Sleeping Cruelty

Chapter thirteen

William stared out of the window. The heavy rain and dark grey skies made visibility so poor that he couldn’t even see the end of his walled garden. It had been lashing down all night and, with the trauma of yesterday, sleep had been impossible. When Michael arrived at nine William gave him strict instructions that if any press phoned he was to say he knew nothing and that William was out of the country. He was explaining that Charlie and Justin were both still asleep upstairs, when Charlie strolled in. ‘Hi there, Dad.’

‘I need to speak to you for a few minutes, Charlie.’ They went into the drawing room. ‘I will take you to the island and I’m very glad that you’ve met Justin but—’

Charlie groaned. ‘I knew there’d be a but.’

‘But you’ve really got to get straightened out first. Now, you’ll have to go back to this clinic and don’t give me this bullshit about weekend leave. It’s mid-week. Do you think I’m stupid?’

‘The place is full of wankers.’

‘You liked them last week.’

‘Yeah, but I’ve never been into all that therapy stuff and the group-leaders are full of shit. They were addicts themselves and all they ever talk about is their old scene.’

Justin was standing in the doorway. ‘There’s a great place you’d really like in Minnesota,’ he said. ‘It’s where all the super-stars go. I’m sure your dad can pull a few strings.’

William spun round. Justin was grinning at Charlie.

‘Minnesota, America? Wow! Yeah, I’d give that a go. Yeah, that’s cool, I’ve heard of that place,’ Charlie said enthusiastically.

‘So that’s that settled,’ Justin concluded. ‘Now, for God’s sake, can we have some breakfast?’

William gripped Justin’s elbow and drew him aside. ‘Stay clear of my son, Justin. Do you understand me? You stay away from him.’

‘Yes, sir. Now can we have breakfast?’

By three thirty Michael had arranged a five-month stay for Charlie in the high-powered American clinic, the finest rehabilitation clinic in the world. As Justin had said, a queue of movie stars and ex-presidents’ wives were waiting to be dried out and the cure rate was amazing. Charlie was frightened. It had all happened so quickly, but he agreed to leave England immediately.

The three arrived at Heathrow in good time for Charlie’s flight. Justin and William waved him through the gate, then walked back to the car-park.

‘Justin, if you’d like me to drop you off somewhere... I’ve been trying to contact my ex-wife all day to give her the news about the kids, but I can’t rouse her. As we’re on the motorway here, it wouldn’t take me long to whizz up to her place. But I don’t want to bore you.’

Justin put his arm round William’s shoulder. ‘What else would I do? Sit in front of the TV?’ He clicked the remote control to open the car. ‘Think of me as your chauffeur today. We can chat, listen to music. It’s a good system you’ve got here.’ Justin sat in the driver’s seat and buckled up. ‘So, William, fire away with the directions and off we go.’

It was dark when the car rolled up the drive of Katherine’s Buckinghamshire home, splashed through the pot-holes, and drew up outside the porch.

‘You wait here, I won’t be long,’ said William, and climbed out of the car. In the semi-darkness the house looked run-down. William noticed broken panes of glass in the stained-glass door. ‘Katherine?’ he called, as he opened it. ‘Katherine.’

He made his way first to the kitchen, which was a shambolic mess of dirty cutlery and blackened, greasy pans. ‘Katherine!’ he called again, as he walked towards the drawing room.

The door was ajar, the room a mess, the fire burned out in the grate. He was worried.

He made his way slowly up the creaking staircase. Even though he presumed she would be in the old master bedroom, he glanced into his children’s rooms. Charlie’s was still full of cricket bats and skateboards. Sabrina’s was papered with Spice Girls posters and there was an array of Barbie dolls. The spare room was dusty, unused and cold. He realized that the whole house was damp, and when he felt one of the radiators on the landing, it was cold. He sighed. The stupid woman hadn’t turned on the heating — in this weather. The master bedroom door was ajar and he could hear the soft sounds of a radio turned down low. Again he called his wife’s name.

She lay on her side, with a cashmere shawl draped around her shoulders. An empty sherry bottle lay on the floor beside the bed and a half-full one sat on the bedside cabinet amongst numerous sticky glasses. As he drew nearer William knew, from her grey complexion, that she was dead. The lamp gave a soft pink light through the frilly lampshade over her peaceful face. The remains of the sleeping tablets she had taken were spilled over the rose-pink satin-covered duvet. William checked her pulse, but her wrist was cold. Her eyes, half open, were glazed in an expressionless stare. A white envelope was propped against a silver racing trophy on the mantelpiece. William ran his finger beneath the flap, which opened easily. ‘To whoever reads this: I am very tired, and not very well. So I have decided to go without bothering anyone, in particular my husband. I have made a mess of a lot of things, so forgive me. That’s all really. Katherine.’

The next morning Michael arrived. He, too, was shocked at the state of the house, but said nothing. He offered his condolences and began to sift through the papers and outstanding bills littering Katherine’s bureau.

‘I’ll have to get Charlie back, and he’ll have only just arrived,’ said William. ‘Damn her timing. And Sabrina. I’ll go round this afternoon, when I’m through here.’

‘You’d better have a look at this, sir,’ Michael said, passing over a thick file of accounts. ‘They were in the locked drawer at the bottom of the bureau.’

William looked down at the files. ‘Jesus! I don’t believe it!’ he said, under his breath, turning over page after page. Then he tossed the papers aside. ‘We’re leaving now.’

He went outside and leaped into the car.

‘What’s going down?’ asked Justin, as William switched on the engine and drove away.

‘Katherine has robbed the kids’ trust funds, and most of the money I ploughed into them went into her fucking cousin Cedric’s stables. I mean, it’s one thing that she got herself into debt to the tune of two million, but she’s been keeping that bastard going with my children’s money!’ He was shouting.

‘William,’ Justin said calmly, ‘you have the island. Everything is in place. We’ll get the son-of-a-bitch,’ he said firmly. ‘Remember, you have only to say the word and we start the Paradise Trap.’

‘For Chrissake, shut up about it!’

Justin knew he had to keep his mouth shut. Often old Willy surprised him: he had quite a temper on him.

The funeral arrangements were taken over by Katherine’s depleted family. The service was conducted in the private chapel of what had once been the Hangerford ancestral home, long since sold to the National Trust to cover debts. The coffin was bedecked with floral tributes and the chapel almost full. Even Lord Bellingham and his wife were there. Just before Katherine was carried up the aisle, Sabrina made her entrance. She was wearing a floppy straw hat with a large poppy attached, clogs and a long print dress with a big black overcoat on top. She clutched Jacob’s hand, who, William was sure, was wearing exactly the same clothes as when he had seen him. The pair walked down the aisle with their heads held high.

The luncheon afterwards was tedious and rather embarrassing. The old hall, opened for the occasion, was freezing. The food was appalling and the wine no more than plonk.

‘Great nosh,’ said Cedric, piling his plate high. At one time he had been handsome; now he looked seedy, overweight and nervous. William watched as he smothered butter over his roll, crunched into it and spat breadcrumbs as he spoke. ‘Shame about Katherine, what?’

‘Poor woman was driven into a corner, wouldn’t you say, Cedric?’

Cedric looked up, a smear of mayonnaise on his chin. ‘So you admit it?’ he said. William was taken aback. ‘Oh, yes, you and your shady life,’ spluttered Cedric. ‘It was always clear to us she’d made a mistake marrying you. Marrying money’s all very well, but...’ He dived down to the table and spooned more potato salad on to his paper plate. ‘Mind you, funny that with all your millions you couldn’t keep her in the manner to which she was accustomed. Pity you couldn’t have been more like me. I’m very protective of my wife and young Clarissa.’

William looked him in the eye. ‘It’s just other people’s families you steal from? Is that it, Cedric?’ The other man returned his stare, wide-eyed. ‘Maybe you haven’t actually calculated just how much you sponged off Katherine, but in case you are not aware of it, I have it all in black and white.’

‘You feeling all right?’ Cedric enquired. ‘Maybe all those high jinks addled your brain.’

‘I could take it to the police, of course. To fund your bloody stables and to support her gambling, Katherine embezzled her own kids’ trust funds.’

‘Not a police matter, you’ll find. She was family.’

‘Family? You piece of shit. I’ve seen the letters she wrote, begging you to repay her because she was scared she’d get into trouble. She was stealing money I’d provided for my children’s future.’

Cedric shrugged. ‘Well, you’ve plenty more.’ He pointed his white plastic fork at William. ‘Matter of fact, I was going to ask you whether you’d like to invest in a little filly I’ve got my eye on.’

William threw back his head and laughed. The man’s gall was beyond belief. ‘You ever heard the expression “payback time”? I instructed my lawyers to contact you about returning loans dating back to—’

‘Payback? I don’t know what you’re getting at, old boy.’ Cedric was concentrating on recharging his fork with a dollop of Coronation Chicken.

‘You are in financial shit, Cedric. By payback I mean cough up what you owe. And another meaning of that expression is to do with getting you back for being a thieving two-faced bastard!’ William strode across the hall and, nodding at his children and Jacob, indicated that he was leaving. He waited at the door while they all made their excuses.

Cedric’s daughter, Clarissa, sidled up to William. ‘Uncle William,’ she simpered, ‘I’m coming up to my last term at school, and I was wondering whether you could find me a place in your office or whatever it is...’ She gave him a winsome smile.

‘What are your qualifications?’ he said.

‘Oh, I haven’t any. I just need something to tide me over for a while.’

‘Or somewhere to sit and file your nails while you get paid for it?’ said William.

Clarissa giggled. ‘Well... Daddy said you wouldn’t mind.’

‘Did he indeed? Well, dear, get some qualifications. If a job comes up and you’re better than the other applicants, I’ll think about it.’

Clarissa stared and reddened. ‘Daddy and Mummy were right. You are a pig.’

William strode out to the car and climbed in, breathing deeply to regain calm.

He was exhausted that night but, yet again, couldn’t sleep. It had been one hell of a day. Cedric and his wretched daughter’s remarks at the funeral had put the tin lid on it. What had he got to lose? Justin had gone back to Paris, but the more William tossed and turned, the more he thought about him and about all the vicious backstabbing. His mind drifted back to the day he had discovered Maynard’s body, and all that had happened since then. He would like to put them all through the same torment they had inflicted on him. Then it dawned on him that that was exactly what Justin had described. My God! He’d like to see that bastard Cedric caught on camera with more than his pants down. Only now did William see the funny side of it. He reached for the phone, but then realized the time. He lay back on his pillows and laughed.

As though by divine intuition, Justin phoned the following morning. His timing was perfect, as always. ‘I’m on the four o’clock train,’ he yelled down the Gare du Nord pay-phone. ‘I’ll be with you in a few hours.’

‘I’ll pick you up at Waterloo.’

‘Let’s get the invitations out today,’ William said as they drove away from the station.

Justin laughed. ‘Sure, why not?’

William leaned forward and opened the glove compartment. ‘I’ve made out a new list, short and sweet.’

Justin unfolded it. He glanced down it, then closed his eyes in relief. Humphrey Matlock’s name was at the top of the list, followed by the Hangerford family. Then came Baron and Baroness von Garten, Meryl Delaware and a few others he hadn’t heard of.

Justin looked at William and shook his head. ‘Too many. Do you really need to bother with that wretched Delaware woman? She’s a raddled old cow, not worth the effort.’

‘She was one of the gossipmongers sniffing around poor Maynard. I’d like to see her squirm.’

‘Fair enough, but just get her sacked. She’s not worth any more trouble than that.’

‘Scratch her off, then.’

‘The von Gartens have a son.’ Justin giggled. ‘Maybe invite him along. He’ll be company for Matlock’s boy.’ Justin stared out of the window. ‘No drug clinic for him, not like your poor Charlie. This kid’s a real golden boy. Athletics, tennis, does the lot.’

‘Invite him, then,’ said William, recalling the boy’s shares in his father’s company.

‘Good, it’ll look better. The kids can have a holiday of a lifetime... whilst your Charlie’s in a rehab clinic and your daughter...’ Justin had to think this one out carefully, get the balance right. He wanted to rub it in, but he didn’t want to go too far. ‘I’d say your public humiliation made Sabrina throw away her career. Son-in-law’s perhaps acceptable, but—’

‘I don’t mind that she’s with Jacob,’ William snapped, flushing.

‘But you have to care that she’s only sixteen, for Christ’s sake. She’s a clever kid, isn’t she?’

‘Yes,’ William said. His lips tightened and his anger against his dead wife resurfaced. It wasn’t just the divorce, the refusal to allow him access to his children, it was so much more, culminating in the loss of their respect and love, not to mention their trust funds. ‘Yes, we include their kids,’ he said coldly.

Justin smiled. He and Laura would quite enjoy the boys for starters, especially Matlock’s son.

‘So, it’s Matlock, his wife Angela and son, Baron von Garten, his wife and son, and the Hangerfords. Nine is a nice easy number to control. You don’t want to get too ambitious.’

They drove in silence for a moment before William laughed. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing them all arrive on the island. Let’s just hope they accept.’

‘They will,’ Justin said, and even placed a fifty-pound bet on who would reply first.

But William shook his head. ‘No, I won’t play around, not any more, Justin. This is too important. If we don’t hear within a week or so, we’ll get Michael to make a personal call on my behalf. Fuck it, I’ll make the calls myself, better that way.’

‘If you have to,’ Justin said, and suggested that, if need be, William could renew his friendship with Angela Matlock, just to ensure an acceptance. ‘After all, it’s a very special Paradise—’

‘Trap,’ William said.

First to reply was the ‘horse thief ’, as Justin had nicknamed Cedric. He was soon followed by Baron and Baroness von Garten’s acceptance, but the Matlocks did not reply, and William, to Justin’s frustration, flatly refused to make personal contact with Angela. ‘You just remember who’s running the bloody show,’ he said. ‘I do not want to contact Angela fucking Matlock. You get him there, or get that bloody Sylvina to help. Just get Matlock on to the island.’

‘If you want Matlock, you shall have him.’

The truth was, Justin was at a loss as to how to handle Matlock’s lack of interest. He never replied to an invitation and he was impossible to get to. He was an obsessively private man whose only interest apart from making money was fishing.

Strangely enough it was an article published in one of his own newspapers that gave them Humphrey Matlock. Meryl Delaware lunched with Justin at the Ivy and Justin leaked to her there, in confidential tones, the names of the guests who were to stay at the spectacular island. On pain of death, she must not mention Sir William Benedict’s name, he said. Neither should she mention that the Prime Minister and his wife had been invited. So was... Justin leaned close to her ear, and whispered.

‘No, that can’t be true. Are you kidding? But he’s Matlock’s biggest rival. Are you sure?’

Justin grinned and rubbed together finger and thumb. ‘Money, my darling. He’s switching parties, so rumour has it, and with wealth like that...’

Meryl Delaware had a scoop she had to handle carefully. But that blond boy couldn’t be trusted and printing even the smallest hint about the ‘Big White Chief ’ might have dire repercussions for her waning career. At five she decided to call his PR woman, who she detested but lunched with. Perhaps now all those lunch bills she had met would start to pay off...

Elaine Dunn’s crisp voice was eventually on the line. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Meryl, but the Chief’s in today. What can I do for you?’

Meryl dragged on her cigarette. ‘Actually Elaine darling, it’s about your numero uno. I’ve heard a rumour and I just wanted you to verify it.’

‘Well, you know, Meryl, if there’s anything—’

‘It’s just an enquiry, Elaine. I don’t want to know who he’s shafting! It’s just — can you tell me if it’s true that he’s a guest with the Prime Minister on Sir William Benedict’s island this Christmas?’

There was a pause then Elaine’s voice lowered. ‘I don’t think so. I know he received an invitation but I’m sure he turned it down. For God’s sake don’t print that.’

‘Oh, I won’t, of course I won’t. I just wanted to check out the truth of the story. Both Matlock and his bête noire have been invited, you see. Do you know anything at all?’

‘No more than I’ve just told you and now I really have to go — we must have lunch.’

‘Yes, we must,’ Meryl said, as the phone went dead. She drained her glass and lit another cigarette. ‘Lying little shit.’ She thought of Justin. Still, she’d had a free lunch.

Elaine, however, wrote a memo and passed it to Matlock’s private secretary: the note said she had it on reliable information that the Prime Minister was to join a party on the most exclusive Caribbean island for Christmas. The other guest rumoured also to have been invited was Matlock’s biggest competitor.

Meryl Delaware had played right into Justin’s hands: there was no way Matlock would walk away from an invitation of this calibre. But she had slightly overplayed her relationship with Elaine. After Elaine discovered that Matlock had accepted the invitation, she was warned that he wanted his privacy guarded and required the source of the rumour about his vacation. Elaine was asked to speak to him personally. ‘The woman really is a bit of a lush nowadays, sir. I have no idea how she came to know about the guest-lists, but I’ll make sure it’s never printed.’

‘That has already been taken care of, but thank you for your diligence. It is greatly appreciated.’

Elaine sighed with relief. Matlock never appeared to acknowledge Meryl Delaware, or Elaine’s indiscretion in speaking with her, but the cryptic message that went round to all editors and magazines was that Matlock’s organization no longer required the services of gossip-columnist Meryl Delaware.

Later that evening, as Justin made arrangements for their departure to the island, William was in his study, sifting through documents that required his signature. He was pleased to note that the case against the Baron was now moving forward swiftly. Perhaps that was why the stuck-up bastard had accepted the invitation.

Then his mood swung to a darker place. He had found an envelope from the Metropolitan Police. It contained a short note of sympathy and enclosed Andrew Maynard’s suicide note in a plastic cover. William sat staring at the waterstained note with the blurred writing. Then he opened a drawer and searched through it until he found an old memo from Maynard. He compared the two pieces of writing. Obviously the police must have checked that it was authentic but to William something was wrong. He took into consideration that Maynard must have been drunk and drugged, so perhaps his scrawling, looped hand would appear different.

William delved around in his desk and withdrew more letters. In one, written to him on thin airmail paper, Andrew had signed off ‘Longing to return to work’. It was the word ‘longing’ that did not match the suicide note. The letter ‘L’ was looped on the note but Maynard’s Ls were straighter. He chewed his lip.

The office door banged open and Justin appeared. ‘Right, we’re all set. We leave early in the morning, first flight out.’

William looked up, covering his papers.

‘Did you hear what I just said?’

‘Yes, yes, just clearing my desk, join you in a moment.’

Justin closed the door and William sat for a few moments longer. He knew that Justin had been the main beneficiary in Andrew’s will, but that had been a mere few thousand. What was he thinking of? He gathered up his papers, replaced them in the drawer and joined Justin in the drawing room.