‘Odd that Benedict’s still not shown. I’d say the Prime Minister’s not coming either.’
‘I doubt it. He’s at some European summit. It’s in The Times.’
Matlock clicked his fingers. She put down her cross stitch and went to retrieve the newspaper. She hated the way he did that. He was so uncouth at times it made her skin crawl.
Matlock roared with laughter as he read of Lord Hangerford’s downfall and held out his glass to be refilled. ‘Probably why Benedict’s not shown up. They’re related, aren’t they?’
Angela poured his drink and returned to her seat. ‘By marriage only. Hangerford was his second wife’s cousin.’ She began selecting silks.
‘Ah, yes, I forgot you knew so much about them.’ He snorted as he turned the pages.
‘I find it hard to believe that you would forget that I went out with William Benedict.’
He lowered the newspaper. She didn’t meet his eyes, but continued to sort through her silks.
‘Slip of the tongue. Of course I haven’t. All the same, when you think about it, it’s odd that we should be here accepting his hospitality.’
‘This was your idea,’ she said primly, her lips tight.
‘So it was, and I’m glad I did accept. Even if the PM doesn’t show, I’m having a good holiday.’
Angela concentrated on threading her needle. Now she understood why Humphrey had come here. It had been too good an opportunity to refuse, no matter what she might feel about facing William. Her husband, she mused, would be able to commit murder and blank it from his self-obsessed mind, just as he had her pitiful threats of divorce. Months ago she had claimed that she could expose Humphrey’s indiscretions: they would make headlines. Usually it was an employee who caught his eye, and no one ever lasted longer than a few months, but his callousness hurt her. Finding a credit-card slip from Aspreys for a diamond bracelet that had not been for her had been the last straw. ‘I want a divorce,’ she had said.
‘Don’t be stupid.’ He had held his hand out for the credit-card slip. She saw him wince as he realized what it was.
‘I’m not being stupid. How many women have you played around with? This time I mean it, I MEAN IT.’
Matlock stood up and reached for her, drawing her close. ‘Let me make it up to you. What do you want from me? I’ll do anything to please you and stop all this nonsense about divorce.’
She had wriggled away from him, still angry, then turned on him again. ‘I’ve been made to look a fool once too often. If you want to make it up to me then ruin William Benedict. It’s your choice, because I won’t be persuaded to forget about this.’
Matlock had sighed and picked up the paper. The story of Andrew Maynard’s suicide had only just been leaked and there would be a lot more to come. Perhaps his wife had hit on something newsworthy in Sir William’s indiscretions. And if there weren’t any to be exposed, Matlock and his cheque book would invent them. ‘Deal,’ he said, and lit a cigar. ‘I never realized how much he hurt you.’
She did not add that if she had married William, as she had so desperately wanted, she would not have been tied to a man she detested. ‘Just ruin him any way you can,’ she spat out.
He had been as good as his word, had perhaps gone even further than Angela had intended, but she had read of William’s disgrace with relish.
‘Penny for ’em,’ Matlock said now, holding out his empty glass again.
‘I was just wondering how late James was going to be.’
Matlock swung his legs off the chaise-longue. ‘I’m going to have words with that little sod. You spoil him, lazy good-for-nothing.’
‘He’s with all the youngsters at a disco,’ she said, pouring his gin, slicing lemon and scooping up the ice.
‘He’s missed out on some fantastic hours on that boat.’ Matlock had been the first up and the last to return ever since he had arrived, fishing from early morning until dusk. ‘You make sure he comes out with me tomorrow,’ he said, deep in the article about Hangerford again, hardly able to contain his delight. He checked the journalist’s name and wondered who’d leaked the scoop. It was certainly a good one. ‘I must call the office tomorrow,’ he muttered, tossing the newspaper aside. The photograph of Cedric was on the front page and he chuckled.
Something somewhere was lurking in Matlock’s brain, making dull connections, but he didn’t have the energy to gather together the train of subconscious thought and link the ‘scoop’, the ‘journalist’ and the ‘story’ that had made his career, so long ago.
As the guests on the island prepared for dinner, their offspring, apart from Max, arrived in Tortola. Justin ushered James and Clarissa ahead of him into the dark, dingy back bar of the Coca-Baba club. They were early and the place was only half full, so he suggested they sit at the bar and order some drinks. He felt irritable and tired, and when James leaned close and asked if he needed a hit, he shook his head. He watched James head for the lavatory then ordered a round of rum punches.
Clarissa slid up next to him. ‘You were so horrible to me,’ she said, pouting.
‘Was I?’ Justin turned away and lit a cigarette, as she went on to complain about the way he had treated her. It had made her feel terrible.
‘You know, sometimes, Clarissa, a man needs to shoot his load. You just struck lucky. Think nothing of it. I don’t.’
‘You hateful shit,’ she said, returning to her stool.
Justin looked around the club, which was slowly filling up with kids on vacation with their parents – the ‘Brit Pack’, as the locals nicknamed them. James returned from the toilets. He was so high he almost missed his seat and went flying into Justin. When he eventually sat down, he ordered more drinks. ‘Pity Max isn’t here,’ he said.
‘Yeah, life and soul of the party is Max,’ Justin said flatly. ‘Good-looking, and getting more so every day. His body’s filling out like his dick.’
James seethed. ‘Yeah, well, we all know where he wants to stick it.’
Justin laughed. ‘Jealous?’
‘I didn’t mean you. Max is panting after your sister.’
Justin’s jaw tightened.
James leaned closer to him. ‘I think she’s cute too. I may even try and fuck her again myself. She’s easy meat, I’d say.’
Justin hooked his foot under James’s stool and tugged hard. The stool slid sideways and James fell awkwardly to the floor, where Justin kicked him hard in the groin. ‘Never talk like that about my sister. Now get up, sit up and shut up.’
Clarissa giggled as James heaved himself to his feet and picked up the stool. She was obviously intending to get blotto before the night was over. She was going to show the repellent Justin Chalmers that he couldn’t hurt her with his snide remarks.
Laura slipped into William’s study to check that the tapes were in order. Satisfied that everything was working and ready to go, she was about to leave when she saw one of the intercom lights flashing. She crossed to it. It was the jetty phone. Then she noticed the light blink on Dahlia’s line, which made her worry. She wondered if perhaps the weather had turned bad: sometimes it was too rough to make the trip across. She pressed the speaker button, which enabled her to listen in on any call made anywhere on the island.
‘He’ll be on the first plane, so be waiting. It is imperative you say nothing, especially to Justin or Laura. Sir’s orders.’
Laura gasped. ‘Sir’ had to be William. Why was he returning before time, and why was his arrival to be kept a secret?
Max was finding it difficult to stop smiling. He was seated at his parents’ table and rose to greet them as they arrived. ‘Hi, I thought I’d sit with you this evening as everyone else on my usual table’s gone clubbing.’
‘How nice,’ his mother said, as he held out her chair.
‘You look stunning,’ he said, kissing her cheek.
‘Thank you.’ She sat with rigid shoulders. ‘Your father will join us shortly. As usual he’s taking his time dressing.’
‘Would you care for a glass of champagne?’ Max asked, and his mother nodded. He signalled to the waiter, who crossed to them and poured two glasses. Max looked around the room. ‘We’re the first down,’ he said, trying to make conversation.
‘How observant of you!’ She lifted her glass, wanting to throw its contents into his silly, boyish face. Max half rose again as the Matlocks came in.
‘Are we all dining together?’ Matlock said loudly, looking at the table set for eight.
‘I believe so,’ the Baroness said, forcing a smile, then looked at Angela, who clung to her husband’s arm. ‘You look quite lovely, Angela, adorable dress. Very flattering colour, lemon.’
‘Where’s your better half?’ asked Matlock.
‘He’ll be joining us. We’ve had some troublesome news from Berlin, and I’m afraid we’re forced to cut short the holiday. We’re leaving early in the morning.’
Max looked astonished. ‘You never told me. Does this mean I have to go with you?’
‘No, dear. You can stay on. You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am,’ he said, with relief.
Daphne Hangerford shuffled in with the Baron. She was leaning against him and clearly quite drunk. ‘Don’t get up, please.’ She plonked herself into a seat and shook out her napkin. ‘This’ll be my last night. Clarissa and I have …’ she hesitated ‘… a few problems.’
The Baroness almost gave herself whiplash she turned so quickly. ‘What did you say?’
Daphne broke open her bread roll, scattering crumbs over the table. ‘Just personal things. I have to leave.’
‘If it’s the report in The Times, we’ve all read it.’
Daphne gulped some water, but before she could reply the Baroness leaned closer. ‘We’re leaving too, we’re so bored here. We’ve got tickets booked, but we’re not broadcasting it, and if I were you, I wouldn’t say too much. Don’t want to appear ungrateful, do we?’
‘We’re missing one,’ Matlock said, nodding to the empty seat at the head of the table. ‘Ah, no, she’s here.’ He looked with admiration towards the door where Laura stood. She was wearing a white sequinned gown that floated around her like stardust, tied in a halter neck with a white satin ribbon. She crossed to her usual table and signalled to the waiter to bring iced water.
‘Won’t you join us?’ Matlock asked, leaning back in his chair.
Laura turned and smiled. ‘Thank you, but I’m rather tired and will retire shortly.’
‘Nevertheless we’d like you to at least spend a few moments with us.’ Matlock had stood up and was holding out his hand to her. She hesitated before allowing him to guide her to the empty seat next to him.
‘Thank you,’ she said coyly, smiling at everyone apart from Max, who had flushed. Matlock asked her if she would care for a glass of champagne. Just like his wife, he had eyes only for Laura.
‘No champagne, thank you.’
The lights lowered, leaving the room candlelit. The young guitarist entered and began to strum unobtrusively in the corner.
The atmosphere seemed affable, but tense undercurrents were building and Laura was at the eye of the storm. Matlock wanted to fuck her, Max was in love with her, as was Angela, and the von Gartens loathed her. They thought her nothing but a cheap, blackmailing whore. Daphne Hangerford, too drunk to be aware of the immediate situation, was the only person who didn’t want either to strangle Laura or make love to her.
Laura behaved as if she was privileged to sit with them, keeping her eyes down and maintaining a sweet, shy smile. Matlock eased his thigh to rest against hers beneath the table.
The big fish was hooked, but his demise was endangering her secret plan with Max. She knew she could not leave the island before the final showdown with Matlock, but time was running out. When Justin discovered everyone was leaving he would be furious, and especially with her for acting without consulting him. She wondered fearfully if she dare carry out the revenge alone. No, she knew she couldn’t.
‘That was a long sigh,’ Matlock whispered. She gave him a tiny, intimate smile and he leaned closer again. ‘A penny for ’em.’
‘Oh, my thoughts cost more than pennies,’ she said softly, her mind jumping. Having orchestrated the imminent departure of the Baron and Baroness, along with Daphne Hangerford and Clarissa, Laura knew that the Matlocks and Max would be the only guests left, and Sir William would turn up at the most inopportune moment.
Laura felt Matlock’s leg pressing harder against hers, then his hand fumbling with her skirt. She made the decision. If Justin didn’t return on time as they had agreed, she would carry it out alone. She was determined that nothing would stop her running away with Max.
She glanced across the table. They were trying hard not to look at each other, but intuitively Max turned round. His eyes glowed, and she forced herself not to react. Beneath the table, she unzipped Matlock’s trousers and began to fondle him, but now she felt disgusted at herself. How could she do this to a man she hated whilst the boy she loved was sitting right opposite her? She concentrated her mind on the plan and drew comfort from the thought that all this was part of a greater scheme.
The plan was for Laura to make Matlock desire her to such an extent that he would agree to meet on the quayside. They would board one of the boats and Justin would be waiting.
Chapter Nineteen
By midnight, the Coca-Baba club was so crowded that there was hardly any space on the dance floor. Customers perched on the veranda railings and hovered around the rickety steps while the local ragga band pounded away at the microphones, which seemed constantly on distort. The loudspeakers added a high-pitched feedback that almost assisted the vocals and backups. The air was dense with cigarette and ganja smoke, and it was as hot and damp as a sauna. Perfumes mixed with body odour as the dancers writhed to the music. Flickering ultraviolet lights added to the surreal atmosphere: teeth became whiter than white, white clothes glowed with a strange phosphorescence, black skin disappeared leaving only eyeballs and teeth glinting from darkened corners as wraps, joints and folded dollar bills were passed.
Justin sat outside on the roof of a parked car. He had another tepid bottle of beer in his hand and had been eager to leave over an hour ago. Clarissa had danced with anyone who’d have her. She was being passed from partner to partner, necking and clinging to each one as though they were long-lost lovers. Justin watched her, bored. Her eyes occasionally darted him a frenetic glare of hatred. She was proving, if not to him then to herself, that she was sexy and sought-after, which indeed she was. Locally, white meat, especially with money, was referred to as a ‘honey pot’. James had become moodier as the evening progressed. He had snorted cocaine, then complained to Justin that it was baby powder or, worse, laced with borax: his nose was dripping and painful.
Justin decided it was time to go home. The tide was in their favour and the water appeared quite calm. Enough, he thought, was enough. His charges were wrecked. He drained his beer, tossed aside the bottle and pushed his way into the heaving mass. Clarissa angrily faced him out: she was not ready to leave. Justin gripped her wrist and dragged her to the steps. ‘Get off me,’ she screeched. ‘I’ve lost my watch!’
‘Shut the fuck up! You want a pack on to us? If you lost your watch, then forget it. Maybe somebody took it in payment for screwing you up the arse in the john.’
She tried to hit him but he ducked. She fell forward and began to vomit.
Justin hauled her away from the onlookers towards the waste-ground at the side of the club. There he found James. He was lying face down, his shirt torn, his pants round his ankles.
Justin hauled him to his feet. ‘Get your pants up, man. We’re out of here.’
‘I was just taking a piss,’ James slurred.
Justin signalled for the boys waiting on the speedboat to help him get the pair on to the deck.
‘Why did you bring us here?’ Clarissa wailed. She continued to snivel about her watch, until she realized her gold ne
cklace was also missing, which brought on a fresh onslaught of tears.
‘Think yourself lucky you’ve not lost a lot more. Stop bleating, and have a good shower when you get in. You’re probably lousy with crabs.’
Clarissa gasped and shuddered. ‘I didn’t let them touch me,’ she moaned. But she had, and had lost count of how many.
Justin ignored her. He had noticed James was white-faced, his lips blue. He still seemed unable to focus. ‘You okay? James?’
James swung his head round. ‘Yeah, man … I’m cool.’
The return trip to the island was a long, slow haul. When they arrived at the island, Justin strode off towards his bungalow. He wanted to shower and get the stench of vomit out of his nostrils. As he passed Max’s room he crept up to the half-open shutter. The lights were on but, although the sheet had been pulled back, the bed was empty. Justin listened, but heard only the sound of crickets, so he moved on. Where could Max be at this hour?
Laura’s suite was in darkness, shutters closed, door locked. He walked on to his own room where the lights were blazing. ‘You’re late,’ said Laura, as he came in, closing the door.
‘I couldn’t get them to leave the club. I got back as soon as I could.’ He began to peel off his clothes. ‘Don’t come near me, I stink.’ He stepped out of his trousers.
‘We have to talk,’ Laura said.
‘Not right now. I need a shower.’ He disappeared into the bathroom.
Laura sat drumming her fingers on the bedside table. She had it all worked out. By the time he had left the bathroom Justin was more relaxed. He flopped down on the bed and Laura stroked his damp hair.
‘Okay. How did it go with Matlock? You made progress?’
‘Yes, he’s all over me like a rash. But I don’t know whether I can go through with it. The man disgusts me. I don’t know that I want to give him the pleasure of fucking me.’
‘Well, there’s no need, is there? I mean, I think I’ve done a pretty good job of getting him into the fishing anyway. He’ll be dying to get out there tomorrow, and I’ll just tell the boat-boys that I’m going to take him out alone.’
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