivery warehouses as he could get. As he manoeuvred into the marked collection zone, Sammy jumped out to catch the mooring ropes.

He and Justin tied up the boat and started off towards the warehouses. Turning back to check that William was following, Justin saw him staring into space. ‘William!’ he called. ‘Do you want to meet us up at the Harbour Bar? We’ll be about an hour.’

‘Oh, right, fine, see you there.’

William watched them for a moment, then patted his head. The sun was burning his scalp so he climbed back into the boat and retrieved his crushed Panama.

The Harbour Bar was a crude place with a straw roof and one long wooden counter with rows of bottles stacked on shelves
behind it. An old-fashioned Coke dispenser stood on one side next to an ice-maker. On the other was a row of pinball machines. Formica-topped tables spilled out on to a small, shaded veranda. The bar regularly caught fire, so the walls were brown and discoloured; paint peeled from the doors, which were never closed. At night fairy-lights decorated the railings, curling round the posts that held up the roof. There was no air-conditioning, but two large fans spun in a slow, hypnotic cycle, more effectively whipping up dust than circulating cool air. The PA blasted out home-made tape recordings of local bands, mixed with a variety of pop, rock and disco. The mindlessness of the continual music was all part of the scene at the Harbour Bar, which was one of the main meeting places for anyone using the harbour.

Other more sophisticated bars and hotels, with elegant palm-filled air-conditioned saloons and waiters stood further along the marina. But none did the thriving business of the Harbour Bar, which was constantly packed. At night, the smell of ganja was strong and local bands played live. A small platform had been built just outside so that people could dance. Now it was peak season and the bar was heaving. White girls on holiday flirted with young black guys who hit on them for money. The local hookers led a carefree existence, their eyes roaming for rich pickings as they sat drinking Coke at the bar. William attracted no more than a perfunctory gaze before they returned to their conversations while he ordered a lager and lime. He felt hot and uncomfortable, his shorts chafing his thighs, and he could feel mosquito bites erupting. By the time Justin strolled up the steps of the bar’s veranda, he had consumed two more lagers.

‘Get you another?’ Justin called, but he shook his head and watched as Justin sauntered to the bar. The hookers slapped his hand and the barman was already fixing him a mixture of fresh orange and lemon juice with crushed ice. Justin stopped at two other tables, chatting and laughing, before he joined William. ‘We’re all stocked up. We can leave any time.’

William’s shirt was dripping with sweat and he took himself
off to the shack at the back of the bar, which served as a lavatory. He splashed tepid water from a chipped basin over his face, but it didn’t cool him. He was looking forward to getting back into the boat for the air. His chest felt constricted and he could hardly breathe.

He and Justin walked the short distance to where the boat was moored at the harbour, passing charter yachts and gin palaces. One yacht, in the most prominent position with a wide wooden gangplank, had numerous white-T-shirted crew setting out a dining area under a canopy.

More crew were carrying on crates of fruit and drinks past the four people at the foot of the gangplank. The women wore skimpy, buttock-revealing shorts and bikini tops, their bronzed bodies gleaming. A blonde had a white baseball cap pulled low over her eyes, the other wore a wide-brimmed straw hat with a scarf knotted around the rim, flowing down her tanned back, over her sarong and matching bikini top. William identified them as English. One of the men, in a moth-eaten straw hat, was lighting a cigar. William recognized him instantly. Henry, Lord Bellingham was probably the same age as William, but looked at least fifteen years younger. The woven embroidered bracelet on his wrist gave him a hint of the hippie.

Bellingham oozed social confidence. He was the type of man who immediately made William feel inferior, the type that William had once wanted to emulate. Instead of succeeding, though, he had become the butt of their jibes. The Bellinghams of this world were involved in far worse scandals than poor William ever had been, but they never came to light: friends in the right places made sure of that.

‘Do you know Sir William, Lord Bellingham?’ Justin asked casually, as William joined them.

Bellingham gave him no more than a cursory glance. ‘I believe so.’ He turned away. ‘Annabella, darling, we should make moves,’ he said. He gave William another glance as he strode up the gangplank.

Justin turned to the women. ‘Lady Annabella Bellingham and Countess Maria de Coveney, Sir William Benedict.’

They gave aloof smiles and Lady Annabella shook William’s hand, which was hot and wet. She withdrew hers quickly. ‘Do be on time,’ she barked to Justin. ‘We’ve got so much security to deal with – it’s a real headache.’

Justin bowed over her hand and kissed it. She laughed and tapped his cheek. ‘Oh, you sexy boy.’

She started up the gangplank. The Countess, at least, acknowledged William, before following. Now the second man shook Justin’s hand before turning to William. ‘I’m Gabriel, Frederick Capri’s brother. I believe you know him?’

William nodded. He couldn’t think of anything to say as he’d only met him fleetingly at the villa in France. ‘Justin, I’ll see you on the boat,’ he said flatly, and walked away.

As he left the group, there was a burst of laughter behind him. William blushed angrily.

It was another ten minutes before Justin joined him.

‘Let’s go!’ he said, hurling the ropes to Sammy and jumping aboard. He patted William’s knee. ‘You seem a bit out of sorts,’ he said kindly.

‘I’m bloody hot and just want to get the hell out of here.’

Justin gestured to Sammy, who opened up the engines and they started to move out, weaving their way between the moorings and passing the Bellingham yacht. There were now eight people sitting on it under the canopy, laughing and drinking. One young boy with blond hair was sitting with his legs over the side. He waved to Justin.

‘So pretty, isn’t he?’ Justin mused. ‘That’s Oliver Bellingham. He’s not allowed off the boat – just been kicked out of school for dealing drugs. The other guests on board—’

‘I’m not interested,’ said William curtly, refusing to look towards the group, who were now all watching the powerboat draw away.

Justin settled into the seat next to Sammy. ‘Open her up! Jog
a martini out of Annabella’s hand!’ The engines throbbed, all six kicked in, the bow lifted out of the water and the boat sped out of the harbour.

By the time they reached the island William was frozen stiff. It took an hour and a half, and the pounding of the engines had given him a throbbing headache. By the time they got there, William was shivering. An hour later he had a temperature of a hundred and two.

Dahlia took great care of him. She arranged for trays of tasty food, tea, lemon drinks and iced fruit to be brought up to his room. Some time later Justin caught her as she carried down a tray. ‘What the fuck is wrong with him?’ he asked.

‘Heatstroke, but he thinks it’s malaria. His temperature is quite high.’

‘How long is he going to be up there?’

‘Maybe a day or so. He’s not eating too well, and he’s sleeping a lot. He’ll be fine.’

‘I bloody hope so.’

William remained in bed for three days. His linen was changed and he was washed and shaved like an invalid. He was rather tickled when he discovered he had lost fifteen pounds.

On the fourth day, at William’s request, Justin arranged for Kurt to give him a gentle workout in the gym. After three gym sessions, the loss of fifteen pounds, daily massage and three more self-tanning treatments, William began to feel rejuvenated. He discussed his diet with Dahlia, and eventually sent a message to Justin that he would like to have lunch with him. It consisted of salad, chicken breast, an array of apple, carrot and vegetable juices and a row of vitamin pills.

‘My! We’re on a health regime, I see,’ said Justin, as he sat down.

‘You can order anything you want,’ William said, picking at his chicken. ‘I just want to lose at least another ten pounds. Kurt’s getting me into shape.’

‘Well, that’s wonderful.’ Justin could just about manage some enthusiasm.

‘How do you want to be paid?’ William was pouring more apple juice.

‘I’m sorry?’ Justin leaned forward.

‘Well, you can have a cheque, but it’s quite a sum, and for tax reasons I wondered if you had some offshore bank account. If you like, I can set one up for you.’

‘Cheque,’ Justin said quickly, then frowned. Maybe he should have a think about his tax situation. He rarely, if ever, paid any. The truth was that what came in went directly out again.

‘Cheque it is, but it might be useful to have a word with my accountant. It’s up to you.’

Justin could hardly believe it: he was paying him off, getting rid of him. He had to get William to agree to the plan, and fast.

‘You’re very quiet,’ William said, smiling.

‘Just thinking about what you said. I’ve never been all that good with money, you know. If I have it I spend it. But this is quite a tidy sum.’

‘Well deserved, though.’ William was smiling again. Justin found this new, cheerful William a little unnerving. ‘Have to say, I had some doubts . . . I mean, more than doubts. After all, you overspent the original budget by four million, and to be honest I was none too pleased. But the more I’ve taken in your work, the more I see it was necessary. I have never, until now, had any interest in any of my homes, but this one I like.’

‘We aim to please.’ Justin helped himself to salad.

‘I wanted you to help me out on another little area,’ William said, ‘if you have the time, that is.’ He gestured down at himself. ‘I see how dreadful I look. How deadly my taste has been.’ He looked up at Justin. ‘I know it’s silly, but I want to wear clothes that make me feel good. When I shopped with Sylvina, she made me buy what other people thought was good – you know what I mean? Like my ex-wives – they togged me out too and, to be honest, I want a . . .’ he gave a boyish shrug ‘. . . younger look.’

‘We can get you some local summer gear. You don’t want anything too . . .’

‘Safari?’ William said, and sniggered.

By mid-afternoon, the gardeners and the boat-boys had been handed plastic bags filled with discarded clothes to burn. Needless to say, they were thrilled, knowing they could resell them on Tortola, or even across the strait on Puerto Rico.

While William went for a workout in the gym with Kurt, Justin started sorting out a costume for the Bellinghams’ summer dance. The British loved dressing up – the more outlandishly the better. It was as if they were trying to revert to childhood. He’d been working away for an hour when there was a knock at the door. It was William. ‘I was wondering whether you wanted to watch some videos with me tonight?’

‘Any other time,’ Justin said, wrapping some pale blue silk around his fist and pulling it into a shape. ‘I’m going over to the Bellinghams’ and I’ve got to fathom out some kind of costume.’ He plonked the turban on his head.

‘You were invited?’ William said, jealous.

‘Yes. The son invited me, Oliver. They invite a select mob and dress up. Prizes and games. Awful, really. But quite good for me, you know, drumming up business.’

He was lying. He never used social events to ply his trade.

‘They didn’t ask me,’ William said, disgruntled.

Justin spun round and winked. ‘Come with me?’ he said, holding up a bolt of pink shot silk and silver-threaded organza.

‘But they know who I am. It would be hell.’ William stood watching Justin wafting blue and pink dyed ostrich plumes, ready to pin them to the turban.