Sleeping Cruelty

by Lynda La Plante

  William shook it off. ‘Cut the crap. What do you want?’

  ‘Oh!’ squealed Justin. ‘Mr Tough Guy.’

  ‘Is it money you’re after?’

  Justin sat down beside him, and pulled out a large file from his case. ‘Look, the trap is set.’ He tossed a wad of newspaper cuttings about the island on to William’s lap. ‘It’s finished, all set up. It’s up to you now. If you need my help you can have it. If not I’ll be off.’

  William started to look over the cuttings. Suddenly the phone rang. ‘Who the hell …?’ William lifted the receiver. ‘Yup?’

  It was Mrs Harper-Nathan. ‘Thank goodness you’re there, Sir William. I’ve been trying to get hold of Lady Benedict but there’s no reply.’ William wished she’d get to the point. ‘Sir William, I’m afraid your daughter has gone missing.’

  ‘But I only saw her this afternoon.’

  ‘Well, she did leave a note, but she’s packed her case and left. We were rather hoping she might have come to you.’

  ‘What does the note say?’ There was an embarrassed pause. ‘Well?’ asked William.

  ‘Well,’ said Mrs Harper-Nathan, ‘it seems she has eloped with the school caretaker’s son. She says in the note that she’s pregnant by him. I’ve spoken to the caretaker. He thinks his son is staying in a squat in Notting Hill Gate, above a pub. The Six Bells, I think he said.’ There was a short silence. ‘I’m so sorry, Sir William.’

  ‘The boy’s name?’

  ‘Jacob Mkomazi.’

  ‘Fax me that note. And, Mrs Harper-Nathan, no police, no press.’ He hung up.

  ‘Bad news?’ Justin asked.

  William gave a gesture of despair and went into Michael’s office. Justin trailed after him, and by the time the fax had come through, William had told him about Sabrina. ‘It’s one bloody thing after another,’ he muttered, passing the fax for Justin to read. ‘First my son, now my daughter. Dear God, if the press get hold of either story they’ll have a field day.’

  Justin was pulling on his jacket. ‘Look, William, you may be knackered, you certainly look it, and I know there’s trouble, but the best way of dealing with trouble is action. Okay?’ He was holding the door open. ‘I’ll drive you wherever you want to go.’

  Justin and William sped off in William’s sports car to Notting Hill Gate. They cruised the streets until William spotted the Ten Bells. ‘That must be it,’ he shouted.

  Justin swerved into the kerb. It was pouring with rain. William got out; crossed the pavement and pushed open the graffiti-covered side-door. The dank, carpetless hall smelt of urine and stale food, overridden by the powerful smell of ganja, which made William’s head reel. There were several doors, and the sound of a jazz trumpet mingled with televisions and muted voices, then, eerily, a loud, cackling laugh.

  He knocked at one door and received no reply. Looking down the dingy hall he saw that there was a basement, and another apartment further along. He decided to listen at each flat, rather than knocking. On the third floor, he heard Sabrina laugh, a joyful sound, so unlike the bitter, hard little girl he had encountered that afternoon.

  He rapped lightly and waited. The door inched open and a tall, handsome boy with shoulder-length dreadlocks looked down at him. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’m Sabrina’s father,’ William said. The boy gave a half-smile before he turned back to the room.

  ‘Tell him to go fuck himself!’ came Sabrina’s high-pitched voice.

  The boy turned back to William and his beautiful, dark, slanting eyes twinkled. ‘Guess she don’t want to see you, sir.’

  ‘Don’t call him “sir”, Jacob. You don’t ever have to call anyone sir, and especially not him. Shut the door.’

  Jacob turned to William. ‘She don’t want to see you.’

  He was about to shut the door when William stuck out his hand. ‘Listen, Jacob. I want to see my daughter, and I want to talk to her. It’ll take a few minutes then I’ll walk away. She need never see me again if that’s what she wants.’

  Jacob hesitated, then swung the door open.

  Sabrina was lying on a moth-eaten couch, with a portable TV set balanced at one end amongst cans of Coke, packets of crisps and a bowl of apples. The room was untidy and dirty. Even the bed in one corner had not been made. Jacob gestured to a dilapidated wing-back armchair, the stuffing and springs bulging out, barely concealed by a big wool rug that had been thrown over it. Two guitars and a set of conga drums were stashed beside it.

  ‘Sit down,’ Jacob said, hitching up his jeans. He wore an old miner’s shirt with a knitted sweater over it, dirty sneakers and no socks. ‘You want some coffee?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, please,’ William said, easing himself into the chair, afraid it would collapse under him.

  ‘You want a milkshake, Sabby?’

  ‘Okay.’ She had not even looked at her father.

  ‘Be two minutes.’ Jacob opened her purse and took out some money.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d have to go out for it,’ William said, but the door closed. Then he turned to his daughter. ‘You’re pregnant?’ he said.

  ‘I’m not going back to school. Never, never, never. Okay?’

  William looked at the guitars and asked if Jacob played in a band. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Right now he’s cleaning tables in a bar,’ she said defiantly.

  ‘You need money?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, it didn’t take you long to get around to that, did it? Listen, I don’t need a cent from you, I’ve got my trust fund.’

  ‘And the fairies made that up for you, did they? Well, you can’t get your hands on that till you’re twenty-one. That’s quite a few years to wait. If you’re having a baby, you’re gonna need more space than one room.’

  She was unsure how to take what he had said. He hadn’t been angry – in fact he seemed to have accepted her situation.

  ‘Are you going to get married?’ he asked.

  She laughed humourlessly. ‘Yeah, all in white with four bridesmaids.’

  ‘Do you love him, or are you just doing this to get back at me?’ He moved closer.

  She nodded as tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘Please go away,’ she whispered.

  ‘I will, but we need to talk about maternity bills, hospitals …’

  ‘For fuck’s sake don’t tell me to get a nanny! I had my fill of those. This baby is all mine. At last, something of my own that no one can take away from me. We’re going to bring it up, me and Jacob.’

  William reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. Again she asked him to leave, but this time without anger. He stood up and laid his hand on her head. ‘I love you. If you ever need me, I’ll be there. Take care of yourself, Sabrina, and I hope you’ll be a lot happier with Jacob than I ever was with your mother. I’ll call her and tell her you’re looking well and happy.’

  William sat on the stairs waiting for Jacob to return. He came in carrying a cardboard tray with their coffees and the milkshake.

  ‘Hi,’ William said, trying to appear relaxed.

  ‘Hi. She’s into these milkshakes and crisps.’

  ‘You’re lucky. With her mother it was pâté de foie gras and champagne. Sit down, Jacob.’

  Jacob squashed down beside him, his long legs stretched out as he passed over the coffee.

  ‘You are going to marry my daughter?’ William asked, removing the lid and dripping coffee over his raincoat.

  ‘Yep, when we got some cash. Right now we’re having to be real careful. She’s half-way. We’ve got to take care of the baby.’

  ‘You love her?’ asked William, sipping the strong coffee.

  Jacob’s dark eyes bored into William’s. ‘No, I’m after her trust fund, man!’

  ‘No need for sarcasm. Anyway, you’re going to have a long wait. She’s only sixteen, and she can’t touch it until she’s—’

  ‘Twenty-one. Yeah, I know.’

  ‘You work in a bar?’ William asked, and sipped the coffee.


  ‘Yeah. Sorry I’m not no accountant.’

  ‘Jacob, I don’t give a fuck what you are just so long as you’re going to take care of my daughter. Listen to what I have to say.’

  ‘I’m all ears.’ Jacob drained his coffee and crushed the cup in one hand.

  ‘You needn’t tell Sabrina, if you don’t want to, but I’m going to open a bank account in your name. All I ask is for you to take care of her and contact me when she’s in labour. I’d like to see the baby. After all, it’ll be my grandchild.’

  ‘No thanks, no bank account. I’ll take care of her ’cos I’m crazy about her and we’ll get along fine.’

  William stood up and looked down into Jacob’s face. ‘Don’t turn it down. Everyone needs a break. It won’t be millions, just enough to get you started in some kind of job, whatever you want. Get a decent place to bring up your kids. I may not have been a decent father, but …’

  ‘Money’s no object, huh?’

  William leaned over him. ‘I earned every cent I’ve ever made. If you love her you’ll take what I’m offering, because if you don’t you’ll not stand a chance of making it work between you. It’s a game for her right now, but she’s scared shitless.’

  Jacob bowed his head as William took out a visiting card. ‘Ask to speak to Michael. He’ll have all the details.’

  Jacob held the card loosely in his hand before he stood up to face his soon-to-be father-in-law. ‘Thank you.’ William reached out and hugged him.

  When William reached the car he saw that Justin was asleep, his head resting against the car window and his mouth slightly open. He looked like a small boy. William tapped on the window and Justin’s eyes sprang open. There was a moment, it came and went so fast, but for that second, as Justin stirred, he seemed terror-struck: his hands flailed and he covered his face as if protecting himself from a beating.

  ‘Sorry,’ William found himself apologizing, ‘do you want me to drive?’

  ‘No, get in. Did it all go okay?’

  ‘Yep, but I don’t want to talk about it. All I can think of is getting some shut-eye.’

  Justin grinned as he started the engine. ‘Right, home it is.’

  When they got home William directed Justin to a spare bedroom and was thankful that Justin said that they’d talk in the morning. But when he leaned close and kissed his cheek, it was perhaps the best moment of William’s wretched day.

  Chapter Thirteen

  William stared out of the window. The heavy rain and dark grey skies made visibility so poor that he couldn’t even see the end of his walled garden. It had been lashing down all night and, with the trauma of yesterday, sleep had been impossible. When Michael arrived at nine William gave him strict instructions that if any press phoned he was to say he knew nothing and that William was out of the country. He was explaining that Charlie and Justin were both still asleep upstairs, when Charlie strolled in. ‘Hi there, Dad.’

  ‘I need to speak to you for a few minutes, Charlie.’ They went into the drawing room. ‘I will take you to the island and I’m very glad that you’ve met Justin but—’

  Charlie groaned. ‘I knew there’d be a but.’

  ‘But you’ve really got to get straightened out first. Now, you’ll have to go back to this clinic and don’t give me this bullshit about weekend leave. It’s mid-week. Do you think I’m stupid?’

  ‘The place is full of wankers.’

  ‘You liked them last week.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’ve never been into all that therapy stuff and the group-leaders are full of shit. They were addicts themselves and all they ever talk about is their old scene.’

  Justin was standing in the doorway. ‘There’s a great place you’d really like in Minnesota,’ he said. ‘It’s where all the super-stars go. I’m sure your dad can pull a few strings.’

  William spun round. Justin was grinning at Charlie.

  ‘Minnesota, America? Wow! Yeah, I’d give that a go. Yeah, that’s cool, I’ve heard of that place,’ Charlie said enthusiastically.

  ‘So that’s that settled,’ Justin concluded. ‘Now, for God’s sake, can we have some breakfast?’

  William gripped Justin’s elbow and drew him aside. ‘Stay clear of my son, Justin. Do you understand me? You stay away from him.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Now can we have breakfast?’

  By three thirty Michael had arranged a five-month stay for Charlie in the high-powered American clinic, the finest rehabilitation clinic in the world. As Justin had said, a queue of movie stars and ex-presidents’ wives were waiting to be dried out and the cure rate was amazing. Charlie was frightened. It had all happened so quickly, but he agreed to leave England immediately.

  The three arrived at Heathrow in good time for Charlie’s flight. Justin and William waved him through the gate, then walked back to the car-park.

  ‘Justin, if you’d like me to drop you off somewhere … I’ve been trying to contact my ex-wife all day to give her the news about the kids, but I can’t rouse her. As we’re on the motorway here, it wouldn’t take me long to whizz up to her place. But I don’t want to bore you.’

  Justin put his arm round William’s shoulder. ‘What else would I do? Sit in front of the TV?’ He clicked the remote control to open the car. ‘Think of me as your chauffeur today. We can chat, listen to music. It’s a good system you’ve got here.’ Justin sat in the driver’s seat and buckled up. ‘So, William, fire away with the directions and off we go.’

  It was dark when the car rolled up the drive of Katherine’s Buckinghamshire home, splashed through the pot-holes, and drew up outside the porch.

  ‘You wait here, I won’t be long,’ said William, and climbed out of the car. In the semi-darkness the house looked run-down. William noticed broken panes of glass in the stained-glass door. ‘Katherine?’ he called, as he opened it. ‘Katherine.’

  He made his way first to the kitchen, which was a shambolic mess of dirty cutlery and blackened, greasy pans. ‘Katherine!’ he called again, as he walked towards the drawing room.

  The door was ajar, the room a mess, the fire burned out in the grate. He was worried.

  He made his way slowly up the creaking staircase. Even though he presumed she would be in the old master bedroom, he glanced into his children’s rooms. Charlie’s was still full of cricket bats and skateboards. Sabrina’s was papered with Spice Girls posters and there was an array of Barbie dolls. The spare room was dusty, unused and cold. He realized that the whole house was damp, and when he felt one of the radiators on the landing, it was cold. He sighed. The stupid woman hadn’t turned on the heating – in this weather. The master bedroom door was ajar and he could hear the soft sounds of a radio turned down low. Again he called his wife’s name.

  She lay on her side, with a cashmere shawl draped around her shoulders. An empty sherry bottle lay on the floor beside the bed and a half-full one sat on the bedside cabinet amongst numerous sticky glasses. As he drew nearer William knew, from her grey complexion, that she was dead. The lamp gave a soft pink light through the frilly lampshade over her peaceful face. The remains of the sleeping tablets she had taken were spilled over the rose-pink satin-covered duvet. William checked her pulse, but her wrist was cold. Her eyes, half open, were glazed in an expressionless stare. A white envelope was propped against a silver racing trophy on the mantelpiece. William ran his finger beneath the flap, which opened easily. ‘To whoever reads this: I am very tired, and not very well. So I have decided to go without bothering anyone, in particular my husband. I have made a mess of a lot of things, so forgive me. That’s all really. Katherine.’

  *

  The next morning Michael arrived. He, too, was shocked at the state of the house, but said nothing. He offered his condolences and began to sift through the papers and outstanding bills littering Katherine’s bureau.

  ‘I’ll have to get Charlie back, and he’ll have only just arrived,’ said William. ‘Damn her timing. And Sabrina. I’ll go round this afternoon, when I�
�m through here.’

  ‘You’d better have a look at this, sir,’ Michael said, passing over a thick file of accounts. ‘They were in the locked drawer at the bottom of the bureau.’

  William looked down at the files. ‘Jesus! I don’t believe it!’ he said, under his breath, turning over page after page. Then he tossed the papers aside. ‘We’re leaving now.’

  He went outside and leaped into the car.

  ‘What’s going down?’ asked Justin, as William switched on the engine and drove away.

  ‘Katherine has robbed the kids’ trust funds, and most of the money I ploughed into them went into her fucking cousin Cedric’s stables. I mean, it’s one thing that she got herself into debt to the tune of two million, but she’s been keeping that bastard going with my children’s money!’ He was shouting.

  ‘William,’ Justin said calmly, ‘you have the island. Everything is in place. We’ll get the son-of-a-bitch,’ he said firmly. ‘Remember, you have only to say the word and we start the Paradise Trap.’

  ‘For Chrissake, shut up about it!’

  Justin knew he had to keep his mouth shut. Often old Willy surprised him: he had quite a temper on him.

  The funeral arrangements were taken over by Katherine’s depleted family. The service was conducted in the private chapel of what had once been the Hangerford ancestral home, long since sold to the National Trust to cover debts. The coffin was bedecked with floral tributes and the chapel almost full. Even Lord Bellingham and his wife were there. Just before Katherine was carried up the aisle, Sabrina made her entrance. She was wearing a floppy straw hat with a large poppy attached, clogs and a long print dress with a big black overcoat on top. She clutched Jacob’s hand, who, William was sure, was wearing exactly the same clothes as when he had seen him. The pair walked down the aisle with their heads held high.

  The luncheon afterwards was tedious and rather embarrassing. The old hall, opened for the occasion, was freezing. The food was appalling and the wine no more than plonk.

  ‘Great nosh,’ said Cedric, piling his plate high. At one time he had been handsome; now he looked seedy, overweight and nervous. William watched as he smothered butter over his roll, crunched into it and spat breadcrumbs as he spoke. ‘Shame about Katherine, what?’