Sleeping Cruelty

Chapter sixteen

William sat in the Harbour Bar with a large Scotch and water. After leaving the island he had arrived at Tortola only to discover that his flight had been cancelled due to technical problems. Overnight, a heavy mist had fallen and the next flight had been postponed until conditions improved. He wondered how things were going back at the island. He would have liked to call Justin, but knew that that would be childish. Although he himself had instigated his departure, he now had reservations. But he told himself it made sense and, besides, he knew everything would be caught on video.

Lost in his thoughts, he was surprised by a nudge on his shoulder. It was Lady Bellingham. ‘Are you stranded too?’ she asked. ‘I’m trying to see some friends off. They’ve gone to do some last-minute souvenir hunting so I thought I’d come in for a drink. It’s such a bore this hanging around.’

William was unsure whether he should offer to buy her a drink. This was, after all, the longest conversation they had ever had. Boredom must have forced her to approach him.

‘Do you mind?’ She indicated the empty chair at his table. ‘It’s always tricky, a woman alone having a drink in a bar,’ she said, sitting.

William ordered a gin and tonic and they fell into an awkward silence. He was trying to think of something to say when Lady Bellingham remarked, ‘I hear that your son Charlie has gone into rehab. An old schoolfriend of Oliver’s is in Minnesota too, and he wrote to us.’

‘Fingers crossed, he seems to be doing well.’

Another lengthy silence prevailed as she sipped her drink. Then she rattled the ice cubes around her glass nervously. ‘Oliver didn’t have a chance,’ she said, looking down into the glass. ‘His body was pumped full of Ecstasy, heroin, crack — you name it.’ She bit her lower lip. ‘I don’t know where he got it. I know there’s lots of pot around, I take it myself. But we wouldn’t let him have the hard stuff, and we kept him under pretty tight surveillance.’

William recalled the party on the night their son had died. He hadn’t noticed much ‘surveillance’. Lord Bellingham had been stoned out of his head, along with most of the guests.

A tear rolled down her cheek and dropped off her chin. ‘I’m sorry, so sorry to mention it. Let’s change the subject.’ William passed her a handkerchief. ‘I thought you’d sold up, or were about to,’ she said, wiping her face. ‘I’ve read so much about your place. We’re thinking of leaving. You must give me the name of your estate agents. They’re doing a grand job of promoting your island.’

‘Journalists,’ he said, ‘always get the wrong end of the stick. I’m not selling, quite the contrary, I love the place.’ The silence was descending again, but he found something more to say. ‘As a matter of fact I’ve lent my place to Justin Chalmers and his sister Laura while I do some work in London. I’ll just be gone a few days.’

She put her head quizzically to one side. ‘Justin Chalmers?’ she said, and seemed perplexed.

‘Designer,’ said William. ‘Did the place up for me.’

‘Is that the Justin Oliver knew?’ she asked.

William nodded. ‘Charlie talks about Oliver. He was very upset.’

Lady Bellingham put her hand on William’s, blinking back the tears. ‘I can’t talk about it, I’m afraid. If I do I’ll start weeping. It’s been quite horrible, the whole business and, er...’ She swallowed rapidly.

An announcement came over the crackly PA that the weather conditions were clearing and the airport would soon be functioning normally.

‘Oh, Lord,’ cried Lady Bellingham, rising. ‘Must find my chums or they’ll be stuck here! Or, worse, I will!’ She drained her gin and tonic, then gave a brittle smile. ‘Nice talking to you, Sir William. You really must come and join us for dinner some time.’

William was surprised that she had stooped so low as to converse with him, let alone invite him to dine. He, too, downed his drink and walked out on to the quay to get a taxi to drive him the five miles to the airport.

In the lounge, he opened his laptop to discover a welter of e-mails from Michael, requesting he contact London immediately. But he had no time to place a call: the flight was already boarding. The messages worried him. What could be so urgent? Perhaps something had happened to Charlie. He never gave a moment’s thought to the idea that it might just be business: his concern was for his son. At last he was taking on the role of father.

As the flight took off from Tortola, the paradise island was silent: most of the resident guests slept late, apart from Max. He wanted to watch the sun rise and had walked to the highest point of the island with a camera.

Max was in the agony of a schoolboy crush on Clarissa, who had played cards with him and James late into the night after they had arrived. The following day she had not come out of her room and when at last he saw her she averted her face and refused to speak to him. Why?

He walked on briskly because the early morning was still dark and the air chilly. He wondered if he was ever going to lose his virginity. With James around, he doubted if he’d get a look in here. He didn’t particularly like James: he was so competitive and aggressive. He seemed constantly to have to prove himself, whereas Max was more passive. As inexperienced in worldly and sexual matters as he was, he maintained an adult calm and perspective — which was about to be shattered.

Laura was sitting with her hands clasped around her knees, perched close to the edge of the jagged rock, her hair blowing around her. Max emerged from the woods fifteen yards or so from her and was taken aback when he saw her. Although he was so close, he didn’t know whether she had heard him or not. He took a step further forward, but she gave no indication that she knew she was not alone.

‘Miss Chalmers,’ he stuttered, and her back arched like a cat’s. ‘It’s Max,’ he added softly, and wondered if perhaps he should turn back but she beckoned him to join her. Max stepped closer, a little afraid as she was so close to the cliff-edge, but she patted the space beside her for him to sit. He hesitated, edging closer, then got to his knees for safety and crawled up to her.

‘You know, if you watch the sun rise close to someone, you are bound together for ever by its rays.’ Her voice was a soft whisper. Max could think of no answer. He was close enough now to feel the warmth of her body beside him. They remained silent, waiting, as the amber glow spread before them.

‘Here it comes, wait, wait... It’s coming any second now,’ she gasped. He held his breath and she reached out for his hand. ‘No one but us will ever have this moment... no one but us.’

She tilted her head to catch the rays as they grew stronger, before the golden globe appeared in front of them, bathing them both in its brilliance. But Max had eyes only for the woman beside him. For him, the sun was a pale star beside her, this magical mirage, her blonde hair shimmering like a halo.

Nothing could have prepared him for this moment, nothing in his wildest dreams. She eased her body down to lie on the warming rock, holding out her arms for him to lie beside her. Without a word, he obeyed.

The kiss took his breath away. It was sweet, but it was hungry, and he felt such a surge of emotion that his body shook. She stroked his face, planting delicate kisses on his cheek and neck, her lips tracing his ears, till he felt such ecstasy he let out a moan. Max would never have considered approaching this girl-woman, he was far too shy. But, wrapped in her arms, it was as if he had always known her. He wanted the moment never to end. But it did, as abruptly as it had begun.

‘I must go back,’ she announced suddenly, and rolled away from him. She was up and running before he could reach out to stop her. All he could do was watch her disappear from his sight. Then he started to cry. He didn’t know why: it had just been too much for him.

Max saw her fleetingly again that morning, first at breakfast then down by the jetty. He flushed deeply every time she passed within touching range, afraid she would discover he was following her. His legs shook and his heart beat so rapidly he felt sick. But he thought he had managed to appear in control of himself. After lunch they spoke again. Laura had dropped a hair slide as she passed him on her way to the pool. At first Max had simply wanted to keep it as a reminder of her, but then he plucked up courage to approach her. Just the touch of her fingers against his hand, as she thanked him, rendered him incapable of saying a word. She did not refer to the sunrise and he could not bring himself to mention it. She was, after all, Sir William Benedict’s fiancée. He even questioned whether it had happened at all. But he knew it had, and now, speechless before her, it was all that filled his mind.

‘You have beautiful clear eyes,’ she said softly. He wanted to say something poetic in return, but she walked on.

There were four or five more fleeting meetings that day. At last he stuttered that he had hoped she didn’t feel he was stalking her. She leaned closer. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’

‘Nothing,’ he replied, as his breath caught in his chest. To his astonishment and consuming delight, she suggested they walk a while. They went down to the jetty, and twice her shoulder brushed against his. There was one glorious moment when she asked him to hold her hand as she slipped off one of her sandals to shake out the sand. Her closeness made him break out in a sweat and her hand felt cool and soft, like silk.

Over the next few nights, Max could not sleep. All he could think of was Laura, but she did not appear again to greet the sunrise. The dining-room meals became the focus of his day because he knew he would see her there. He tried hard to not make his adoration obvious, but he could hardly contain himself, glancing clumsily in her direction. He started to make elaborate plans for accidentally meeting her and what he would say. But, try as he might, he could never pin down her whereabouts. She never dined at the same time in the evenings, never swam or walked at any specific time. He spent hours hovering round the places he hoped she might be, sometimes sitting in the dining room for hours. Mostly she didn’t appear to notice him.

The meeting that changed everything was when she asked him to help her open a sunshade. They were on the lower beach. He fixed it, then fetched an armful of towels and laid them out along a sun-bed. Laura was wearing a white cotton kaftan, and at certain angles the sunlight shone straight through it to outline her body like a soft shadow. He wanted to kneel at her feet, to kiss each toe, to tell her he was her slave. At one point their eyes met and he was sure she was going to say something to him. With an encouraging smile, she patted the towel beside her. But as she lay back against the cushions, his mother appeared. ‘Hello, darling. Get me some towels, would you? And move a bed into the sun for me. Is there a bar down here? I’m so thirsty.’

Max fetched and carried for his mother, who kept up a constant embarrassing chatter about why he wasn’t swimming or waterskiing. ‘Take your shirt off, darling, you need some sun. Your back hasn’t broken out in spots again, has it?’

He wanted to die and he shook his head, trying to make the Baroness change the subject, but it got worse as she continued her conversation to Laura with her eyes closed. ‘Poor boy, he’s got such delicate skin. But, then, they all have acne at that age, don’t they? It’s ever since he started shaving. At least his face has cleared up. He used to get terrible boils and—’

‘Mother!’ hissed Max, his face crimson.

Laura got up suddenly, and excused himself, saying she had forgotten her book.

‘Are you coming back?’ Max asked. He had sounded so desperate and what made it worse was she didn’t look at him, just continued walking towards the path.

‘Not very friendly, is she?’ his mother said, plastering herself in oil.

Before Max could hurry after Laura she insisted he did her back. He hated doing this. She took off her bikini top and lay face-down on the towels for him to spread the oil over her.

‘She’s really rather rude,’ the Baroness continued.

‘There’s her book under the sun-lounger,’ Max said, with delight. His mother looked up as he bent down to retrieve it. It was a volume of children’s poems. He wanted to kiss it. ‘I’ll take it to her.’

‘Oh, don’t bother, darling, leave it. I’ll take it back to the house.’

But Max was already hurrying after Laura. Out of sight of his mother, he opened the book. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw that a note was tucked into the first page with his name on it. At first he was sure it was a joke, but why would she do that? Then he wanted to weep when he understood that she had suggested they meet by the waterfall. It had to be real.

Max waited for more than an hour past the appointed time. He had almost given up when she came into sight. His heart lurched. The note had said lunchtime, which he had taken as twelve, but she clearly thought lunch was at two. Laura was welcome to take lunch at whatever time she pleased.

Max stepped behind the rushing curtain of water to hide as she approached. She wore a wide straw hat, the same long, white kaftan, and she had threaded flowers through her toes.

‘Max,’ she said softly, ‘I know you’re here.’ She removed the hat and her hair tumbled down. Slowly, she began to raise her skirt, lifting it to her knees, then her thighs. Hardly able to breathe, Max watched as the white robe inched slowly up her body. Beneath it, she was naked. Like a nymph, she stepped into the cascade of water, holding out her arms to catch the stream, her head tilted back and the water rushing off her. ‘Take off your clothes and come and join me. Don’t be shy. No one will see us here.’

Max hastily tore off his clothes and walked towards her into the clear, thundering water. Slowly her hand reached out for him. She drew him into the recess cut into the rock behind the screen of spray, and cupped his face in her hands to look into his wide, fearful eyes. ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered.

His fear evaporated as their bodies inched closer. ‘I love you,’ he said, aching to kiss her.

His look of adoration frightened Laura: he reminded her of Justin as a boy. She searched his face, trying to fathom whether he was lying to her, but she saw there only innocence.

To her surprise, when their lips touched she was not thinking of anything or anyone but him. The experience confused her, and she broke away. Then her eyes concentrated on his lips, which she kissed again, as if to make sure the moment between them was real. After kissing him three times she broke away. Max was overcome with emotion and began to cry. She licked his tears as they mingled with the mist from the waterfall, and thought she too might weep. It puzzled her. This was a job, but it felt like something else. She had teased the boy for days, drawing him behind her like a puppy. She had meant to arouse him, play with him then withdraw. But something inexplicable had stopped her. She had never felt this for anyone except Justin. Was that why his kisses felt so nice? They were like Justin’s, but they weren’t. The feel of them made her want to continue kissing, but she wanted to kiss him as a boy, not as a man.

It was Max who changed the tone. Max became a man then, kissed her strongly and searchingly. Laura allowed herself to be drawn to lie beside him on the cool, mossy earth, his hand clasping hers. She clung to him as if she was afraid to let go.

‘I love you,’ Max repeated, and she began to sob. She had never known such a powerful, explosive feeling in the pit of her belly. He whispered to her, ‘I don’t know if I’m dreaming this, if I am mad, or even if it’s real. I’m scared to close my eyes and lose you.’

‘Ssh!’ she said, cradling him in her arms, his head resting against her breasts. She loved his caring gentleness. She liked the way he had put his shirt beneath her head when they lay down, worried that the ground was damp. He didn’t paw her or force her hand down to touch him. Their roles had been reversed so unexpectedly and without any calculation on her part. She loved the smell and touch of his lean, young body. He was clean and untouched.

When he asked if she could feel his heart leaping, he endeared himself to her more.

‘Do you want to make love to me?’ she asked.

Max admitted that he was afraid his inexperience would make her ridicule him.

She held him closer. She felt protective, almost motherly towards him. ‘I promise I would never tease you. You will be the best lover I have ever known.’ She meant it as a joke, but he gripped her tightly.

She wanted to weep as his kisses on her neck made her thighs ache, and the even sweeter kisses on her lips made her want him to make love to her. But his fingers threaded through hers and rubbed her ring finger. Feeling the solitaire diamond, he released her. ‘We mustn’t do this, it’s wrong, it’s...’

Laura sighed, and held up her hand. The diamond glittered. ‘Don’t you ever do anything wrong, Max?’ she asked.

‘Everyone does, but if you were to make love to me, with me, I couldn’t bear to see you with another man.’

She let her hand drop to one side and he caught her fingers, pressing on the diamond with his thumb. ‘When are you getting married?’

She closed her eyes.

‘Do you love him?’

Again she sighed. ‘It’s none of your business.’

He sprang to his feet and fetched his jeans, unembarrassed now by his nakedness.

She propped herself on her elbow. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I can’t stay. I can’t be with you like this.’

‘Why not?’

He zipped his fly, then looked around for his trainers. He sat on the edge of a rock as he slipped on one, then the other. He left the laces untied and looked over; she still lay on his shirt. Suddenly he felt strong, his mind clear.

‘We should go,’ he said, and moved towards her to pick up his shirt. The whore in Laura had abandoned her, slunk off to hide, unable to deal with the purity of emotion. She couldn’t speak. She let him ease away his shirt from behind her. But he didn’t put it on: instead, he draped it round her shoulders, as if to hide her breasts. She let him remove the diamond ring from her finger. He placed it carefully on the edge of a rock. ‘I want you to marry me.’

She accepted his proposal, but he had no ring. ‘Give me your wedding finger,’ he said. She held it out tentatively. He took it and bit it until he drew blood. She touched it with the tip of her finger then licked it.

‘That will be our ring,’ he breathed. ‘Bite me now.’

She bit harder and longer into his finger. It hurt like hell but he wouldn’t stop her. Eventually, she drew his head on to her lap. He was unsure what to do, so she told him how to use his tongue. Soon she was begging him to enter her, and as he came into her, she did what she always did: averted her face. Max noticed and withdrew. ‘What did I do wrong?’ he asked.

‘Tell me you love me,’ she said.

Max caught her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Right now, if you asked me to, I’d die for you, Laura, and I will kill anyone who takes you away from me. I want you to tell him.’

‘Well, I can’t straight away. He’s had to return to London.’

‘When he gets back?’

‘Yes... yes, I will.’

‘Promise me.’

‘Yes, if you promise to keep this a secret until I have told him.’ She leaned over him. ‘This is odd for me...’ She hesitated, then kissed his lips.

‘What is?’ he asked.

‘I feel such love for you. It is the first time I have felt like this for anyone.’

‘You’ve never made love to another man?’ he asked, sitting up.

‘I meant I have loved only one man before you, but he doesn’t count. Tell me again.’

‘I love you,’ he said simply.

She laughed, hugging him, not wanting to let him go. ‘And I you.’

Justin was furious. For one thing, Laura was not working up to speed: she had disappeared for the whole afternoon. For another he had not been able to capture on film anything that had taken place between her and Max because they had hidden behind the waterfall. Enraged, he confronted her. ‘You are so stupid at times. You know where all the microphones are! What the hell did you take him up there for? You must have known I couldn’t record you.’

‘Maybe I didn’t want you to see or hear me with him,’ Laura said.

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘I should go. I don’t want to keep Angela waiting.’

Justin pretended to pay attention to the dials on the console in front of him. ‘How are you going to work on her?’ he asked.

‘Dahlia is helping,’ Laura replied.

‘In what way?’ he snapped.

Laura ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Angela and I share a predilection for lace lingerie, I’m told. Now, thanks to Dahlia “mixing things up in the wash”, she has a few pairs of my panties.’

‘Well, don’t fucking take her up to the waterfall to do it. Did you by the way?’ he asked moodily.

‘Did I what?’ she said, opening the door.

‘Screw him?’

‘Not yet,’ and she closed the door. She felt disturbed about lying to Justin, so to calm her nerves she slipped off the solitaire diamond and felt Max’s toothmarks on her finger. It kept him constantly in her mind. A secret.

Angela heard the light tap on her door and removed the ice-pack from her head. ‘Who is it?’ she asked.

Laura remained silent.

Angela opened the door.

‘Apparently, and I don’t want to get her into any trouble which is why I came myself,’ said Laura, ‘Dahlia mixed some of my lingerie with yours.’ She held out a small parcel. ‘You have mine, I believe.’

‘Oh,’ Angela said, and opened the wrapping. She seemed embarrassed as she admitted that the panties and brassière were indeed hers. She went to her wardrobe and opened a drawer to find Laura’s. Laura followed her and stood close... too close.

Angela moved away. ‘You’re wearing a lovely perfume,’ she said, intent on searching the open drawer.

‘Thank you,’ Laura said, then leaned close to Angela, who was wearing some kind of gardenia cologne. ‘Yours is nice too.’

Angela withdrew Laura’s panties from the drawer. ‘Oh, they are lovely, and...’ She took out a brassière and a gossamer-thin silk slip.

‘I have them made to my designs,’ Laura said, as she laid them on the bed, pressing tissue paper flat to wrap them. ‘I love packing,’ she said, and went on to explain how a nanny had taught her how to fold garments so they never creased. Eventually Laura looked up from her packing. She indicated the cross stitch Angela had left on the arm of the chair. ‘What lovely work,’ she said.

‘Thank you,’ Angela replied, then added hesitantly, ‘would you like me to teach you how to do it?’

‘Oh, that would be wonderful!’

Angela walked over to an armchair and picked up her bag. She took out some silks then found a small design of a rose. Laura perched on a chair arm. ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, as Angela showed her the soft colours, from pink to oyster.

‘I think these would be perfect for that rose.’ Angela laid out the silks in a row.

‘What delicate shades. And the stalk?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘The stalk, the leaves and the thorns?’ Laura looked into Angela’s nervous hazel eyes.

‘Oh, yes. Well, I have some greens, but not so many shades to choose from.’ Laura leaned in close, her bare arm touching Angela’s as the other woman threaded a needle. ‘Now, it is imperative you make a good knot. It’s so tedious if it works loose.’ Angela was rather enjoying the beautiful girl’s avid attention. ‘Now, I’d begin with the outer, lower petal first. It’s very simple and quite therapeutic, but there’s an art in getting the stitches even. One tighter than the others leaps out conspicuously.’

Laura was genuinely interested. She had hardly held a needle before, and was so inept that Angela giggled. ‘There’s no need to be quite so rigid. Hold the needle lightly between your first finger and thumb.’

Laura jabbed in the needle and withdrew it so sharply she dug it into Angela’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she leaped to her feet with concern as Angela rubbed the place where a pinprick of blood appeared. ‘Oh, my goodness me,’ Laura said, moving Angela’s hand away. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She kissed the tiny speck of blood, then licked Angela’s arm with her tongue.

‘It’s fine, really, it doesn’t hurt,’ Angela said, the flush of heat between her legs making her cheeks flame.

But Laura did not pull away. Instead she moved closer. ‘I want you so much.’

Angela gasped and, shakily, said that Laura should leave. But Laura did not move away. She slid one arm around Angela, and opened her blouse. Angela felt as if her legs would buckle beneath her.

‘I want you to dress in my underwear,’ Laura whispered, as she licked Angela’s neck, then flicked her tongue into an ear. By now, her hand was working a breast free of its lace, her fingers rubbing the nipple. She knew when she felt the nipple harden that it would be even easier than she had anticipated. ‘You have the most incredible breasts.’ She nuzzled Angela, then traced Angela’s mouth with her fingertips, slipping one into her mouth. Angela began to suck as Laura drew the blouse away from the waistband of her skirt.

‘Oh, yes, oh, yes,’ Angela murmured, and began to drag her blouse free, to throw it to one side as Laura inched her skirt lower. ‘Lock the door,’ Angela gasped.

But Laura had drawn her skirt to her ankles and was on her knees, her tongue tracing the band of Angela’s lace panties. She brought Angela down on to the floor, and couldn’t resist glancing at the tiny red blinking dot in the corner of the room.

She tilted Angela’s chin up. ‘Surprising what a little prick can lead to!’

They both smiled, and Laura glanced again at the camera lens, laughing because she knew that every moment had been filmed.

‘I chatted to William Benedict this morning,’ Annabella Bellingham said to her husband, as they drove back from Heathrow airport. Her husband barely looked up from his paper: it was enough for him that he had had to meet his wife. Conversation was surely beyond the call of duty. ‘He seems rather nice, really. Not at all the sleazy character the newspapers had us think. We talked about that fellow Justin, the designer.’

‘Wasn’t he a friend of Oliver’s?’

‘That’s right. Justin Chalmers.’

‘Chalmers,’ her husband repeated. Bellingham recalled Justin’s face. He didn’t know the boy terribly well, but now, somewhere in the fog of his mind, a bell was ringing.

His wife was powdering her nose. ‘You remember him, you invited him to the party. Well, he’s throwing some sort of bash over at Benedict’s island while he’s away.’ She peered at herself in the tiny mirror. Just mentioning the party where Oliver had died had made her heart sink again and she steeled herself not to cry as she had just finished her make-up.

Annabella snapped shut her compact. ‘Justin Chalmers is staying there with his sister, Laura.’

Her husband banged his hand down on the open newspaper. ‘Justin and Laura! That’s it, Justin and Laura. But Chalmers wasn’t their name was it? What were they called?’ He clenched his eyes in thought. ‘Moorcroft, that’s it. Child A and Child B, as they were known in the press. Justin and Laura Moorcroft. I knew I recognized them.’

‘What are you talking about?’

Bellingham explained that while he was going through his drawers to find the relevant paperwork required for the shipment of Oliver’s body back to England, he had come across some old files and documents belonging to his father.

‘I don’t understand what this has to do with the Chalmerses.’

‘Wait, and I’ll tell you. You know Father hoarded everything and that I’d always meant to clear out his desk but never got around to it? Well, I was tossing stuff into the wastepaper basket, when I found this file among a stack of others. It was headed “The Moorcroft Case”.’

‘The Moorcroft case?’

‘Yes, I just said so, didn’t I? I flicked through and caught sight of some photographs of a couple of children. I knew they looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on who they were.’

Bellingham pressed the intercom to speak to the chauffeur, turning to his wife as he did so. ‘Did Benedict say where he was heading?’

‘No, but he was on the same flight,’ she said, as her husband barked at the driver to pass him his mobile phone.

‘Do you know what you dial for Directory Enquiries?’ he asked his wife.

‘Ask the operator.’ Sometimes the way her husband switched subjects infuriated Annabella. It was as if anything she had to say was immaterial. But she was taken aback when she heard him ask for Sir William Benedict’s number. She sighed: he wouldn’t be listed. She was right, but after numerous calls to friends, Bellingham succeeded. He had to talk to Benedict, urgently.

Angela walked on to the veranda for afternoon tea. The Baron and Baroness were arguing but stopped abruptly as they saw her approach.

‘Oh, I’m gasping for a cup,’ she said, sitting down primly, cross-stitch bag at her side.

‘Have you had a pleasant afternoon?’ the Baron asked, as his wife poured tea.

Angela gave a girlish giggle. ‘Yes, I have, as a matter of fact.’ She was hoping Laura would join them, but next to arrive were Daphne and Clarissa Hangerford.

‘Was that your husband I saw earlier?’ the Baroness asked Daphne. ‘On an outgoing boat?’

Daphne nodded. ‘It’s always the same. He just can’t settle. He was worried about a horse or something. I didn’t really understand. He just went all silent. To be honest, he’s been impossible to deal with the past few days. And this morning, he sprang out of bed, determined to go home. That nice Justin has been so helpful arranging his flight. He asked if we wanted to go as well, but we’ve only just arrived.’ She shrugged. ‘So that’s that.’

‘Sod bloody Daddy,’ said Clarissa. Her mother glanced at her. She had been in a terrible mood recently, and no matter how many times she’d asked why, Clarissa had refused to answer her.

Clarissa could not stop thinking about her father and every time she did she wanted to scream. She had washed herself over and over. Now she wanted to hit out and hurt someone, preferably him. Now the bastard had slunk off, afraid to face her. He was a perverted sexual deviant. He had fondled his own daughter’s body as if she was a whore, then run away. ‘Where’s Max?’ Clarissa asked, in a strained voice.

‘I think he went waterskiing, didn’t he?’ Angela turned in the direction of the Baroness and smiled at James as he joined them.

‘He is,’ James said moodily, sitting beside his mother.

‘I thought you were supposed to go out fishing with your father?’ She tapped James’s hand.

‘Yes, well, he left without me.’

‘Who left whom?’ Justin said, strolling in.

‘Dad,’ James informed him. Justin had noticed, with interest, how keen James had been to talk to him. He seemed just as intrigued by Justin as he had been by Laura, if not more so. Justin decided to play on this.

‘We came back hours ago,’ he corrected James, and sat down beside him, allowing one muscular thigh to rest suggestively against him. ‘Anyone seen Laura?’ he asked non-committally. Angela blushed. ‘What about a trip to Tortola this evening?’ he suggested. ‘Spot of dancing?’ James promptly said yes, as did Clarissa. Justin rubbed the back of James’s neck. ‘Good. Down at the jetty about six. We have to leave early for the tides.’ He stood up abruptly and walked out.

When he left, they all fell silent. Only Daphne Hangerford had food on her mind; everyone else was thinking of sex. Daphne was delighted to be able to enjoy the rest of her stay without Cedric’s nocturnal importuning. She had not the slightest notion that his last dalliance had involved her only child.

There was an hour to go before the boat left for the disco. Clarissa stood in front of the mirror. Her foul mood was lingering but not all consuming. Sometimes she felt as if two people were chattering away in her brain, one threatening to beat up her father and kick him in the balls, the other crying, reaching out for comfort, because she felt used, dirty and unbalanced. She’d tried on practically everything in her suitcase, but nothing pleased her. She went to the veranda and peered out, trying to see if anyone was on the jetty. She didn’t want them to go without her.

‘Hi, I was coming round to get you.’ It was Justin. He was standing below her veranda.

‘I’m on my way,’ she said, giving him a coy smile and trying to keep her dress held up; it was unzipped at the back.

‘You look as though you could do with a hand,’ said Justin, climbing adroitly up the front of the veranda. ‘Turn round,’ he ordered, frogmarching her back into the room. Clarissa felt the zip being pulled but not up as she had expected. The dress fell round her ankles. ‘Mmmm,’ said Justin. ‘Fancy a quick one?’

‘What?’ she said, startled.

‘Drink,’ he said laughing, drawing her closer and massaging her breast. He eased his body on to the bed and slowly unzipped his fly. ‘Come here,’ he said softly.

She had wanted him from day one. She had almost given up imagining that she stood a chance. There was a moment of fear when she remembered her father’s sweating hands on her body, but this felt different, this was what she had been dreaming about. Justin was beautiful, with a perfect body. Clarissa edged closer and opened her mouth.

Justin kept an eye on his watch. To hurry things along he gripped her head and twisted his hands in her hair to force her to increase the rhythm. Clarissa gasped as he pushed himself deeper into her mouth. Mission completed, the little red dot capturing every second, he sprang away from the bed.

‘My turn now,’ she said, in what she thought was a sexy tone.

‘Another time, sweetheart. We don’t want to miss the tide.’

She sat on the crumpled bed as Justin left, slamming the door behind him. For a moment she was that little girl who wanted to cry and be comforted. Then she stood up, angry and bitter. Her father had treated her like a whore, and now Justin had too. She began to dress, telling herself she hated men: they were all bastards.

When he arrived in London, William was jet-lagged. He felt bloated and tired. Right away he had been forced to settle the sale of Katherine’s house, and had gone straight there from the airport. The urgent e-mails from Michael had concerned the lawsuit against the von Gartens. He was required to make statements. His lawyers had become frustrated by the lack of contact, especially as William had been driving them to get things moving fast.

And there had been a new development: he discovered that lawyers representing Baron von Garten had had the audacity to ask whether he had any interest still in purchasing the same factory that had been sold to his rival. No doubt this was the reason why the Baron had accepted the invitation to the island! Further enquiries, and illegal investigations into the Baron’s financial situation had revealed that his own companies were now in deficit, and he was short of cash. The Baron’s main asset was the shares he owned in the company that he had sold to William’s competitors, but even they were feeling the pinch because four of their biggest selling items could now be proved to have first been patented by William’s company.

The wheels were turning rapidly and in William’s favour; he was delighted. He was even more buoyant when his lawyers, having received no contact from Hangerford, filed a bankruptcy order. Cedric Hangerford’s entire business was being sifted through by the men from the Inland Revenue and also by VAT officers. They were buzzing around his property like flies. While Hangerford was away, he had left his lawyers with power of attorney and his stable manager in charge of business dealings. Had he been there himself, no doubt he would have barred the door.

Now back in London, his business affairs in order, William decided to check up on Charlie at the clinic. He had to hold the line for over fifteen minutes as Charlie was tracked down and then, to his irritation, his son said he couldn’t talk for long. He shared a few monosyllabic exchanges with Charlie then hung up. His conversation with Sabrina was equally tedious, but at least he was making sure his children were taken care of. He was just about to replace the receiver, when Sabrina asked if he had heard about Uncle Cedric. He was immediately on his guard: he had made no mention to his daughter that her aunt and uncle were on his island with Clarissa.

‘It was in The Times. He’s been made bankrupt. There was even a photograph. It was all over the racing papers too, even on Channel Four’s racing programme. He looked terrible on TV,’ Sabrina continued, as William digested the fact that Cedric was in London. He must have left the island shortly after William.

After he had said goodbye to Sabrina he placed a call to the island. He had a long wait before he was put through, and then was frustrated to be told by Dahlia that neither Justin nor Laura was around as they had gone to a nightclub. He asked Dahlia to make sure Justin called him as soon as possible.

The phone rang in Michael’s office.

‘Sir William Benedict’s residence... One moment, please.’ Michael caught William heading for the stairs in the hall. ‘Sir, it’s Lord Bellingham.’

William frowned. ‘Hello...’ He perched on the edge of the desk, fiddling with the change in his pocket. ‘Justin Chalmers, yes, that’s correct...’ He listened then stood up. ‘Yes, he redesigned my...’ His face darkened. ‘Laura, that’s right.’

‘My father, Lord Chief Justice Bellingham, reviewed their case,’ said Henry Bellingham. ‘He often discussed it, long after they’d been forgotten about.’

He told William as much as he remembered of what he’d read in his father’s file. William’s hair stood on end. ‘I had another look through the file,’ continued Bellingham. ‘Chalmers was their aunt’s name. They must have taken that name after it all blew over. Moorcroft was their original name.’ William sucked in his breath. ‘Well, thank you for telling me, I appreciate it.’ He hung up and drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘Get my plane ready, Michael. I have to go to Nice immediately, and I’ll need a car standing by. I’ll drive myself.’

‘But aren’t you returning to the island?’

‘No, Michael. I said Nice, as in France. Now!’

William found the driveway to Justin’s villa even more beautiful than it had been before. There were so many different flowers, and the hidden lights gave a fairy-tale feel to the long lane. Marta was waiting on the steps and gave him a cautious welcome, surprised by his sudden arrival. As she showed him into the bedroom he had occupied before, William was struck by a strange feeling of comfort. The villa somehow felt more like home than any of his London houses or apartments.

He showered and changed before joining Marta in the kitchen, where she was baking bread.

‘We need to talk, Marta,’ he said gently. She busied herself, avoiding his gaze. ‘Marta, we have things to discuss. Justin does not know I’m here.’ She opened the oven to remove a loaf. ‘I love Justin and Laura, and whatever we say now is not intended to be a betrayal. To be honest, I’ve grown closer to them than I am to my own children.’

She sat down opposite him, a little uncomfortable. ‘I love them too,’ she said.

‘Tell me about them, from the beginning, or from when you first became a part of their lives,’ he said.

Marta sensed his concern and intuitively knew that something was wrong. ‘May I ask why?’

William hesitated and then explained his situation; his reasons for being there and his growing friendship with Justin. But not until he began to elaborate on the island and the payback game did Marta become attentive.

She chewed her lower lip and sighed. ‘The children had an aunt Frances who lived at Mole Cottage in a village near Aylesbury. I had known her since we were schoolchildren. When she discovered that my husband had died and I was in financial difficulties, she asked if I would become her companion. I accepted.’ William wondered where this was going to lead, but did not interrupt. ‘Frances had lost contact with her brother, Martin, whom she described as a malicious boy. Martin Moorcroft was married to a frivolous Frenchwoman, Madeleine. A great beauty and a socialite. I never met her.’ Again Marta fell silent, twisting her hands. ‘Martin had two children, Justin and Laura.’ She plucked at her skirt. ‘He was a man who should never have had children.’

‘I don’t understand.’ William leaned forward.

Marta shifted her weight and her cheeks flushed. Then she spoke quickly. ‘He was arrested for molesting a little girl when he was still young himself. He was a paedophile, a masochistic, horrible man, who married a woman with equally disgusting tendencies. The pair, it seemed, were well matched.’

William looked directly at Marta. ‘Were Laura and Justin...’

Marta had tears in her eyes. ‘From a very early age. They were immersed in a living nightmare. And who could they turn to? How could they know that theirs was not a normal childhood?’

William waited, but this time Marta paused for a considerable time. ‘What in God’s name happened, Marta?’

She was openly crying now, delving into her apron pocket for her handkerchief. ‘A child can only take so much.’

‘So what happened?’

‘Come with me,’ said Marta, and led him through the giant oak door to the wine cellar.

‘Are you taking your medication?’ asked Justin.

‘Of course,’ replied Laura. ‘There’s no need to get snappy. I’m doing everything we arranged. What’s the matter with you?’

He caught her in his arms. ‘You aren’t being silly with Max, are you? I want them to go soon and they’ll take him with them.’

‘Can’t he stay?’

He pushed her away. ‘For God’s sake, you know why he can’t. We’ve discussed it.’ He changed the subject, pointing to film footage of the Baron with the boat-boys. ‘When he wasn’t screwing them he was pawing Karl in the gymnasium. The Baroness just ignores it.’

‘Two such awful parents,’ said Laura quietly, ‘have made such a sweet child.’

‘Oh, God, I don’t believe I heard you say that. Sweet child!’

‘He’s a nice boy, with beautiful manners. He’s also well educated. At least you can have an intelligent conversation with him.’

‘Really?’ Justin teased. ‘Well, perhaps you should make sure you have these intelligent conversations within range of the microphones because so far he’s the only one you keep skirting around.’

‘I do not.’

‘Yes, you do, and I’m sick of it. The rules are clear. You get every single one of them, Laura. That’s what you’re being paid for. Now, I’ve got to call William and give him a progress report. What do you want me to tell him? That you think that little prick is a sweet boy?’

‘I want to speak to him when he calls,’ she said.

‘Now you’re really annoying me,’ snapped Justin. ‘So go. Go on, get out.’

Laura wandered to the door then turned back to him. ‘Don’t get nasty with me, Justin, you know how it upsets me.’

He forced a smile and told her he loved her, but she had gone before he could kiss her and make up. He knew he had been brusque with her, and part of him excused it because he was getting closer to their payback. Only one of the guests mattered to Justin, the main man, and he couldn’t care less about the others. He didn’t want anything to go wrong so he was being over-cautious with Matlock. But although he tried to remain calm, tension was building in him. And he could not admit that he was jealous of that kid Max. It infuriated him.

The wine cellar, unlike the rest of the house, had not been renovated, but remained almost as it had been when Justin and Laura were children. Marta lit some candles.

‘They must not be hurt,’ said Marta. ‘They are still children, especially Laura. She is the most fragile. She cannot be without Justin, she is dependent on him. Without him she would be locked up again.’

‘Laura?’ asked William, perched on a dusty barrel in the dark. The damp cellar chilled him. ‘Has she been locked up in the past, then?’

Marta was rooting about behind a rack of red burgundies. ‘Most of her life,’ she whispered, and pulled out a dusty cardboard box. Inside was a black leather photograph album filled with newspaper cuttings. She passed it to William and sat silently beside him, letting him read.

The headlines were beyond belief: ‘Killer Angels’, ‘Deadly Babes’, ‘Devil Children Let Loose’. On and on went the hideous clippings, describing what William now knew to be two tragic children.

‘They killed both their parents?’ he asked. Marta nodded. ‘And the police were called by the nanny?’

‘That’s right,’ said Marta, pointing to a photo of her. ‘They stabbed her and pushed her into the pool, but by some superhuman effort she dragged herself out and crawled down to the village where she raised the alarm.’

William wondered why the police hadn’t picked up on Justin’s background when Maynard died. He had been the main beneficiary of Maynard’s will, after all. Then he remembered that children’s criminal records are only kept for a few years. As they grew up, the pair must have been given a clean slate and allowed to go free. Furthermore, the children had adopted a new name, Chalmers. Provided they were never caught again, the police would be none the wiser.

‘What happened to the nanny in the end?’ asked William.

‘She died in a car accident, I think. I recall Justin reading something to me a few years back now — well, actually to Laura. I don’t remember all the details, just that he was cutting out the article. I think I asked him who she was and...’ Marta frowned. ‘Is this important?’

‘Yes, very.’

‘Well, that’s it, really. He was reading the newspaper and cutting it out. He said she had been their nanny. That’s all.’ Marta turned a few pages, then paused. She pointed to a clipping. ‘This is about her funeral in London.’

‘Camilla Maynard.’ William’s stomach churned. ‘Did she have a brother, cousin, any relative called Andrew?’

He had a vision of the dead man floating in the overflowing bathtub, the water pink. He felt the sweat trickle down his back as he recalled Maynard talking about a much older sister who had died in a car accident. It had to be a coincidence, he thought, but he shuddered as he now saw the story’s chilling logic.

‘Answer me. It’s very important, Marta. Have you ever heard Justin mention Andrew Maynard? In connection with this nanny, perhaps?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘But you must have met him, surely. He stayed here at the villa — a tall, dark-haired man. A young English politician.’

Marta hesitated, and nodded slowly.

‘Ah yes, I did meet him, I mean, I served him his meals once or twice. But really, I hardly spoke to him.’

‘But he came here frequently. You must know more.’

‘Well, Justin explained that he wanted to be alone with him as much as possible, so I sometimes went on vacation when he came. Sometimes I went to see Laura. She was booked into clinics, you know, when she relapsed. She’s very fragile... physically as well as mentally.’

William asked her to continue her story of their childhood.

‘French law decreed that they couldn’t be locked up or tried there. They were too young. They were sent instead to a specialist psychiatric unit for disturbed children in England and my friend, Frances, took them into her home, as I told you. All was fine, until a budding young journalist wanted a scoop to kick off his career. He pressed on and on, determined to get his story. It became clear that they could not attend school, could not live in an ordinary home without people throwing bricks through the window. The stress of being hounded made them both become difficult. I don’t know exactly what went on. All I do know for sure is that they were taken away, separated.’ She showed William a garish paperback book. ‘Their case was then taken up by the British courts.’

‘Lord Chief Justice Bellingham,’ muttered William under his breath. The pieces of the jigsaw were slowly fitting together.

‘Justin was sent to borstal, Laura to a psychiatric hospital. The author probably didn’t even know what he had done. He wrote about their separation as if he had made some successful coup, but he ruined their lives.’

William glanced down at the cover, emblazoned with a picture of two pretty children wielding an axe that dripped blood. Angels or Devils? It was by Humphrey Matlock.

The book smelt of the dank, musty cellar. It contained further pictures: Laura’s frightened face as a small child being carried by a police officer, Laura’s face at a barred window, Laura in a garden aged twelve. There were more snatched photographs that had obviously been taken from some distance by the spying journalist, each one slightly blurred.

One photograph in particular made William want to weep: Laura in a car with raindrops trickling down the window, waving, a sweet smile on her angelic face. Then came pictures of Justin, who, unlike his sister, showed no sign of terror on his boyish face. He glared out from one photograph after another. There was one of him in a blaze of anger, hurling something towards the camera. There were a few photographs of the children together, hand in hand in sombre school uniforms. In the last section, there were pictures of their parents. William tried hard to imagine exactly what these two inhuman creatures could have been like. Their father’s eyes seemed pale and washed-out. His close-cropped hair and tidy beard made him look like D. H. Lawrence. Hard as he tried, William could not detect cruelty in their appearance. The last picture showed their mother holding Laura on her knee, her husband standing behind her chair with his hand resting on his small son’s shoulders. They looked like a normal happy family.

William read the book from cover to cover. It was, he hated to admit, well written and engrossing. He was intrigued when he read a quote from a nanny, who had obviously refused to give her name, which described the way the children had made sexual advances towards her and attempted to kill her. She was quoted as saying: ‘I knew from the first day I began caring for them that these were not normal children. They were too well behaved. Their manner was formal, and they seemed to be constantly entwined, at times speaking as one. The boy was over-protective of his sister. They even slept together. I saw them feed each other like birds. Yet, on the surface they looked like angels. I soon discovered a terrible, dark side to them. They frightened me. They were truly evil. Maybe they became that way because of whatever they had been subjected to by their parents. But I will never forget the nightmare I became embroiled in, and all I want now is to forget I ever met them. But it is hard to forget the sight of Laura and Justin, with their father’s blood dripping from their hands. It has haunted me.’

With that comment hanging in his mind, William closed his eyes. He felt leaden. He, too, had become embroiled in their lives, but he believed them to be far more dangerous as adults. It gradually dawned on him that he had been used. He now knew that the charade into which he had been drawn had been set up for one reason alone. William chastised himself for his blindness. How could he have allowed this to go on? His weakness and vanity gave him the answer. He had so wanted to get back at people and he had believed the lies he had been told because he wanted to. If he had applied just a modicum of his intellect, he would surely have been suspicious. He bowed his head, ashamed. He knew deep down in his heart that he had uncovered the truth. All along he had been suspicious about Maynard’s death and particularly the suicide note. Had Justin murdered him and written the note?

He recalled how Justin had gone through his hit-list, leaving only four main targets. No matter which way he looked at the overall picture, it was so sick it beggared belief. He recalled asking Justin whether or not he should invite his victims’ children, and he had replied that William’s own son and daughter had suffered at the hands of the press, so why not? He felt the ground opening up beneath him; dear God, had Oliver Bellingham been a part of it too? He was Lord Chief Justice Bellingham’s grandson after all. Had Justin’s revenge been planned to hurt even the younger, innocent generation? His blood ran cold. On the island there were three kids: James Matlock, Clarissa Hangerford and Max von Garten. Was Justin directing his madness against them? Hadn’t he said that they deserved to be punished?

William paced up and down erratically, as his mind jumped backwards and forwards. He had agreed, he had encouraged Justin! The sins of the fathers... Dear God! What monster had he released in his name? The fear that Justin would hurt the women and their children escalated in him. But surely even Justin wouldn’t do that, would he? But Oliver Bellingham was dead...