Sleeping Cruelty

Chapter five

The Countess Lubrinsky tied her silk sarong tighter round her slim waist, and stared at her reflection in the mirror above the telephone table. She ran her fingers through her thick auburn hair, the curls in ringlets around her neck. She had long tapering fingers with short, unvarnished nails, and wore no jewellery apart from a gold ankle bracelet. At forty years old, Sylvina was proud of her figure, and her sculpted face was without a wrinkle. Her slanting green cat-like eyes, fine straight nose and high wide cheekbones gave her the look of a mystic. She lit a cigarette and, turning to the right, caught Sharee’s reflection behind her. ‘Hello, darling, have you had your swim?’

‘No, just about to. Who was that?’

‘Some friend of Justin’s. I invited him to dinner.’

‘Oh, God, why do you always invite every stray he gives our phone number to?’

‘Because I presumed he’d arranged it.’

‘Well, don’t presume. Ring the bastard up and ask.’

‘Don’t start. It’s just for dinner, and I’ve left a message on his mobile.’

Sharee, blonde and fair-skinned, was twenty-four. She had a fuller figure than Sylvina, slightly plump around her bottom and thighs, with full, perfectly shaped breasts. Sylvina stared at her, took a long drag on her cigarette and blew out a perfect smoke ring. It coiled around Sharee’s right nipple.

‘You smoke too much, Sylvina.’

‘I know. Keep still. Let me see if I can circle the left one too.’ She sucked at her Gitane, held her breath and pursed her lips. The smoke ring floated in the air and Sharee wafted it away, strolling out on to the patio.

She leaned against the balustrade and, one hand shading her eyes, watched the butterflies in the garden. Sylvina, not knowing their correct names, had called the various species after Parisian couturiers: the blue was Dior, a deep black, brown and orange one Schiaparelli, a remarkable multicoloured one Versace, and a rather dull moth type she found amusing to nickname Chanel.

‘Penny for them, sweetie,’ Sylvina said now, pouring herself a Dubonnet.

‘I was looking for a Gaultier,’ Sharee said, and turned back to the garden.

‘Did Justin use all those trees he cut down to build the bridges?’

‘No idea, darling,’ Sylvina said, flopping on to a teak sunlounger. Its cushions were hot from the sun, and she yelped.

‘You should open the parasols,’ Sharee said, and started towards the curved narrow staircase that ran round the outside of the house like a spiral of small white marble pillars. ‘I’m going for a swim,’ she said, and Sylvina watched her climb upwards to the rooftop pool.

‘I love you,’ she called out.

‘I should hope you do,’ came back the reply.

Dinner was to take place in a vast room with floor-to-ceiling windows draped in white muslin, lit by hundreds of candles. The huge table had a gold swan as a base, its wings balancing a slab of green-tinted glass. A vase of wild flowers, ferns and lilies sat on a large side table giving off a sweet and heady perfume. Sylvina, wearing a white robe, moved around the table placing name-cards in gold butterflies. Satisfied that the table was perfect, she moved to the ornate stone hearth and lit the fire. She would have to turn up the air-conditioning because it was a very warm night, but the fire was such a focal point that it was a shame not to light it.

It was a stunningly beautiful room, every item chosen with great care. The heavy oak floor had been shipped in from England. It had once been in a castle but now looked as if it had always belonged here. The carved oak doors had been brought from a temple in Indonesia. Content, Sylvina walked upstairs to find Sharee.

She found her soaking in the bath, bubbles up to her chin, a towel wrapped around her hair and wearing an eye-mask. ‘You should get out, sweetheart — you’ll be wrinkled like a prune if you stay in any longer.’ Sylvina sat on the edge of the bath. ‘I called Justin again,’ she said.

‘And?’

‘He wasn’t there, and nobody seems to know where he is. But I have a feeling he might turn up, the way he does!’

‘Will she be with him?’ Sharee tossed the towel from her hair, and sat up in the bath.

‘How should I know?’ Sylvina snapped.

‘Don’t get ratty, I was only asking. She’s so difficult. I mean, I can take him on his own but when they’re together it’s just awful. They’re like...’ She frowned, pursing her lips in an attempt to find the right description, but none came. And, anyway, Sylvina had walked out.

Alone in her room, Sylvina chose a cerise Valentino tunic, tight-fitting with a split to her thigh and a mandarin collar. Her high-heeled sandals, which made her almost six feet tall, had been dyed to match. She coiled her hair into a pleat and placed a fresh freesia on either side of her head. Lastly she clipped on a pair of sparkling diamond drop earrings that had belonged to her grandmother.

Sharee came in wearing an ice blue, figure-hugging dress with T-bone straps.

‘You look cute,’ said Sylvina. ‘Are you going to put on some make-up?’

‘No. If I look and feel terrible, maybe I won’t eat.’

Sylvina laughed and wrapped her arms around Sharee. ‘I love you the way you are. I wouldn’t want you to lose an ounce.’

‘I look like shit.’

‘You don’t, honestly.’

‘Yes, I do. I wish you’d help me buy some decent things,’ Sharee muttered, checking her appearance in a long carved wooden mirror.

‘When I have the funds, darling, you’ll have whatever you want.’

‘Yes, I know. But in the meantime you look a million dollars and I look like some cheap hooker.’

Sylvina closed the wardrobe then bent to pick up the various shoes and sandals lying about on the floor. ‘God, you’re so untidy. Don’t you ever put things away?’

In fury, Sharee bent down and started gathering up shoes. When she had an armful she went on to the balcony and threw them over the rail. ‘Happy now?’ She turned, but Sylvina had left the room and Sharee felt foolish. She followed Sylvina out to the patio.

Sylvina passed her a glass of champagne. Sharee’s mood was beginning to irritate her. There wasn’t anyone special arriving, thank goodness, because actually Sharee did look cheap. Sylvina checked her watch: the guests were due in under an hour. She always liked to be ready in good time, and went in search of the housekeeper, Marta, to check that all was as it should be. Marta, who lived at the villa full-time, had hired two local boys as waiters. The chef was tutting round the various tureens and dishes laid out on the large wooden kitchen table. When she was satisfied that everything was on schedule Sylvina had a quiet word with Marta about Sharee’s shoes, then returned to the patio.

The grounds were floodlit, spotlights carefully placed round the fountain to make the spray look like shooting stars.

‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ Sharee was happier now, reclining on the chaise, sipping champagne. She asked again who they were expecting, even though Sylvina had told her numerous times.

‘Baron and Baroness von Garten, Meryl Delaware, Count Frederick Capri and his guest Princess Constantina with her guest the actor Terence Hampton, and the unknown Sir William Benedict.’ Sylvina was a regular in the cheap French and English gossip magazines. She no longer even bothered to read them. However, now that she was broke, she tried to maintain some exposure so that the invitations kept pouring in. It was only at social functions that she was offered these house-sitting jobs. Sylvina’s relationship with Sharee was not public knowledge and she was keen to keep her sexual proclivities quiet. Luckily, so was Sharee, who entertained hopes of becoming an actress and knew how things like that could damage your chances — unless of course you were famous enough for it not to matter.

William sat back in the hired Mercedes. Mercifully the driver had not spoken a word since he had opened the door for him to get in. He looked down at his linen suit and wondered whether it was the right thing to have worn — linen creased so badly. He switched on the lights to examine his trousers, then worried that his shirt was too formal for the suit. By the time the car pulled up outside the gates he was sweating with nerves. He felt hot, badly dressed and wished he had not pushed himself on Countess Lubrinsky. And what if they didn’t speak English? But of course she did — he had spoken to her on the telephone. Should he have brought champagne or flowers? It was too late to do anything about that now. He’d have Michael send an arrangement the following day.

‘Magnifique,’ said the driver.

William leaned forward and looked out at the gardens. What a beautiful place! From the road there had been no indication of what lay hidden behind the trees. A crescent of vehicles was parked in the wide horseshoe drive to the right of the villa’s front door, two Rolls Royces, a Porsche and a Citroën. The driver parked the Mercedes beside the Citroën, stepped out and opened William’s door. He stood to one side deferentially as William gave a nod of thanks, and made his way to the porch. Flowers in large white tubs were placed either side of the white steps, and the pillars were draped with pink blossom. William was about to ring the bell when the door opened and Marta, in a black dress and white apron, stood before him, smiling. ‘Good evening,’ she said. ‘Please do come in.’

William walked past her into the hall as she closed the door quietly behind him.

‘Who may I say it is, please?’ Marta asked sweetly.

‘Sir William Benedict,’ he said gruffly.

She handed him a glass of champagne from a tray held by a young waiter, then ushered him into the drawing room where the smell of perfume mingled with lilies, Havana cigars and incense which made his head spin. Immediately he wished the ground would open and swallow him. The male guests were all wearing black or white tuxedos and the women, as far as he could see, long evening dresses.

‘Sir William Benedict,’ Marta announced.

The stunning woman in a cerise dress who approached him with a wide welcoming smile was the Countess. She introduced herself as Sylvina and said, ‘How very kind of you to join us.’ William saw immediately that she had recognized him from the magazines and glanced round the room. He spotted the horrified expressions on the faces of the Baron and Baroness von Garten.

‘It’s the ghastly parvenu who was going to buy one of the factories.’ The Baroness’s stage whisper to her husband echoed round the room. The Baron’s lawyers had ceased all negotiations as soon as the scandal had become public. He had not wanted his family name tarnished by association with misdemeanour, particularly one with homosexual undertones.

William’s smile froze on his lips. The Baron had cost him a lot of money by withdrawing from their deal. Worse still, he had sold instead to William’s strongest competitor. It was not just a financial slap in the face, he had also lost out on a vast potential European market. He had not yet found another suitable site and, more infuriatingly still, the rival company that had bought the factory had made offers to the staff William had earmarked for positions and interviewed in Germany. The Baron and Baroness now turned their backs on him. If he compiled a list of people to take a swipe at, these two stuck-up sons-of-bitches would be close to the top.

Sylvina had noticed William’s embarrassment and now linked her arm through his and guided him towards the other guests. ‘I am sure you know Meryl Delaware?’ she purred.

William felt his belly turn over. It was bad enough to have the von Gartens cut him dead, but now he was faced with this fat, painted bitch with her gossip-tuned ears. Meryl, dressed in black lace with too many fake diamonds around her neck, turned to face him. Her red mouth dropped open in shock. Then she forced a brittle smile. Meryl Delaware had written one of the most unsavoury articles about him and Maynard for one of the glossy magazines. In it she had hinted that Sir William had appeared very close to his protégé, and had illustrated it with a photograph of William leaning forward to talk to Maynard. As with many other photographs, it had been doctored to exclude the other members of the party to make it look as if the two had been having an intimate, candlelit dinner. ‘How do you do?’ she said, before turning back to face the wall.

The atmosphere changed swiftly from sophisticated elegance to the deep silence of unease. Everyone but Sharee was fully aware of who William was and unsure how to react.

Sylvina gestured to Marta to refill her champagne glass, and told her to adjust the place settings. Sir William should sit next to her with Terence Hampton on his other side. Terence was a social ‘actor’: you could put him next to anyone and the conversation would never dry up, as long as it revolved principally around himself.

As the guests were ushered towards the dining room, Sylvina fell into step beside William. Suddenly the von Gartens were standing in front of her. As though William was not there, the Baroness announced, ‘I’m afraid it is inappropriate for us to dine here, after all.’

Nothing like this had ever happened to Sylvina. ‘I’m sorry, Baroness. Are you feeling unwell?’ she said. ‘Please do stay, dinner is served.’

‘Maybe if someone was asked to leave...’ said the Baron, eyeing William.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Sylvina. ‘Sir William is my own personal guest.’

William was appalled. He shifted from foot to foot and stammered, ‘It’s all right, I’ll go.’

Sylvina gripped his arm. ‘No way, baby.’

She was still smiling as the Baron and Baroness huffed and puffed their way out of the door. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I have seated you beside me, so we can get to know each other.’

William murmured that he could think of nothing he would like more. He felt even better when she patted the sleeve of his jacket. ‘This is from the new Armani collection, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is,’ he said, flushing deeply.

‘I thought so, and so much more comfortable in this heat than a dinner-jacket.’ She whispered, ‘No smell of mothballs.’

He caught her warmth and her wonderful, genuine smile, and began to feel more confident.

‘I’m sorry about that little unpleasantness earlier.’ She leaned right into him and added, ‘The Baron is no paragon of virtue and neither is his wife. How odd that they should show such bad manners.’

But as the chilled avocado and mint soup was served, the conversation became stilted. The other guests were talking under their breath about the von Gartens’ exit or William’s tabloid exploits. Aware of the awful silences around the table, Sylvina told Marta to bring in a very special wine she had been saving for such an occasion. Her energy and charm immediately lifted the atmosphere, and Marta bustled off down to the wine cellar. She wasn’t sure what bottle of wine Sylvina was talking about but she scoured the shelves and selected a Château Margaux ’78. Leaving the cobwebs and thick layer of dust behind, she hurried back to the dining room and passed Sylvina the dusty bottle. ‘Marta! The cobwebs! You know I hate spiders.’ She rose to her feet and raised her arms above her head. ‘Never mind, at least we know it’s authentic. Now, dear, please decant it and let it stand. We are all eager to taste it.’

Marta left the dining room and immediately replaced the bottle with a vastly inferior one. She decanted it, as instructed, into a Victorian cut-glass decanter, which was taken to the table by one of the waiters. Sylvina had often laid wagers with her as to who would detect a first growth from a simple Médoc. She looked around at her dinner guests as they peered and sipped at the wine and discussed its attributes. William picked up his glass and turned to face her. ‘This really is so very kind of you,’ he said, and obviously meant every word.

‘It is my pleasure,’ she said huskily. She had to wriggle in her chair because the thought of his money made her feel orgasmic.

‘To our mutual friend, Justin Chalmers.’

They sipped their wine and smiled. When she asked him what he thought of it he held the stem of the glass loosely in his fingers. ‘Not too heavy or fruity, quite light for a Pomero.’

William reached for his water. The wine was ghastly. If he had ordered it in a restaurant, he would have sent it back. He felt unable to bring up the subject of Justin himself, and hoped someone else would do so, but the conversation remained on the quality of the wine. It amused him to see them sipping and nodding.

Sylvina leaned closer to him. ‘I’ve even started making my own cobwebs — you know, from that stuff they squirt over you at kiddies’ parties. It’s cheap plonk, but you knew that. I could tell from your face.’

He smiled, pleased, then leaned closer to her. ‘No one else seems to.’

‘Even if they did, dahling, they wouldn’t say so just in case they were wrong.’

‘Are you expecting Justin for the summer?’ Terence Hampton enquired, after enthusing loudly about the wine.

Sylvina shrugged. ‘Well, it is his villa, but you know Justin. I hear he’s in Europe, so perhaps he will appear at some point, unless...’ She turned pointedly to William. ‘What do you know of our Scarlet Pimpernel, William?’

‘They seek me here, they seek me there.’ Between the arched oak dining-room doors stood Justin Chalmers, his shadow from the flickering candlelight falling across the table. He was as blond as William remembered, but his hair was short now, almost in a crew-cut. He was deeply tanned and wore a black T-shirt with one sleeve almost ripped from the seam, a pair of tight black leather trousers and black motorcycle boots. He had a row of fine gold bracelets around his wrist and a slender gold watch. He shook the bracelets in a theatrical gesture then yawned. ‘Eat up, and excuse the interruption. I need to bath and shave before I join you.’

William felt apprehensive. He had only ever met the man once, and then it was to tell him to get out of England. Now, driven by loneliness and relentless curiosity, he had blustered his way into his villa, having lied to the Countess. To his astonishment, Justin gave him a dazzling smile. ‘How nice to see you, Sir William. Quite a surprise.’ Then he turned and walked back into the hall calling over his shoulder, ‘Don’t let me interrupt your dinner further.’ He caught Marta as she was about to wheel in the trolley with the main course, cupped her chin and kissed her lips. ‘Who’s a good girl?’ he said.

‘I thought you’d want to know. I think he invited himself,’ Marta said, then asked hesitantly, ‘How is she?’

He twisted his gold bracelets and his eyes brimmed with tears. ‘She’s going to be fine, but it’ll take a while longer.’

‘She’ll be coming home then?’

He nodded, and said caressingly, ‘Yes, our beautiful lily will be home, but you know how these clinics like to take their time and my money. They said she simply needed rest. She’s doing some new therapy with crystals, and she sounds much better. It wasn’t such a bad one apparently, but I like to be careful.’

Marta touched his hand gently. ‘You know I am always here for her.’

He started for the stairs. ‘I’d better get showered. Oh, is the fat man staying or is he just here for dinner?’

‘Just dinner,’ Marta said, as she wheeled the trolley towards the dining room. Two waiters came out to take it from her, and both looked to the stairs. Justin always had an effect on young men: the aura of danger that hung about him acted like a magnet.

Justin stood beneath the shower jets, eyes tightly closed, and pondered. Why was Sir William Benedict sitting at dinner? What did he want? What did he know? Or maybe it was all going according to plan. Maybe he was ripe for the picking already. Justin sighed. He knew he would find out sooner or later. And Sir William could not have appeared at a better time: Justin was broke again but downstairs, sitting at his dining-room table, was the man who had financed the reconstruction of this villa and paid off his debts. Justin spent money like water, and the cash William had given him was gone. He reached for a soft white towel and wrapped himself in it from head to toe. He was not sure yet how he could use his golden goose. The plan only formed later when everyone except William had departed.

William had drunk too much, and the combination of alcohol and anti-depressant pills had made him red-faced, sweaty, and unable to stand unaided. Every time he rose, the room spun and he felt ill. Justin helped him to his feet, and they went out on to the balcony into the cool night air, which made his head spin even more. He almost fell, but Justin caught him, guided him to a chair and went to brew some coffee. Marta had gone to bed, as had everyone else at the villa, and they were alone.

William tried desperately to sober up. With his head in his hands, he took deep breaths and tried to concentrate on his own shoes. He felt wretched. When Justin returned, he placed the steaming mugs on a low table then went to stand behind William’s chair and began to massage his shoulders.

‘I’m sorry about this,’ William said hoarsely. The strong hands were soothing.

‘Don’t worry about it. Just relax. You’re very tense — your shoulders are rigid.’

Justin leaned over to the table, and passed William his coffee. ‘This’ll make you feel better, and maybe you should take a couple of these. They’re just aspirin, but they’ll stave off the hangover.’

‘Thank you,’ William said. ‘I’m sorry to have just turned up on your doorstep like this. To be honest, I don’t really know why I came.’

‘I’m glad you did. And you’re most welcome to stay over if you would like.’

‘No, no, I must get back.’ There was an awkward silence. William lifted his eyes to Justin’s and flushed as the handsome man smiled. It was extraordinary, he thought. Even though Justin was in his early thirties he had the look of a well-scrubbed youth. ‘I think I’m very tired,’ he said lamely.

‘You must have been through a lot,’ Justin said, sitting opposite.

‘That’s putting it mildly!’ William leaned back and gazed over the garden so that he would not have to look at Justin, whose handsomeness unnerved him. ‘I just needed to get away to try to recharge my batteries. I’ve made a fool of myself.’

‘It’s understandable. Anyone would feel the same.’ Justin lit a cigarette, watching him with lizard-like attention.

‘Can’t show my face anywhere in London without being ridiculed. Not that I’m asked anywhere any more. I’m like some kind of plague. The people I thought were my friends have turned their backs on me, scared to be tarred with the same brush, I suppose. Dear God, I’m normally so in control of my life.’

‘Why don’t you do something about it?’

William sighed and drained his coffee mug. ‘That’s why I feel so wretched. The Baron and his wife walked out before dinner rather than sit at a table with me. So, in answer to your question, what the hell can I do about it?’

‘Well, instead of accepting it and weeping into your cup, so to speak, turn it round.’

William rose to his feet. He felt steadier now. ‘Oh, I dare say it’ll all blow over. At least my wealth is still intact. It’d be much worse if I’d lost that as well as my respectability.’ He chuckled a little.

‘It would be nice though, wouldn’t it, to make all those two-faced society cunts eat their own shit?’

William stared at him, a little shocked by his language and his icy tone. ‘Yeah, but well, my lawyers warned me the best thing to do was ignore it, and it’ll blow over.’

‘But it would be nice to lead them by the nose and rub it in the trash they’ve written about you. You see, Sir William, you made the biggest mistake of all. You got caught.’

‘Caught? The only thing I did wrong was trust Andrew Maynard,’ William snapped. ‘He was probably scared that his private life was about to come out. But what a terrible waste to kill himself!’

‘Yes, maybe, but you shouldn’t have tried to cover up for him.’

‘I think that’s enough.’ William had regained some of his decorum. ‘I should be on my way.’

Justin stood up and moved closer to him. ‘You could get back at them, you know. You just need the right connections.’

‘And you have them, do you?’ William said, with some sarcasm.

Justin moved closer still, and patted his shoulder. ‘I have them, Sir William, and I’ll tell you something else. If you just swallow the situation, wealth intact or no, you’ll hate yourself for the rest of your life.’ Justin’s voice was soft and persuasive, and he had the most hypnotic eyes William had ever seen. It was impossible to look away from him, even if what he went on to say was rather insulting. ‘Regaining your social acceptance can be arranged. It’s easily bought. But that should not be enough for a man of your standing. You want to regain the respect of others because, right now, you don’t have any. I don’t think you even have any for yourself. They’ve beaten you into running away, which is why you came here. Correct?’

‘You’re very intuitive.’ William was more and more intrigued by the young man, but not yet prepared to discuss his situation in any greater depth, especially not with Andrew Maynard’s ex-lover. But he sat down again.

It was then that Justin knew he had been right. He had an immensely rich fish on the end of his line, and the next few moments would be crucial in making him take the bait, and swallow it so that the hook lodged firmly in place. He must not wriggle free. Justin wondered how many more photographs of Andrew Maynard he could leak to keep it an ongoing front-pager.

‘So, Mr Chalmers, if you were in my position — and pray God that you never will be — what would you do?’

Justin smiled. He’d got him. ‘Pay every one of the bastards back twofold. Only then would I feel capable of getting on with my life. I wouldn’t let anyone get away with treating me like a buffoon!’

By William’s reaction, Justin knew that Maynard’s nickname had hit him like a dart. William leaned forward. ‘So what would you do?’

Justin looked deep into William’s eyes. ‘You own an island, don’t you?’

‘I do.’

‘Then that is where you will lay the trap.’ He laughed, throwing his head back and clapping his hands. Once more he became serious. A slender finger tapped William’s knee. ‘I have an idea. It’ll take a long time, but you will need that time to get ready, and I can guarantee that it will work. But you must be prepared to arrange it, down to the smallest detail. Then you can step in for the kill.’

‘I don’t want to kill anyone, for Christ’s sake,’ William squeaked.

‘Hypothetically you do, but if you won’t admit it, then forget it.’

‘Okay, carry on, I’m all ears.’

Justin lay back in his chair and closed his eyes. The flickering candles played across his beautiful face. Then his eyes opened and William recalled what he had read in Maynard’s diary about a darkness, both frightening and exhilarating. Now he felt it. His stomach churned and the bile of his humiliation subsided as he felt excitement rise. ‘Go on,’ he said softly.