Sleeping Cruelty (18 page)

‘Far too unacceptable for their sort,’ Justin lisped, as he pranced in front of a long mirror. ‘We could have some fun together.’ He wafted the plume at William. ‘Come as my secret partner. Everyone wears masks. Nobody need know who you are.’

William leaped back. ‘No bloody way! You’re not getting me done up like one of those boys.’

Justin gave a lascivious grin. ‘I doubt, William dearest, that anyone could mistake you for one of my little friends.’ He swished a swathe of gold lamé into the air, and draped it over William. ‘How about if I dress you up as King Tut, and I’ll be your servant?’

‘No way!’ William had never been to a fancy-dress do, even as a child. He wasn’t about to make a fool of himself now.

Two hours later, he was dressed in a flowing gold lamé kaftan, with a matching turban and four huge white plumes pinned to it with a gold brooch. Justin was tinting William’s face with burnt cork, mixed with some boot polish. It took ages to dry, but gradually his face became bronzed, his lips were pinked, and his eyelashes darkened with mascara.

‘Take a look,’ Justin said, stepping back to admire his work.

‘I don’t know about this,’ William said, secretly enjoying himself. Justin pushed bracelets and rings on to his stained brown hands, and hung big gold hoops from his ears. William reviewed himself in the mirror, while Justin finished his own costume. When they stood side by side they looked fabulous, and when Justin sprayed a heavy perfume over them, William started to get quite excited.

‘I’ve never gatecrashed anything, you know,’ he said, preening.

‘Tonight’s the night, then! Come along, Your Majesty, let’s knock ’em dead.’

It was after ten when Justin and William descended to the jetty where the cruiser stood ready to transport them to the Bellinghams’ estate. Four boat-boys, in turbans and sarongs, carried large fans to welcome the pair aboard. Fairy-lights were strung from stern to bow. Music blasted out of the stereo as the cruiser pulled out to sea. In the cabin, buckets of champagne and plates of caviar were laid out, where William, now in the spirit of the evening, sat relaxing on silk cushions.

The Bellinghams’ jetty was ablaze with lights, flickering torches and flowers. William and Justin could hear the band as they approached. The sea was calm. Rows of bobbing yachts and cruisers were moored by servants. There were loud cheers as the King and his servant disembarked. William surveyed the array of costumes from behind his disguise. There were women dressed as cats, trapeze artists, semi-naked servant girls, Tarzans and Janes in skimpy strips of leopardskin, pirates and princes in multi-coloured lamé.

The heavy smell of incense and marijuana filled the billowing marquee, and tables were laden with fruit, lobsters and exotic dishes. Butlers in masks and loincloths carried around trays of elaborate cocktails laced with vodka, gin or rum. The centrepiece was a champagne fountain surrounded by ice sculptures.

As William surveyed the room, he recognized Meryl Delaware, draped over a dark-skinned boy who appeared to be no more than twenty. There were pop stars, models and actors whose faces he vaguely knew. Sections of the marquee were cordoned off by flowing drapes. William peeped behind them. Couples were copulating on low couches, others snorting from bowls of cocaine. In another section of the marquee sat a fortune-teller – average party material, thought William, except that she was stark naked apart from a glittering G-string and a long blonde wig that tumbled over her breasts. Nearby, leather-masked men with leather-studded cocks strapped to their legs, strutted between women dressed in PVC corsets, wielding whips. Other men were crawling on all fours licking the women’s black patent stilettos.

‘And those bastards whipped up all that shit about me!’ said William to Justin.

‘Over a couple of bloody visits from call-girls.’

No one asked who William was, and after about half an hour he started to relax, enjoying his anonymity. He moved from one group to another until he stumbled across Lord Bellingham.
Sitting cross-legged on a large cushion, with a backgammon board in front of him and four other people around him, he was wearing a kaftan and turban and smoking a large cigar. It was obvious to William that he was stoned. William watched him for a moment, then moved back, passing two women in a passionate, semi-naked embrace on the grass. He felt himself flush under his cork.

‘I want to slide under your robes, Your Majesty.’ A woman wearing nothing but a PVC loincloth stood at his side and tried to slither under his gold kaftan. William sprang back, clutching the cloth around him. ‘No, thank you,’ he stuttered, and scurried away.

William went in search of Justin. The last time he had seen him he was heading out of the tent with Bellingham’s son, Oliver, who was so drunk he could hardly stand. William wandered about, stopping to watch the cabaret of exotic dancers, then the local rock star, who jumped up on stage to sing with the band. Those with enough energy were still dancing, but most were scattered around in groups, talking and giggling as the drugs kicked in. Cocaine bowls were constantly topped up and there was an endless supply of thick joints.

Eventually, drunk and exhausted, William hitched up his kaftan and sat on a low couch beneath a clutch of palm trees away from the main action. His head was throbbing so violently he couldn’t raise it more than a fraction and when he did, he felt nauseous.

‘Pull your frock down, old boy.’ It was Justin. ‘Look, I’ve got something to do, then I’ll be back.’

‘Have they spiked the drinks?’ William asked, squinting up at Justin.

‘Probably.’

‘Dear God, I feel terrible. You’ll have to help me back to the boat.’

‘Just stay here, I won’t be long.’

The party was winding down. William lay immobile, hoping
to ease his aching head. Two women had sat down on a lounger on the other side of the palm trees, unaware of his presence.

‘Ghastly man,’ one said to the other. William could hear the clink of glass.

‘The Bellinghams saw him on the quay the other day with that boy Justin.’

They were talking about him! William lay still, listening. Bellingham and his cronies joined them.

‘The stupid bugger got hammered because he was so desperate to be accepted. It always happens with his kind – they get caught with their pants around their ankles.’

One disembodied voice recalled William’s engagement to the Countess Lubrinsky. This created hoots of laughter and a few lurid anecdotes about Sylvina’s past. Then William heard a voice he recognized. It was the hideous Meryl Delaware, desperate to ingratiate herself with Bellingham. She claimed she had it on good authority that William had paid Countess Lubrinsky to broadcast their engagement in the hope that he would be accepted by the Royal Family. But the closest he had got to them was walking past the Royal Enclosure at Ascot. ‘He’s more than pitiful,’ said Meryl. ‘He’s a laughing stock.’

‘Paying a trashy countess to say she loved him and was prepared to marry him! He’s pathetic.’

Suddenly, a voice William didn’t recognize entered the conversation. ‘You’re not still discussing that awful man. Just keep the money-to-burn lowlife at arm’s length. I suspect he’s a poofter like his crony, that sicko Maynard.’

Suddenly there were shouts that the fireworks were due to start and the group heaved their tired bodies towards the quay side without glancing back at the prone figure a few feet away from them. Bellingham, however, had recognized William. Before he left he turned and said, ‘That’ll teach you to gatecrash, you jumped-up parvenu.’

A few seconds later Justin was back. He helped William along
the harbour to the boat. William felt the screeching rockets and fizzing fireworks reverberating in his head, smashing through his thoughts: Pathetic! Pitiful! A buffoon!

At noon the next day, William woke up with the worst hangover he had ever experienced. He had breakfast alone. Just after two, when paracetamol had eased the throbbing between his ears and ice packs had soothed his swollen eyes, he went to Justin’s bungalow on the lower path beneath the main house. There was no sign of him and, worse, William was shocked to see a line of packed suitcases on the bed and wardrobes and drawers emptied. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he went to find him. He discovered Justin down by the jetty.

‘Afternoon,’ Justin said brightly. ‘I’d given up on seeing you today, but I’m glad I have as I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.’

‘You’re going?’ William said.

‘Yes. I need to get back to France. I’m on my way to Paris.’

William pursed his lips. He wasn’t sure how to say it, or even what he wanted to say. He just knew that he didn’t want Justin to go.

‘You feeling all right?’ Justin asked.

‘No, I’m not. Come up to the house, have a drink with me.’

Justin glanced at his wristwatch. ‘I really wanted to get the late tide.’

‘I would like to talk to you,’ William said.

Justin had expected this to happen.

William was sitting at his desk when Justin came in. ‘What about my makeover?’ he said petulantly.

‘Well, I’ve left you a list of designers; suggested who you should contact. You can hire people to do this kind of thing, you know.’

‘I want you,’ William said.

Justin sighed. ‘Well, that’s all very well, but I have a living to make and I have things to do. Especially high on the agenda is seeing my sister.’

‘If it’s money you want you can have it.’

‘Look, if someone fucks me over I fuck them back. You can’t let people get away with humiliating you. I’ve prepared everything here for you to pay the bastards back. But I’m tired of your indecision. Either you want revenge or you don’t.’

Justin left the room and went to the control room. The time was perfect now, he was sure of it.

William walked in as he was putting a tape into the VCR.

‘William, take a look at this. You never even knew it was happening, but think what I could do with it.’ William stood, aghast, watching the video of himself with Dahlia and Ruby, tied to the bed, being oiled and massaged, moaning with pleasure.

‘Shocked?’ Justin asked, smiling. ‘You ever been taken that far before?’ He was enjoying himself.

‘No,’ William said hoarsely. ‘Did you drug me?’

‘You did that all under your own steam! Impressive, wouldn’t you say?’

‘It’s disgusting.’

Justin laughed gleefully. ‘Rubbish, it was done in the privacy of your own bedroom.’ He stopped the tape. ‘Stop whipping yourself with guilt, Willy-boy. Like I said, get even. You’ve got all the trappings right here on Island Exotics. All you need is your guest-list – then we can line ’em up and shoot ’em down. One by one.’

Justin waited. Had he overplayed his hand?

‘No more prevarication, Justin, I’ll do it. But I need you to tell me what to do.’

Which, of course, was exactly what Justin had planned. ‘Fine, and since you seem so concerned that your “guests” won’t show if they know
you’re
their host, I think there’s no need to make
your ownership of the island public. You could be some mysterious tycoon.’

‘“Some mysterious tycoon.” You love to play games, don’t you, Justin?’

William remained silent for a long time.

‘Tell me, what makes
you
so eager to play out this charade?’ William asked eventually, his eyes sharp as flints. ‘What’s in this for you?’

Justin licked his lips, averting his eyes. His mind raced. He played his hand to perfection.

‘Andrew Maynard. I lost a friend and it hurt to see him vilified and abused. That’s why I care about you. I knew what you meant to him.’

‘I think I meant to him the same thing I mean to you. A meal ticket,’ William said.

‘Wrong on two counts. I’ve already earned enough from you, and you’ll no doubt reward me for assisting you in getting some satisfaction. Also, Andrew only spoke of you with admiration and respect.’

‘Mmm,’ William said.

‘Make them eat shit like you were forced to. Don’t back down or you’ll regret it till the day you die. And then, when it’s over, you can settle down to enjoy your life on the most exclusive private island known to man, once again renowned as the charming, debonair tycoon, Sir William Benedict.’

William contemplated the idea for a moment, then stretched out his hand. ‘Very well, we’ll have a go at it. I must be mad, but yes, why not? You’re on. Let’s get the bastards. Just so long as you know I’m the ring-master.’

‘Absolutely. It’s your trap, William, not mine. I’ll just do whatever you say . . . I have a few conditions, though,’ he said softly.

William gestured for him to continue.

‘I think we should get Laura here.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, you may need her. She’s very beautiful. I guarantee no man could refuse Laura.’

‘Would she agree?’ William asked.

‘She might. It’s up to you. I think you need a hostess – you know, to welcome everyone . . .’

William nodded.

‘No point in her coming here directly – the season’s almost over and we don’t want to rush into anything. We must have a perfect time of year: Christmas is the best time in the Caribbean.’

‘God, that’s a while away,’ William said, sighing.

‘Well, we’re not quite ready yet. We’ve a few finishing touches to make – decoration, press releases . . . and Laura will need to be primed.’

‘I’ll come to Paris with you,’ William said.

‘That’s a good idea. While we’re there I’ll start the press frenzy,’ said Justin, ‘while you think hard about who you want on that list. That should be fun.’ He paused. ‘Talking of press, I’ve been looking at your little problem. I think I have identified your main
agent provocateur
. One group of publications seems to have led the way in attacking you: News Syndicate International. It so happens that those papers and magazines are all owned by Humphrey Matlock. He’s still on the list, isn’t he?’

William nodded, his lips tight. ‘Yes, well, he was. I got invited to his place for some charity fête, but I never bothered to go.’ He sighed. ‘Truth was, the Sylvina thing blew it all up in my face again and I couldn’t face anyone.’