Sleeping Cruelty

Chapter nine

It 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.

‘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.’

‘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.