Sleeping Cruelty

by Lynda La Plante

  Justin was delighted at the impact of his creation. But this was just the beginning and he was determined to milk every second. ‘I’ll show you the grounds first.’ He veered off the pathway into a shaded, narrow, rough lane where the ferns and the palms made it darker and more mysterious. They turned a corner on to a clearing with an Olympic-sized marble swimming-pool. The water, lit from beneath, was a vivid turquoise. Sunloungers were covered in the same brilliant colour; parasols and tables were placed on different levels. A straw-covered gazebo accommodated a bar, where a man stood waiting to serve drinks. Crystal glasses glittered, and mountains of fruit in ceramic pots were dotted on the tables around the pool. Justin escorted William to a jacuzzi built on a higher level, and a large swirl pool with an elaborate mosaic floor.

  The tour continued round the entire island, taking in secret pathways, or ‘lovers’ walks’, as Justin described them, until at last they headed around the rear of the mansion, past the servants’ quarters to a shady cobble-walled yard. ‘The servants live in the area away from the master rooms, but they’re connected by phone and intercom,’ Justin said, pointing out the hidden wires. Following his gaze, William looked upwards. ‘The cameras are for the security monitor in your master office. You can see what’s going on over the whole island with one flick of a switch.’

  They returned to the cart and headed back towards the main mansion entrance. Justin had restructured the building, turning a warren of small rooms and corridors into vast open spaces. The doors leading into the main hall were thirty feet high and had come from an Indonesian monastery. They were carved with spectacular fretwork, and in the centre of each was a wooden lion’s head, its jaws wide open, holding a gleaming brass knocker. Justin had a flair for mixing the old with the new and the combination was perfect. The hallway was tiled in black and white marble. Above, a huge domed ceiling was vaulted with thick wooden beams, a minstrel’s gallery snaking its way around the hall. Overhead, fans whirred quietly, and carefully positioned lights cast beams on paintings the size of living-room walls. Tapestries, oil paintings and a full suit of armour gave the feeling of a medieval castle, yet the room was light and airy. The wide double staircase was made of polished Japanese pine and had a frail appearance that belied its strength and weight. The windows opened on to balconies and verandas. All the rooms seemed to be interconnected: one wall slid back to reveal a modern, open-plan drawing room with white cushioned sofas, low tables, paintings, china displays on plinths of polished wood, Japanese bowls, rough local pottery, and, dominating each room, a wide open fireplace. ‘I’ve installed the finest air-conditioning system. The engineers were here for months.’ Justin pointed around the room, to the floor and ceiling, but William could see no grids or outlets – they were all hidden from sight.

  Besides a row of six small bungalow-type residences for staff and guests, there were eight suites, each with its own bathroom. There was also a drawing room and a dining room with a long monastery table and big carved chairs, plus a smaller table for more intimate dining. The breakfast room had no walls, and was designed so that guests could drink their morning coffee with spectacular views on every side. However, when it was windy or wet, the touch of a button would electronically activate glass panels to shield them.

  Nothing in his wildest dreams had prepared William for this extravagance. Justin insisted on tours to the servants’ living-quarters, going into long descriptions about the kitchens and wine cellar, which he wanted William to see. Then he led William into a gargantuan study. It was a modern room, with a futuristic-looking desk, a hi-tech computer and printer, a huge television and a bank of security monitors. Although William was now aching with tiredness, Justin gestured for him to sit. He crossed to the desk, spread out the architect’s drawings of the mansion, and with a red pen indicated the areas they missed on the tour and the positions of the hidden cameras. He began to fiddle with an array of switches in the large panel at the side of the desk. The monitors fizzled into life, revealing every possible area of the island.

  ‘You can keep an eye on everything, William,’ Justin said, unable to hide his pride in his work.

  ‘Very impressive,’ William said, so exhausted he could hardly keep his eyes open.

  ‘We need to discuss the finances,’ Justin said, rolling up the drawings.

  ‘Not now. I need some sleep. Perhaps in the morning.’

  Justin checked his watch. ‘Will you want to dine? Only you should really meet all your staff.’

  William removed his jacket. His shirt was stained with sweat. ‘A light supper in my suite. Offer them my apologies. I’ll meet them tomorrow.’ He looked around, unsure where to go.

  ‘I’ll send the chef to your room,’ Justin said, opening a door in the corner of the study. ‘Tomorrow we’ll discuss the grand plan.’

  William took a deep breath. ‘No, we won’t, I’m here for a holiday, nothing more. All that revenge stuff was nonsense, as stupid as my arrangement with Sylvina.’

  Justin’s heart sank, but he kept a smile on his face. ‘You get a good night’s sleep. Maybe you’ll think differently in the morning.’

  William glared. ‘No, I won’t. As I said, I’m here for a break, and God knows I certainly need one. All that silly stuff is best forgotten. I don’t even want to discuss it again. Goodnight.’

  As William made to leave, Justin gave a small bow. ‘Welcome home,’ he said softly.

  ‘Thank you. You’ve done one hell of a job.’

  Justin directed him to his suite, then closed the door and leaned against it. ‘You’ve done one hell of a job,’ he repeated sarcastically. ‘Fucking prick,’ he muttered, under his breath. The dumb bastard didn’t want to play! Well, so be it, he would play. He hadn’t spent eighteen months setting it up and half of his life waiting for this opportunity just to let it slip away. It might take a little longer, but he was sure he could persuade the buffoon to do exactly as he wanted. No one was going to stop him now.

  William showered and changed into a pair of cotton pyjamas that had been laid out on his bed. His suite seemed bigger than the first floor of his London house. He padded to the balcony, opened the doors and walked out. Like a golden globe sinking into the sea, the sun’s last rays reached out like tentacles into the darkening sky before it disappeared. William gasped. It was the most extraordinary sight he’d ever seen. Soft lights came on automatically, and he rested his hands on the veranda rail. He breathed deeply. The air was cool and sweetly perfumed, the night caressing, almost like a naked woman reaching out to hold him. As emotion welled up inside him he felt close to tears and gasped to regain his composure. He felt as though he were caught in a dream. But it was reality. This was his paradise. It belonged to him and no one else.

  There was a light tap on the door and William let in a small Frenchman who introduced himself as Monsieur Dupré, the chef. He handed William the menu, a thick sheet of manila paper with looped writing. William barely glanced at it. ‘I’d like some melon, a little scrambled egg and maybe some salmon.’

  ‘Of course, Monsieur, and …’ He passed William the wine list. One glance told him it was on a par with that of the Ritz. He asked for a bottle of chilled Pouilly Fumé and some iced lemon tea. Dupré bowed and backed out, closing the door silently behind him.

  The tray arrived on a steel trolley with silver domes placed over delicate pale blue porcelain. The cutlery, of silver and eighteen-carat gold inlaid with ivory, was laid out on the damask cloth. The fluted goblet was chilled and frosted, and the wine stood in an ornate silver bucket.

  ‘I’ll serve myself,’ William said briskly, anxious to be left alone to savour yet another of Justin’s touches of elegance. The eggs were cooked to perfection, the salmon melted in his mouth like butter. The warm crusty rolls were fresh, just as he liked. The melon, cut into fine slivers, was garnished with segments of lemon, strawberries, pineapple and apricots. William ate sparingly, and after a glass of wine, his eyes drooped. He didn’t finish his meal but went into t
he bedroom, fell on to the damask-covered bed and into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  At some point during the night, the tray was removed and the handmade mosquito nets released above the bed. William turned and his eyes opened and, for a moment, he was unsure where he was. The netting above him felt like hands touching his face and he cringed. He must make it clear to all the servants that his rooms were not to be entered unless at his express permission. Returning to a half-sleep, he saw winding dark corridors, secret rooms – eerie, frightening places. He felt so cold he woke up. Pushing the netting aside William reached for the bedside lamp, patting its base to find the switch. The lamp filled the room with a soft yellow glow. Looking around, he suddenly noticed a painting.

  For a moment it looked like a mirage, suspended in the air, but then he realized that it had been framed to stand away from the wall and was intended to appear to float. It was of a woman, her blonde hair cascading from a central parting almost to her waist. A pale blue chiffon scarf covered her shoulders, revealing her perfect breasts. One hand, with long fine fingers and short oval nails, held a white lily. The other rested against the side of her pale neck, as if she was touching her pulse. The painting was in washed, muted colours. Only the face had clarity, as if the artist wanted it to be the focus. It was a childlike, innocent face. Pale blue eyes stared out above a small, delicate nose and the full lips were slightly parted. William turned off the light, but kept staring towards the painting, unsure whether he wished it to remain in the room. Eventually he fell asleep, her face the last thing he saw that night and the first when he woke next morning.

  Standing on the veranda, William saw Justin in a white robe heading back towards the house.

  ‘Morning,’ Justin called up.

  ‘Morning,’ he replied.

  ‘I’ve been for a swim,’ Justin said, shading his eyes. ‘Have you had breakfast?’

  ‘Not yet, will you join me for coffee?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Justin, disappearing.

  ‘Justin!’ William called after him. ‘The woman,’ he said, as Justin reappeared. ‘The painting of the woman in my bedroom.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Justin called up. ‘Beautiful, isn’t she?’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘My sister,’ Justin said. Almost as an afterthought he added, ‘Her name is Laura.’

  At breakfast, William was wearing a pair of Bermuda shorts and a loose floral shirt. On his feet were Gucci sandals, leather uppers with rope soles, but his legs above his socks were unhealthy pinkish blobs. His pale freckled skin never tanned, but turned red and blistered if he sat in the sun too long. His fine blond hair, thinning at the back in a neat round crown, was perhaps the only thing the tropical sun enhanced, turning it from mousy blond to white-silver. Justin, in comparison, was so deeply tanned from months of working outdoors that it was hard to tell what race he was. He was wearing a cheesecloth kaftan and the flip-flops he had worn the previous day. He hitched up the kaftan around his thighs as he stretched out his long legs beside the table.

  A large trolley loaded with fresh fruit cascading from iced bowls had been wheeled to within easy reach of the table, with fresh rolls, pastries and home-made breads under a covered silver warming-dish. Various jams and sweet and sour marmalades in silver basketweave jars, matching silver coffee-and tea-pots with hot-water jugs in the same but larger-woven pattern sparkled in the morning sun. The table wore a starched pale blue linen cloth, with matching napkins and heavy cutlery. Added to the array of knives and forks were diamond-shaped grapefruit spoons. Iced flutes held freshly squeezed orange juice. Jugs offered lemon water, or grapefruit juice with sprigs of mint. A small, heated tray held covered tureens with bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, liver, kidneys and onions.

  ‘No cornflakes?’ William said, looking over the trolley.

  ‘I’ll send down for some,’ Justin said.

  ‘No, don’t bother. It was a joke.’ William poured more coffee and proffered the pot to Justin, who shook his head, holding up a glass of iced water.

  ‘Not until midday. Gets me too speedy.’ He sat munching at an alarming rate.

  ‘Is she dead?’ William asked, out of the blue.

  ‘Who?’ Justin enquired.

  ‘The woman in the painting.’ William dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

  ‘Laura? No, she’s very much alive.’

  ‘You’ve never mentioned her.’

  ‘I’m sure I have.’ Justin took out his cigarettes, noting the way the debris from William’s breakfast now dominated the table. He had read somewhere that the space a person took up on a table was representative of their perceived status in relation to their fellow diners. William clearly felt he was the dominant personality here.

  ‘Laura?’ William said, his head cocked to one side. ‘The name suits her. She’s very beautiful.’

  Justin nodded, picked up a book of matches and lit his Gitane. He drew the ashtray close and laid the match in the bowl then slid it, with a half-amused smile, directly in front of William. He had now reclaimed his space. ‘We should go over the accounts,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Fine. Whenever.’

  Justin stood up and stretched his long arms above his head. ‘Half an hour? Your study would probably be best. Then I can lay out all the plans.’

  ‘What does she do?’ William asked, looking up at Justin.

  ‘My sister?’ Justin drew deeply on the cigarette, then let the smoke drift from his nose. ‘She fucks.’ With that he strolled away, the smell of his cigarette hanging in the air.

  Justin was waiting in William’s study. He had changed into a pair of white shorts, frayed at the edges and a washed-out blue vest. William pointed to a stack of receipts and invoices. ‘Has Michael been privy to all of this?’

  ‘Most,’ Justin said, concentrating on the account books.

  ‘He’ll need copies of everything,’ William said, wandering around the room, noting the contents of the bookshelves and cabinets.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  William stared out of the window. ‘Christ, it’s a wonderful view from here,’ he said.

  ‘From every room,’ Justin corrected, concentrating on his papers. ‘Shall we get started?’ He stepped away from the desk, gesturing to the carved chair behind it. William sat as he placed an open, leatherbound account book in front of him. He pointed to the control panel on the desk. ‘You have a hi-tech calculator there if you need it. It’ll give you the costs in any currency, plus exchange rates. This is the master copy.’

  William nodded and flicked briskly through the pages of neatly handwritten accounts until he got to the last page and glanced down. Justin was becoming irritated. He knew that William was looking for the final total. ‘If you have to look for it, you can’t afford it,’ he said. ‘The truth is, it’s peanuts compared to what some interior designers would have charged.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ William uttered under his breath. The total was one hundred and twenty-six million dollars. ‘Peanuts?’ He looked up as Justin averted his eyes.

  ‘I’ll start at the beginning. Go to page one, structural repairs,’ he snapped.

  ‘Yes,’ William said flatly, adding a curt, ‘I think you had better do just that!’

  At last there was some energized response from William, even if it was not necessarily a good one. His depression hung around him, pervaded the island and infuriated Justin. He simply could not understand his lack of energy and enthusiasm. He was like a dead man set in cement. Only the money angle seemed to have given him a spark of life.

  Later, a business lunch of crisp salad and chicken breast wrapped in spinach leaves on a bed of saffron rice was brought in to them. William did not want a break, and Justin, under a barrage of questions, didn’t eat a morsel. William demanded to know the cost of every item. By mid-afternoon Justin had to get out. He needed to clear his head. He’d not even left the room for a piss. Neither had William.

  No wonder the man was rich, he thought. Nothing went
unnoticed – he even enquired about bars of soap.

  ‘Look, Sir William, we must discuss more than nit-picking costs. There is more at stake here.’ William peered at him quizzically. ‘I suggest we both take a break. I’ll arrange for a drink to be brought up to you at the jacuzzi.’

  Reluctantly William acquiesced. He didn’t like jacuzzis and he could have easily continued all day and into the night.

  ‘I’ll take some of these folders,’ he muttered.

  ‘Fine. Just don’t get them wet.’ Justin was trying hard to control his temper.

  Justin walked to the edge of the pool, kicked off his shorts and dived naked into the cool blue water. William was sitting in the jacuzzi on the higher level, wearing Justin’s baseball cap with a cigar clamped in his teeth. He was checking through the lists of paintings and tapestries that had been shipped in from Sotheby’s and Christie’s showrooms in New York and London. The hot water was pumping and shaking over his rather flaccid thighs and buttocks. He had put on at least two and a half stone since Maynard’s death, partly due to Sylvina’s constant round of dinners. His pot belly hung over his maroon bathing shorts. He watched Justin swim length after length.

  After about half an hour William showered and changed, gathered up the folders and returned to the study. He was surprised to see Justin already at work, bent over the computer, with a glass of chilled wine.

  ‘You mind?’ Justin asked, holding up the bottle, which was already three-quarters empty.

  ‘Not at all.’ William gestured to the chair beside him. ‘I need you to run these by me. Mexican artefacts? Were they necessary?’

  ‘No, not at all, but rather nice, don’t you think?’ Justin slumped down into the chair.

  ‘At this price they should be.’

  And so it continued.

  At last, by nine that evening, William was satisfied that he had covered the entire expenditure on his island paradise. He closed the last book and reached for a cigar from the specially designed humidor, embossed with his initials in gold. ‘You took some liberties,’ he said quietly.