Sleeping Cruelty

by Lynda La Plante

  He looked down at his list and ticked them off in the column headed ‘Arrivals’.

  Klaus von Garten was six feet tall, wearing white shorts and leather thonged sandals, his Gucci shades pushed back on his forehead. His statuesque wife Christina stood beside him. At forty-four, she was still the envy of many women: the surgery to her face and neck had ensured she was unblemished by age, and enhanced her Germanic high cheekbones and full lips. She was beautiful, intelligent, bilingual and had great social graces. She oozed class.

  Next to alight from the plane was a rather handsome boy of about eighteen, whom Justin recognized as the Baron’s son, Max. He had a lovely, rangy adolescent body with long, slender arms and legs and strawberry-blond silky hair. Behind him came another boy. Justin double-checked with the profile in his folder: James Matlock. Smaller in stature than Max and already tanned a deep golden brown, Justin could tell that, although James was around the same age as Max, he was far more worldly. He was athletic, with strong muscular legs, a tight torso, and even his worn shorts and T-shirt had a groovy ‘I’m cool’ look, unlike the beige chinos and white shirt worn by Max. Justin knew he would enjoy breaking them in.

  Next came Cedric, Lord Hangerford, fat, puce and sweating, just as William had described him. He was followed by his fatter wife, Daphne, and their daughter Clarissa. Then came another woman, mousy, plump and nondescript. Her face was pleasant enough and she obviously took care of herself: her pale skin was barely wrinkled, even though she was in her late forties if not early fifties. Her blonde hair, probably natural, was cut into a simple style, neither elegant nor flattering. So this was William’s ex-girlfriend, the ‘pretty, sweet’ Angela, Matlock’s wife.

  Justin’s heart beat fast as a man emerged from the hatch behind her. It could only be Humphrey Matlock. He double-checked with the folder. The man looked bigger and heavier in the flesh. He was at least six foot two and his black hair, greying at the temples, was thick and glistened with hair oil. He wore dark glasses, had a cigar clamped between his teeth and wore a light alpaca suit and open-necked shirt. Bingo! They were all here.

  Dahlia stood in front of a line of boys ready to take the luggage. Justin giggled with pride. She was a stunner, Dahlia, tanned to a dark gold, wearing a demure YSL black dress, neat black ballet slippers, her dark hair coiled severely at the nape of her neck. Justin observed the way the Baroness ran her eyes over Dahlia, struggling to ascertain who she was. Since when had a housekeeper looked like this and worn such elegant clothes?

  ‘Welcome,’ Dahlia said, ‘to the Paradise. I am Sir William’s housekeeper.’

  Buggies were waiting to drive them up to the house, leaving the luggage to follow with the boys. The sun beat down and they fanned themselves as they drove the long way round to take in the wondrous gardens, eventually pulling up at the main entrance. There Justin stood in the doorway.

  ‘Hi there, folks,’ he said, grinning at the Baron and Baroness.

  ‘He seems at home,’ said the Baron to his wife, as they passed into the hall.

  ‘According to the magazine clippings we were sent, he designed the place. Remember how much we liked his villa in France? Met him at one of Sylvina Lubrinsky’s dinner parties.’

  The Baron raised his eyebrows. He had not wanted to accept the invitation, especially after insulting William and even more so after his withdrawal from their business transactions, but his wife had insisted. They were in financial trouble and perhaps a new deal could be negotiated with William.

  The next buggy held the Hangerfords and close behind them came Matlock and Angela. They were discussing the gardens. The Matlocks were avid gardeners – or, at least, avidly capable of instructing their gardening staff. Neither of them had ever seen such opulence, though, quite so many rare blooms in such profusion.

  Dahlia arrived in the foyer in time to introduce them to their personal maids. Ruby for the Baron and Baroness, Kiki for their son Max, Nina for James Matlock, Ella for the Hangerfords, and Dahlia herself for the Matlocks. The curvaceous Ruby, with her wide brown eyes and long hair, wore a simple white linen tunic, white shoes. Kiki was darker, almost six feet tall with beaded hair that sparkled around her head. Her sister Nina was stockier, with the muscular build of an athlete. Ella was the shortest, with a square, masculine body, wide shoulders and strong hands, whose strength she demonstrated by picking up a large carry-on bag belonging to Daphne Hangerford. ‘This way, please,’ she announced, her voice deep.

  Last but not least was Kurt, in white shorts and tight T-shirt. He was the type to make any teenage girl swoon. Any adult woman with any sense would bypass him fast.

  The Baron and Baroness passed covert looks to each other as they were led to guest suite three. Ruby opened the massive oak doors to reveal inside a male servant awaiting their orders, a tray of iced drinks already laid out on their private veranda. The Baron accepted a glass of chilled vintage Krug champagne, while his wife poked around, noting the fridge stocked with caviar and chilled wines, and fresh fruit piled on iced platters. She grabbed one of the magazines left for her perusal then saw the folder titled ‘The Paradise’. It gave details of the facilities: the gymnasium, masseurs, the beauty treatments, the cinema, beautifully drawn maps of the island, which highlighted the sporting facilities and the beaches and coves. She carried it to her husband on the veranda and sat next to him.

  Sipping his Krug, the Baron could hardly take it in. No hotel or private residence he knew could match the island’s outrageous luxury.

  ‘Well!’ she said softly. ‘Sir William certainly knows how to put on a good show. The place feels more like a hotel than a private residence.’

  ‘You complaining?’ said the Baron, irritated by her need always to find fault. But for once she wasn’t and by now they had both been silenced by the stunning view.

  Their son Max had been allocated one of the bungalows and he loved it. Initially he had not wanted to join them on holiday, hardly relishing the thought of being hemmed in on an island with them both. He had spent little time with his parents during his childhood: he had been sent away to school at an early age and his holidays had been spent in the care of nannies as his parents jetted around the world. But when he had come into adolescence, they had suddenly wanted to have him constantly at their side. His mother found him especially useful, using him as her walker when she was invited to a function that his father would not attend. At these events she monitored what he wore, to whom he spoke, what he ate and drank, and never gave him an opportunity to move from her side, a protective diamond-studded wrist resting firmly on his shoulder at all times. She would laugh and tease him about being the man in her life, and God help him if he so much as glanced in the direction of any young female his own age: his mother would immediately run through the girl’s social background and her unsuitability. As a result, Max was naïve and shy at eighteen, having only a fleeting knowledge of the opposite sex.

  Suddenly James Matlock jumped over from his veranda next door and strolled into Max’s bungalow suite. ‘It’s fucking mind-blowing,’ he said, looking around. Max flushed as James opened the fridge. ‘We can get really pissed,’ he exclaimed, and laughed.

  The boys had met on one or two occasions before, and had sat next to each other on the plane; Max had been reduced to tongue-tied shyness, as James talked about the girls he hoped to get his hands on. Unlike Max he was well experienced, and enjoyed broadcasting the fact in a loud whisper.

  ‘I’ve got my own maid,’ Max said, nodding to the bedroom to indicate to James to mind his language.

  ‘So have I,’ James said, winking. ‘You want to do a tour?’ he asked, going back out on to the veranda.

  Max followed. ‘Okay. But perhaps I should see my parents first.’

  James shrugged, he had no intention of getting a lecture from his old man. He climbed back to his own quarters.

  Max found himself alone with Kiki, who passed him a menu. ‘All you have to do, sir, is request the time and state where you’d li
ke to eat – the beach, sun deck, here in your room, wherever – and your order will be brought to you. Dinner is served in the dining room from seven thirty until ten.’ Max smiled shyly, wondering if he should tip her. ‘May I suggest, sir, I put some sun block on you, especially on your shoulders? It’s very dangerous to go without at this time of the day.’

  Max hesitated, but Kiki gestured for him to go into the bedroom where she had already set up a padded massage-table covered in soft white towels with a tray of oils.

  In the adjoining suite James was already lying on his veranda while Nina rubbed sun-oil over his back and shoulders. He had a hard-on, feeling her strong hands smoothing on the sweet, perfumed oil, her big breasts sweeping over his back. He reckoned this was going to be the best holiday of his life. Nina leaned in close, letting her breasts slide up his arm. ‘If you need any extras, sir, you only have to ask,’ she said.

  ‘Extras?’ he repeated dumbly.

  ‘Intimate massages. I am here to see that you are totally satisfied.’

  This was a cocky little son-of-a-bitch, Nina thought, and she could see his crotch swelling as she moved her hands expertly over his beautiful young body. She was rather glad she’d been allocated a boy rather than one of the older men. She liked breaking in young guys, but she reckoned this one was no virgin.

  ‘Oh, yeah, that’s great,’ James said closing his eyes. Nina bent low and whispered into his ear, ‘I can also provide any substances you require.’

  His eyes sprang open just as the top button of her stretched white tunic released itself. His already swollen cock was upright now, like a gun primed to shoot.

  *

  Matlock was lying on the vast bed, wearing just a short cotton dressing-gown. Unlike his wife, he paid little attention to the elegant suite. She crossed the room now to open the floor-to-ceiling Gothic windows. With the touch of a button, the electric blinds glided back into virtually hidden alcoves to reveal the large patio. It was partly shaded with tropical plants and a striped awning around a private dining area, leaving the other side bathed in bright sunlight. Two sunloungers were laid out and a chilled bottle of champagne with two glasses stood in the shade on a small marble table.

  ‘Nothing has been overlooked,’ Angela said softly.

  ‘What?’ her husband enquired, tossing aside the brochure. It made him feel as if he was supposed to put in a bid for the place. ‘What was that?’ he barked to his wife.

  ‘One’s every need is catered for,’ she said, shading her eyes to look down to the glistening water then upwards to the cliffs. Matlock came to stand beside her and saw James way below walking with Max. ‘He’s really going to enjoy himself,’ she said.

  ‘We all are, darling. That invitation was heavensent. It’s so rare for us all to be together. I’m glad I changed my mind about coming – it would have been a shame to miss all this, and I’m sure there’s some great fishing to be had, deep sea. I’d love to try my hand at that.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Angela’s calm exterior belied the fact that she had had to take extra Valium to prepare herself to face William.

  Matlock changed the subject. He didn’t want to give her the real reason for changing his mind: two weeks with the Prime Minister and his biggest competitor had been too good an opportunity to miss. ‘Apparently there’s a damned good library and gymnasium. Must say that is one hell of a pool,’ he said.

  There was a knock on the door. Angela went to open it. It was Dahlia. ‘Just checking you have everything you want,’ she said.

  ‘A cup of tea,’ yelled Matlock. ‘Good old English tea.’

  ‘Everything’s lovely. I was just going to take a shower.’ Angela nodded to Dahlia. ‘Thank you so much for unpacking. It’s something I always loathe doing.’

  ‘Would you care for a massage?’ Dahlia asked. ‘I am a fully trained masseuse, ma’am, reflexology and therapeutic herbal massage.’

  ‘Another time, perhaps.’ Angela was unable to meet Dahlia’s direct gaze: for some reason she couldn’t identify the maid unnerved her.

  ‘Very well. I’ll order tea. Would fifteen minutes leave enough time for your shower?’

  ‘Oh, good heavens, yes. Thank you.’

  Dahlia closed the door and left. Angela looked out on to the veranda, but her husband was already snoring. She had wanted to ask him when they were to meet William, but decided against it. They would confront each other at dinner.

  The Baroness, wearing a white bikini, her hair tied up in a flowered scarf, lay with her eyes closed in the jacuzzi. She loved the feel of the herb-scented water as it massaged her body. She had a second glass of champagne at her elbow and one of the white-coated servants had unobtrusively placed a small platter of canapés beside her. She sighed. This really was perfection.

  ‘You should see the gymnasium,’ her husband said, perching on the side of the jacuzzi. ‘It’s better equipped than any place I have ever been to, and the instructor seems pleasant. He’s from Berlin.’

  ‘Really?’ she said, eyes closed.

  ‘I’m going to work out while I’m here,’ said the Baron, accepting a glass of champagne from the same hovering servant. ‘According to Kurt, I could still lose some weight. When you get to my age, it gets harder to lose those few extra pounds.’

  He accepted a fresh platter of canapés and, despite his talk on weight-loss, began to eat them.

  ‘Where’s Max?’ his wife asked, yawning.

  ‘I have no idea. He went off with the Matlocks’ son, James. He’s a good-looking boy, isn’t he?’

  His wife’s eyes opened and she squinted up at him quizzically. ‘A word of warning: be careful.’

  ‘For God’s sake, I only said James was good-looking.’

  ‘I know you and your good-looking boys.’

  ‘But he’s Max’s friend.’

  ‘Hasn’t stopped you before, has it? But this time just remember whose son he is. Those two are so prudish, and if you cross him he’ll crucify you on the front page of so many newspapers.’ She sighed with impatience. ‘He did it to William Benedict and look what happened to him!’

  ‘Judging from this place, that scandal didn’t hurt him.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but tread carefully. He must have a hidden agenda. Why else would he ask us here? Maybe he wants to do business again. Let’s hope so.’

  They had shelled out thousands to pay the press to keep his homosexual dalliances private and his wife had protected him for years. The Baron’s face tightened as she continued languidly, ‘I’m surprised he wasn’t waiting to greet us with a sledgehammer, considering the way you backed out of that deal.’

  ‘All’s fair in love and business deals,’ he snapped.

  ‘I’m sure it is. I just wish you had a little of his success. I presume that was why you accepted the invitation, in the hope of getting into bed with him, so to speak.’

  ‘For God’s sake don’t start. Don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, he wants to get into bed with me? In a business capacity, obviously.’ He made no mention to her of the legal case he was fighting with Benedict. His lawyers had suggested that this trip might be a good opportunity to discuss it, perhaps in an informal way.

  ‘I say! This is all rather lovely, isn’t it?’ Angela Matlock was wearing a large-brimmed sun-hat, a pale lemon dress and flat white sandals. She carried a straw basket with her cross stitch sticking out of it. ‘It’s a little too hot for me in the sun. I’ll sit in the shade. I can’t go too far, Humphrey’s sleeping. He hates it if I’m not close when he wakes.’

  In the control room, his feet up on the console, Justin spoke into the mike.

  ‘William?’

  ‘Yup,’ came the crackly reply.

  ‘You in position?’

  ‘Yup, I’m in the charter-boat. We’re just inside the two rocks.’

  ‘Then this is your call for onstage,’ he said.

  ‘Roger!’ said William.

  ‘Roger yourself!’ replied Justin, then hesitated. ‘Hang on,
what are you wearing?’

  ‘What you and Dahlia put out for me.’

  He was about to describe his clothes when Justin cut him off with ‘Break a leg.’

  The Baroness stepped out of the jacuzzi, selected a robe from the poolside table and put it on. She looked around and then decided to sit at the far end of the pool, beneath a yellow striped awning near Angela Matlock.

  ‘Who else is expected?’ she asked Angela. ‘Have you any idea?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but the place is big enough to accommodate goodness knows how many. Have you seen William Benedict yet?’

  ‘No, I presume he’ll be at dinner, though,’ mused the Baroness. ‘Does Justin Chalmers count as a guest? Or is he staff?’

  Angela pointed towards the sea. ‘It looks as though someone is arriving,’ she said, reaching for her glasses.

  The Baron strolled over to join them. ‘Boat coming in,’ he said.

  William stepped out of the cabin and looked up at the island. Dahlia was on the quay waiting, her hand held out to guide him down the ramp. They saw him kiss her cheeks.

  ‘Oh, my God! Is that his latest? His housekeeper!’ the Baroness said sarcastically, then leaned forward.

  Angela shrivelled into her cross stitch. With every fibre of her body she wanted to see him, but she refused to look.

  Matlock woke with a start when he heard the powerful engines of the boat at the dock. He was sweating like a pig and had spent too much time in the sun. He swore, wrapped a towel around himself and stood up in time to see William step into the waiting buggy and head for the house. He sat like a king, tanned and relaxed, smiling: a happy man.