Sleeping Cruelty

Chapter eighteen

William caught the night flight back to London. He phoned Michael from the villa, asked him to check out Camilla Maynard and arrange a flight to the Caribbean. He intended to leave immediately after his arrival in England.

Michael didn’t phone back until William was in the limousine coming into London from Heathrow. He confirmed that Camilla had been Andrew Maynard’s sister. Had Justin known from the beginning and used William from the moment he had visited that awful mews cottage in London? He was sure now that Justin had forged the suicide note.

When he got back Michael was waiting for him, although it was after ten. ‘Get me Charlie on the line,’ William shouted at him, dropping his bag and making for his study.

By the time he was at his desk, the call was put through. William snatched up the receiver. ‘Charlie? The letter,’ shouted William down the line. ‘The one you told me about, from Oliver Bellingham. Have you still got it?’

‘Oh, it’s somewhere in my stuff,’ he drawled. ‘But, Dad, let me tell you about—’

‘No time,’ shouted William. ‘Is the letter in the stuff you left here?’

‘The big black canvas bag. No! Maybe the duffel bag or in the small gym bag. It’s somewhere amongst my gear. What’s the problem?’

‘Can I read it?’ William pressed on.

‘Why?’

‘It’s a matter of life and death,’ said William.

‘Oh, yeah right, sure, man. I mean it’s personal but, like, go ahead.’

William gripped the receiver. ‘I love you, son,’ he said, ‘but I’m in a great hurry. I’ll speak to you later, okay?’

William took another deep breath and ran upstairs to the room where Charlie had left his bags. Furiously he rummaged through odd shoes and dirty shorts, until he spotted a gym bag that was full of exercise books, loose pages from Biker and music magazines. There were bundles of letters from Katherine to Charlie at school. At last, in a worn and well-thumbed airmail envelope, he found the letter from Oliver Bellingham. The large sloped handwriting began ‘Hello, Wanker!’ Next to the greeting, Oliver had drawn a grinning cartoon face. In the first few paragraphs, he described life on Tortola, the surfing and the clubs. He also mentioned that keeping straight was tough on the island, where everything was accessible in vast quantities, especially the ganja. There was another grinning cartoon face. There was some reference to his girlfriend and a lot of dots and dashes after her name, and then an underlined passage about receiving a letter from her so that it appeared ‘all was not lost’. This was underlined three times. Oliver mentioned the forthcoming ‘wrinklies party’. He was quite looking forward to it because he had met this bloke called Justin in the Harbour Bar. ‘He’s a really great guy. Very handsome — blond, taller than me and quite a bit older. I’ve been with him on and off most days and nights.’ He wrote that he’d invited Justin to his folks’ party — his parents didn’t really want him to come, but he didn’t care. Justin had promised to bring some gear so it would be a behind-the-bushes job.

A young boy’s infatuation with a handsome older man had led to his death. William knew Justin and his sister had been killers as children, but he was also certain they had not stopped killing. He was sure that between them they had murdered both Andrew Maynard and Oliver Bellingham. God knew how many others there had been, perhaps even Maynard’s sister. William was determined to find out. The other thought that dawned on him, but oddly did not frighten him, was that perhaps he, too, was earmarked as a victim.

He traced an aunt of Maynard’s, his only living relative, as far as William could tell. He did not make excuses as to why he had called out of the blue but came straight to the point. ‘This is William Benedict, an old friend of your nephew’s.’

‘I know who you are. I’ve read all about you in the press. Why are you calling?’

‘I think it is possible Andrew was murdered.’

‘Really? Whatever makes you think that? Are you sure you want to open this all up again? I’d hate to have the press coming down here.’

‘I’ll make sure they don’t.’

‘I doubt that you of all people would be able to do that. I’m old and I don’t want to get involved in any scandal.’

‘Please, could you tell me how his sister died?’

‘What’s she got to do with this?’

‘Perhaps nothing, but do you know how she died?’

‘A car crash. She was planning to visit me here in Brighton when she died. Her brakes failed on the motorway. I don’t know the technical details. It happened years ago, I think it was in March 1992.’

‘Did you ever meet someone called Justin Chalmers?’

‘I don’t think so. Unless... Is he the young man who...’ She trailed off, and William held his breath. ‘No, I’m sure I don’t know that name. All I do know is that shortly before Camilla’s death she met a couple. I thought it was a bit strange because they didn’t come to her funeral. They were apparently the last people to see her. If I remember correctly they met her somewhere in London.’

‘Did she describe them?’

‘No, but I think they were foreign. European, possibly French. I think they had offered her work as nanny to their children. She used to work in France...’

‘Thank you,’ William said, desperate to hang up but forced to hold on out of civility.

William was certain the couple had been Justin and Laura, just as he was sure that they were preparing to kill Humphrey Matlock. He felt powerless to stop them. As for the staff, could he trust them? They had been hired by Justin. He groaned. The last thing he wanted was to involve the police, even though he knew he should. He felt Matlock was probably safe while there were plenty of other people on the island. He knew that neither Justin nor Laura had any personal grievance against the Hangerford family or the Baron — surely they would not harm them? But William was not due to return for three more days. Could he make it in time to stop the madness or had he unwittingly become a party to murder?

The voice of sanity told William to contact the police immediately. But insanity was taking over. Or perhaps it was his own survival instinct. Perhaps he had sensed all along that something was amiss and it was this part of his brain that had arranged for him to leave them on the island to their own endgame. God Almighty, he mused, I played right into Justin’s hands. If he was to contact the police, he would be forced to incriminate himself: he would have to explain how he had come to this conclusion. In any case, how could he possibly explain the situation to anyone? No one would believe him. And he would be humiliated by the press again if they got so much as a whisper of this. He’d probably be arrested as an accomplice, or done up in a strait-jacket.

‘Get hold of the goddamn reins, William,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Stand up and sort this mess out.’ It was now imperative he return to the island, but he knew he had to do it without ringing alarm-bells for either Justin or Laura. He closed his eyes, trying to think like Justin. Who could he trust to have a boat standing by to pick him up? He had to arrive without their knowledge.

‘Money, you old fool, buys you anyone and anything,’ Justin’s voice rasped in his ear.

William decided that Dahlia should be the one and only person to know he was returning ahead of schedule and to keep it secret.

Max waited almost an hour. When Laura didn’t appear, he thought at first he must have misheard the meeting-place. Could it have been Suicide Point? He was sure she had said the waterfall. He returned to his bungalow and called her from there. The phone rang and rang, but there was no reply. He tried Justin’s bungalow, but again there was no reply. Max returned to the cliff-tops, making a round trip from one of their secret meeting-places to another. Still no sign of Laura. He returned a second time to his bungalow. He had been waiting for her for almost two hours.

Laura could hear the phone. She was lying on the floor, stiff and cold. Slowly she forced herself to rise and unsteadily made her way into the bathroom to bathe her face. It was another fifteen minutes before she could function fully. Her mind was woolly and she’d bruised her hip when she fell, but she had no recollection of what had taken place. All she knew was that it had happened many times before, when Marta had been at hand to take care of her. Laura examined her body for the tell-tale marks, but just as she was about to reach for her medication, the phone rang again.

‘Laura? It’s Max. I’ve been frantic.’

‘William called and I had to be up at the main house. I’ve got a migraine.’

‘I’m back in my bungalow. Do you want to come here or...’

Laura was tired. She knew she needed to sleep. But instead she agreed to meet Max, afraid that if she didn’t he would turn up on her doorstep.

‘Five minutes.’

‘No, two,’ he demanded, and said he would be outside waiting.

During the long walk to the cliffs Laura felt exhausted. Max rested his arm on her shoulder, and she ached to lie down and sleep, but gradually the cool breeze off the ocean cleared her head.

‘Feeling better?’ Max asked, concerned.

‘Mmm, yes, I’m fine.’

‘Good.’ He kissed her neck, then held up her hair. ‘How did you do this?’ He touched the purple marks.

‘I fell against the cabinet in the bathroom coming out of the shower. It’s nothing.’ As if to prove it she began to run as they arrived at the end of the path leading to the open cliff-top. Max watched her spinning and turning, her hair billowing out, her arms raised above her head like a dancer’s. She was so fragile, he was afraid the wind would scoop her up and blow her away. She danced to the mossy area where the edge of the cliff dropped to the sheer rocks below, and flopped down. Max joined her. He had picked a posy of blue flowers, and tucked them into her hair by her ear.

‘Let me lean against you, as if you were my rock,’ she said.

Max swivelled around, and felt her body heat as she leaned her back against his.

‘Wouldn’t it be nice if life was always this perfect?’ she said.

‘It would, but it never is. Tell me about Justin,’ he said, and felt her spine stiffen.

‘You see that little black cloud high in the sky, over there to the right?’ She pointed upwards. ‘That’s Justin. He makes the sun go in sometimes, but then you see it peep out again. Justin has always made me believe that he controls the sun.’

Laura found it easier to tell Max what she had to say without looking at him. Even though she skirted around the horror of her childhood, explaining that the fire that killed her mother was an accident and the attack against her father had been in self-defence, it still sounded like a nightmare. For the first time in her life, Laura was telling someone who was not a psychiatrist about her past. She told him about the long years in homes, about the electrocution therapy, the drugs that left her with no memory for about five years. She admitted that her relationship with Justin must be difficult for an outsider to understand. ‘We only had each other, so we must seem unnaturally close.’ Laura pressed herself into him. ‘He is very dominating and I allow him to be so. If it had not been for him, I might never have been released from the home and allowed to return to France. I owe Justin... I owe him everything. And I was content for him to be the most important person in my life until...’

‘Until?’ Max asked softly.

‘You,’ she said simply.

‘Do you love me, Laura?’ he asked, holding his breath.

‘You are open and trusting and...’

‘You didn’t answer my question.’

He turned towards her and she looked into his face. ‘Yes,’ she said.

He took her hand and kissed the palm then drew her close to rest against him.

‘I know I’m young and inexperienced, just a kid, but I also know I love you, Laura. I want to make up for all those hideous years and make you happy.’

‘You do,’ she whispered, loving the feel of his arms around her.

‘I want to be with you. Will you leave and come with me?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. That’s impossible, isn’t it? Besides, Justin would never let me go.’

‘Then don’t tell him, just leave. We could leave right now. Will you come with me?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course I will.’

‘When?’

‘As soon as possible, but—’ She broke off and took a deep breath as the little black cloud covered the sun, like an omen. ‘We’re just being foolish. Justin would find me, no matter where you took me. And I don’t think your parents would approve. You’re much too young.’

Max stood up and drew her to stand in front of him. ‘I am not. I have a trust fund, so money is no problem. I knew I loved you from the moment I saw you. My parents will have to know, but so will William.’

‘When he calls I’ll tell him.’

‘No, Laura, you can call him. Besides, I thought you’d spoken to him this afternoon.’

‘No, no, I didn’t. I had such a migraine,’ she lied.

Max put his hands on his hips. ‘You told me it came on after you spoke to him. Don’t treat me like some idiot. I’m serious. I love you. I want to get out of this place. I want you to get away from your brother.’

‘Justin will go to any lengths to stop me leaving with you.’

‘Then we’ll escape without his knowing. We could go right now, while he’s off the island.’ He caught her face between his hands and kissed her.

‘Believe me, Justin must not find out.’ Her voice caught in her throat.

‘You sound as if you’re scared of him. Are you using him as an excuse? I don’t mind telling him. I’m not afraid of him.’

‘Oh, Max, I’m scared he’ll make me feel so guilty I won’t be able to leave. And I do want to, I really do.’

‘Well, I’m not scared. We can go and tell my parents, now, then wait for him and confront him.’

‘No, we can’t do that. He’ll turn you against me and make you hate me. Justin has a powerful hold over me. You have no idea how much it took for me to come to you today. Justin is already jealous of you, he already suspects I care for you, that he is no longer the centre of my universe.’

‘How much does he know?’ Max asked.

‘Enough.’ She traced his jaw-line with a finger. ‘He only has to look at me to know. I find it hard not to smile when you’re close to me. In fact, when you’re anywhere near I want to look at you, touch you.’

He clasped her to him again. She was saying words that filled him with passion: words he had only dreamed of hearing. Nothing had ever sounded so sweet.

Suddenly Laura pushed him from her. She felt somehow as if she was flying. ‘Wait! I have a plan. The mail-boat docks at our quayside at about six in the evening. We can leave on it.’

‘Tonight?’ Max tingled, either with fear or excitement.

‘No. It comes every other day. It’s due tomorrow. Maybe we’ll be able to leave then. If not, we have to wait just two more days. We can stay over on Tortola and catch a plane first thing the following morning.’ She paced up and down, making brushing motions with her hand, a determined expression on her face. ‘We’ll stay apart until then, and the night we leave we must be careful not to give a clue to anyone, especially not Justin. You pack your bags, I’ll pack mine, and we can leave them hidden close to the jetty. We’ll meet up at Suicide Point. Say that you’re taking a walk, so that no one suspects. I’ll come via the lower path, you take the long route round. No one will be able to see either of us from the house on those routes, and from up there we can see the mail-boat coming in.’

‘But if it always comes at six, why don’t we just hide down there?’

‘It’s never on time, and we’ll have to wait until Justin has collected the mail. He always takes the crew some beer and chats for a while before he brings the mail and the newspapers up to the house. When he’s gone they sit and drink their beer on the boat. That’ll give us time to get on board and leave the island without Justin seeing us or anyone suspecting anything.’

Max was so overcome that he didn’t notice the deviousness of her plan, or that she had been able to make it so quickly. All he could think about was that she was agreeing to be with him. ‘Until then, we keep apart, ignore each other. We must not give ourselves away.’ Laura was excited, her face glowing, sure she had not overlooked anything. The fact that he was little more than a child and she an adult woman, fifteen years older than him, was unimportant. They were two people infatuated with each other, holding their world in their arms.

‘Whatever you say. I’ll be waiting.’

They kissed and parted, then ran back into each other’s arms and kissed again, neither wanting to let the other go. Eventually Laura made him turn his back and ran until her lungs felt as if they would burst, her hair flying, her skirt caught in her hands above her thighs.

‘We’ll get married!’ he shouted after her, and his voice caught the wind and echoed. But she didn’t hear. He could see her figure darting and jumping, ducking beneath overhanging trees, and then she was gone.

Laura ran full tilt into Humphrey Matlock and lost her balance. He had to catch her or she would have slipped over, dangerously near to the cliff-edge.

‘Dear God, you’re crazy. It’s slippery here,’ he said, still holding her arm. She gasped her thanks. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes danced. She rested against him to regain her balance and catch her breath. ‘I was looking for James,’ he said.

‘He’s gone to Tortola for the evening.’

‘Ah, well,’ he said, towering above her. His black hair was tousled from the wind and his face was even more tanned after another day’s fishing. ‘Are you going back to the house?’ he asked, and she nodded, walking backwards a few feet in front of him.

‘Did you catch anything?’ she asked flippantly.

‘You mean apart from you?’ He smiled. His teeth were large and slightly stained from the cigars he smoked. She could smell brandy on his breath. ‘I didn’t have a good day, but tomorrow we’re planning to go further afield, start at the crack of dawn. I’ve not enjoyed myself so much in as long as I can remember.’ Matlock went on chatting to her, indicating with his hands the size of the fish he had lost, describing the dolphins and how close they had swum to the boat. Then he stopped and sniffed. ‘God, smell the air, it’s so fresh. But that perfume, it’s all over the island.’

‘It’s lilies, Justin has them shipped in.’ She spoke softly, glancing coyly at him. He looked down into her upturned, exquisite face. She gazed into his dark eyes as he lifted his hand and hooked one finger into the opening of her dress. He drew her a fraction closer. She felt his rough finger run along the lace of her brassière, then he withdrew his hand, afraid that he had gone too far.

‘So you do want me,’ she said softly.

Hoarsely he grunted, ‘Yes.’

‘Maybe one day we’ll do something about it.’ She turned and ran on, leaving him standing there with a huge hard-on, unfulfilled and feeling idiotic.

‘Did you have a good day, darling?’ Angela asked, as he turned on the shower.

‘No.’ He began to strip off his clothes. ‘Caught bugger all.’

Angela looked at her watch. It was already almost eight. ‘You were out a long time.’

‘James didn’t show up. I went to have a talk to him, but he’s gone off to some disco. About all he’s interested in doing.’ He stepped out of his tracksuit. ‘You do anything?’ he asked, not really interested.

‘I had a pleasant day.’ She smiled. ‘Would you like to order dinner before your shower?’

He glowered and said she could order for him, so she walked out of the bathroom. She hated to see him naked. There was something so monstrous about him: with his deep-tanned face and arms and the hideous vest marks over his torso where his skin was still alabaster white. He was grotesque.

She ordered filet mignon for them both, a chilled tomato and lime soup and fruit. Then she called Daphne Hangerford to see if she would join them but received no reply, so she tried the Baroness instead.

‘Have you heard?’ drawled the Baroness, excitedly. ‘Cedric Hangerford has gone bankrupt. The stud farm has gone, plus their two homes. It was all over The Times! That’s why he ran off from here with his tail between his legs. He must have known!’

‘How awful,’ said Angela.

‘Mmm, isn’t it?’ The Baroness hung up, wishing she had someone else to gossip with, and Angela realized that she hadn’t mentioned dinner arrangements. Oh, well.

She was looking through her wardrobe, undecided as to what to wear, when Dahlia tapped on the door. Angela opened the door in her robe and Dahlia presented her with a small tissue-wrapped parcel tied with a pink ribbon. ‘I was asked to make sure you received this before dinner,’ she said.

‘Thank you,’ Angela said softly, and her heart fluttered. She couldn’t wait to rip it open, sure of what it would be. And it was. A pair of Laura’s panties and a little note asking her to wear them to dinner, as it would make her feel close. As a postscript she added that she longed for their next cross-stitch session.

Daphne Hangerford, her hair newly cut and tinted in what would have been a rather flattering style for someone twenty years younger, sat polishing her nails. The manicures had made a world of difference to her hands but she had put on a considerable amount of weight over the holiday. Right now she didn’t care; her brain wouldn’t function and she was confused.

She had placed call after call to her husband, her lawyers, her trainers and the stables but she couldn’t get through. She was distraught and even more so when she opened her purse and discovered she had only a small amount of money left. She had a cheque book but she couldn’t use that and her credit cards were all heavily in the red. She was sure Clarissa didn’t have any money with her. However, she had their return tickets for London and decided she was going to leave as soon as possible. Her panic spiralled out of control when she couldn’t get hold of her daughter. When the phone rang she grabbed it but it was only the kitchen staff wanting her order for dinner.

She demanded to speak to someone about leaving immediately, and after a short while Dahlia knocked on the door. ‘I have to get off this bloody island. I have to leave,’ Daphne screamed.

‘Certainly, Lady Hangerford. Would you care for your maid to pack your cases? You will be able to get the launch first thing in the morning — it leaves at seven fifteen. Will your daughter be accompanying you?’

‘Clarissa? Yes, of course.’

‘I will make arrangements to transport you to the airport, and if you wish I can also arrange for a limousine to collect you at Heathrow.’

Suddenly the panic subsided, and Daphne deflated like a pricked balloon. ‘Thank you, that is most kind. I can’t seem to work the phones. I have to call my husband.’

‘By all means. Would you care for me to get through for you?’

Daphne clasped her hands in relief.

‘It may take a little while — connections have been problematic lately.’ She listened, then asked to speak to Lord Hangerford and passed Daphne the receiver.

Daphne’s hands were sweating, but she waited until Dahlia had left the room before she spoke into the phone. She could just hear a distant, ‘Hello? Hello? Who’s speaking, hello?’

‘Is that you?’ she barked.

‘Yes.’ His voice was slurred.

She eased herself into a chair, sweat trickling between the rolls of fat on her belly. ‘What’s going on? I’ve seen the papers. Is that why you left? And how dare you not tell me, you bastard!’

‘Yes, it’s true,’ he stammered. ‘But you know the media — someone must have tipped them off. I couldn’t tell you. I just had to get away and give myself time to think.’

‘But the money situation?’

He broke down sobbing.

‘What about William? Couldn’t he help us?’ shouted Daphne. She was shaking with nerves. Hangerford began a tirade against William. ‘There’s more, Piggy!’ He used her pet nickname, which she hated: it always spelled trouble when he used it.

‘What else could there be?’ she said flatly.

‘I’m leaving you.’

‘What?’

‘I said, I’m leaving you.’ Then he told her about Judith, the twenty-six-year-old stable girl with whom he had been having an affair. He didn’t mention that Judith had a private income, and that although it wouldn’t keep him in the style to which he was accustomed, it was better than joining the dole queue and meant he would have a roof over his head.

By the time their conversation had ground to a sickening halt, Daphne Hangerford was in a semi-stupor. She eased her bulk slowly from the wicker chair, opened the fridge and took out a bottle of gin and another of tonic water. She’d never been a great drinker and she was reminded of Katherine Benedict. She remembered the last conversation they had had. Katherine had been sitting surrounded by her dogs. She had been drinking heavily. ‘I am sorry to have to ask you this, Daphne, but I need you to repay some of the money I lent Cedric. I’m in a rather difficult position. I’ve had to use my children’s trust funds to tide me over and...’ This reminded Daphne that Clarissa also had a trust fund. It was still intact and her husband didn’t know about it. She giggled. It had been her secret; hers and her beloved father’s. He had seen his son-in-law carve his way through his daughter’s inheritance, so he made sure his grand-daughter’s future was secure. There was a few hundred thousand, if not more, that she could get her hands on. Daphne Hangerford raised her glass and vowed that her husband would see her in court if he tried to get his hands on one penny. ‘Thank God for you, Daddy!’

The Baroness had just showered when Laura tapped at the door of her suite. ‘Who is it?’ she called.

‘Laura.’

The Baroness opened the door and her towel slipped to reveal her breasts. ‘Oh, sorry, come in.’ She made only a half-hearted attempt to cover herself.

‘Are you alone?’ Laura asked, closing the door.

‘Yes. God knows where my husband is.’

Laura sat down on the enormous sofa loaded with cushions. ‘I think you know perfectly well where your husband is.’ She smiled sweetly.

‘What do you mean by that?’

Laura opened her bag, removed a video cassette and held it between her thumb and forefinger. ‘See for yourself.’

The Baroness sat opposite Laura on a low seat, her legs wide apart, knowing she was leaving nothing to the imagination. ‘So what is this video, darling? Not of you, is it?’

‘It’s nothing to do with me, but you’ll thank me for passing it on to you. There are two seats reserved on a plane tomorrow morning. The launch will have to leave rather early so that you don’t miss the flight. I’ll get your maid to help you pack, unless you’d prefer not to use Ruby.’

She slipped the tape into the VCR, then sat back and crossed her legs. ‘I wouldn’t mention this to the other guests. Just make sure you and your husband leave tomorrow.’

The tape whirred into action. On the screen the Baron, naked, walked into shot, his erection leading the way.

‘Or the film will be shown to all the guests in a specially announced screening tomorrow night,’ Laura added.

The Baroness was speechless as she watched her husband cavorting with a couple of the boat-boys. ‘I’m in love with Max,’ said Laura. ‘He’s asked me to marry him and I have accepted.’ She looked at a small flower in the curtains behind the Baroness, her wide eyes clear and focused.

The Baroness was glued to the screen. She had always known of her husband’s antics, but seeing him perform had silenced her.

Laura pressed on: ‘We want to be left alone, to lead our own lives.’

The Baroness stood up suddenly. ‘You lay one finger on my son,’ she screamed, ‘and I’ll scratch your eyes out.’

Laura continued, ‘It’s not only the Baron on tape. Shall I fast-forward? I notice you have been spending a lot of time with Kurt.’ She looked the Baroness in the eye. ‘Well, I see I have no need to elaborate. Why not sit and view it for yourself? Think about whether you’d like Humphrey Matlock to get hold of it.’ Laura straightened her skirt and stood up. She smiled. ‘See you at dinner.’

Left alone in her suite the Baroness played the video through. It was still running when her husband returned. ‘Beautiful evening,’ he said, as he came in.

‘You are in for one big shock,’ said the Baroness. ‘Sit down and get yourself a stiff drink. And while you sit and watch that video, I’ll be packing — without a servant, because it appears you have fucked every single one of them.’

The Baron sat in a stupor, staring at himself on the screen. He was mortified. Then his wife was back. ‘Oh, by the way,’ she said, ‘Max is staying on here, with that two-faced whore.’

‘Who?’ said the Baron, cowering.

‘Laura Chalmers has her claws into Max. She said they’re going to get married.’

‘But he’s only eighteen,’ he stuttered.

‘You think I don’t know that?’ Tears of fury streamed down her face.

The Baron’s shoulders slumped and he started to cry. His wife screamed, ‘Get showered and changed. We’re dining at nine thirty and we don’t let so much as a hint of this show, do you hear me?’

He nodded, and with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach he turned to watch the video. He felt ashamed. The boys, he realized, were younger than his son. Then the screen went blank. A new scene: the Baroness entered the sauna. Kurt was lying on the top bunk. He eased himself down and began to rub oil over her chest. They were joined by Dahlia. The Baron watched in horror. His wife would blame him for driving her into the sex games, but he was too humiliated to argue with her.

Matlock, swathed in a towel robe left undone to reveal his naked body, carried his gin on to the veranda, a cigar clamped between his teeth. ‘You ordered dinner?’ He looked to his wife, as he slumped on to a cushioned chaise-longue.

‘Yes.’ Angela passed him a bowl of prawn and oyster canapés.

‘Odd that Benedict’s still not shown. I’d say the Prime Minister’s not coming either.’

‘I doubt it. He’s at some European summit. It’s in The Times.’

Matlock clicked his fingers. She put down her cross stitch and went to retrieve the newspaper. She hated the way he did that. He was so uncouth at times it made her skin crawl.

Matlock roared with laughter as he read of Lord Hangerford’s downfall and held out his glass to be refilled. ‘Probably why Benedict’s not shown up. They’re related, aren’t they?’

Angela poured his drink and returned to her seat. ‘By marriage only. Hangerford was his second wife’s cousin.’ She began selecting silks.

‘Ah, yes, I forgot you knew so much about them.’ He snorted as he turned the pages.

‘I find it hard to believe that you would forget that I went out with William Benedict.’

He lowered the newspaper. She didn’t meet his eyes, but continued to sort through her silks.

‘Slip of the tongue. Of course I haven’t. All the same, when you think about it, it’s odd that we should be here accepting his hospitality.’

‘This was your idea,’ she said primly, her lips tight.

‘So it was, and I’m glad I did accept. Even if the PM doesn’t show, I’m having a good holiday.’

Angela concentrated on threading her needle. Now she understood why Humphrey had come here. It had been too good an opportunity to refuse, no matter what she might feel about facing William. Her husband, she mused, would be able to commit murder and blank it from his self-obsessed mind, just as he had her pitiful threats of divorce. Months ago she had claimed that she could expose Humphrey’s indiscretions: they would make headlines. Usually it was an employee who caught his eye, and no one ever lasted longer than a few months, but his callousness hurt her. Finding a credit-card slip from Aspreys for a diamond bracelet that had not been for her had been the last straw. ‘I want a divorce,’ she had said.

‘Don’t be stupid.’ He had held his hand out for the credit-card slip. She saw him wince as he realized what it was.

‘I’m not being stupid. How many women have you played around with? This time I mean it, I MEAN IT.’

Matlock stood up and reached for her, drawing her close. ‘Let me make it up to you. What do you want from me? I’ll do anything to please you and stop all this nonsense about divorce.’

She had wriggled away from him, still angry, then turned on him again. ‘I’ve been made to look a fool once too often. If you want to make it up to me then ruin William Benedict. It’s your choice, because I won’t be persuaded to forget about this.’

Matlock had sighed and picked up the paper. The story of Andrew Maynard’s suicide had only just been leaked and there would be a lot more to come. Perhaps his wife had hit on something newsworthy in Sir William’s indiscretions. And if there weren’t any to be exposed, Matlock and his cheque book would invent them. ‘Deal,’ he said, and lit a cigar. ‘I never realized how much he hurt you.’

She did not add that if she had married William, as she had so desperately wanted, she would not have been tied to a man she detested. ‘Just ruin him any way you can,’ she spat out.

He had been as good as his word, had perhaps gone even further than Angela had intended, but she had read of William’s disgrace with relish.

‘Penny for ’em,’ Matlock said now, holding out his empty glass again.

‘I was just wondering how late James was going to be.’

Matlock swung his legs off the chaise-longue. ‘I’m going to have words with that little sod. You spoil him, lazy good-for-nothing.’

‘He’s with all the youngsters at a disco,’ she said, pouring his gin, slicing lemon and scooping up the ice.

‘He’s missed out on some fantastic hours on that boat.’ Matlock had been the first up and the last to return ever since he had arrived, fishing from early morning until dusk. ‘You make sure he comes out with me tomorrow,’ he said, deep in the article about Hangerford again, hardly able to contain his delight. He checked the journalist’s name and wondered who’d leaked the scoop. It was certainly a good one. ‘I must call the office tomorrow,’ he muttered, tossing the newspaper aside. The photograph of Cedric was on the front page and he chuckled.

Something somewhere was lurking in Matlock’s brain, making dull connections, but he didn’t have the energy to gather together the train of subconscious thought and link the ‘scoop’, the ‘journalist’ and the ‘story’ that had made his career, so long ago.

As the guests on the island prepared for dinner, their offspring, apart from Max, arrived in Tortola. Justin ushered James and Clarissa ahead of him into the dark, dingy back bar of the Coca-Baba club. They were early and the place was only half full, so he suggested they sit at the bar and order some drinks. He felt irritable and tired, and when James leaned close and asked if he needed a hit, he shook his head. He watched James head for the lavatory then ordered a round of rum punches.

Clarissa slid up next to him. ‘You were so horrible to me,’ she said, pouting.

‘Was I?’ Justin turned away and lit a cigarette, as she went on to complain about the way he had treated her. It had made her feel terrible.

‘You know, sometimes, Clarissa, a man needs to shoot his load. You just struck lucky. Think nothing of it. I don’t.’

‘You hateful shit,’ she said, returning to her stool.

Justin looked around the club, which was slowly filling up with kids on vacation with their parents — the ‘Brit Pack’, as the locals nicknamed them. James returned from the toilets. He was so high he almost missed his seat and went flying into Justin. When he eventually sat down, he ordered more drinks. ‘Pity Max isn’t here,’ he said.

‘Yeah, life and soul of the party is Max,’ Justin said flatly. ‘Good-looking, and getting more so every day. His body’s filling out like his dick.’

James seethed. ‘Yeah, well, we all know where he wants to stick it.’

Justin laughed. ‘Jealous?’

‘I didn’t mean you. Max is panting after your sister.’

Justin’s jaw tightened.

James leaned closer to him. ‘I think she’s cute too. I may even try and fuck her again myself. She’s easy meat, I’d say.’

Justin hooked his foot under James’s stool and tugged hard. The stool slid sideways and James fell awkwardly to the floor, where Justin kicked him hard in the groin. ‘Never talk like that about my sister. Now get up, sit up and shut up.’

Clarissa giggled as James heaved himself to his feet and picked up the stool. She was obviously intending to get blotto before the night was over. She was going to show the repellent Justin Chalmers that he couldn’t hurt her with his snide remarks.

Laura slipped into William’s study to check that the tapes were in order. Satisfied that everything was working and ready to go, she was about to leave when she saw one of the intercom lights flashing. She crossed to it. It was the jetty phone. Then she noticed the light blink on Dahlia’s line, which made her worry. She wondered if perhaps the weather had turned bad: sometimes it was too rough to make the trip across. She pressed the speaker button, which enabled her to listen in on any call made anywhere on the island.

‘He’ll be on the first plane, so be waiting. It is imperative you say nothing, especially to Justin or Laura. Sir’s orders.’

Laura gasped. ‘Sir’ had to be William. Why was he returning before time, and why was his arrival to be kept a secret?

Max was finding it difficult to stop smiling. He was seated at his parents’ table and rose to greet them as they arrived. ‘Hi, I thought I’d sit with you this evening as everyone else on my usual table’s gone clubbing.’

‘How nice,’ his mother said, as he held out her chair.

‘You look stunning,’ he said, kissing her cheek.

‘Thank you.’ She sat with rigid shoulders. ‘Your father will join us shortly. As usual he’s taking his time dressing.’

‘Would you care for a glass of champagne?’ Max asked, and his mother nodded. He signalled to the waiter, who crossed to them and poured two glasses. Max looked around the room. ‘We’re the first down,’ he said, trying to make conversation.

‘How observant of you!’ She lifted her glass, wanting to throw its contents into his silly, boyish face. Max half rose again as the Matlocks came in.

‘Are we all dining together?’ Matlock said loudly, looking at the table set for eight.

‘I believe so,’ the Baroness said, forcing a smile, then looked at Angela, who clung to her husband’s arm. ‘You look quite lovely, Angela, adorable dress. Very flattering colour, lemon.’

‘Where’s your better half?’ asked Matlock.

‘He’ll be joining us. We’ve had some troublesome news from Berlin, and I’m afraid we’re forced to cut short the holiday. We’re leaving early in the morning.’

Max looked astonished. ‘You never told me. Does this mean I have to go with you?’

‘No, dear. You can stay on. You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I am,’ he said, with relief.

Daphne Hangerford shuffled in with the Baron. She was leaning against him and clearly quite drunk. ‘Don’t get up, please.’ She plonked herself into a seat and shook out her napkin. ‘This’ll be my last night. Clarissa and I have...’ she hesitated ‘...a few problems.’

The Baroness almost gave herself whiplash she turned so quickly. ‘What did you say?’

Daphne broke open her bread roll, scattering crumbs over the table. ‘Just personal things. I have to leave.’

‘If it’s the report in The Times, we’ve all read it.’

Daphne gulped some water, but before she could reply the Baroness leaned closer. ‘We’re leaving too, we’re so bored here. We’ve got tickets booked, but we’re not broadcasting it, and if I were you, I wouldn’t say too much. Don’t want to appear ungrateful, do we?’

‘We’re missing one,’ Matlock said, nodding to the empty seat at the head of the table. ‘Ah, no, she’s here.’ He looked with admiration towards the door where Laura stood. She was wearing a white sequinned gown that floated around her like stardust, tied in a halter neck with a white satin ribbon. She crossed to her usual table and signalled to the waiter to bring iced water.

‘Won’t you join us?’ Matlock asked, leaning back in his chair.

Laura turned and smiled. ‘Thank you, but I’m rather tired and will retire shortly.’

‘Nevertheless we’d like you to at least spend a few moments with us.’ Matlock had stood up and was holding out his hand to her. She hesitated before allowing him to guide her to the empty seat next to him.

‘Thank you,’ she said coyly, smiling at everyone apart from Max, who had flushed. Matlock asked her if she would care for a glass of champagne. Just like his wife, he had eyes only for Laura.

‘No champagne, thank you.’

The lights lowered, leaving the room candlelit. The young guitarist entered and began to strum unobtrusively in the corner.

The atmosphere seemed affable, but tense undercurrents were building and Laura was at the eye of the storm. Matlock wanted to fuck her, Max was in love with her, as was Angela, and the von Gartens loathed her. They thought her nothing but a cheap, blackmailing whore. Daphne Hangerford, too drunk to be aware of the immediate situation, was the only person who didn’t want either to strangle Laura or make love to her.

Laura behaved as if she was privileged to sit with them, keeping her eyes down and maintaining a sweet, shy smile. Matlock eased his thigh to rest against hers beneath the table.

The big fish was hooked, but his demise was endangering her secret plan with Max. She knew she could not leave the island before the final showdown with Matlock, but time was running out. When Justin discovered everyone was leaving he would be furious, and especially with her for acting without consulting him. She wondered fearfully if she dare carry out the revenge alone. No, she knew she couldn’t.

‘That was a long sigh,’ Matlock whispered. She gave him a tiny, intimate smile and he leaned closer again. ‘A penny for ’em.’

‘Oh, my thoughts cost more than pennies,’ she said softly, her mind jumping. Having orchestrated the imminent departure of the Baron and Baroness, along with Daphne Hangerford and Clarissa, Laura knew that the Matlocks and Max would be the only guests left, and Sir William would turn up at the most inopportune moment.

Laura felt Matlock’s leg pressing harder against hers, then his hand fumbling with her skirt. She made the decision. If Justin didn’t return on time as they had agreed, she would carry it out alone. She was determined that nothing would stop her running away with Max.

She glanced across the table. They were trying hard not to look at each other, but intuitively Max turned round. His eyes glowed, and she forced herself not to react. Beneath the table, she unzipped Matlock’s trousers and began to fondle him, but now she felt disgusted at herself. How could she do this to a man she hated whilst the boy she loved was sitting right opposite her? She concentrated her mind on the plan and drew comfort from the thought that all this was part of a greater scheme.

The plan was for Laura to make Matlock desire her to such an extent that he would agree to meet on the quayside. They would board one of the boats and Justin would be waiting.