Sleeping Cruelty

Chapter twenty-two

The storm that had been threatening made a spectacular entrance with a terrifying crack of electricity. Lightning lit up the sky and the ocean, before everything was plunged into darkness again. A second later, a shorter bolt flashed, heralding the thunderclap that followed, and showing Justin in silhouette on the deck, as he waved farewell to the speedboat crew. Max was already worried about the storm and was sure Justin had come after him. He moved closer to one of the men on board, expecting some kind of argument to break out. But Justin never even looked at him.

The mail-boat rolled on the choppy waves, but the crew seemed unconcerned. Max constantly looked skyward in trepidation. He wasn’t sure which was worse: Justin being on board frightened the life out of him, but the crew regaling him with stories of real ‘horror storms’ they had survived made him tremble. They had been at sea more than three-quarters of an hour after delivering the mail to the islands, and it was coming up to eight o’clock. The sky was already pitch black when the rain started. Thankfully it was not heavy. One old man smiled at Max, said the worst was over, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

Justin sat hunched at the stern. He had ignored Max from the moment he had come aboard. He knew the boy was constantly looking at him, knew he was afraid of him, but he wasn’t interested, not yet. He had no desire even to speak to him. His face was set in an expressionless stare looking out to sea. He had taken money and his passport, but wasn’t sure what he intended to do after he had completed his new mission. He was a little ashamed of having taken off in the way he had, but William had unwittingly touched a raw nerve that had made him act on impulse... he had felt the terror rise, the memories of his anguish. Only Laura had dried his tears. Then came the shame he felt when they had taken tiny Laura into their room, not him. He had covered his ears when he heard her calling for him. Later that first night, he had crawled in beside her, bathed her tiny bruised body. Then they had clung to each other, night after night, waiting with fear for their bedroom door to creak open.

‘Come with Mummy, Laura.’

‘Come to Daddy, Justin.’

They had been subjected to such perversion, such pain, and threatened with more if they whispered to a soul what had happened to them. The devil would eat them alive if they ever told anyone about their mummy and daddy’s games. They were special secrets, and they would die if they ever told them. They would be buried alive — and to make sure they understood, they had been forced to watch the burial of their pets, forced to watch the earth cover a tiny canary’s feathered chest, a pet spaniel tied by his paws. They had waited to dig him up and seen the maggots and bugs filling his mouth, his ears and his eyes. They reburied him, more afraid than ever. So they kept the hideous secret until Laura lit the candle and held the flame to her mother’s sheets. Then they had another secret to hide, and another, and another...

Justin had had no option but to get away. He had been afraid of what he might do to William. Seeing Laura regress yet again had not helped: it had made him feel wretched, even though he had seen it many times. He knew she had come out of them before. Sometimes it had taken days, months, but Justin was certain that, whatever happened to him, William would care for Laura. He had never entrusted her to anyone but himself and Marta, but knowing their old nurse would soon be arriving had made his leaving easier to bear. He blamed Max for Laura’s collapse, and now he would make him pay. He would be the last, he swore to himself. After Max there would be no more.

Like a dark shadow, the island disappeared from view. How he had loved it, built it with such dedication and care. Never before had he been so content or happy in a place. He knew every flowering bush, every tree and every cove. He would have liked to spend the rest of his life there because it was his paradise. In his heart, it had become his the moment he had stepped ashore for the first time. That was where he could find peace, forget the horrors that tormented him. Now he was leaving it and he didn’t know or care where he was going to. He would not let his mind drift back to William, who loved the island as much as Justin. If only William had been honest, if only he could just have offered to love and nothing more, but he hadn’t. Instead he had used the hated word ‘father’, which had cut through Justin’s heart and turned him back to the madness that lurked just beneath his beautiful exterior.

William had touched a raw nerve in the hope of gaining some understanding. How could he know he had pressed the button that made Justin want to kill? He turned to face Max, and their eyes locked.

‘They say the storm’s passing over,’ Max said, as justification for speaking to Justin. Their proximity had given him the confidence that no harm would come to him, but he saw Justin flinch. ‘How much longer do you think it’s going to last?’ he asked.

‘As long as it takes, Max.’ Justin’s voice was low, and his eyes bored into the boy’s fearful face. He wondered if it would appear too much of a coincidence if Max were to drown like Matlock. But the crew were everywhere. He would have to think of some other way, but he felt so tired.

He watched Max slither back to the shelter of the little cabin. Maybe the storm would toss the boy overboard without any assistance from him: it was not blowing over by any means. The rain had only just started to fall and would come down much heavier. The distant booms of thunder would soon return seaward.

Max hovered close to the cabin door, and was told to go below deck. But he preferred to cling to the guard rail. ‘It seems to be getting rougher,’ he said, and was frightened by the seamen’s looks as they dragged on their rain capes and hooked safety harnesses to their belts.

‘You go below when we tell you, son,’ one man shouted.

‘Isn’t the storm over?’ Max shouted.

‘No,’ came the reply.

Justin focused on the mounting angry waves. He wondered how long it would take to drown and be really free. How would it feel?

William wore a cape and sou’wester. The rain dripped off him as the speedboat cut through the swell. They had made radio contact and discovered the route the mail-boat would now be taking. William planned to overtake it. He hoped he had not misjudged the journey. He had no intention of trying to get aboard mid-way, sure that Max would be safe until they had landed. He just hoped to God he would get there in time.

The storm was at its zenith when William landed on Tortola. He stood at the quayside waiting for the first sighting of the mail-boat. He knew he had overtaken it, but worried now that perhaps it had anchored in one of the inlets until the storm blew over. It was almost ten o’clock. He bought a bottle of brandy from the Harbour Bar. He felt stiff and cold. It had been the longest day and night of his life. Nothing he had ever been through had made him so emotionally drained yet so positive. He was there for Justin and he hoped to God that Max had come to no harm.

Max clung to the sides of the cabin as the boat thudded and rolled, the waves crashing over the deck. He was now wearing a cape and a safety harness hooked to the guard rail. He had gone below for a moment, but had started to vomit so had returned to the deck. Tears of fright mingled with the relentless rain; he could see nothing but blackness. The crew had started pumping out the bilges — they had taken in a lot of water. Using a rope and hook to edge along the railings of the deck, one of the crew made his way to the stern. He was shouting for Justin. There was no reply. He called again, screaming against the wind.

Then, to his horror, Max saw him, balanced like a trapeze artist outside the rails, arms raised, face tilted back.

‘Justin! Justin!’ Max’s voice, too, was lost in the howling gale.

Justin remained upright for a few seconds. Then the boat banged against a twenty-foot wave and Justin sailed into the air, as if he was flying. His body lifted above the boat then dropped into the churning sea.

‘Man overboard!’ the cry went up.

‘Justin! Justin!’ screeched Max.

The crew risked their lives in leaning over the edge of the boat to find him in the swirling water, and the skipper turned on a searchlight, but there was nothing. Only the deafening howl of the wind, and the thundering waves. They searched for over an hour, before the skipper accepted that he was dead.

At midnight William saw the old mail-boat cruising into the harbour. The coastguards had been informed of a man overboard, but had been unable to launch a rescue craft. When the old boat dropped anchor, there was no mistaking the despair of the crew over the recent loss. William searched for Max. He was sobbing, but safe, being helped down the gangplank on to the jetty. His relief was short-lived however— ‘Where’s Justin?’ he called, running towards Max.

Max’s teeth were chattering, his whole body shaking, as he stammered. ‘Overboard!’

William sagged. He didn’t want to hear this. It couldn’t be true.

The sun rose, an amber globe that turned into a deep crimson ball and seemed to come up from the sea-bed to send shimmering rays across the now quiet waters. William was on his way back to the island. All the way he scanned the ocean with his binoculars. As they passed the two jagged rocks, he looked up at Suicide Point, hoping to see Justin, but no one was there.

The coastguards had been searching, and reported that no body had been found. With the storm at its height when he went overboard, he might have been swept for miles down the coast. They continued their search, in small coves and inlets, but they knew there was no hope of finding him alive after twenty-four hours.

William left the boat and went up to the house for breakfast. He had not eaten for hours, and he wolfed down the food, though he tasted nothing. As the perfect day took hold news spread round the island. William saw huddles of gardeners whispering. One man, older than the others, was squatting on his heels, sobbing loudly. The boat-boys sat side by side, their legs dangling over the jetty, arms around each other. They had loved him too. Everyone here had loved Justin. He was there in every blade of grass, in every secret path, even in the air, perfumed by the blooms he had chosen.

As William was about to enter Laura’s room, Dahlia appeared and drew him aside, inching the door shut behind her. They walked a short distance before she spoke. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said.

‘Have you told Laura?’ William asked.

She shook her head. ‘On the night of the storm, she woke up. It was about ten o’clock. She seemed frantic. Then...’ Dahlia started to sob. Eventually she blew her nose and her face puckered. ‘She turned to me and said, “Justin has gone now. He’s never coming back.” I tried to calm her and said everything was all right, but she said, “No, Dahlia, Justin isn’t ever coming back.” How did she know?’ William could say nothing to comfort her. As she gradually became calmer, she wiped her eyes. ‘I said I would sit with her, and she thanked me. She didn’t cry, Sir William, it was the most heartbreaking thing I have ever experienced. She said she didn’t need me as he was with her, Justin was taking care of her.’

William entered the room and looked down at Laura. He was as mesmerized by her as he had been from the first moment he saw her portrait in his bedroom. Her silken hair was loose around her shoulders, her eyes were clear, the helpless look had gone. Her face, devoid of make-up, had a luminous quality.

‘Hello, Laura.’ His voice was a hoarse croak.

‘Hello, Willy,’ she said, patting the bed for him to sit beside her and reaching for his hand.

He was unsure of what to say. ‘How did you know?’ he asked.

‘That he’d gone? Well, how could I not?’ Her voice didn’t waver. ‘We have always read each other’s minds. Since we were children.’

‘I loved him,’ William said, head bent.

‘I know you did. He couldn’t believe you meant it. You see, Justin always believed he could control everyone. But when you grew to love him, he didn’t know how to handle it and then... you said something to him. You killed him,’ she said.

William gasped. ‘No — no! I never wanted him to leave.’

‘Ssh.’ She put a finger to his lips. ‘You couldn’t have understood. You told him you wanted to be like a father to him. Isn’t that what you said?’

‘But — but I...’

She lay back on her pillows. ‘Our Father who art in Heaven... If he had stayed, Justin would have had to kill you, Willy, because a father figure represented evil to him. A father would control him, punish him, as our father did. You see, whenever we needed the strength to...’ she couldn’t bring herself to say ‘murder’ ‘...we would just remember our father and what he did to us. Then we could do whatever we wanted. It made it all right.’

William bowed his head. His eyes brimmed with tears.

‘But he would never have wanted to hurt you, Willy, not you. He knew you would take care of me so it meant he was free. I have been a burden to him, I know that.’

William could say nothing.

‘He didn’t hurt Max, though, did he?’ She smiled.

‘No. Max is back in London now.’

Her face twisted and then she unfurled her fingers. ‘Good. No harm done. And with no one finding Justin, he can’t be buried, can he?’ she asked, puzzled.

‘I can arrange a memorial service.’ William gulped.

‘No, this island is memory enough. And he’s here, William, he won’t ever leave. I don’t want any service, he only loved me, you and this island.’

Laura drew him into her arms as if he was a child.

‘Marta will be here today,’ he said.

‘Marta will like it here. She will take good care of us.’

William’s heart leaped as she said ‘us’. ‘Will you stay on?’

‘I would like to stay here always,’ she said, without any hesitation.

‘I will never let you down, Laura. Please believe that, without him, you are now the most important person in my life.’

‘Thank you,’ she said.

Marta arrived late in the afternoon. William was waiting for her and held her tightly as she cried. He gestured for the boys to carry her luggage to the waiting golf cart, and hooked his arm through hers. Later she sat with William on the veranda, sipping a glass of chilled champagne. ‘You can feel him here,’ she said, ‘in the plants, on the breeze.’

William nodded: he believed it. In some ways it had eased his grief. Marta’s eyes filled with tears, and when she patted her pocket for a handkerchief, William handed her his.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and dabbed her eyes. She asked if he had noticed how often Laura said that phrase.

‘I have. It’s very endearing.’

Marta folded and refolded the handkerchief on her lap. ‘It isn’t. It’s heartbreaking. If you were to rape her or to brand her with a red-hot iron, she would thank you.’ Marta sighed. ‘They were both forced to say it after whatever they had been subjected to. Justin used to say it as much as Laura. Once he stole some money from my purse, just some loose change, but I was angry. I smacked his hand and he looked at me and said, “Thank you.” When he brought Laura home from the asylum, I used to watch him looking at her as she repeated over and over: “Thank you, thank you for the pain.”’

‘I am in such pain now, Marta,’ he said bleakly.

‘You are not to blame,’ she said kindly.

‘I am, Marta. I said I wanted to be a father to him. I know now it was the worst thing I could have said to him and, anyway, it was a lie. I was incapable of admitting to him, and to myself, that I wanted him to be...’ he swallowed, unable to admit even now that he had wanted Justin in every way a man can love another man. He was still ashamed to acknowledge his feelings.

‘You don’t need to say any more, I understand. Remember I used to see you together, see the way he looked at you, and you at him?’

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. ‘Marta, I will protect Laura with my life. No one is ever going to hurt her again.’

Marta was frightened: he had to have an ulterior motive. William saw her anxiety and understood.

‘I want only to care for her,’ said William. ‘Justin changed my life. I intend to come back here to live, because he is here. Here I’ll be close to him.’

William’s life took on a different perspective in the period after Justin’s death. The coverage of Matlock’s funeral was on the front page of every newspaper, and in all the television news broadcasts. Angela gave the performance of her life as the grieving widow, dressed by Valentino. At long last she was the focus of everyone’s attention. James remained in a child-like state, dependent upon his mother, most of the time unaware of where he was, or that his father was dead. Max returned to the dominant arms of his mother as she searched for a suitable, rich wife for him. They rarely, if ever, saw the Baron whose downfall had been written up in the press world-wide. They now lived totally separate lives.

The Hangerfords divorced and Daphne was obliged to live in more meagre circumstances. The lack of money, however, meant that she lost more weight than she had ever done before and she felt considerably happier with herself. Clarissa discovered that her father had also plundered her trust fund and she conceded to finding work as a nanny.

William returned to London when Sabrina went into labour, producing robust twin grandsons. Considering her new ‘free’ lifestyle, she was appallingly conventional: she had a Harley Street consultant and a private room at the Portland Clinic. Jacob remained steadfastly at her side, only rushing in and out to tell the pacing William that everything was going to be fine. When William held the babies he felt a tremendous rush of emotion. ‘They’ll love to play on my island,’ he said to Jacob.

Charlie seemed to have got his life on some kind of path. He had formed a ‘steady attachment’ to a wisp of a girl, who made wheat-free pies and bread, and wanted to open a ‘health-food café’. William discussed with him where it might lead, but could feel no deep, emotional bond with his son. He knew he should be ashamed of this, but his children had been brought up by Katherine and he had spent so little time with them. He set aside large trust funds for Sabrina, Charlie and his grandchildren, even though he initially balked at the idea of making their future lives financially secure. Although William now accepted he would never be close to either his son or his daughter, he cared for them deeply. They were getting on with their lives, and he felt no guilt at cutting loose from them. He would always be there for Charlie and Sabrina, if they needed him, but he doubted it would be for more than money. He also drew up a new will, leaving vast sums to charitable foundations, particularly organizations against child abuse.

To his employees he became a calmer figure. One by one his companies were restructured to enable him to have as little to do with them as possible. Rumours spread that he had some incurable illness, and was preparing for death. Nothing could have been further from the truth, of course: he was preparing to live his life and to enjoy it to the utmost. But William had ceased to worry about what other people said. He knew that what you feel inside is more important than anything anyone else thinks.

While in England, William put in order his financial affairs, to leave him free to relocate to the island. He wrote to Laura every week without fail, and telephoned every two or three days. He hired an art teacher for her as she had begun painting, and he was delighted when she said she had been learning to sail. He became paternal, even over-protective, towards her, warning her not to go too far out when she swam, to use sun cream and always to wear a lifejacket. He loved to hear her giggle and call him an old fusspot. Laura became the child he had never been allowed to enjoy.

Marta gave him bulletins on Laura’s progress, and she, too, sounded pleased to hear from him, saying how much they missed him. She listed the new plants she had put into the flower-beds and worried about overspending: she was now keeping the household accounts. William enjoyed these lengthy discussions with Marta, who always asked his advice, even on the smallest matter. He liked her consideration, but above all he loved her honesty. Only half the staff had been retained on the island, and Dahlia had brought her son over to live with her. She and Marta had become friends and ran William’s island home with an attention to detail that ensured it was always immaculate and ready for his arrival.

Over the course of a year, William saw his work come to fruition. He had handed over to others the day-to-day running of his business affairs. He had sold off many of his homes, and shares in his major US and Japanese companies. The last to go was his London house.

William was overjoyed to return to his paradise island and Laura. As the launch neared the jagged rocks, he saw her, way up on the cliff edge, waiting for him. His heart pounded: she was waving a big yellow towel to make sure he saw her. He watched her run down the path to be on the jetty as the boat came into the harbour. Laura was fit and filled with energy — she was a different woman. She ran towards him, arms wide. William picked her up and twirled her around. She clung to him, kissing his cheeks.

‘Welcome home.’ She held his hand, dancing alongside him as they headed for the golf cart, hopped aboard and drove him herself. She was full of a new confidence, pointing out all the plants and shrubs Marta had told him about.

As they reached the house, Marta came running down the wide stone steps. She hugged him, then both women insisted he inspect everything they had been doing to make the house into his home. After that he had to view Laura’s paintings. Many were of himself, copied from photographs. His heart lifted so high it was flying.

Then Laura tugged at his hand, wanting him to go into his suite. ‘But keep your eyes shut,’ she said. He stumbled and she steadied him.

‘Stop now,’ she said, ‘but keep your eyes closed.’ She and Marta moved away from him. ‘You can open your eyes now, Willy,’ she said breathlessly.

Straight in front of him, in place of the painting of herself, Laura had hung a new picture. She had commissioned a well-known artist, recommended to her by her painting teacher, to execute a full-length portrait of Justin, barefoot, wearing torn jeans and white T-shirt. His blond hair was bleached by the sun, and his skin deeply tanned. The artist had caught the way he tilted his head before his face creased into his wonderful smile.

‘It’s for you from me,’ said Laura, searching his face for a reaction. She whispered in his ear that she had used her diamonds to pay for it.

William stood in front of the painting, his heart pounding. Laura had seen his dream. It was a dream he had often had since Justin had died, that one day Justin would return, that one day when William was heading back to the island he would see him waving from the high point and would watch him run to greet him as Laura had that day. Now William could walk into his bedroom knowing that Justin would always be there. It was painful, but the pain would be his reminder not only of what he had lost but of what he had gained. Slowly William smiled and his eyes filled with tears. All he could say in a soft, painful whisper was, ‘Thank you.’