Sleeping Cruelty

Chapter seven

Justin waited until he thought William was asleep, then crept into Sylvina’s room. He eased the door closed and flew on to her bed. Lying on top of her, he gripped her face with his hands. ‘We are rich, rich, rich, sweetheart! Didn’t I tell you it would work?’

‘Yes, you did, but it’s going to take a long time. He’s no pushover, and he’ll be counting every penny in that bloody little notebook.’

He rolled away to lie beside her, a big smile on his face. ‘Listen, he’s up for it, and you’ll not see that book out again. Just take your time and enjoy it. You’ll never have had so much money to throw around in your life!’

She leaned up on her elbow and looked down into his face. ‘Where will you be when I’m with him?’

Justin stretched and yawned. ‘I am heading for the British Virgin Islands. Preparing the island for his future house-guests.’ He giggled. ‘Obviously my fees for refurbishing it in my own inimitable style will be exorbitant, but style never did come cheap.’ He swung his legs from the bed and sat with his back to her.

Sylvina stroked his shoulder. ‘I don’t want any repercussions. I was serious about not wanting to get involved in anything illegal. I mean, he’s not going to be hurling people off the cliffs, is he?’

‘No, of course not. You heard him, he just wants to...’

‘Mmm, go on. William wants to what?’

Justin walked across to the window and opened the white muslin curtains. He twisted one round him so that it hid his face. ‘Everyone has a sexual fantasy. Everyone has wondered what it would be like to be taken to the ultimate erotic high. Unbridled lust and lechery is what is going to happen on the island.’

Sylvina laughed. ‘My darling, I know you’re an experienced screw, but you’re not everyone’s idea of the ultimate sexual partner.’ She sat up. ‘And don’t think for one second that I’m interested in any of your erotica. I’ve agreed to spend as much time as it takes with William, but no sex. Then I’ll be off, as soon as I’ve collected my fee. Do I really need a whole year with him?’

‘Yes, it’ll take that time to work over the island. I have to have enough time to prepare it.’

‘This list of names he gave me — I mean, they’re a bit ridiculous. I know the von Gartens, he met them here. What’s so special to him about them?’

‘No idea,’ he said, shrugging.

‘Cedric somebody, who’s he?’

‘Breeds racehorses, English aristo.’

She continued reading from the list: ‘I mean, Meryl Delaware? Dear God, everyone knows that wretched scribbler.’ One name had been underlined three times. ‘This Humphrey Matlock, who’s he?’

‘Newspaper magnate. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of him — you read his grubby papers.’

‘Oh, well, he shouldn’t be a problem, then. But no one on this list is remotely “high society”.’ She put the list aside. ‘Is she going with you? She’s very fragile, you know.’

He let go of the curtain and sauntered to the door. ‘She’s never done anything she didn’t want to,’ he said quietly.

‘Don’t you mean she’s never done anything without you pulling the strings? What is she going to be doing?’

‘Mind your own damned business.’

‘Fine, I will. But be careful because I know she had another fit and one day she might just snap. Be prepared for when she turns on the hand that operates her. I hope your devious little mind isn’t setting me up to prepare William for her, marry her off for his money.’

He giggled. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep her away from him until the time is right. She’s my pièce de résistance, the perfect foil, my beloved sister.’ He opened the door and blew Sylvina a kiss. ‘Goodnight,’ he said, and closed the door softly behind him. Then he swung it open again. ‘Don’t you even contemplate marrying him either. You can announce an engagement but then you have to ditch him publicly. Understand?’

‘Oh, go to bed. One year with him will be sufficient, thank you.’

He closed the door again, and she lay back on her pillows. She’d done some crazy things in her life, but this one took first prize. Still, one million... one million!

Five days later, Sharee returned to Nice. She called the villa to be told by Marta that Sylvina had gone to Paris and had left no forwarding address. When she asked after Justin, she was told that Monsieur Chalmers was collecting his sister and would be departing for the British Virgin Islands, again with no forwarding address. She felt a little guilty about taking off for so long, but as no one was here, she couldn’t apologize. Her sojourn had turned into a sordid group-sex session, which in itself had not worried her, except that she had been unable to get off the yacht. Still, she’d made friends with Terence Hampton, or thought she had — although when she’d called to ask if he could run her to the airport, he had been unable to come to the phone.

Sharee eventually flew back to London and her small studio apartment. She continued to phone Sylvina on her various numbers, but her calls were not returned. It baffled her at first, but then made her feel that somehow she had been moved aside, as if Sylvina had instigated the boat trip. Although she knew it had been her own decision to go, doubts began to surface, and Sylvina’s rejection angered her. Not only had she been used like a whore on the movie producer’s boat, Sylvina had treated her in the same way.

William’s apartment in avenue Hoche was already lavishly decorated with the finest antiques and paintings. All it required were floral displays. Sylvina moved in and, for the moment, William stayed in a suite at the Ritz.

Sylvina checked every society-function guest-list, making copious notes of the hottest faces on the circuit and the most fashionable venues. She had not expected to enjoy herself quite so much, but having a man so dependent upon her was a new experience she relished. And with no sexual chemistry to complicate the relationship, she and William were surprised to discover a genuine mutual friendship growing.

That William knew from the outset that sex with Sylvina was out of the question made him much more relaxed when she questioned him about his affairs. He found himself admitting that perhaps the disasters of his loveless marriages had been his fault. He had been too eager to move up the social ladder.

‘What on earth for?’ Sylvina asked, never having had to climb so much as a single rung herself. Her own family had been titled and she had married Count Lubrinsky at an early age. She had not seen their union as social climbing, because it was his wealth more than his title that she’d married.

Sylvina’s château had never really been a home, just a rambling, cold megalith, and one morning they drove down to the small hamlet where it was situated outside Tours. Even with its high turrets and splendid balcony, it seemed tired and grey.

‘This is where I was brought up, apart from the years I spent at school in England, of course, which I hated but it was still preferable to spending time here.’ It had been years since she had visited the place and she felt an unwelcome surge of emotion as she stopped the car. ‘Do you want to see inside?’ she asked, almost hoping he would say no.

But William got out and looked around, smiling. ‘Yes! This is wonderful!’ They wandered through room after room with empty walls and rotten floorboards. Trees and shrubs sprouted in corners, as if nature had taken over like a secret army. It was a sad wreck of a once beautiful palace.

‘My father gambled away his inheritance. I was never sure whether he married me off to a count so that he could still live here or so that he could still gamble. The Count was an elderly cousin. The marriage was not consummated, and he died a few months after my twenty-first birthday.’ She fell silent. Then she said flatly, ‘They should bring in the demolition people. It’s dangerous.’ Seeing it again, after so many years, had brought home to her her lonely childhood. The barriers placed across the stairs, cutting off rooms too dangerous to enter, were like the emotional barriers that divided her family.

‘This is all I have left,’ she went on. ‘My father spent the money I was left by my husband. Papa was a wastrel,’ she said, looking up to the massive barrel-vaulted ceiling where once chandeliers of the finest crystal had tinkled. The fact that William wanted immediately to restore the château while Sylvina wanted it torn down epitomized their differing attitudes to the past: he was awed; she was indifferent. ‘Why live in the past? It’s better to look to the future,’ she said.

‘But generations of your family lived here.’

‘So they did, and they’re all dead.’ She was starting to feel depressed by it, and over everything loomed her hatred of her father.

On the drive back to Paris William said he could not believe that when she received her money she would not rebuild the place. Sylvina couldn’t contemplate the idea. ‘No one can live in such a monster of a house,’ she said. She had no children to inherit it. Why would she want to resurrect something that was dead? It was a pointless exercise, as pointless, to her, as being overawed by wealth and a title.

‘That’s because you have it, and I haven’t,’ he said, as they returned to avenue Hoche.

‘No, it’s because you think it will give you something. I am telling you it won’t. All you saw was a large white elephant.’

‘No, I saw your past, your family’s past. It’s in every stone of that château.’ She cupped his face in her hands and kissed his cheeks. ‘They are dead and I am alive. The world has changed. I want to live in the present. If I were to spend all my money renovating the château, I would be living in the past. You should be angry that you wasted a second of your time worrying about what has happened to you. You are a rich man. You could have anything, be anything. Go and find yourself a young, beautiful wife. Have more children, and don’t dwell on the past. It will swallow you up.’ Suddenly she stopped. All this had made her forget why she was with him, which, as she had said, was all to do with the past.

‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked.

‘Oh, nothing. Memories.’

Sylvina was still anxious when William left for the hotel, convinced she had made him think about what they were doing and worried he might pull out. Why had she been so bloody truthful? The million pounds looked as if it might disappear. But at the same time the images of her childhood would not lie quiet. Tomorrow she would have to work extra hard, just in case she had placed doubts in his mind.

Sylvina need not have worried. William too was caught up in the past he had always tried to submerge. The voices would not lie quiet. He wasn’t thinking about what Sylvina had said, just hearing the cries, seeing his mother press the ice-pack against her swollen cheek. He vividly remembered a particular night when, in tears, he had asked his mother if he should go to the police. She had slapped him and said, ‘You’ll do no such thing. This is private business. It’s nothing, do you hear me? Nothing happened here.’ He knew it had, but his drunken father was sleeping off the booze. ‘Don’t pay any attention to what you see, Billy love, just you get out. If you get to be somebody, this will all have been worthwhile. You can say it made you. Because if there isn’t a reason for it, he might as well kill me now.’

What had his mother meant? He had never stopped asking himself that question. Now he thought of the abuse he had suffered at the hands of the bloodthirsty media. He didn’t need to take their insults, as his mother, who’d had nowhere to run, had accepted his father’s brutality. It frightened him now to think that perhaps he had inherited her wretched acceptance of fate. She had never fought back, and neither had he. Paying out a million pounds to save his face was a cowardly revenge, perhaps as bad as his mother telling him that his success was worth her pain. He was ashamed that he had not fought back, ignored the lawyers by suing, even if it had meant losing money. At least he would have had some respect for himself. And what had he done instead? Run to Justin at his villa.

He picked up the phone and called Sylvina. ‘It’s me,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I don’t want to be on my own, Sylvina, just tonight. It’s not... Can I come round to see you?’

‘Yes.’

There was a long pause before she surprised herself by saying, ‘I was just about to call you.’

‘Well, I beat you to it.’

When Sylvina opened the apartment door, they looked at each other then embraced. It was not a sexual gesture, just mutually comforting.

‘After I left you,’ he said, accepting the brandy she held out, ‘I started remembering things that I didn’t want to think about. And then I couldn’t stop.’

‘Me too.’

They clinked glasses.

As they lay next to each other in the big Louis Quinze bed, William felt an unfamiliar warmth. ‘My mother...’ he said shyly.

She snuggled against him. ‘I was thinking of mine too.’

They slept that night in each other’s arms. They had not found the answers, they were not even sure what they were looking for, but they had found a deeper friendship.

The following morning they had breakfast together. As Sylvina poured his coffee she gave him an affectionate smile. ‘Had any more thoughts on what we talked about last night?’

He looked at her, surprised, a glob of marmalade at the side of his mouth. ‘What? What do you mean?’

She sipped her chilled citron pressé. ‘You’re not having second thoughts... about going on?’

‘Good heavens, no!’ he said, slurping his coffee.

It almost made her wince. In a formal setting his eating habits were acceptable, as she had observed at the dinner party, but when he was relaxed, he reverted to childhood table manners; eating with his fingers and dropping crumbs everywhere.

‘For one thing, the island isn’t anywhere near ready, and for another, as good as you are at bolstering my confidence, I’ve still a long way to go. Besides, I’m enjoying myself. This is the longest period I’ve ever spent away from my work.’

She smiled. ‘Well, you’re not entirely away from it. You spend hours every day on the phone barking instructions, and I’ve seen the faxes at the hotel for you every night.’

‘Ah, yes. Well, I’ve got to keep my beady eye on everyone. I’ve got damned good staff, but you can never trust anyone else to make your decisions.’

‘You mean you can’t delegate.’ His sharp tone unnerved her.

‘Oh, but I can, my dear. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be worth the fortune I have accumulated over thirty years. I have thirty-five board members, even more top-level executives. Some have been working for me for years. I believe in giving tremendous responsibility to my team — it’s one of my talents. An even better talent is spotting new blood...’

Sylvina listened for a full ten minutes as William outlined his numerous business deals, down to the location of each of his endless factories. Then he described the new Internet site he had set up to sell his games on-line, even drawing with his sticky knife on the pristine tablecloth to demonstrate some new hi-tech computer link that kids could use to play for serious prizes across the world.

She gritted her teeth. The question on her lips was why William was playing around with her, albeit at a price, and why he was allowing Justin free access to his island at what she knew would be an astronomical cost. Darling Justin Chalmers could spend other people’s money even better than she could steal it. He had no morals, unless... Was it some kind of blackmail?

‘Is Justin hitting you for cash?’ she asked sweetly.

‘Bloody fortune.’ William stood up and tossed his napkin on to the table. Then he beamed. ‘But he’s building me a paradise.’

‘Really? Well, far be it from me to give you any advice, if that’s what you want...’

‘Ah, that’s only part of it.’ He glanced at his wristwatch.

Sylvina couldn’t resist asking, ‘Part of what?’

He walked to the door as if he were not going to reply, but as he reached it he looked back at her. ‘It’s a private matter.’

‘To do with Andrew Maynard?’

His face darkened. There were many layers to William, she thought, and from his expression, she knew that whatever Justin was up to had something to do with the death of Maynard.

‘Indirectly,’ William said quietly, and swung the door with the toe of his shoe. ‘Most of all it’s to do with me, and if Justin hasn’t enlightened you then I feel I shouldn’t. Now, it’s getting late and we don’t want to miss the entire morning. We’re going to the galleries today, aren’t we?’

‘Yes, it’s a private view,’ she said, stubbing out her cigarette. Not that anyone would be examining the paintings, just who was there. The publicity wheels were already in motion and she and William would be photographed. ‘I suggest you take your time over dressing. Wear the new Valentino dark grey suit, white shirt and silk tie. I’ll meet you in two hours. I must have my hair done, my nails...’

‘Okay, whatever you say, ma’am.’ He walked out, leaving her deeply frustrated and still no nearer the real reason behind her ‘contract’ with him and whatever the devious Justin was doing.

William had arranged a bank account for Justin to use during his work on the island. He did not place any limit on expenditure, but gave strict instructions that any new acquisitions must be agreed in advance. These were to be dealt with through his office at home, where Michael would monitor Justin’s costs. Justin sent faxes several sheets long on the refurbishments, detailing everything from art purchases down to the price and size of each towel to be placed in the suites. Time and again Michael gasped with amazement as the costs soared, but whenever he mentioned it to William he was simply told to pay. So he did. The figure mounted daily.

That evening William and Sylvina were to dine with the British ambassador, after a first-night performance of Dido and Aeneas at the Bastille Opera. A photographer leaped forward when they alighted from their limousine, drawing the press-pack towards them, the battery of flashbulbs making them feel like royalty. Sylvina was pleased they could not be photographed inside the theatre, as William slept through the entire programme. Returning to the hotel he yawned until she wanted to slap him.

‘I think I’ve had enough of Paris,’ he said eventually.

She would have liked to tell him that she’d had just about enough of him, but instead she said she would need a couple of days to pack and make the arrangements to move on. He didn’t argue. For two days he left her in peace as he took himself off to toy shops. Toy shops! At times he behaved so childishly.

William returned with his arms full of mechanical toys. Sylvina found him sitting on the floor winding them up and crawling around after them on all fours. A few hours later he had taken them all apart. He made fast sketches of each and beamed with delight. ‘I can rip off every one of these. My factory can knock them out at a quarter the price. Obviously we’ll have to make them slightly different, or I’ll be sued, but—’

She interrupted, ‘I have some shopping to do. Would you arrange with your pilot to take off later? I’ve had some alterations done and they won’t be ready for collection till four.’

‘No problem, dear heart.’ He was squatting on the floor with an electronic device that made four toy mice scuttle across the carpet, followed by a larger creature representing a cat. Sylvina walked out as he yelped, ‘Gotcha!’ The furry cat scooped the little mice into its open mouth, and emitted a high-pitched screech.

‘Bloody clever,’ he muttered. Although William had never had toys in his childhood, he was not making up for it now, as Sylvina thought. This was money: this was what excited and cheered him. At long last he was looking forward to returning to work: his energy was back.

Sylvina was loath to leave Paris but now she saw that she had little choice: William was impatient to go home. She decided that Justin was getting a better deal than she was and feverishly upped her spending sprees. She ordered a new wardrobe from Valentino, Givenchy and Christian Dior, with matching shoes, hats and handbags. She had never liked London, but at least she was returning to it in style.

William got back to The Boltons with so much luggage that his chauffeur had to order another car to follow the Rolls. His servants looked on, speechless, as Sylvina was introduced, her suitcases filling the hallway. ‘Michael, this is Countess Lubrinsky.’ William’s secretary gave a small bow, flushing as she acknowledged him with a glacial smile. She told the chauffeur to make sure that all the cases had been removed from the second car, and asked the housekeeper to see that they were taken up to her suite. Her perfume hung in the air, sweet and heavy. From her body language alone, everyone could see that she loathed the house.

A few days later William burst into Michael’s office, demanding an update on his business. Michael wanted to discuss the exorbitant outgoings of Justin Chalmers. William dismissed his worries with a waft of his hand: he had little or no immediate interest in the island. ‘Don’t fret, for God’s sake, Michael. I certainly won’t be having financial worries for a fair few years yet. Just get me up to date on the business.’

‘But, sir, this Justin Chalmers—’

‘What about him?’

‘Well, his bills are vast! Purchases being shipped in from India and heaven knows where else.’

‘He’s an interior designer, Michael.’

‘So all the accounts I’ve sent you are acceptable? Fine. I’ll confirm that with the accountants.’ He hesitated before continuing. ‘Er, what about the account you opened in the name of Countess Lubrinsky? It’s already in the red.’

‘Top it up,’ said William, bored.

‘But it’s another twenty-five thousand.’

‘Michael, she is to be my wife.’

‘I’m sorry?’ Michael’s voice sounded strangled.

‘You heard, Michael. Countess Lubrinsky and I are engaged to be married.’

‘Engaged?’ Michael stuttered.

‘Yes, that is correct. Beautiful woman, isn’t she?’ Then William began to pass the sheets of drawings he had made of the toys in Paris. ‘Get these over to the art department, then on to the factory. I like the cat-and-mouse one. But we’ll have to come up with a different concept. Tell the artists to make it up as a fox and chickens.’

William tapped on Sylvina’s door. He was told to enter and found her trying on a gown.

‘Whoever did your décor should be shot,’ she said. ‘This is so ghastly, I feel ill.’

‘I told my secretary,’ he said, looking around irritably. He’d never noticed the blue and white flock wallpaper, depicting Chinese fishermen with little rods.

‘Told him what?’ she asked, as she looked at herself in the wardrobe mirror. Even that was hideous — and, worse, the mirror was so cheap it made her look fat.

‘That we’re engaged.’

She turned sideways for a different angle of herself in the spectacular black velvet sheath dress. ‘Bit premature, isn’t it? Weren’t we supposed to discuss it first? I thought we’d only make an announcement if it was essential. They don’t even know I’m in England yet. We need to be seen around a lot first.’ She smoothed the velvet over her hips. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t run to the press, because we’re not ready to make any announcement yet.’

‘Christ, it’s an engagement, not a wedding date. It’s covered in your fee and you agreed.’

‘I’m not saying I didn’t but, I think you might have had the manners to discuss it with me first. It was a silly thing to do, especially after we’ve spent so long working on your profile.’

He flopped into an armchair and opened a magazine. ‘Oh, Michael’s not going to tell anyone. He’s worked for me for years. Have you seen this month’s Paris-Match? There’s a photo of us at the races. Very good of you, but not so flattering of me.’

Sylvina peered at the series of photographs. ‘Darling, it’s me who has to be the catch of all time. And, besides, I think you look very sophisticated.’

‘I think I look a bit of a prat.’

Sylvina told William she had hired a well-known PR agent who would ensure that wherever they went a paparazzo would be at hand, the flash of whose camera would draw attention to them. But William seemed to have forgotten that this had been paid for. Like a young movie-star, he had started to believe his own publicity. And he loved it.

‘You never cease to amaze me,’ she said, turning her back for him to unzip the dress.

‘Why? Is it seeing the man emerge before you? Well, I’ve done everything you told me to do.’ He chortled.

It was hard to believe that in such a short time he had changed so much. There was a confident air about him, and his voice was louder than it had been in Paris.

‘You’re very cheerful,’ she said.

‘I’m glad to be home.’

Sylvina let the gown slip to her ankles and stepped out of it, naked. William reached out, as if to touch her, and she stepped back. ‘Don’t get too confident, William.’

He snatched away his hand as if she had slapped it. ‘It was just a bit of lint on your shoulder,’ he snapped. ‘I should be allowed to touch you, considering the money I’m paying you. But don’t worry, I don’t want to.’ He walked out and slammed the bedroom door shut behind him.

Sylvina sighed. He’d done it to her again. It unnerved her, the way that at one moment he was under her control and at the next she would realize that he could get rid of her whenever he liked. She had to be more careful now they were on his turf.

The couple had dined with film stars and cabinet ministers in Paris, attended premières, had been seen at Longchamps and Auteuil. Now that they were in England the wheels of publicity were turning here. Michael monitored the growing frenzy around the pair with trepidation. He couldn’t grasp what was going on, but knew it was building towards something. Perhaps it was just the announcement of their nuptials, but he had detected that the Countess, far from caring for William, was at times almost disdainful of him. He was sure she was simply bleeding him of a lot of money. And Michael was aware of how much, because he oversaw her accounts. Nothing quite made sense — not just the Countess, but the vast fortune being paid out to Justin Chalmers. And when he took a call from William’s financial adviser, who was fishing for information, Mr Flynn appeared as nonplussed as himself at the astronomical sums being moved to the British Virgin Islands. He asked if Michael had any notion of what was going on.

‘I believe he’s having the island refurbished.’

‘The amount he’s shelling out could refurbish bloody New Zealand. This is just a small place, isn’t it?’

‘I’m not aware of the detailed instructions, just that the island is being prepared for Sir William to stay there with some guests.’

‘Well, please ask him to contact me. He’s not returned any of my calls...’ There was a long pause, then Michael heard a light cough. ‘Just between you and me, Michael, I know he took quite a public thrashing over this Maynard business. He’s not having some kind of breakdown, is he?’

‘No, he seems in very good spirits.’

‘Ah. Well, get him to call me because I don’t want to continue throwing money at this chap Chalmers until I’ve spoken to him. I need more details.’

Michael hung up, and addressed himself to another of Sir William’s scrawled messages. The Countess did not wish to remain in The Boltons so he had arranged to rent a house for her in Mayfair. Having now formally announced their engagement in The Times, they were at last holding centre-stage, and Sylvina felt it would look better if they did not appear to be cohabiting.

‘We’re not,’ William had said petulantly.

‘We’re under the same roof, dearest, and that to Meryl Delaware means we’re swinging naked from the light fittings. We must appear to be above reproach, exceedingly respectable.’

‘Fine. Go ahead and do what you want.’ William was growing bored with her constant requests for hand-outs.

Sylvina insisted on installing a maid, cook and butler in her new home and ordered that the floral displays be changed every three days. She adored her luxurious surroundings, but William was irritating her. She tried to contact Justin, but after leaving several messages she gave up. She knew that William and he kept in regular touch, but when she asked how the ‘project’ was coming along William said simply that it was costing enough to be more than just ‘coming along’ and he hoped it was almost completed. So did his financial adviser, who had demanded a meeting to discuss the island situation.

‘I have the money, haven’t I?’

‘Well, yes, of course, Sir William, but I also have to do my job, and I am advising you—’

‘Don’t. I know what the costs are and I have agreed to them. That is all you need to know.’

‘And the house in Mayfair?’

‘That is also acceptable. My fiancée requires her own establishment so, if there is no other business, please excuse me.’

Yet again, the idea occurred to them that perhaps Sir William was having a breakdown.

As they left his office, Michael was waiting to usher them out. ‘What do you know of this Justin Chalmers?’ Mr Flynn asked. He and his company had worked with William for many years, but Mr Flynn had never been spoken to so brusquely or kept so much in the dark by William as he had today.

‘I’ve never met him, Mr Flynn,’ Michael said quietly, afraid to be overheard. ‘I did check up with some interior designers I know of, and they have no idea who he is, but...’ Michael hesitated ‘...I think he was an associate of Andrew Maynard.’

Mr Flynn nodded. ‘I see,’ he said, but he didn’t really, and he was rather annoyed at the way he had been treated. But, as Sir William had said, he had the finance to do what he wanted, so if this island was what he wanted then so be it. Mr Flynn would keep the money flowing out.

The past months in London had been enjoyable to begin with, especially as William watched people’s attitudes change towards him. But the ‘intended marriage’ was now constantly raised by the press. Reporters asked ceaselessly for an announcement of the wedding date. But there was to be no date, no marriage. William knew he must do something radical. Sylvina just repeated that he had jumped the gun in announcing it. She felt that to all intents and purposes she had done her job: it appeared he was already accepted socially again.

‘You were invited to Baron and Baroness von Garten’s summer festival, two people you had on your list. You wanted to be acknowledged by them. I just don’t understand why, after the lengths we went to, you turned down their invitation.’

‘That, my dear, was the whole point. I wanted to turn it down. I can’t stand the bloody sight of him, or his stuck-up bitch of a wife.’

She sighed. ‘Fine. Well, what about Lord Hangerford? He’s underlined on the list, and I’ve made contact. You’ve been asked to dinner and the races. You’ve turned him down too. I thought you wanted to get to know these people.’

‘I did know them,’ he said angrily.

‘So why have you had me pulling these strings?’

‘You’re missing the point!’ he shouted.

She sighed. ‘William, what is the point? You pay me to have you reintroduced and accepted socially, and now you tell me you don’t want to be.’

‘I don’t want to socialize with them... not yet.’

‘Oh. Well, why don’t you tell me when you do? In the meantime I’ll just stay at my house and wait for your call.’ In a flash she regretted having said this. ‘Are you backing out of the deal we had?’ She was panicking.

‘No. All I feel is that it’s got out of hand. I’m grateful, you’ve done a good job, but I think maybe it’s boring me now, as much as it is you.’

‘Is that my fault?’

‘No, I didn’t mean that. It’s just... I’m tired of it all.’

‘You’re tired! Well, let me tell you, I’m exhausted. All right, you’re paying me, but I’m not only exhausted. Most of the time I’m bored out of my mind by these people.’

‘Don’t get tetchy,’ he said.

‘I’m not tetchy, I just want this all over and done with, and it appears you do as well. So, pay me off, and let me get back to my own life.’

‘That’s all this has really been to you, isn’t it? Money,’ he said glumly.

She wanted to scream, but she took a deep breath, crossed over to him and slipped her arms around his neck. ‘Sweetie, I am what I have always been, and I have never led you to believe otherwise. You’ve always known this was a game. You instigated it and I have played my part. I have not had an affair, I have remained, ready, willing and able, at your beck and call. But it’s almost a year... so let’s part as friends.’

He removed her arms from around his neck. Yet again she was taken aback. His voice was soft, hardly audible. ‘If I’d offered more money, would you have fucked me?’

She laughed. ‘Christ no. Well, maybe. If the price was right, who knows?’

‘Someone of your age should be—’ He never got out the word ‘grateful’ as she slapped him across the face.

‘Don’t throw crass remarks, Willy. If I’d have opened my legs, you’d have dived in. I’ve earned every penny, so please don’t try and back out.’

‘Not just yet. There’s one person you’ve not brought to the table. Humphrey Matlock. You’ve not even got close to him.’

Sylvina clenched her teeth. She had really tried, but Matlock was a hard man to get to. He appeared to loathe social functions and, in any case, was often abroad. When he was in London, he went fishing at weekends or whenever he could get away.

‘William, Humphrey Matlock’s a very unsociable creature and, to be honest, I wouldn’t include a newspaper magnate as high priority for social standing.’

‘Bullshit! Newspaper magnates are high in the social pecking-order. I want to meet him,’ he said pettishly, ‘but on my terms. I want that son-of-a-bitch to want to meet with me.’

‘Right. Come hell or high water, I will arrange for you to do that. But please pay me, William, and let me get out of here. Otherwise we’ll end up hating each other and I honestly don’t want that.’

He took out his cheque book, and dangled it in front of her. ‘You get me to Humphrey Matlock. Forget everyone else.’

She pursed her lips. ‘Have you tried picking up the phone and calling him? You’re on the front page of every bloody glossy magazine, some of which he owns. Meryl Delaware’s been working overtime for you.’

‘What?’

‘Pay her and she’d work for Jack the Ripper — she even works for Matlock but she can’t get close to him either. She’s never met him.’

‘I want him to want to know me,’ he said again, thrusting out his lower jaw.

Sylvina looked at the cheque book, and bit her lip. ‘Okay, I’ll arrange it. I’ll see if Meryl Delaware can help, but it’ll cost.’

Two days later an innocuous piece in one of the gossip columns said that all seemed to be going well for the new ‘golden couple’, Sir William Benedict and Countess Sylvina Lubrinsky. Shortly afterwards, William received a gold-embossed invitation to a midsummer fête at the Matlocks’ country home. He propped the invitation on the mantelpiece and stood looking at it, his hands stuffed into his pockets. When Michael walked in, William pointed to it. ‘What a two-faced piece of shit, eh?’ Michael took the invitation down to read it. ‘That’s the son-of-a-bitch who ran filth about me for months. Every one of his papers ran lies about me, and now, a year later, he invites me to his home.’

Michael shook his head in disgust, and replaced the invitation. ‘So you won’t be going, sir?’

‘You accept, Michael, and send a bouquet of flowers to his wife. Then, nearer the date, you can telephone and say I have been unavoidably detained.’

Michael gave a quizzical look, but noted down his latest instructions. They were getting more bizarre every week — and he had detected a frosty atmosphere between Sir William and his countess.

Sylvina was looking ravishing, and William thanked her for the scrapbook of press-cuttings she had sent him.

‘It was really just to make a point,’ she said. ‘All that coverage was hard work, and sometimes I thought you didn’t know how much time it took.’

William smiled and passed her a white envelope. ‘You’ll find a cheque inside, certified, of course, plus a list of the extra expenses that I did not agree to pay. I have deducted them from the fee we agreed.’

Sylvina gasped. Three hundred thousand pounds had been deducted from the million-pound payment. Even the solitaire diamond engagement ring had been charged to her. He had a funny crooked smile on his face.

‘You fat bastard!’ she snarled.

‘Maybe I’m fat but I’m not stupid. Not stupid enough for you to rip me off anyway.’

After Sylvina left, still cursing, she phoned Justin and at last managed to speak to him.

‘Hi, gorgeous, how’s things?’ he drawled.

‘My cheque was short. The mean bastard deducted three hundred thousand grand.’

‘He’s got some sense, then?’ He laughed.

‘Soon you might be laughing on the other side of your face too,’ she said angrily.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Exactly what I said. He’s back doing business again like a demented kid. Every time I got him invitations from those wretched names on his pitiful list, he did nothing about it.’

‘Did you get to Matlock?’ Justin asked sharply.

‘Yes. He’s going to some function at the man’s home. That’s why I’m out of here.’

‘You’re leaving London?’

‘I’m on my way to the airport right now.’

‘He’s going to Matlock’s?’

‘I just told you so. He’s got the invitation, squeezed out of Matlock’s prune-faced wife. What a dull woman she is.’

‘Shit,’ Justin hissed. Sylvina laughed. ‘Goodbye,’ she said, as she switched off her phone. She leaned back smiling. She had just made herself a tidy sum and could look forward to enjoying herself. She certainly had the wardrobe for it, and all the press she had engineered for William had benefited her too. Life was good.

Meanwhile, far from feeling relief at Sylvina’s departure, William felt seedy and foolish, and more so when he considered that he had instigated the madness of the past year. But for what? He thought of other men who had been publicly vilified by the press: Profumo, Lambton, Archer and, of course, Aitken, now released from his prison sentence. Admittedly, the scandals in which they had been involved were more sensitive than his. In fact, he hadn’t even been involved in a scandal. He was innocent, but he wondered if those others felt as he did. Had they at some time wanted revenge for the way they had been treated, or had they simply accepted it and got on with their lives? The public hounding as journalists dug into their families’ lives must have hurt each of them, just as it had hurt him.

William looked at the array of invitations to high-society functions that had come in daily while Sylvina was at his side. How ridiculous to have coveted such meaningless things. He knew that if he continued to lavish money on certain charities he would remain on their lengthy, highbrow guest-lists, but he no longer cared. Maybe that was what he had learned from Sylvina: all it took to penetrate the higher echelons was money and ‘face’. He had been a self-made mega-rich tycoon with one fatal flaw: his need for social acceptability. Now at last he realized how hollow that had been. How could he find a real purpose in life?

William, too, placed a call to Justin. He asked, uninterestedly, how the work was coming along. Justin assured him that everything was going according to plan, that the game would soon be ready to begin. William told him quietly that the game was off. It was pointless. Sylvina had gone, and as soon as Justin was finished with the refurbishments he was to go, too. Justin flew into a rage, but knew better than to show it. When William hung up Justin let out a furious scream.

‘I’m off home now, sir,’ Michael said, popping his head round William’s study door.

‘Goodbye.’ His employer’s voice sounded empty.

Michael stepped into the room. ‘Everything all right, sir?’ he asked, with some concern.

‘Yes, everything’s fine. Goodnight.’

‘Will the Countess be coming back?’

‘No, she won’t. She’s gone.’

William gave a small, sad smile. ‘Not much luck with the ladies. See you in the morning.’

Michael closed the door quietly. He could think of nothing to say.

If he had seen William opening his locked desk drawer and taking out a Luger pistol, he would have been more than concerned. William placed it on his leatherbound blotter and stared at it. The awful loneliness had something to do with Sylvina’s departure but more to do with him. He contemplated ending it all. All he had to do was pull the trigger. But that was easier said than done. The pistol had belonged to his father. It had not been used for thirty years, and the firing pin was bent out of shape. He held it to his head as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, and remembered the discovery of Andrew Maynard’s body. Had he really died of heartbreak... or through fear of his private life being exposed? Suddenly William focused on Humphrey Matlock’s invitation. He lowered his useless pistol and tossed it back into the drawer. A spark of anger ignited amid his spiralling depression. ‘I want to get that bastard,’ he muttered.

William decided then that, after all, he was going to fight back because he was an innocent man. He had not stolen, lied or destroyed anyone in his climb to success yet he had been vilified. He was still wary of Justin’s plan, but the dream of revenge on Matlock had pulled him away from the edge.

In the middle of the night, an enraged Justin placed a call to Meryl Delaware. She was about to launch an angry tirade at him for waking her at such an hour but he didn’t let her get a word in. Speaking in a low, urgent voice, he gave her a front-page scoop. It concerned a young actress called Sharee, and her relationship with Countess Sylvina Lubrinsky, Sir William Benedict’s future wife.

Two days later, as William was sitting down to breakfast, he was surprised to hear Michael arrive and tap on the door. ‘I’m sorry, sir but I couldn’t have blanked it. It came right out of left field.’

William looked up expectantly. ‘Blanked what?’

In an exclusive that seemed exclusive to every tabloid paper in Europe, Sharee had disclosed her sexual relationship with William’s fiancée. The headlines were beyond belief — ‘Britain’s Bad Boy Falls Prey to Sex Goddess’ — but the articles were explicit, and accompanied by photographs of Sharee either in a sexy pose, pouting, tits to the fore, or as an angelic baby ‘used and abused by lesbian temptress’.

The nightmare began again. William’s home was surrounded by pressmen. He couldn’t move outside without cameras flashing and microphones being thrust under his nose. The press regurgitated all his past indiscretions with hookers, and his ex-wives’ quotes were rehashed. The onslaught was relentless. This time Michael was impressed by the way William handled it all. He remained composed and quiet. His demeanour when he left the house was sad, resigned, and that belied his abject humiliation. Eventually he decided to give a press conference. The battery of cameras and television crews with reporters fighting for front-row positions was sickening, all for some ridiculous article that might titillate a few readers.

Fortified by a few glasses of wine, William walked out to face the baying mob. He read a short statement he had written himself, and felt his anguish rising. Eventually he broke down. The flashbulbs popped. On returning to his house, he felt that the press conference had been the straw to break his back. He was appalled that he had lacked such self-control, and refused to watch any newsreels or read another paper. Now he was seriously contemplating ending it all.

Then everything changed. The fickle world turns on a fivepenny piece. The press began to depict him as a wronged lover and the public loved it.

Michael hired a PR agent, who played heavily on William’s shock and trauma at the revelations. William was amazed by an avalanche of sympathy letters and articles. He was now seen as a man seduced by a gold-digger who had betrayed him. The débâcle went on long enough for William to be sickened at first then amused that without making any effort himself he had come out smelling of roses.

Sylvina and Sharee had unwittingly given William a new public image, and to Justin, this turn of events was a gift from heaven. He had dropped the scoop to Meryl to spite William for dropping the plan. But the miraculous turnaround also meant that William’s putative guests would be sure to accept an invitation from such a popular media star. He called William to talk him into leaving London to visit the almost completed paradise island.

‘I can’t right now, Justin,’ said William, tired from all the interviews and phone calls.

‘Right now is the perfect time. William, are you there?’ There was a pause. ‘I want you to think about our plan,’ Justin began.

‘At the moment I can’t think about anything.’

‘But you have to.’

‘Justin, I can’t talk now. Call me later.’ He hung up.

At the other end of the line Justin’s face twisted into a paroxysm of fury. Then, in a fit of rage, he smashed the receiver to pieces against the wall. He berated himself for acting too rashly.

He had been sure that the exposé would make William even more eager for revenge, but it seemed to have had the reverse effect. ‘Will this idiot never come to his senses?’ Justin muttered to himself. Gradually he calmed himself. It was just a setback. He’d leave it a day or so then call again. The fish was still on the line, he assured himself, just wriggling dangerously. Justin would land his quarry, even if it meant drawing him out to the island and slitting his throat himself.