Sleeping Cruelty (9 page)

But as the chilled avocado and mint soup was served, the conversation became stilted. The other guests were talking under their breath about the von Gartens’ exit or William’s tabloid
exploits. Aware of the awful silences around the table, Sylvina told Marta to bring in a very special wine she had been saving for such an occasion. Her energy and charm immediately lifted the atmosphere, and Marta bustled off down to the wine cellar. She wasn’t sure what bottle of wine Sylvina was talking about but she scoured the shelves and selected a Château Margaux ’78. Leaving the cobwebs and thick layer of dust behind, she hurried back to the dining room and passed Sylvina the dusty bottle. ‘Marta! The cobwebs! You know I hate spiders.’ She rose to her feet and raised her arms above her head. ‘Never mind, at least we know it’s authentic. Now, dear, please decant it and let it stand. We are all eager to taste it.’

Marta left the dining room and immediately replaced the bottle with a vastly inferior one. She decanted it, as instructed, into a Victorian cut-glass decanter, which was taken to the table by one of the waiters. Sylvina had often laid wagers with her as to who would detect a first growth from a simple Médoc. She looked around at her dinner guests as they peered and sipped at the wine and discussed its attributes. William picked up his glass and turned to face her. ‘This really is so very kind of you,’ he said, and obviously meant every word.

‘It is my pleasure,’ she said huskily. She had to wriggle in her chair because the thought of his money made her feel orgasmic.

‘To our mutual friend, Justin Chalmers.’

They sipped their wine and smiled. When she asked him what he thought of it he held the stem of the glass loosely in his fingers. ‘Not too heavy or fruity, quite light for a Pomero.’

William reached for his water. The wine was ghastly. If he had ordered it in a restaurant, he would have sent it back. He felt unable to bring up the subject of Justin himself, and hoped someone else would do so, but the conversation remained on the quality of the wine. It amused him to see them sipping and nodding.

Sylvina leaned closer to him. ‘I’ve even started making my own cobwebs – you know, from that stuff they squirt over you
at kiddies’ parties. It’s cheap plonk, but you knew that. I could tell from your face.’

He smiled, pleased, then leaned closer to her. ‘No one else seems to.’

‘Even if they did, dahling, they wouldn’t say so just in case they were wrong.’

‘Are you expecting Justin for the summer?’ Terence Hampton enquired, after enthusing loudly about the wine.

Sylvina shrugged. ‘Well, it is his villa, but you know Justin. I hear he’s in Europe, so perhaps he will appear at some point, unless . . .’ She turned pointedly to William. ‘What do you know of our Scarlet Pimpernel, William?’

‘They seek me here, they seek me there.’ Between the arched oak dining-room doors stood Justin Chalmers, his shadow from the flickering candlelight falling across the table. He was as blond as William remembered, but his hair was short now, almost in a crew-cut. He was deeply tanned and wore a black T-shirt with one sleeve almost ripped from the seam, a pair of tight black leather trousers and black motorcycle boots. He had a row of fine gold bracelets around his wrist and a slender gold watch. He shook the bracelets in a theatrical gesture then yawned. ‘Eat up, and excuse the interruption. I need to bath and shave before I join you.’

William felt apprehensive. He had only ever met the man once, and then it was to tell him to get out of England. Now, driven by loneliness and relentless curiosity, he had blustered his way into his villa, having lied to the Countess. To his astonishment, Justin gave him a dazzling smile. ‘How nice to see you, Sir William. Quite a surprise.’ Then he turned and walked back into the hall calling over his shoulder, ‘Don’t let me interrupt your dinner further.’ He caught Marta as she was about to wheel in the trolley with the main course, cupped her chin and kissed her lips. ‘Who’s a good girl?’ he said.

‘I thought you’d want to know. I think he invited himself,’ Marta said, then asked hesitantly, ‘How is she?’

He twisted his gold bracelets and his eyes brimmed with tears. ‘She’s going to be fine, but it’ll take a while longer.’

‘She’ll be coming home then?’

He nodded, and said caressingly, ‘Yes, our beautiful lily will be home, but you know how these clinics like to take their time and my money. They said she simply needed rest. She’s doing some new therapy with crystals, and she sounds much better. It wasn’t such a bad one apparently, but I like to be careful.’

Marta touched his hand gently. ‘You know I am always here for her.’

He started for the stairs. ‘I’d better get showered. Oh, is the fat man staying or is he just here for dinner?’

‘Just dinner,’ Marta said, as she wheeled the trolley towards the dining room. Two waiters came out to take it from her, and both looked to the stairs. Justin always had an effect on young men: the aura of danger that hung about him acted like a magnet.

Justin stood beneath the shower jets, eyes tightly closed, and pondered. Why was Sir William Benedict sitting at dinner? What did he want? What did he know? Or maybe it was all going according to plan. Maybe he was ripe for the picking already. Justin sighed. He knew he would find out sooner or later. And Sir William could not have appeared at a better time: Justin was broke again but downstairs, sitting at his dining-room table, was the man who had financed the reconstruction of this villa and paid off his debts. Justin spent money like water, and the cash William had given him was gone. He reached for a soft white towel and wrapped himself in it from head to toe. He was not sure yet how he could use his golden goose. The plan only formed later when everyone except William had departed.

William had drunk too much, and the combination of alcohol and anti-depressant pills had made him red-faced, sweaty, and unable to stand unaided. Every time he rose, the room spun and he felt ill. Justin helped him to his feet, and they went out on to
the balcony into the cool night air, which made his head spin even more. He almost fell, but Justin caught him, guided him to a chair and went to brew some coffee. Marta had gone to bed, as had everyone else at the villa, and they were alone.

William tried desperately to sober up. With his head in his hands, he took deep breaths and tried to concentrate on his own shoes. He felt wretched. When Justin returned, he placed the steaming mugs on a low table then went to stand behind William’s chair and began to massage his shoulders.

‘I’m sorry about this,’ William said hoarsely. The strong hands were soothing.

‘Don’t worry about it. Just relax. You’re very tense – your shoulders are rigid.’

Justin leaned over to the table, and passed William his coffee. ‘This’ll make you feel better, and maybe you should take a couple of these. They’re just aspirin, but they’ll stave off the hangover.’

‘Thank you,’ William said. ‘I’m sorry to have just turned up on your doorstep like this. To be honest, I don’t really know why I came.’

‘I’m glad you did. And you’re most welcome to stay over if you would like.’

‘No, no, I must get back.’ There was an awkward silence. William lifted his eyes to Justin’s and flushed as the handsome man smiled. It was extraordinary, he thought. Even though Justin was in his early thirties he had the look of a well-scrubbed youth. ‘I think I’m very tired,’ he said lamely.

‘You must have been through a lot,’ Justin said, sitting opposite.

‘That’s putting it mildly!’ William leaned back and gazed over the garden so that he would not have to look at Justin, whose handsomeness unnerved him. ‘I just needed to get away to try to recharge my batteries. I’ve made a fool of myself.’

‘It’s understandable. Anyone would feel the same.’ Justin lit a cigarette, watching him with lizard-like attention.

‘Can’t show my face anywhere in London without being ridiculed. Not that I’m asked anywhere any more. I’m like some kind of plague. The people I thought were my friends have turned their backs on me, scared to be tarred with the same brush, I suppose. Dear God, I’m normally so in control of my life.’

‘Why don’t you do something about it?’

William sighed and drained his coffee mug. ‘That’s why I feel so wretched. The Baron and his wife walked out before dinner rather than sit at a table with me. So, in answer to your question, what the hell can I do about it?’

‘Well, instead of accepting it and weeping into your cup, so to speak, turn it round.’

William rose to his feet. He felt steadier now. ‘Oh, I dare say it’ll all blow over. At least my wealth is still intact. It’d be much worse if I’d lost that as well as my respectability.’ He chuckled a little.

‘It would be nice though, wouldn’t it, to make all those two-faced society cunts eat their own shit?’

William stared at him, a little shocked by his language and his icy tone. ‘Yeah, but well, my lawyers warned me the best thing to do was ignore it, and it’ll blow over.’

‘But it would be nice to lead them by the nose and rub it in the trash they’ve written about you. You see, Sir William, you made the biggest mistake of all. You got caught.’

‘Caught? The only thing I did wrong was trust Andrew Maynard,’ William snapped. ‘He was probably scared that his private life was about to come out. But what a terrible waste to kill himself!’

‘Yes, maybe, but you shouldn’t have tried to cover up for him.’

‘I think that’s enough.’ William had regained some of his decorum. ‘I should be on my way.’

Justin stood up and moved closer to him. ‘You could get back at them, you know. You just need the right connections.’

‘And you have them, do you?’ William said, with some sarcasm.

Justin moved closer still, and patted his shoulder. ‘I have them, Sir William, and I’ll tell you something else. If you just swallow the situation, wealth intact or no, you’ll hate yourself for the rest of your life.’ Justin’s voice was soft and persuasive, and he had the most hypnotic eyes William had ever seen. It was impossible to look away from him, even if what he went on to say was rather insulting. ‘Regaining your social acceptance can be arranged. It’s easily bought. But that should not be enough for a man of your standing. You want to regain the respect of others because, right now, you don’t have any. I don’t think you even have any for yourself. They’ve beaten you into running away, which is why you came here. Correct?’

‘You’re very intuitive.’ William was more and more intrigued by the young man, but not yet prepared to discuss his situation in any greater depth, especially not with Andrew Maynard’s ex-lover. But he sat down again.

It was then that Justin knew he had been right. He had an immensely rich fish on the end of his line, and the next few moments would be crucial in making him take the bait, and swallow it so that the hook lodged firmly in place. He must not wriggle free. Justin wondered how many more photographs of Andrew Maynard he could leak to keep it an ongoing front-pager.

‘So, Mr Chalmers, if you were in my position – and pray God that you never will be – what would you do?’

Justin smiled. He’d got him. ‘Pay every one of the bastards back twofold. Only then would I feel capable of getting on with my life. I wouldn’t let anyone get away with treating me like a buffoon!’

By William’s reaction, Justin knew that Maynard’s nickname had hit him like a dart. William leaned forward. ‘So what would you do?’

Justin looked deep into William’s eyes. ‘You own an island, don’t you?’

‘I do.’

‘Then that is where you will lay the trap.’ He laughed, throwing his head back and clapping his hands. Once more he became serious. A slender finger tapped William’s knee. ‘I have an idea. It’ll take a long time, but you will need that time to get ready, and I can guarantee that it will work. But you must be prepared to arrange it, down to the smallest detail. Then you can step in for the kill.’

‘I don’t want to kill anyone, for Christ’s sake,’ William squeaked.

‘Hypothetically you do, but if you won’t admit it, then forget it.’

‘Okay, carry on, I’m all ears.’

Justin lay back in his chair and closed his eyes. The flickering candles played across his beautiful face. Then his eyes opened and William recalled what he had read in Maynard’s diary about a darkness, both frightening and exhilarating. Now he felt it. His stomach churned and the bile of his humiliation subsided as he felt excitement rise. ‘Go on,’ he said softly.

Chapter Six

S
ylvina carried her coffee and rolls out to the pool where Justin was swimming. He didn’t acknowledge her until he had completed twenty lengths, then he stopped, resting his elbows on the edge of the pool. ‘I have a brilliant idea,’ he announced.

She slid on her sunglasses, and poured coffee as he heaved himself out, splashing water everywhere, then padded towards the sun-lounger next to hers.

‘Go on, ask me what it is.’ He picked up her roll, bit into it, then reached for her coffee.

‘You always do this.’ She was irritated. ‘Why don’t you ever ask if you can eat my breakfast? Better still, get your own.’

‘You, my darling, will have a retinue of servants to bring yours in the future.’

‘Really? Won the lottery, have you?’ She picked up the pool telephone and asked Marta for more coffee and rolls. Justin was towelling himself dry. He was obviously pleased with himself about something.

He flopped down on a sun-lounger. ‘This is how it’s going to work.’ She sat next to him as he smothered himself in her suntan lotion. ‘You’re going to get engaged to William.’ He gave her a wide grin.

‘Really? And is he aware of this development?’

‘No, but he’ll be thinking about it. I’ll get him to come by this evening so we can arrange it.’

‘Really? Well, that is fascinating. What if I’m not interested in attaching myself to him and, more to the point, what if he’s not inclined to attach himself to me? I’m not going to open my legs for him. I’ve refused a lot better and—’

‘Not that much richer,’ he interrupted, then lay back to sun himself. ‘This is the way it will work. You will get engaged and start to iron out his social ineptitude. You will become the society hostess of the season: parties, balls, the works. You will begin to entertain on such a lavish scale that anyone refusing to be associated with William will be won around. With your contacts and mine we’ll make them cream themselves to get close to him!’

She laughed, leaned over and rubbed his flat muscular stomach. ‘You’re such a dreamer, darling.’

He swiped her hand away. ‘This is
not
a dream! We can make it a reality.’

She shrugged. ‘Fine. I’m riveted. Is there a purpose to all these immensely costly social functions you intend to sweep the world with, or do you just fancy dressing up?’

‘I swear to you, he’ll pay you for the privilege of your company.’

‘Sounds very Mills and Boon to me, sweetheart, but do go on.’

Justin began to pace, skipping between the cracks in the marble tiles. ‘Payback time. You will be his reintroduction into the world he has always wanted to be part of. He could never get there on his own and needs you to get inside the inner sanctum. Once he’s there . . .’ He gave a shrill, almost hysterical laugh.

Sylvina couldn’t follow what he was talking about and Justin was interrupted by Marta’s arrival.

‘I’ll go and shower,’ Justin said suddenly, sunbathing forgotten. ‘We’ll ask for a million in cash, all expenses on top of that, a new wardrobe, a car, anything you can think of to enhance
your performance as the most beautiful, eligible and sophisticated society hostess.’ He was still chattering to himself and, as he disappeared, she could hear him laughing at his own fantasy.

‘He’s crazy,’ Sylvina said. Then, ‘Do you know when she’s arriving?’

‘I think perhaps tomorrow,’ Marta replied. ‘He has asked for the white linen sheets to be aired, plus her lilies, and that bottled water she prefers.’

Sylvina sighed. ‘I don’t know why he wanted me to house-sit. It looks like he’s going to be here for the summer. He really is annoying.’

Marta said nothing, but cleared away the dirty crockery and headed back into the house.

Sylvina picked at a roll. She was suddenly depressed. She hated being so broke she couldn’t leave here. She’d let her Paris apartment for the summer and her family château was uninhabitable. Even the vineyard that had once flourished was now suffering from blight. She rummaged in her pocket for her cigarettes and lit one. It would be nice to have some of the fat man’s millions. She knew she had borrowed too often and, in so doing, had limited her circle of wealthy friends by exploiting their generosity. But she still had many high-powered contacts. She was still on the invitation list of society’s upper echelon, but of late she had been unable to afford the price of the charity tickets. She stubbed out the cigarette.

‘Is that coffee hot?’ Sharee said, making Sylvina jump.

‘Yes.’ Sylvina closed her eyes.

Sharee, using Sylvina’s cup, poured herself a splash, sipped, then filled the cup. ‘You were miles away,’ she said, sitting down on Justin’s vacated sun-lounger and squinting up at the sun. ‘It’ll be a boiler of a day. We going to the beach? Are you listening?’

Sylvina looked over her dark glasses at Sharee. ‘Justin’s got this crazy idea.’

‘Hasn’t he always?’ Sharee said, concentrating on a few leg hairs that had been missed during waxing.

‘It’s about William Benedict.’

Sharee took out a pair of tweezers and began to pluck out the stray hairs with relish. ‘What would you think if I got engaged to him, for money? I mean, we wouldn’t fuck, it’d be a business arrangement for me to introduce him into society.’

Sharee’s head was bent low over her left leg. ‘Well, he’s not exactly a teenager, is he? I thought only debs and young guys got into that society thing. He’s gotta be fifty if not more.’

‘If it’s what he wants.’

‘Is it?’

‘I don’t know.’

Sharee laughed. ‘You know, sometimes I think you’re as bad as Justin. He’s nuts!’ She looked up. ‘Maybe
I
should offer. I mean, I’m younger than you and if he’s got that amount of money to throw around, I’d get engaged to him. I’d even fuck him if it made him happy.’

‘You’ve missed the point,’ Sylvina snapped.

‘Oh, yeah, so what is it?’

‘I am a countess. I know everyone one needs to know. I am socially accepted, sweetheart.’

‘Who you kidding? You’ve not got two cents to scratch yourself with, and I wouldn’t say the Eurotrash I’ve met with you are exactly the top social order. You’re not exactly mixing with King Thingy of Spain!’

‘I was invited to his son’s wedding,’ Sylvina said.

‘Oh, were you?’ Sharee laughed.

Sylvina became increasingly angry. ‘Yes, I was, and the
Eurotrash
you have met are about the only people I could introduce you to as, quite honestly, you and your appearance leave a lot to be desired. Looking like a shop assistant is not exactly—’

Sharee hit her so hard she fell off the sunbed. ‘This shop assistant, you bull-dyke, hates your fucking guts, and unless you apologize I’m walking right out of this fucking Mickey Mouse villa.’

Sylvina lay stunned on the marble tiles as Sharee got up and
stood over her. ‘Apologize or I’ll kick you.’ She glared down at Sylvina.

‘Go on. Kick me.’

‘You’re sick, you know that? Sick, perverted and
old
.’ Sharee bent down and began to drag Sylvina by her leg towards the pool. Sylvina struggled and wriggled as the skin on her thigh was scraped raw.

‘Is this a private party or can anyone join in?’ Standing in the doorway, Justin laughed.

‘Fuck off,’ screamed Sharee.

Justin watched as both women fell into the pool and continued the fight in the water. Eventually they bobbed up, gasping, spluttering and exhausted.

‘Are you going to . . .’ Sharee puffed ‘. . . apologize for calling me a shop assistant?’

‘No,’ Sylvina spat. Sharee hauled herself out of the water, her bikini hanging off.

‘You are not a shop assistant, you are the woman I love more than anyone else in the world.’ Sylvina held out her hand and Sharee took it, helping her out of the pool. They embraced passionately as Justin watched. Sylvina’s soaked robe was torn and he could see her body shape through the thin cotton. Suddenly Sharee ripped it away, dropped to her knees and eased Sylvina’s thighs open and began to part her glistening pubic hair with her tongue. Sylvina gasped. The next moment, Justin had cupped her breasts in his hands and she moaned as he thrust into her from behind, guided by Sharee. They were both intent on Sylvina, thrusting into her and caressing her until she climaxed with such a howl of pleasure it disturbed a flock of white doves, which fluttered up over their heads.

Justin pulled back and zipped up his trousers. ‘Well, that was most pleasant and so unexpected,’ he said, as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘I’ll not be in for lunch. Back around four.’ He moved towards the door.

‘Justin!’ Sylvina called, wrapping a towel around herself.

‘Talk later,’ he said, without turning. ‘William will be here for dinner.’ He paused. ‘I’d say he’ll be hard to move out if you put on a display like that, girls, but please have a little more decorum. Make him wait . . . at least a couple of days.’

‘You mean he’s staying?’ Sylvina asked.

‘Yes – and he jumped at the invitation. We’re to discuss our proposition with him,’ he said, and disappeared from view. Moments later he called Sylvina’s name. She stood up and followed him into the house, leaving Sharee now collapsed on a sun-lounger. ‘One little thing my love. Get rid of the shop assistant. She really does let you down. Make some excuse. I would prefer it if she wasn’t here when I got back.’

‘But, Justin, she thinks she’s here for the summer.’

He sighed with irritation. ‘Tough.’

‘What about your other guest? How do you think she’s going to cope?’

He checked his appearance in the mirror, then his eyes strayed to hers, cold, expressionless. ‘She will be part of it. As I said, sweetie, I have been planning this for months.’

‘But you didn’t even know he was coming here,’ she said.

Justin gave one of his sly crooked smiles. ‘Didn’t I? Well, let’s just say it’s all worked out perfectly, or I’m just lucky.’ Sylvina flinched as he twisted the skin on her forearm until it hurt. ‘So get rid of the slag.’

Sylvina stepped back. ‘I’ll think of something,’ was all she said, and he brushed past her before she could add anything else.

Sylvina showered and changed. She went into Justin’s bedroom. It was tidy, apart from a stack of magazines strewn over the bed. She picked up an old issue of
Vogue
, and turned to where a yellow sticker protruded. It was in the property section, where she found, ringed in red felt-tip pen, an advertisement for an island in the Caribbean, for sale, price on request. She looked over numerous other articles, all referring to William Benedict’s purchase for eight million of a paradise island. Sir William was quoted as saying he intended to refurbish the island, and there
were lists of the designers he had approached. She laughed softly. Perhaps Justin was not as crazy as she had thought. It was obvious now what his intentions were. He wanted the job. And maybe, just maybe, he was going to use her to persuade William to give it to him, for a fee. Well, she’d do whatever she needed to – like Justin, she could smell money dripping from the glossy pages he’d underlined and flagged.

By the time she returned to the pool, Sharee was lying topless, smothered in oil, her big breasts flopping wide across her chest. Her tiny bikini briefs were still untied and she looked, as Justin had said, like a slag.

‘You want to go down to the beach for some lunch?’

Sharee wafted her hand. ‘Nah, I’m knackered. Let’s stay here and flop around.’

‘I’m going. Come on, take a shower. Make yourself look good.’

‘I don’t feel like it.’

‘Terence Hampton just called, he’s getting a party going. The producer of
Babylon Baby
will be there, with a whole bunch of actors. They’re looking for locations.’

Sharee sat up and stretched. ‘In that case . . .’ She laughed ‘. . . will you gimme one of those tiger-motif sarongs to wear and those big mules with the white tie strap?’

‘Sure. Have anything you want, but don’t be too long. I’ve ordered a taxi.’

‘Okay.’ Sharee breezed past, catching her hand. ‘You look real classy, Countess.’

Sharee had not the slightest idea that she was about to be persuaded to leave. Her lover might care for her, but she loved money more.

The private beach area had a small but elegantly styled Moorish marquee, in which tables had been set. The champagne was on ice and plates of fresh shellfish laid out. A guitarist was playing bossanovas. In the evening, there would be a disco and the party
would continue until dawn. Sylvina arrived neither too early nor too late: she timed it so that she was seen by the optimum number of guests, and could do the rounds of cheek-kissing and introductions. Today’s guests were mixed, mainly actors and actresses, a few producers and studio executives. It was rent-a-crowd time. The guest-list had been compiled by Meryl Delaware, who held court in a flowing white cotton kaftan with platform shoes, Armani dark glasses, a silk scarf tied round her hair and jangling gold bracelets. The outfit successfully disguised her squat body.

‘Darling, that was a lovely dinner party,’ she cooed to Sylvina. ‘My dear, you do know about that awful Sir William, don’t you? His appearance at any function will clear the room. Ghastly creature. I used to be at school with his ex-wife, Katherine Hangerford. Sweet, sweet woman and such adorable children. It’s just too awful the way he’s dragged them through the gutter press.’

Meryl’s lipstick was already running into the rivulets that had formed around her collagen-boosted lips. Sylvina let her prattle on while she scanned the crowd for Sharee. She managed to catch her eye, and gestured for her to join them. ‘You know Sharee, don’t you, Meryl? I’ve promised to get her an introduction to Bernard Goldberg.’

Meryl smiled bleakly. ‘Such an adorable man.’ She ushered Sharee ahead of her and glanced back to Sylvina, just a flicker to register that she was owed a favour in return for this intro.

Sylvina looked on, as her lover shook hands with the large balding man in a T-shirt, huge baggy shorts and a backwards red baseball cap. At least he had the manners to remove the cigar from his lips as he leaned forward to catch Sharee’s name. He was in a huddle with Terence Hampton, a Brad Pitt lookalike – one of the many dotted around – and one of the Baldwin brothers, no one seemed to know which one.