Laura was genuinely interested. She had hardly held a needle before, and was so inept that Angela giggled. ‘There’s no need to be quite so rigid. Hold the needle lightly between your first finger and thumb.’
Laura jabbed in the needle and withdrew it so sharply she dug it into Angela’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she leaped to her feet with concern as Angela rubbed the place where a pinprick of blood appeared. ‘Oh, my goodness me,’ Laura said, moving Angela’s hand away. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She kissed the tiny speck of blood, then licked Angela’s arm with her tongue.
‘It’s fine, really, it doesn’t hurt,’ Angela said, the flush of heat between her legs making her cheeks flame.
But Laura did not pull away. Instead she moved closer. ‘I want you so much.’
Angela gasped and, shakily, said that Laura should leave. But Laura did not move away. She slid one arm around Angela, and opened her blouse. Angela felt as if her legs would buckle beneath her.
‘I want you to dress in my underwear,’ Laura whispered, as she licked Angela’s neck, then flicked her tongue into an ear. By now, her hand was working a breast free of its lace, her fingers rubbing the nipple. She knew when she felt the nipple harden that it would be even easier than she had anticipated. ‘You have the most incredible breasts.’ She nuzzled Angela, then traced Angela’s mouth with her fingertips, slipping one into her mouth. Angela began to suck as Laura drew the blouse away from the waistband of her skirt.
‘Oh, yes, oh, yes,’ Angela murmured, and began to drag her blouse free, to throw it to one side as Laura inched her skirt lower. ‘Lock the door,’ Angela gasped.
But Laura had drawn her skirt to her ankles and was on her knees, her tongue tracing the band of Angela’s lace panties. She brought Angela down on to the floor, and couldn’t resist glancing at the tiny red blinking dot in the corner of the room.
She tilted Angela’s chin up. ‘Surprising what a little prick can lead to!’
They both smiled, and Laura glanced again at the camera lens, laughing because she knew that every moment had been filmed.
‘I chatted to William Benedict this morning,’ Annabella Bellingham said to her husband, as they drove back from Heathrow airport. Her husband barely looked up from his paper: it was enough for him that he had had to meet his wife. Conversation was surely beyond the call of duty. ‘He seems rather nice, really. Not at all the sleazy character the newspapers had us think. We talked about that fellow Justin, the designer.’
‘Wasn’t he a friend of Oliver’s?’
‘That’s right. Justin Chalmers.’
‘Chalmers,’ her husband repeated. Bellingham recalled Justin’s face. He didn’t know the boy terribly well, but now, somewhere in the fog of his mind, a bell was ringing.
His wife was powdering her nose. ‘You remember him, you invited him to the party. Well, he’s throwing some sort of bash over at Benedict’s island while he’s away.’ She peered at herself in the tiny mirror. Just mentioning the party where Oliver had died had made her heart sink again and she steeled herself not to cry as she had just finished her make-up.
Annabella snapped shut her compact. ‘Justin Chalmers is staying there with his sister, Laura.’
Her husband banged his hand down on the open newspaper. ‘Justin and Laura! That’s it, Justin and Laura. But Chalmers wasn’t their name was it? What were they called?’ He clenched his eyes in thought. ‘Moorcroft, that’s it. Child A and Child B, as they were known in the press. Justin and Laura Moorcroft. I knew I recognized them.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Bellingham explained that while he was going through his drawers to find the relevant paperwork required for the shipment of Oliver’s body back to England, he had come across some old files and documents belonging to his father.
‘I don’t understand what this has to do with the Chalmerses.’
‘Wait, and I’ll tell you. You know Father hoarded everything and that I’d always meant to clear out his desk but never got around to it? Well, I was tossing stuff into the wastepaper basket, when I found this file among a stack of others. It was headed “The Moorcroft Case”.’
‘The Moorcroft case?’
‘Yes, I just said so, didn’t I? I flicked through and caught sight of some photographs of a couple of children. I knew they looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on who they were.’
Bellingham pressed the intercom to speak to the chauffeur, turning to his wife as he did so. ‘Did Benedict say where he was heading?’
‘No, but he was on the same flight,’ she said, as her husband barked at the driver to pass him his mobile phone.
‘Do you know what you dial for Directory Enquiries?’ he asked his wife.
‘Ask the operator.’ Sometimes the way her husband switched subjects infuriated Annabella. It was as if anything she had to say was immaterial. But she was taken aback when she heard him ask for Sir William Benedict’s number. She sighed: he wouldn’t be listed. She was right, but after numerous calls to friends, Bellingham succeeded. He had to talk to Benedict, urgently.
Angela walked on to the veranda for afternoon tea. The Baron and Baroness were arguing but stopped abruptly as they saw her approach.
‘Oh, I’m gasping for a cup,’ she said, sitting down primly, cross-stitch bag at her side.
‘Have you had a pleasant afternoon?’ the Baron asked, as his wife poured tea.
Angela gave a girlish giggle. ‘Yes, I have, as a matter of fact.’ She was hoping Laura would join them, but next to arrive were Daphne and Clarissa Hangerford.
‘Was that your husband I saw earlier?’ the Baroness asked Daphne. ‘On an outgoing boat?’
Daphne nodded. ‘It’s always the same. He just can’t settle. He was worried about a horse or something. I didn’t really understand. He just went all silent. To be honest, he’s been impossible to deal with the past few days. And this morning, he sprang out of bed, determined to go home. That nice Justin has been so helpful arranging his flight. He asked if we wanted to go as well, but we’ve only just arrived.’ She shrugged. ‘So that’s that.’
‘Sod bloody Daddy,’ said Clarissa. Her mother glanced at her. She had been in a terrible mood recently, and no matter how many times she’d asked why, Clarissa had refused to answer her.
Clarissa could not stop thinking about her father and every time she did she wanted to scream. She had washed herself over and over. Now she wanted to hit out and hurt someone, preferably him. Now the bastard had slunk off, afraid to face her. He was a perverted sexual deviant. He had fondled his own daughter’s body as if she was a whore, then run away. ‘Where’s Max?’ Clarissa asked, in a strained voice.
‘I think he went waterskiing, didn’t he?’ Angela turned in the direction of the Baroness and smiled at James as he joined them.
‘He is,’ James said moodily, sitting beside his mother.
‘I thought you were supposed to go out fishing with your father?’ She tapped James’s hand.
‘Yes, well, he left without me.’
‘Who left whom?’ Justin said, strolling in.
‘Dad,’ James informed him. Justin had noticed, with interest, how keen James had been to talk to him. He seemed just as intrigued by Justin as he had been by Laura, if not more so. Justin decided to play on this.
‘We came back hours ago,’ he corrected James, and sat down beside him, allowing one muscular thigh to rest suggestively against him. ‘Anyone seen Laura?’ he asked non-committally. Angela blushed. ‘What about a trip to Tortola this evening?’ he suggested. ‘Spot of dancing?’ James promptly said yes, as did Clarissa. Justin rubbed the back of James’s neck. ‘Good. Down at the jetty about six. We have to leave early for the tides.’ He stood up abruptly and walked out.
When he left, they all fell silent. Only Daphne Hangerford had food on her mind; everyone else was thinking of sex. Daphne was delighted to be able to enjoy the rest of her stay without Cedric’s nocturnal importuning. She had not the slightest noti
on that his last dalliance had involved her only child.
There was an hour to go before the boat left for the disco. Clarissa stood in front of the mirror. Her foul mood was lingering but not all consuming. Sometimes she felt as if two people were chattering away in her brain, one threatening to beat up her father and kick him in the balls, the other crying, reaching out for comfort, because she felt used, dirty and unbalanced. She’d tried on practically everything in her suitcase, but nothing pleased her. She went to the veranda and peered out, trying to see if anyone was on the jetty. She didn’t want them to go without her.
‘Hi, I was coming round to get you.’ It was Justin. He was standing below her veranda.
‘I’m on my way,’ she said, giving him a coy smile and trying to keep her dress held up; it was unzipped at the back.
‘You look as though you could do with a hand,’ said Justin, climbing adroitly up the front of the veranda. ‘Turn round,’ he ordered, frogmarching her back into the room. Clarissa felt the zip being pulled but not up as she had expected. The dress fell round her ankles. ‘Mmmm,’ said Justin. ‘Fancy a quick one?’
‘What?’ she said, startled.
‘Drink,’ he said laughing, drawing her closer and massaging her breast. He eased his body on to the bed and slowly unzipped his fly. ‘Come here,’ he said softly.
She had wanted him from day one. She had almost given up imagining that she stood a chance. There was a moment of fear when she remembered her father’s sweating hands on her body, but this felt different, this was what she had been dreaming about. Justin was beautiful, with a perfect body. Clarissa edged closer and opened her mouth.
Justin kept an eye on his watch. To hurry things along he gripped her head and twisted his hands in her hair to force her to increase the rhythm. Clarissa gasped as he pushed himself deeper into her mouth. Mission completed, the little red dot capturing every second, he sprang away from the bed.
‘My turn now,’ she said, in what she thought was a sexy tone.
‘Another time, sweetheart. We don’t want to miss the tide.’
She sat on the crumpled bed as Justin left, slamming the door behind him. For a moment she was that little girl who wanted to cry and be comforted. Then she stood up, angry and bitter. Her father had treated her like a whore, and now Justin had too. She began to dress, telling herself she hated men: they were all bastards.
When he arrived in London, William was jet-lagged. He felt bloated and tired. Right away he had been forced to settle the sale of Katherine’s house, and had gone straight there from the airport. The urgent e-mails from Michael had concerned the lawsuit against the von Gartens. He was required to make statements. His lawyers had become frustrated by the lack of contact, especially as William had been driving them to get things moving fast.
And there had been a new development: he discovered that lawyers representing Baron von Garten had had the audacity to ask whether he had any interest still in purchasing the same factory that had been sold to his rival. No doubt this was the reason why the Baron had accepted the invitation to the island! Further enquiries, and illegal investigations into the Baron’s financial situation had revealed that his own companies were now in deficit, and he was short of cash. The Baron’s main asset was the shares he owned in the company that he had sold to William’s competitors, but even they were feeling the pinch because four of their biggest selling items could now be proved to have first been patented by William’s company.
The wheels were turning rapidly and in William’s favour; he was delighted. He was even more buoyant when his lawyers, having received no contact from Hangerford, filed a bankruptcy order. Cedric Hangerford’s entire business was being sifted through by the men from the Inland Revenue and also by VAT officers. They were buzzing around his property like flies. While Hangerford was away, he had left his lawyers with power of attorney and his stable manager in charge of business dealings. Had he been there himself, no doubt he would have barred the door.
Now back in London, his business affairs in order, William decided to check up on Charlie at the clinic. He had to hold the line for over fifteen minutes as Charlie was tracked down and then, to his irritation, his son said he couldn’t talk for long. He shared a few monosyllabic exchanges with Charlie then hung up. His conversation with Sabrina was equally tedious, but at least he was making sure his children were taken care of. He was just about to replace the receiver, when Sabrina asked if he had heard about Uncle Cedric. He was immediately on his guard: he had made no mention to his daughter that her aunt and uncle were on his island with Clarissa.
‘It was in The Times. He’s been made bankrupt. There was even a photograph. It was all over the racing papers too, even on Channel Four’s racing programme. He looked terrible on TV,’ Sabrina continued, as William digested the fact that Cedric was in London. He must have left the island shortly after William.
After he had said goodbye to Sabrina he placed a call to the island. He had a long wait before he was put through, and then was frustrated to be told by Dahlia that neither Justin nor Laura was around as they had gone to a nightclub. He asked Dahlia to make sure Justin called him as soon as possible.
The phone rang in Michael’s office.
‘Sir William Benedict’s residence … One moment, please.’ Michael caught William heading for the stairs in the hall. ‘Sir, it’s Lord Bellingham.’
William frowned. ‘Hello …’ He perched on the edge of the desk, fiddling with the change in his pocket. ‘Justin Chalmers, yes, that’s correct …’ He listened then stood up. ‘Yes, he redesigned my …’ His face darkened. ‘Laura, that’s right.’
‘My father, Lord Chief Justice Bellingham, reviewed their case,’ said Henry Bellingham. ‘He often discussed it, long after they’d been forgotten about.’
He told William as much as he remembered of what he’d read in his father’s file. William’s hair stood on end. ‘I had another look through the file,’ continued Bellingham. ‘Chalmers was their aunt’s name. They must have taken that name after it all blew over. Moorcroft was their original name.’ William sucked in his breath. ‘Well, thank you for telling me, I appreciate it.’ He hung up and drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘Get my plane ready, Michael. I have to go to Nice immediately, and I’ll need a car standing by. I’ll drive myself.’
‘But aren’t you returning to the island?’
‘No, Michael. I said Nice, as in France. Now!’
William found the driveway to Justin’s villa even more beautiful than it had been before. There were so many different flowers, and the hidden lights gave a fairy-tale feel to the long lane. Marta was waiting on the steps and gave him a cautious welcome, surprised by his sudden arrival. As she showed him into the bedroom he had occupied before, William was struck by a strange feeling of comfort. The villa somehow felt more like home than any of his London houses or apartments.
He showered and changed before joining Marta in the kitchen, where she was baking bread.
‘We need to talk, Marta,’ he said gently. She busied herself, avoiding his gaze. ‘Marta, we have things to discuss. Justin does not know I’m here.’ She opened the oven to remove a loaf. ‘I love Justin and Laura, and whatever we say now is not intended to be a betrayal. To be honest, I’ve grown closer to them than I am to my own children.’
She sat down opposite him, a little uncomfortable. ‘I love them too,’ she said.
‘Tell me about them, from the beginning, or from when you first became a part of their lives,’ he said.
Marta sensed his concern and intuitively knew that something was wrong. ‘May I ask why?’
William hesitated and then explained his situation; his reasons for being there and his growing friendship with Justin. But not until he began to elaborate on the island and the payback game did Marta become attentive.
She chewed her lower lip and sighed. ‘The children had an aunt Frances who lived at Mole Cottage in a village near Aylesbury. I had known her since we were schoolchil
dren. When she discovered that my husband had died and I was in financial difficulties, she asked if I would become her companion. I accepted.’ William wondered where this was going to lead, but did not interrupt. ‘Frances had lost contact with her brother, Martin, whom she described as a malicious boy. Martin Moorcroft was married to a frivolous Frenchwoman, Madeleine. A great beauty and a socialite. I never met her.’ Again Marta fell silent, twisting her hands. ‘Martin had two children, Justin and Laura.’ She plucked at her skirt. ‘He was a man who should never have had children.’
‘I don’t understand.’ William leaned forward.
Marta shifted her weight and her cheeks flushed. Then she spoke quickly. ‘He was arrested for molesting a little girl when he was still young himself. He was a paedophile, a masochistic, horrible man, who married a woman with equally disgusting tendencies. The pair, it seemed, were well matched.’
William looked directly at Marta. ‘Were Laura and Justin …’
Marta had tears in her eyes. ‘From a very early age. They were immersed in a living nightmare. And who could they turn to? How could they know that theirs was not a normal childhood?’
William waited, but this time Marta paused for a considerable time. ‘What in God’s name happened, Marta?’
She was openly crying now, delving into her apron pocket for her handkerchief. ‘A child can only take so much.’
‘So what happened?’
‘Come with me,’ said Marta, and led him through the giant oak door to the wine cellar.
‘Are you taking your medication?’ asked Justin.
‘Of course,’ replied Laura. ‘There’s no need to get snappy. I’m doing everything we arranged. What’s the matter with you?’
He caught her in his arms. ‘You aren’t being silly with Max, are you? I want them to go soon and they’ll take him with them.’
‘Can’t he stay?’
He pushed her away. ‘For God’s sake, you know why he can’t. We’ve discussed it.’ He changed the subject, pointing to film footage of the Baron with the boat-boys. ‘When he wasn’t screwing them he was pawing Karl in the gymnasium. The Baroness just ignores it.’
Sleeping Cruelty Page 28
