And now he’d gone and given Mia the upper hand. How he’d felt last night, Raj … He’d been powerless to deny those emotions once more. Only now it was a thousand times worse. Rupert felt like physically crying. It had been the three of them – him, Raj and Mia – at one point. Flashbacks seized his mind, strong arming him to remember, Raj’s hands on his own, the touch of his skin, the look on his face as he had entered him from behind, Mia standing over them, her black, shiny bob, her red-lipstick stains on his own body … was it all jut a diabolical nightmare? Rupert couldn’t recall if he and Mia had done the ugly deed. If they had then he had promptly blanked it out and hoped it would remain that way. But she had definitely been there, involved, watching, observing, encouraging. The very idea made him physically sick to his stomach.
‘Angelika!’ Rupert almost screamed her name as he took a breath and marched into the en suite.
‘What in God’s holy fucking name,’ he said as Nate looked up at him, startled, his hand still on Angelika’s back as she threw up for England inside the toilet bowl. She was naked save for her nude underwear.
‘It’s not what it looks like,’ Nate said calmly as his eyes met with Rupert’s.
Rupert swallowed. Frankly, a part of him hoped to God the man was lying.
31
The evening air was rich and warm, almost palpable, alive with a chorus of crickets and birdsong. She was sitting on the edge of the pool looking out across the sea, the low light forming a halo around her silhouette, her bare legs stretched out in front of her, hair hanging past her shoulders in loose, beachy waves. The pool was tranquil and smooth, blending seamlessly into the ocean, the sunset projected upon it, ombre reds and purples melting like watercolour on its mirrored surface.
He wished more than anything that he had a camera to capture her in that very moment: beautiful but with a certain vulnerability. He stood for a second and watched her until she became aware of his presence behind her.
She turned, her eyes briefly meeting his. ‘Nate,’ she whispered, before looking away.
‘Is it OK …?’ He stared at the empty space next to her.
She smiled faintly and nodded.
‘Spectacular, isn’t it?’ he said of the view, as he took his place beside her and she nodded again.
‘I needed to get away,’ she said after a moment’s pause. ‘I needed … to think.’
He wanted desperately to hold her but knew that he shouldn’t, that it would be unwise to instigate any physical contact. He thought he might be falling in love with her. Whatever it was he couldn’t explain it; just being around her made him feel content, the opposite to how he felt around his own wife.
‘Last night …’
‘I wanted to talk about …’
They spoke simultaneously, both laughing through the nervousness lingering between them.
‘You first,’ he said.
‘No,’ she said, ‘you first.’
Nate stared outwards at the perfect view and paused for a long moment.
‘When I was young, you know, just a little boy, I wanted to be a photographer. I was always obsessed with cameras, taking pictures of family and friends, used to drive them all nuts.’ He smiled wistfully. ‘I got a Polaroid camera for my eight birthday and thought it was the business: this thing that took pictures and processed them there and then … none of the hassle of putting the film in the chemist. Just, snap, boom, there they were – instant gratification.’ He paused again and she turned to him slightly, a sign he took as encouraging. ‘I never really wanted to be a professional player, you know … but I was just … just so good at it, I suppose, and my dad – well, the man I believed was my dad – he was just so made up with the fact that his son had been picked to play for a professional team. He was so proud of me and I was so happy to please, you know. That’s all kids really want to do at the end of the day, please their parents.’ His voice trailed off. ‘The footballing world wasn’t really for me, though. Don’t get me wrong, being part of a team – being accepted, praised, adored – it’s pretty addictive.’ He brushed his thick fringe from his face; it was beginning to stick to him in the sultry heat that was still gently persisting. ‘And the money … well.’ He sighed. ‘But the lifestyle, what it all came with: the girls and the cars, all that stuff … it made, well, it makes me uncomfortable.’
She didn’t know what he was trying to say.
‘I don’t know who I am, Ang,’ he said quietly, his large eyes glassy as they met her own, and she saw the sunset in them. ‘It destroyed a part of me when I found out about the adoption. The questions, Ang, my whole existence … like, I’d always thought I had my dad’s eyes, similar mannerisms, only I didn’t, not really, I couldn’t have. I wonder where, or who I got my eyes from, my determination, sense of humour even – all that stuff that makes you who you are.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Angelika said softly, ‘perhaps the private investigator will have something for you when we get back home. But you know, Nate, sometimes you should be careful what you wish for. Sometimes there are things best left unknown … unsaid …’
They were silent for a moment, the sound of the crickets’ musical language providing an aural backdrop.
‘What happened last night …’ Angelika’s heartbeat escalated, her bare foot began to twitch.
‘What happened last night …’ She repeated the words but could not bring herself to add to them.
The truth was she couldn’t remember much; it was blank in her mind, wiped out like chalk on a blackboard. She was biting her lip nervously and instinctively he touched her hand, grateful when she didn’t recoil.
‘I haven’t been that drunk in my entire life,’ she confessed. Had they made love? The situation she had found herself in upon waking up would certainly suggest so. She’d been wearing underwear, a small relief, but Nate had been next to her in her bed in only his Calvin Klein boxer shorts. After vomiting violently, she had locked herself away in the bathroom, the low sounds of Nate and her husband’s hushed conversation from behind the door almost drowned out by the sound of her retching. Did she feel any different? She had touched herself intimately in a bid to try and gauge. Would she have felt him on her still, would there be signs? Shame had swept through her like fire. Had she cheated on her husband without recollection? Had they indulged in some kind of four-way sex orgy with Billie-Jo and JJ? The very idea made her blood run to ice. To add to the surrealness of the situation, Rupert had remained perfectly calm upon his return to the cabana. He told her he had woken Billie-Jo and given her a robe to cover her nakedness before Nate had seen her, then he’d set about rousing JJ. Once the three of them had left he had knocked on the bathroom door.
‘Are you OK, Angelika?’ he’d asked and the familiarity of him had undone her completely.
Guilt and shame, embarrassment, regret, confusion; she’d been flooded with all of it.
‘I don’t know, Ru,’ she’d said, panic evident in her voice, ‘last night … I don’t know what’s going on.’
‘I think I do.’ Rupert paused. ‘It’s possible our drinks were spiked with something.’
To her shock and surprise he had taken her in his arms, a gesture so rare that it simply compounded her guilt and she had struggled not to cry.
‘Where did you go?’ she’d asked him and she’d felt his body sag in response to the question. Her last memory was that of watching as Rupert had danced with Mia, twirling her around to the music with abandon, and then he had gone. In fact, now she recalled it, so too had Mia.
Rupert had swallowed so hard that she’d heard his throat click.
‘I … I don’t remember much myself,’ he’d said. They’d stood together in the beautiful en suite bathroom with its gold taps and shiny marble floor, the ornate mirrors duplicating them from every angle, his long arms stiff around her small frame. And in that moment she’d felt for the first time in ages that her husband needed her and that whatever else was missing between them, trust and friendship stil
l remained. Why wasn’t that enough?
‘I think we may have been drugged, that our drinks were spiked.’ She looked at him, still chewing her lip nervously. ‘It would explain … my behaviour, so out of character. Even Rupert said as much and he’s not prone to wild imagination, let me tell you. If he smells a rat it usually means there is one.’
‘It’s OK, Ang,’ he said, ‘if you’re worried that we … well, we didn’t.’
‘We didn’t?’ She blinked at him with a confusing mix of disappointment and wide-eyed relief.
Nate felt a little deflated.
‘Would it have been so terrible if we had?’ It was a stupid question and he wished he’d not asked it. They had kissed though, that much he could remember, and he had held her as he’d slept next to her, felt her skin against his own, soft as cashmere. He’d been so scared to touch her in case she’d disappeared like a dream.
‘I’m sorry.’ She looked down at her legs awkwardly. ‘Not terrible at all, just not ideal given the situation: the fact we’re both married.’
‘Not that my wife would know it, at least it certainly didn’t seem that way last night from what I can remember.’ He had a look of resignation on his face, like he’d half expected it.
‘But that’s just it, Nate,’ she said, ‘none of us can remember. Don’t you think that’s odd? I really do think Rupert may be right and that we may have been drugged.’
‘But why? And by who? Elaine McKenzie? Why on earth would she want to spike our drinks?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, wondering if it wasn’t such a ridiculous thought now that she’d said it aloud, ‘but I’m telling you, there’s something not right about this place, Nate. It gives me the heebeejeebees.’ She thought of how calm Rupert had been despite having walked in on his semi-naked wife in bed with another man. Instead of the scene she had expected, one in which her husband rightfully lost his shit, he’d been a picture of composure and had even comforted her. Was he not even the least bit upset or jealous to have found her in such a compromising situation? He had not grilled her over what had happened, not properly as one would expect anyhow. Did he not care? Was the bond between them now so platonic that sexual jealousy was no longer part of the equation? Or, she wondered, was it because he himself had something to hide? His whole demeanour had been one of malfeasance that morning, his reticence disconcerting. Rupert liked to have the upper hand, always, and the scenario had presented it to him on a plate. Only it seemed that morning he just wasn’t hungry.
‘Can I ask you something, Ang?’ Nate looked at her intently, forcibly refraining himself from brushing the hair from her face with his fingers. ‘Do you love your husband?’
Angelika pulled her chin into her chest, suggesting the question impertinent.
‘Of course,’ she said without hesitation. ‘What a question to ask!’
‘Only last night, after we kissed, you told me that you weren’t in love with Rupert anymore. That sometimes you loathed him and wished you had left him a long time ago.’
She blinked at him in shock, her heart beat rapidly escalating.
‘We kissed? But I thought you said we didn’t –’
‘– make love? No, we didn’t, but I wanted to Ang,’ he said, suddenly feeling braver than he’d ever felt with a woman before. Unlike his wife, being with Angelika fed his soul rather than his ego. He was, however, too much of a gentleman to admit to her that it had been she who had instigated the kiss. They’d both been intoxicated, though she seemingly more so, and he’d been cautious not to take advantage of this fact, but she was just so human and real, so unlike Billie-Jo, her hair damp and loose and natural, her skin luminous and that snuggle tooth … he’d only had eyes for her the entire evening, impervious to his wife, to JJ, to Rupert or Mia. As far as he’d been concerned they were invisible. She was all he could see and when she spoke he absorbed every word, savouring her tone of voice. It had intoxicated him so entirely that he didn’t care who knew it; he’d just wanted to the feeling never to end.
‘We shouldn’t have done that,’ she swallowed dryly, wishing she meant it. Angelika knew that if she’d been stripped bear, metaphorically speaking at least, if the myriad barriers had not presented themselves then she would be in his arms right now, but there were just too many of them.
‘But we did,’ he said, flicking his hair from his boyish face. If only it wasn’t so boyish. Forget it Angelika, this is absurd, you’re married, he’s married …
‘What about Billie-Jo? She’s your wife.’
Nate shook his head.
‘You’ve seen Billie-Jo. Look at her, most men’s dream … just not mine.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not her fault, it’s my fault. I married her because she is who she is, what she is, what she represents. I thought … I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. The world I lived in, the trophy wife, I’m ashamed to say it, Ang.’
‘Then don’t,’ she said, pleading with him. ‘If things were different, Nate …’ It sounded like a cliché but she meant it.
‘Don’t get me wrong, I care about Bee; she’s what she is, the product of a screwed-up life, making money from the only assets she has. I don’t blame her, don’t hate her, but I know what she is.’ His voice faltered as he caught the expression on Angelika’s face.
She’d stopped listening to him and was leaning forward, her attention caught by something, something deep within the brush nestled on the side of the cliff. The pool was at sea level, built into the side of the bay which, like the entire island, was shrouded in shrubbery, brush and wild flowers, tiny buds that somehow flourished in the biting heat.
‘What is it?’ he asked, turning to look, ‘what have you seen?’
‘There!’ She said, her light summer dress falling mid-thigh as she abruptly stood.
Her sudden movement startled him. ‘What?’
‘There in the bushes.’ She grabbed his arm, the sensation of her touch sending an electric current through his body. ‘There’s something flashing.’ She was up on her feet now, moving towards it, dangerously close to the edge. ‘Nate, look. See it?’
She pulled him towards her, the warmth of her skin touching his own as she pointed at the shrubs.
‘What am I looking for?’
‘In the bushes, down there.’
He crouched down, squinting.
‘I don’t see any … Oh, hang on …’
The tiny red light, practically a dot, was buried deep beneath the brush, but it was there, flashing silently, a claret spec almost invisible to the human eye.
‘How the fuck did you see that?’
‘Hold my ankles,’ she said, dropping to her knees.
‘No,’ he said, ‘let me do it. Just make sure I don’t fall.’
They looked down at the rocks below them. The drop was 200ft at least, and it was getting darker now, the light low and atmospheric casting shadows around them.
‘Be careful,’ she warned as he lay down onto his belly and snaked towards the edge. She grasped his ankles firmly, the feel of his cartilage stiff against her palms, his pulse detectable on her fingers.
‘Jesus, it’s buried deep whatever it is.’ He was stretched out like a plank now, his arms straining as he scrabbled around in the bushes. ‘I can’t … it’s attached to something. Jesus.’ He made a low grunt, using all the strength he had, tugging at it until it came loose and snapped off. ‘Got it!’ he said triumphantly as he recoiled backwards. Angelika pulled him from the edge.
‘What is it?’ she asked, her curiosity peaking as he brushed himself down. They stared at the piece of plastic in his hand.
It had stopped flashing now.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said, inspecting it closely, ‘but at a wild guess I’d say it was some kind of camera.’
32
Billie-Jo was inspecting her fingernails as she lay stretched out on the white egg-pod sunlounger. She’d bitten them to the quick.
‘Hey!’ she called out in a bid to catch the attention o
f her personal butler, Remi or Ranjit or whatever his name was. ‘Can you book me in for a manicure and gel polish as soon as? But before you do, send over a large Bloody Mary, will you?’ She needed hair of the dog, or something anyway. He nodded obligingly and Billie-Jo sighed as she settled back into a horizontal position, her colourful crochet Missoni bikini displaying a generous amount of side boob. She knew she was in the shit big time and needed to think, only she had the mother of all comedowns and couldn’t concentrate on a single thought for longer than a few seconds. What the fuck did she think she was playing at? What was happening to her? First that business with the masseur, and then last night she’d woken up naked, stark bollock naked, remnants of coke on the table, discarded bottles of champagne and JD scattered around her. JJ had passed out opposite her as good as starkers himself. Thankfully Rupert had seen fit to throw her a robe so she could cover herself up, but still she wondered if Nate had seen them. Holy hell, you’ve really surpassed yourself this time, Billie-Jo, she thought, vowing to lay off the drink and drugs for the rest of her duration on the island. How could she have been so indiscreet? So she’d fancied JJ. Who wouldn’t; he was right up her boulevard: young, tanned, smoking-hot body, covered in ink and, the piece de resistance, a bona fide rock star. Maybe she’d fucked him, in which case she was furious at herself because she couldn’t quite remember. Had she really drank and snorted that much gear that she’d had a total blackout? A party pro, Billie-Jo knew her limits and she had a high constitution when it came to recreational drugs. She felt sure she’d indulged way more in the past and still retained full clarity so what had been so different last night? More pressing, however, was how the hell was she going to talk herself out of this one? Her addled mind raced in time with her heartbeat. Would Nate flip out when they finally got round to speaking? She supposed she couldn’t blame him if he did. They had walked back to their cabana together that morning, him two steps ahead, in complete silence. Was he going to divorce her? If so, on what grounds? She wasn’t even sure she’d committed adultery, at least not with JJ anyway. Billie-Jo groaned. It was all going wrong for her and she didn’t know why. Nate would never have to know about the massage, days had passed and nothing had come to light which had led her to believe that she’d gotten away with it, and anyway, it was just one little oversight, the first real slip up she’d made since saying her vows. Everyone was allowed one mistake, weren’t they?
Pleasure Island Page 19
