Sleeping Cruelty (19 page)

‘So he should be a priority.’ Justin stared at William, who was now deep in thought. He could be so irritating. ‘Hear what I said?’

William nodded. He was listening, but his thoughts were miles away as he calculated how much money Matlock must have made out of his misery. ‘Yes, he’s top of my list,’ he said softly.

Chapter Ten

W
illiam and Justin installed themselves in adjoining suites at the Ritz in Paris. From there, the two made sojourns to boutiques and back-street stores, William following his style instructor like a lamb.

His diet and fitness regime began next day with an early-morning swim, then running up and down the shallow end until his legs felt like jelly. Next they went into the gym. They did weights one day, stretching and abdominal exercises the next. For the first six days William ate a soup concocted by the hotel chef to Justin’s specific instructions. It had been originally conceived for heart patients awaiting surgery, to enable them to lose weight quickly but safely.

William lost weight rapidly. He felt fitter and more energetic than he had in years. Daily massages and sun-bed treatments were interspersed with shopping expeditions, and William enjoyed watching his size drop. His excitement was contagious – even Justin had to admire his protégé’s determination.

Ten days after they had left the island, Justin and William were having their usual early-morning juice and fruit while reading the English newspapers. Justin noticed an article in
The Times
and muttered something to himself. Then he said nonchalantly, ‘Bellingham’s son died. His funeral is today.’

William reached over and peered at the article.

‘OD’d on the night of the party,’ Justin went on, spooning strawberries into his mouth.

William was shocked. ‘I’m sorry. How do you know that? It doesn’t say so here.’

‘He was found dead in the grounds after the party,’ Justin said. ‘He was a drug-addict, and a raving queen.’

He tried to change the subject to the day’s itinerary, but William said, ‘Curious that not a breath of scandal has touched Bellingham over this. Can you imagine if it had been my son? It would have been all over the—’

‘Come on,’ said Justin, glancing at his watch. ‘No point in dwelling on the past. We’ve got to make a move.’

‘Where are we going?’ William said truculently.

‘To get your hair cut.’

‘My hair?’ Instinctively he stroked it. ‘It’s looking good. I’ve never worn it this long before. What’s the matter with it?’

‘Pass,’ said Justin, as he got up and left the room.

William caught up with him. ‘It’s just, well, I don’t know if you’d noticed, but I’ve got a bald patch at the back.’

‘No, really?’

‘Yes, I have. Don’t you think this sort of covers it a bit?’

Justin grinned. ‘When you’re swimming, the water drags your hair forwards and all you can see is that bald spot. So don’t hide it. It makes you seem vulnerable when you don’t need to be.’

‘You’re not going to make me wear a rug, are you?’ William stuttered.

Justin laughed at the thought. ‘We’ll see what Louis has to say. Trust me.’

Arriving at the salon, William was not convinced that he should trust his precious locks to Louis, who was wearing one of the worst wigs he had ever seen.

Louis began to cut his hair at an alarming pace. When he reached for the clippers William froze. Finally, with mock-bravado,
Louis swept off William’s cape, stepped back and said, ‘
Voilà!
’

William inspected his cropped head. He liked his drastic new look. Stubble short and bleached blond from the sun, the haircut said: ‘I don’t give a shit!’ and to a man who always had, it was just what he needed.

That evening William was going to join Justin in the dining room. It was the seventh day of his diet, and he could eat as much meat as he wanted. He planned to order three fillet steaks with spinach and green salad. He was wearing a pale blue suit, a white silk shirt with a high collar and no tie. He was looking good, but at the door to the restaurant he was stopped by the
maître d’
.

‘You must wear a tie in here, Monsieur,’ he snapped.

‘Are you telling me I can’t eat here? I’m paying for two bloody suites. You should let me in in my underwear!’

The
maître d’
shrugged in his Gallic way. William was just about to demand a table when his elbow was gripped from behind. ‘Stop being such a crass, English yob,’ Justin said. ‘Rules are rules. Forget it, life’s too short.’

They ate in a small bistro, not far from the hotel. William remained in a bad mood but then, to Justin’s surprise, he suddenly said, ‘That bastard Matlock. The more I think about him, the more angry I feel. I’ve thought about it a lot. It was really as if he had some personal grudge against me, as if the man was hell-bent on destroying me. The other papers just followed his lead. But then he invited me to that garden fête, albeit courtesy of his wife.’

‘So what? You were invited, weren’t you?’

‘Via his
wife
. I asked Michael to check it out for me. I think Matlock’s got it in for me because of his wife, Angela.’

‘Do you know her?’

‘She used to be my secretary.’

‘Your secretary?’ Justin asked, his jaw open.

‘Well, the name is the same. I’ve not seen her for years. I had a bit of a scene with her.’

He signalled for the bill. This was a different William. He was obviously angry, but there was a steely quality to him that Justin had not witnessed before.

‘I intend to find out, and if it is Angela, I want her on the island too. We leave tomorrow.’

They took the Eurostar to London to make preparations and for William to check his business affairs. When Michael saw the new-look William, his jaw dropped. ‘Good heavens, you look—’ he stuttered.

‘Yes?’ William said gleefully.

‘Like a different person, sir.’

‘Thank you, Michael. Did you check out Matlock’s wife for me?’

‘She’s the same Angela Nicholls who used to work for you. They have a son, James. He’s at Eton and—’

William wafted his hand – he didn’t want to hear any more. Could Angela
really
have been behind the onslaught to which her husband’s papers had subjected him? If so, she would pay for it. Returning to his study, he couldn’t help smiling to himself.

The two men stayed in London just three days while William attended numerous quickly arranged board meetings. His games company had been accused of plagiarism by a German toy manufacturer: William’s company had ripped off their cat-and-mouse mechanical toy, they said.

‘It’s a fox and hens, nothing
like
a cat and mouse! Refuse to back down. We’ll counter-sue if necessary. Did you check out the manufacturers as I asked? Who are they, anyway?’

His team passed him a detailed dossier. To William’s fury, he saw that the action had been taken against him by the factory he had attempted to acquire from Baron von Garten, which was now owned by William’s biggest competitor. The team had determined that the original cat-and-mouse product had been designed by one of William’s former employees, who had been headhunted by the rival firm, who in their turn had illegally
registered the toy’s patent in their name: it had already existed when the designer worked for William, which could be proved because William owned the original designs. He’d sue and he knew he would win. And he would get another stab at the Baron, who was a shareholder in the company and had paid a fortune to market the toy. William was buzzing with energy at the thought of the battle ahead.

Over a breakfast meeting, William showed his lawyers the drawings and proposals the Germans had used for their own gain; they had used the scandal that had erupted around William to escape their agreement to sell on a contractual nicety. Baron von Garten had reneged on the deal, retained William’s goodwill down-payment, then gone on to sell to his closest competitors. Since Geffin’s Toys had opened they had made vast profits and all their toys would be under review: William was sure it wasn’t just one item they had ripped off. His lawyers gained the right to assess all the present Geffin’s Toys on the market and to compare them with any from William’s design departments.

William’s researchers then discovered that Baron von Garten owned rather more than a ‘small’ portion of the business; he had fifty per cent. This discovery pleased William even more because, by retaining a fifty per cent shareholding in Geffin’s, the Baron had opened himself up to being liable for all the legal costs and fines involved in actions brought against them for plagiarism. William was going to come down hard and heavy on ‘Geffin’s Toys’.

William could not keep the smile off his face as he gave orders for his legal team to sue the backside off Geffin’s. They were to keep him informed of every move, even though he would not be staying in London. The new Sir William was like a hurricane, so it was with some relief that his London staff saw him depart.

William and Justin boarded his private jet for Nice. Justin had finished preparing a press-pack for the ‘Billionaire’s Paradise
Island Home’ and delivering copies to the most prestigious and influential magazines:
Country Life
,
Tatler
,
Vogue
and
Hello!
Like conspiratorial teenagers, they sat side by side on the plane, reviewing William’s invitation hit-list.

‘My ex-wife Katherine, and her cousin Cedric. I hate that bastard, he’s always ripped me off. Humphrey Matlock and his dear wife, Angela.’

‘Who are all these people?’ Justin queried.

‘The journalists,’ William said.

‘For God’s sake, you have the organ-grinder, Matlock. You don’t need his monkeys. Cross them off.’

‘You’re sure he and his family will be easy to get over there?’

‘Leave that to me,’ Justin said softly. Then he went to the lavatory. He needed to be alone: he could hardly contain his excitement.

His hand stroked the worn old wallet in the breast pocket of his jacket. It had belonged to his father, the monogram faded now with years of use. It rarely contained folded notes – Justin preferred to stash those in the back pocket of his jeans. It held something more precious than money: a newspaper article, folded over and over, the creases brown with age. He eased it out and opened it. He knew every line, every word by heart, but this was the first time he had read it with a smile on his face.

‘Gotcha!’ he hissed. ‘Humphrey fucking Matlock! Gotcha!’

Chapter Eleven

T
he villa was hidden in darkness, but the car headlights lit the main veranda. Justin jumped out and ran inside, leaving William and the driver to remove the suitcases from the boot. The lights came on in the gardens, throwing the villa into focus, and the driver stood open-mouthed as the magical garden came to life with fountains and shaded lights over the rock pools and flowers. Justin returned to help with the cases.

Suddenly Marta was running towards them. She flung herself at Justin and kissed him frantically, held him at arm’s length then kissed him again.

‘Is she here?’ Justin whispered, and Marta nodded.

After unpacking, William found his way to the dining room. The table was beautifully laid, with candles, bowls of salad, and every conceivable cold cut. He heaped a plate, poured some chilled Chablis and sat down. After a few moments, Justin joined him and helped himself to food and wine.

‘She asleep?’ William asked, his mouth full.

‘Yes.’

‘So I won’t get to meet her tonight then?’

‘Maybe, maybe not.’

Laura did not make an appearance. It was after two in the morning when they both decided to go to bed. ‘You want to see her?’ Justin whispered. ‘Come with me . . .’

Laura was lying on her side, naked, one arm stretched out, the hand cupped as if begging to be touched. One slender leg crossed over the other, leaving her hip rising like a wing. Her breasts were partly hidden by her other hand, which rested against them almost in an attitude of piety. Her silken blonde hair splayed across the pillow and fell over her shoulder like gossamer. Even in the flickering candlelight, the beauty of her sleeping face was heart-stopping. She had high sweeping cheekbones, fine arched brows and the lashes resting on her cheeks were dark. Her nose was straight, in perfect symmetry with her cheeks, and her wide pink lips were parted. She was almost too beautiful to be real.

‘What do you think?’ whispered Justin.

‘She’s perfect,’ was all William could say.

‘She is the bait, William.’

William went to his suite, changed and slid between the cool cotton sheets. He was aware of a strange sensation of fear in the pit of his stomach. He had no notion of why he felt afraid. He had spent enough time with Justin to think that he knew him . . . but did he? At some point he fell asleep, so he did not hear the soft moan or the conversation that went on for hours. He didn’t hear a sound from above as brother and sister lay entwined like lovers, their perfect bodies catching the light of the candles: he so bronzed, eyes deep and tortured, she with the paleness of lilies that belied a terrible darkness.

‘Morning,’ William said to Marta, who was setting the breakfast table. She was hardly able to give him a pleasant look, never mind a ‘good morning’ in return. ‘Lovely day,’ he said. He had just received a call from his lawyers that two more toys were being inspected, and the chink-chink of the money it would cost the Baron was music to his ears.

Marta moved closer to him. ‘Get away from this place,’ she said tersely. Her expression said more, but she stopped abruptly when Justin appeared and swept her into his arms.

‘Who is the love of your life?’ Justin asked, kissing her cheeks.

‘You both are,’ she said.

William thought she seemed near to tears as she hurried out of the room, but he put it to the back of his mind. He beamed at Justin. ‘Just spoken to my legal boffins, I’m going to squeeze Baron von Garten’s balls so tightly. It’s gonna cost him millions.’

‘You ever think of anything else but accruing dosh, old man?’

‘I do now. The dosh, as you call it, has nothing to do with my good humour. It’s getting that stuck-up son-of-a-bitch.’

‘That’s good,’ Justin said, and now he smiled. ‘Like I’ve always said, payback is the best feeling you can have. You’ll more than pay him back. You’ll hit his reputation as well as his pocket, right?’

‘Right,’ said William, grinning.

Laura did not come down to breakfast that morning, but William saw Marta carrying a tray up to her room. He was going up to the roof for a swim. Perhaps Justin would be up there. He was. Peering over his dark glasses as William approached, Justin held out the copy of
Vogue
that he had been reading. ‘Have a look at page forty,’ he suggested.

William sat down next to him and picked up the magazine. Flicking through the pages, he stopped at the spread of his bedroom on the island. ‘Good God!’ he said. He read aloud, ‘“This extraordinary bedroom suite, with its canopied bed festooned with exquisite fabrics, its tasselled curtains and gorgeous rugs, like an Empire period fantasy in French opulence, announces the secret owner to be a man of taste and immense wealth. No doubt the fortunate guests will be universally famous, beautiful and strictly millionaires.”’ William dropped the magazine. ‘My name isn’t here, is it?’

‘’Course not,’ laughed Justin. ‘Don’t want to put them off.’

William read on, ‘“Everything in this room, from the wallpaper to the doorknobs, is handmade, its grandeur counterpointed by its elegance and restraint. It is a room to inspire, and indulge
a man’s dreams. Only a high-flyer could come to rest in a bed that would have suited the Sun King himself.” Did you write it, Justin?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, it’s that slag Meryl Delaware. I gave her the photos and the specifications. Now she’s wild to see the place for herself. She believes it’s owned by a mystery consortium of reclusive millionaires or royalty.’

‘Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to tell them whose island it is soon. I mean, we’ve got them all wondering now, and that thing with Sylvina has put me back on the social map.’

Justin had to admit that William was right, but he had grown bored with this exchange and was moving inside.

‘Justin!’ called William. ‘Look!’

He was pointing towards the wooded area below them in the gardens. He stepped back in shock as Justin sprang on to the balcony rail and proceeded to climb down the front of the house, clinging to the ivy. ‘Laura!
Laura!
’ he shouted, as he ran towards the woods.

William shaded his eyes to watch Justin tear across the gardens. In a long white dress and a wide-brimmed picture hat, Laura waited among the trees. Justin caught her in his arms and swung her round, her feet off the ground, her arms around his neck.

William made his way down the stairs and out through the big french windows, then strolled through the paved Japanese gardens, past the fountains, ferns and palm trees. ‘Justin?’ he called, but there was silence. He headed into the forest of tall pines. ‘Hello, where are you?’ he called.

‘Hello.’ It was a woman’s voice.

William turned to face her. She was standing in deep shadows between two massive fir trees, her hands resting on their bark. She was barefoot, and her dress was transparent so the light shone through.

‘Laura?’ said William shyly.

‘You must be William.’ Her voice was light with a hoarse quality.

‘I saw you from the balcony,’ he said, rather lamely.

As he moved closer, William noticed that she had threaded daisies between her toes. He felt like a schoolboy. ‘Justin has told me a lot about you,’ he said hesitantly, wishing he could think of something more interesting to say.

‘Did he?’ she said. He still could not see her face clearly: her long hair fell like a curtain, obscuring her profile.

‘It’s cold out of the sun,’ he said, looking upwards.

‘It’s nice and cool. Don’t you find it refreshing?’ She lifted one hand and brushed her hair off her face.

William was mesmerized by her incredible blue eyes. They were deep like her brother’s, but so pale and weirdly expressionless, that it seemed as if her thoughts were trapped miles away.

He felt awkward, and his body was covered in goose pimples. ‘I find it chilly,’ he said.

She cocked her head to one side. ‘Chilly?
C’est quoi
, chilly?’ Her accent was quite strong, unlike Justin’s.

Suddenly she moved towards him and slipped her arm through his. William’s heart lurched. Her perfume smelt familiar, of lilies. He realized she was very tall.

‘I’m hungry,’ she said, and her voice had no trace of an accent at all.

‘How odd,’ William said. ‘One moment you sound French and the next you speak perfect English.’

She laughed. ‘I was brought up in England, so if I wish I am English. But I can also be French.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I think, for you, I should always be English.’

‘Yes . . . but you are a very good actress,’ he mused, then asked, ‘Have you ever been on the stage?’

‘Oh, no, I would hate to be constantly portraying other people. I’d lose myself. I have a hard time holding on to who I am anyway. Does that happen to you?’

‘I’ve never thought about it, but I suppose so. When I am in a good mood, I feel like I have more energy to deal with people,
but when I’m in a bad mood, I feel inadequate and then I wish I could be my other self. Does that make sense?’

‘Of course, because sometimes it is hard to be confident. Do you envy people who are always confident?’

‘You mean like Justin?’

She looked up into his eyes. ‘Justin is not always confident. He may appear to be so, but I know sometimes he goes to a place of deep despair.’

William was interested, he had never considered that Justin might be prone to depression. ‘Sometimes he feels very lonely, so he hides. We are very alike.’

‘You feel lonely?’

She hesitated a moment, then shook her head. Her voice was soft and hardly audible. ‘I am alone if I am not with Justin.’

Her eyes brimmed with tears and he wanted to hold her, protect her, wrap his arms around her frail beauty. Instead he coughed and changed the subject. ‘Er, I’m hungry too. Shall we make our way back to the villa?’

As they broke from the darkness into the splendour of the gardens, he said, ‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it? Everything so alive, growing . . .’

‘Mmm,’ she said lightly, then, almost as an afterthought, added, ‘Everything but me.’

It was a disquieting remark, which played on William’s mind.

They walked in silence for a while. Then, wanting to make conversation, he said, ‘I’ve grown very fond of your brother.’

She smiled, ‘I adore him, I could not live without him.’

‘He speaks well of you.’

‘He loves me too much – but then I love
him
too much. Sometimes it leaves no room for anyone else. It has always been that way.’

‘Do you work?’ William changed the subject.

She frowned. ‘Has he not told you about me?’

‘How do you mean?’

She gave a soft laugh. ‘He obviously hasn’t, or you wouldn’t
ask. It’s just that I have a frail constitution. I get very nervous of people. It’s silly, but I get agitated very easily and then . . . I get sick, just a nervous condition, but Justin looks after me, and Marta too. She’s like a mother, we love her.’

Her voice was soft, musical, and there was a childlike innocence about her that took his breath away. William recalled Andrew Maynard’s description of her, and could understand why the young man had been so drawn to these two creatures. The more time William spent with them, the more he, too, fell under their spell.

‘Lunch is served,’ bellowed Justin, from the first-floor balcony, and the moment was broken.

Laura picked at the food with her fingers. Often brother and sister ate from each other’s plates, sometimes popping morsels into each other’s mouths. The conversation revolved around the island: Justin described it all to her in minute detail, and told her how hard he had worked since she last saw it. Then he showed her the magazine articles. Laura watched him intently, and at one point she reached over and used her napkin to wipe the side of his mouth. Marta served coffee, and hot water and lemon to Laura who had refused wine, leaving William and Justin to consume a bottle each. Afterwards Justin jumped up and said he would be waiting for William in fifteen minutes to go waterskiing, and Laura disappeared. Marta materialized and proceeded to stack a large tray with all the plates and glasses.

William pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘This morning, Marta, at breakfast, you were about to say something but stopped when Justin came in.’

‘You must have been mistaken.’

‘I distinctly heard you say something about—’

‘I didn’t say anything.’

As she went out with the tray, William held open the door for her. ‘Laura is very beautiful,’ he said softly, and he saw the look
of sadness in Marta’s face. ‘A rare thing. A very delicate, fragile woman.’

William went to his room to change for the beach, then set off to find Justin. He was waiting in the garden. ‘What did you think of her, then?’ he whispered, his face close to William’s.

‘She’s gorgeous.’

‘Perfection. Lovely firm natural tits, big pink nipples, and her pussy is like a silk purse.’

William pulled away from him. ‘For Christ’s sake, Justin, she’s your sister!’

‘Oh, God,’ Justin sneered, ‘don’t be such a prude. She’s an experienced woman. She knows what’s going to be needed of her. Like I said, she’s going to be the bait. You telling me any man would turn her down? She may not be every man’s trip, but let me tell you, if they fuck her, they always go back for more. Laura is an adulteress with more tricks than—’

‘Stop it!’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I don’t think you should talk about her in that way.’

‘You see? She’s got you hooked.’ He laughed. ‘Imagine fucking her, William. See the swan turn into a demon. She’ll have every man on that island, every woman and child eating out of the palm of her tiny innocent hand. And she can bite, you know, and draw blood like no other woman.’

William refused to listen. He hated Justin when he talked like a pimp. But he was angry with himself too – because he couldn’t stop thinking of her asleep, naked, her perfect thighs, her breasts, and it made him feel ashamed.

‘Maybe you should try out the goods, huh?’ Justin said, hopping into a jeep parked outside.

‘Why don’t you shut your foul mouth before I put my fist in it?’

Justin started up the engine as William got in. ‘Anything you say. You’re holding the purse strings. I don’t suppose she’s told you how much she wants yet, has she?’ William refused to
answer. ‘Well, you can discuss it tonight, but her services don’t come cheap.’