‘Fascinating, babe.’ Billie-Jo flicked her new, blonde, hair extensions from her face and buckled up next to her husband. She was seriously impressed by today’s mode of transport and equally as unimpressed by the calibre of her fellow guests: a couple of nobodies by the names Rupert and Angelika or something – hardly Brad and Angelina – and some old cougar she’d never even heard of with a toy-boy wannabe rock star in tow, though admittedly her eyes had lit up somewhat when Joshua Jones had introduced himself.
‘Pleasure,’ he’d said in a nasal New York accent that had caused her to twitch a little, his gaze lingering upon her a few seconds longer than was strictly necessary, though nonetheless welcome.
‘Good of you to bring your mum,’ Billie-Jo had remarked sweetly as she’d shook his heavily tattooed hand, the outline of his lithe, toned abdomen faintly visible through his tight V-neck T-shirt. Tres rock star. Lack of A-list aside, at least there was no other real female competition to give her cause for concern. That Angela bird, or whoever she was, was pretty enough but she had to be pushing thirty-five, and as for the singer, at least that’s what Nate had said she was, though undeniably glamorous and clearly minted – Billie-Jo’s hawk eyes had already clocked the Jimmy Choos, this season’s, and the rare Cartier timepiece – she was old enough to have birthed her, and her boyfriend too by the looks of it.
‘Wonder what the beef is between the old woman and that posh twat,’ Billie-Jo whispered in her husband’s ear hotly, intrigued by the frosty exchange she’d witnessed between Rupert and Mia. ‘Do you reckon she’s shagged him?’
‘You have a very vivid imagination, Bee,’ Nate commented without taking his eyes from the handbook. ‘And that old woman is Mia Manhattan, a very famous soul singer.’ He didn’t know why he was even bothering to try and educate her. If it wasn’t Calvin Harris or Nicki Minaj it didn’t register in his wife’s head. Frankly, unless it was pink, shiny and expensive, he wasn’t entirely convinced that anything did.
Angelika glanced sideways at her husband. He had a serious noir look on his face. She opened her mouth to speak.
‘Just don’t, Angelika, OK?’ he snapped. ‘Don’t say a goddamn word.’ Rupert lunged forward. ‘Excuse me, miss!’ He clicked his fingers as the hostess made her way past them.
‘Yes, sir,’ Aki stopped short and turned to him with a fixed, wide grin. ‘Can I get you something?’
Rupert leaned over across his wife.
‘Look, I’m terribly sorry,’ he apologised, ‘but I think there’s been some kind of mistake. Not your fault, of course,’ he added sagely, ‘but my wife and I, we need to disembark … immediately.’ There wasn’t a chance in hell that Rupert was prepared to spend a second longer in Mia Manhattan’s company, let alone the next fourteen days. Being stuck on a desert bloody island with one harridan was enough, but Mia Manhattan harboured a deeply personal grudge against him, one that was completely unwarranted in his opinion. He’d done his best for the woman all those years ago, and in return she had done everything in her power to discredit him, making no bones whatsoever of her abject dislike of him. Well, the feeling was bloody well mutual as far as he was concerned.
Aki nodded but did not respond. She was still smiling.
‘I’m sorry,’ Rupert apologised disingenuously at her lack of response, ‘perhaps I’m not making myself clear. Look, er –’ he fought to recall her name ‘– Aki, is it? What I’m saying is my wife and I, we’re leaving … getting off the plane, so if we could just collect our luggage …’ Aki’s unwavering smile was beginning to irritate the hell out of him.
‘I’m afraid that’s impossible, sir,’ she replied with such joviality that it momentarily disarmed him.
‘Impossible!’ Rupert shot back. ‘Bullshit! Get our bloody bags. Come on, Angelika.’ He practically hoisted her up by her forearm. ‘We’re getting off this goddamn plane right now!’
‘Ru!’ Angelika hissed as she struggled to free herself from his grip. Her husband was being obnoxious, not to mention embarrassing.
‘It is as I explained to Ms Manhattan, sir –’ Aki’s robotic smile remained, making him want to wipe it clean off her flat face with his spare fist ‘– the contract states that once you have boarded the fight you cannot disembark.’
‘Contract? What bloody contract?’ Rupert’s face contorted with indignation and confusion. ‘I didn’t sign any contract. I’m a barrister, for goodness sake’s, woman … it’s my fucking job to read the small print.’
Billie-Jo watched from her seat, enthralled. She hadn’t expected things to kick off so soon in the proceedings and was loving every second of the drama. Posh people fighting; hell, this was even better than an episode of Made in Chelsea.
‘Yes, sir – the contract you signed, sir.’ Aki’s polite smile looked pasted on. ‘It states clearly that once all parties have boarded the aircraft and the doors have closed, then no one is entitled to leave.’
‘Entitled?’ Rupert had unbuckled himself now and was standing. ‘I’m entitled, lady, to do whatever I damn-well choose.’
‘Rupert!’ Angelika placed a hand on his arm.
‘Show me this contract I supposedly signed. I demand to see it!’
He turned to Angelika. ‘Jesus, this is a set-up, that’s what this is – a set-up!’
Angelika shot her husband a sheepish look.
‘Angelika ...?’ Rupert glared at his wife, his voice a low growl. ‘Oh, Angelika … tell me you didn’t sign anything.’
‘Only the disclaimer I told you about!’ she answered quickly, defensively. ‘Look, let’s just calm down, shall we?’ She pulled her husband back down into his seat. ‘Jesus, Rupert, you’re making such a scene,’ she hissed at him. ‘Look, we’re about to take off … I wasn’t to know that Mia bloody Manhattan was going to be here, did I? I know she’s not your biggest fan but –’
‘– Nor I hers!’ he cut her off.
‘OK, OK, but it was a long time ago now … can’t you just stay out of each other’s way? I’m sure the island will be big enough. Besides,’ she added, her voice softening in a desperate bid to placate him, ‘maybe it will be the perfect opportunity for you to bury the hatchet.’
Rupert looked at his wife with such disdain that for a split second she genuinely thought he might strike her.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘in the back of her fucking head.’
7
The G650 had been cruising at 35,000 feet for approximately two and half hours and with the chilled Ruinart flowing and a breakfast menu of eggs Florentine, smoked salmon, beluga caviar and Bellinis served, the six guests, appetites stated, were beginning to relax – no one more so than Billie-Jo.
‘Do you think they’ll be shops at this place?’ she asked Nate as she wiped the remains of her eggs Florentine from her plate with a Bellini, the idea of spending his money ever appealing.
‘We’re going to a paradise island, Bee,’ Nate said, ‘I highly doubt it … besides, haven’t you brought enough stuff with you already?’ Billie-Jo’s five Louis Vuitton suitcases had taken two drivers to put them in the hold. She didn’t exactly travel light.
‘Just because it’s an island doesn’t mean there won’t be shops,’ she sniffed indignantly, gulping back champagne between her glossy, collagen-filled lips. ‘Dubai has shops.’
‘Dubai is a country, Bee.’
‘Well, all right then, smartarse. Britain has shops and correct me if I’m wrong but that’s an island, too...isn’t it?’
Nate smiled at her in surprise as much as anything.
‘Well, yes, it is...’
‘See, not just a pretty face, eh?’ Billie-Jo grinned, wondering if it was safe to slip off to the restroom for another livener without her husband growing suspicious. She didn’t want Nate to know how out of hand her coke habit had become lately. In fact, she didn’t want him to know about it per se. Her greatest concern was that he might cut her monthly allowance if he found out just how much of his cash she was shovelling up her nose. Thei
r conversation was suddenly interrupted.
Angelika, smiling, was approaching them with an outstretched hand. ‘Hi, I’m Angelika, Angelika Deyton. Really nice to meet you both. Well, this is all pretty exciting, isn’t it? Did you enjoy breakfast? Fabulous, wasn’t it?’
‘It was great, yeah,’ Nate agreed, smiling at her friendly effervescence, ‘Nate, by the way. Nate Simmons.’
Angelika accepted his hand and was pleased when it gripped her own with some purchase. ‘Yes, I know who you are.’
‘And this is Billie-Jo.’
‘His wife,’ Billie-Jo added, her heckles raised for reasons she didn’t fully understand.
‘Pleasure to meet you both; this is my husband, Rupert,’ she cocked her head behind her. Rupert raised a hand of acknowledgement from his seat without so much as turning to face them.
‘Please excuse him, he’s sulking,’ she said, unsubtly poking him in the back of the neck with an apologetic smile. For someone as educated and intelligent as her husband was, he could be so socially inept.
‘I saw him arguing with the woman earlier,’ Billie-Jo said, fishing for the low-down.
Nate nudged her in the ribs.
Angelika smiled and Nate noticed how it seemed to light up her entire face. He tried to place an age on her, something he wasn’t particularly good at with women, but he figured she fell somewhere around the early-thirties mark like himself. Her skin was smooth and clear, her face fresh. Yeah, thirty-two at a push.
‘Yes,’ she explained, the apology evident in her voice, ‘I’m afraid they have a little … how can I put it … history.’
‘Were they once an item or something?’
Nate elbowed Billie-Jo in the ribs once more, sharply this time.
‘What?’ Billie-Jo shrieked in response. ‘I’m only asking!’
‘No, really, it’s OK.’ Angelika’s smile remained. ‘It goes back a long way. No doubt he will bore you all to death with it once we’re on the island –’
‘I heard that, Angelika!’ Rupert called from his seat. Angelika bit her lip and crossed her eyes humorously. Nate found himself smiling broadly.
‘So, how come you’ve been invited to Pleasure Island?’ Billie-Jo continued with her less-than-subtle line of questioning, making it sound like Angelika had no right to be there.
‘I’m a journalist,’ she explained, ‘for the Daily Voice. I have a column.’
Nate felt a jolt of disappointment from his solar plexus. She was a hack, great.
and he’d kind of liked her as well. She had a soft face: sweet and feminine, naturally pretty without being over-done. For a fleeting moment he found himself picturing what she might look like in the morning with bed hair and cute, sleepy eyes.
‘You don’t look like a hack,’ he said without thinking.
‘If you mean I don’t have a snout …’ Her smile was broad and genuine, her teeth neat and perfect except for one of the incisors on the left which turned slightly inwards. He liked it; it gave her face character.
‘He hates the press, don’t you, babe?’ Billie-Jo explained. ‘They’ve been proper bastards to him ever since the accident, and then there was all that adoption business. That paper you work for proper done him up like a right kipper.’
‘Bee, please.’ Nate wished to God that she would just keep that gaping hole in the middle of her face shut sometimes.
‘I wouldn’t worry,’ Angelika said as if reading his thoughts, ‘I’m not here to spy on anyone. I’m simply a guest like you. In it for the free holiday!’ she giggled, not wanting to expose her true motives. ‘Anyway, if it’s any consolation, I’m sorry about the story – can’t have been easy for you.’ She felt a little guilty about her profession at times, this being one of them.
Nate averted his gaze and gave a brief nod. He didn’t really want to get into a conversation about it right now. Besides, he couldn’t be sure she wasn’t fishing for a follow-up story, like the fact that he had appointed a PI to track down his real parents. She’d be on the phone to her editor faster than Usain Bolt through a finish line if she got wind of that little piece of info. He would have to remind that wife of his to keep her trap shut on that count.
Joshua Jones glanced sideways at Mia who was almost reclined in her white-leather seat, a black silk mask covering her eyes, her face still as stone, mouth a grim, thin line. He figured she was probably sleeping. Glancing over at the woman standing chatting to two of the other guests, he made to get up and go over, ostensibly to check out the foxy little blonde married to the footballer dude. He’d already given himself a lazy hard-on just thinking about watching her strut around near naked in a bikini for the next fourteen days. So what if the girl was married. He could still look, hell, judging by the look she’d given him on introduction, he could probably touch as well. JJ instinctively knew just by looking at a girl if she was the type to give the green light from the get-go. Billie-Jo was definitely one of those girls.
‘Just off to the restroom,’ he said, adjusting his skin-tight black jeans as he stood, ‘Need to pee.’
Mia silently watched him from the gap beneath her eye mask.
‘Hey guys, you all cool?’ JJ said as he made his way through the cabin.
‘Hi!’ Angelika said brightly. ‘You’re Joshua, right? I was just about to ask these guys where they thought we might be headed to today. It’s all a bit secretive, don’t you think? We were thinking about taking out a wager, maybe. My money’s on the Bahamas somewhere.’
Rupert smirked from his seat. ‘I was just about to ask these guys …’ His wife sounded like a bad children’s TV show host. She was pushing forty, for God’s sake.
‘Who knows, dude,’ JJ said, shrugging with deliberate rock-star insouciance, though in reality he was just as intrigued as everyone else was about their intended destination. ‘I’m just enjoying the free champagne!’ And the view.
Billie-Jo raised her glass, eyeing him flirtatiously. ‘I’ll drink to that.’
‘You’ll drink to anything,’ Nate remarked, though he made sure to laugh as he said it.
‘Let’s have a toast, shall we?’ Angelika suggested, caught up in the moment of bonding with her fellow guests. She poked her husband. ‘Rupert … and we mustn’t forget Mia. Mia!’ Angelika called over to her.
‘Bloody hell, Angelika,’ Rupert complained. Did she have to do this; it was damned awkward enough as it was being stuck on a bloody plane with his nemesis without his damned wife trying to recreate a scene from the Fucking Partridge Family.
‘After all, we’re all in this adventure together aren’t we?’ she smiled, determined to drag him from his moribund mood.
Mia reluctantly removed her eye mask and looked over at them. If that silly bint who had the misfortune to have married Rupert Deyton thought she was going to toast to their shared experience she had another thing coming. Snowmen would survive hell before she would chink glasses with that arsehole. Mia felt utterly depressed, not to mention still furious. It wasn’t enough that she’d agreed to have anything to do with Martin McKenzie in the first place, a man she despised even more than she did Rupert Deyton. It was as if someone was playing a sick joke on her, a very sick joke indeed.
‘Excuse me, Aki,’ Angelika called out to the flight attendant who was busy clearing away the remains of the breakfast they’d not long ago enjoyed. ‘Would it be possible to bring more champagne … we’d like to make a toast.’ She was feeling a little lightheaded already, something she put down to the early morning rise and champagne combined, though she hadn’t even had half a glass. The plane juddered a little, causing her to momentarily grip the edge of the seat in a bid to steady herself.
‘Absolutely, madam,’ Aki nodded obligingly. ‘Right away.’
The diminutive woman disappeared behind the red curtain, reappearing a few moments later carrying a magnum of vintage Krug.
‘Only the best stuff for Mr McKenzie, right?’ Angelika noted, watching as she teetered towards them. The plane was judder
ing ever so slightly harder now, enough for Angelika’s grin to settle into a smile.
‘Must’ve hit a bit of turbulence,’ she said, nerves beginning to flutter gently on her stomach.
‘You should sit down,’ Nate suggested, ‘wait for it to pass.’
Angelika agreed, taking her seat next to her husband and buckling up.
Aki began to distribute the champagne into the cut crystal flutes, seemingly impervious to the fact that she was spilling half of it onto the pristine black carpet in the process.
‘It’s just a little turbulence,’ she assured them as the glasses tinkled.
Billie-Jo swiped her glass of fizz.
‘I hate turbulence,’ she said gulping back the Krug, wishing she’d had that little livener to accompany it now. ‘It gives me the shits.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Nate placated her, making sure he’d said it loud enough for Angelika to hear too. He noticed she’d turned a little pale and felt the odd need to reassure her too.
The plane suddenly lurched sharply to the right.
‘Fucking shit!’ The magnum of champagne hit the floor and exploded with a bang and hiss. Billie-Jo’s glass followed suit.
‘For God’s sake, Angelika!’ Rupert snapped irritably as his wife dug her nails into his arm in a bid to stop herself form falling backwards.
‘What in God’s name …!’ Mia Manhattan was practically hanging over the edge of her reclined seat, her belt the only thing preventing her from having been thrown to the floor.
The force of the sharp lurch had forced JJ onto one knee.
‘Fuck man, that was heavy,’ he said, a little lightheaded from the violent rush of adrenaline that had mainlined through his system like a line of coke. He scrambled to his feet as the plane seemed to momentarily adjust itself. ‘You OK, Mia?’ He helped her back up into a seated position. She was too stunned to reply. She felt woozy with stress and just wanted to sleep. Perhaps then she would wake up and realise it was all just a dreadful nightmare.
Pleasure Island Page 5
