Pleasure Island

by Anna-Lou Weatherley

Elaine giggled, an act that appeared somehow incongruous with her dour, pinched features.

  ‘Really, Marty, you shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Call it gratitude for keeping things ticking along nicely …’

  Elaine was stunned; this was high praise indeed.

  ‘Well, it’s certainly been interesting. I mean, who’d have thought that the lawyer was gay! I have to say I didn’t see that one coming – and neither will his wife by the looks of things.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘You think you know someone …’

  ‘Ah, but does anyone really know anyone?’ he replied.

  ‘Husbands shouldn’t have secrets like that from their wives; it’s morally reprehensible,’ she said, oblivious to her own situation.

  McKenzie inwardly smirked.

  ‘Not like us, dear, all our cards on the table.’

  The McKenzies had been actively swinging throughout their marriage, although he had kept her in the dark as to the full extent of his sexual desires which had become increasingly more depraved with each passing year. Besides, Elaine really didn’t do anything for him anymore. That particular ship had sailed long ago. These days she was little more than a lackey to him, a PA he had doing his dirty work and who he occasionally bent over the bedpost to scratch an itch. His only real regret was that Elaine hadn’t given him a child; he’d always liked the idea of having a son in particular, someone to own completely, even down to their DNA, but it had never happened. The woman was baron, in every sense.

  She began to open the gift, her stubby unpainted nails clumsily fiddling with the ribbon.

  ‘Perhaps you have that intuitive thing,’ she said, ‘whatever they call it these days … gaydar!’

  ‘Yes, perhaps!’

  As it was McKenzie had known all along about Rupert Deyton’s sexual persuasions. He had made it his business to, or his team of people had. They had been instructed to dig up as much dirt on him as possible, on all of them, and at the first flash of a fat wedge of green Mia’s old chauffeur had coughed the lot. Money really was a universal language that needed no interpretation. Throw enough of the stuff at people and they’d tell you anything, however sordid or unflattering. It had taken months of meticulous research undertaken by a privately hired investigative team to unearth his chosen guest’s most unpalatable secrets. And soon, in the ultimate final act, he planned to spectacularly reveal exactly why.

  ‘Oh, Marty.’ Elaine gasped as she opened the box and saw the Cartier watch inside. The huge encrusted diamonds forming the circumference of the rose clock-face glinted back at her in the sunshine. ‘It’s … exceptional.’

  Her heart sunk faster than the boat’s anchor. She would never wear it; it was it was far too ostentatious – vulgar even – although hell would freeze over before she ever told him as much. In all the years her husband had been gifting her jewellery he had never once got it right. As a result she often forced herself to adorn the presents he had given her on special occasions, mindful of hurting his feelings. Only she needn’t have worried; he didn’t have any. McKenzie had, as usual, given one of his PAs (young, always attractive, usually willing) a wad of cash and instructions to pick something out for his wife; unbeknownst to her he had never once personally chosen a present for her in over two decades.

  ‘Put it on then,’ he commanded and she duly obliged. It looked ridiculous, its overstated opulence merely highlighting the rest of her plain, unremarkable ensemble.

  ‘Thank you, Marty,’ she said, admiring it with a smile, which didn’t quite reach her cold, dead eyes.

  Having already lost interest in the watch, he changed the subject. ‘And what about the girl, eh? She gave an exemplary performance with the masseur, I must say. The Super Eight were most impressed.’

  ‘She’s been putting on quite a show with Joshua, too.’ Elaine swallowed her champagne with a raised eyebrow, wondering if now was a good time to discuss the conversation she’d had with Rupert. It had been troubling her.

  Elaine McKenzie was a formidable woman; she did not suffer fools gladly and was capable of being an extremely fierce adversary, tricks she had learned over the years from being married to a monster like McKenzie. She gave very little of herself away in social company, unless of course that company happened to be her Lord and Master – and husband. Very little either fazed or scared her; Marty managed to do both.

  ‘The Deytons concern me,’ she finally said, ‘they’re asking questions, Mart. Too many questions. And –’ she paused nervously ‘– and it seems they’ve somehow cottoned on to the fact that their drinks were spiked the night of the party; they’re suspicious.’

  Sweating like a man on trial for murder, the butler appeared carrying a solid silver cloche containing a mouth-watering selection of hors d’oeuvres including freshly prepared sea urchins wrapped in Parma ham, gazpacho, crabmeat-and-sour-cream Asian spoons and foie gras-sprinkled Beluga-caviar filo parcels.

  McKenzie inspected them with a fiercely critical eye before giving him a disdainful nod to serve.

  ‘Did you hear what I said, Mart? Angelika and Rupert Deyton – they’ve been asking questions about the night of the party, about the drinks, the telephone lines … they’re growing impatient. They want answers about the crash, about the staff, everything, and they want you to answer them. I mean these people, aren’t idiots – the Deytons especially it seems.’ She swallowed more champagne and debated whether or not to inform him that she’d seen Angelika locate one of the hidden cameras down by the infinity pool. There were at least 200 hundred of them spread across the entire island, all strategically placed and expertly hidden inside and out, but that bloody inquisitive bitch had somehow managed to locate one of them, which she now had in her possession and had shown to the rest of the guests, potentially throwing the whole operation into jeopardy.

  McKenzie smiled at his wife amiably. Elaine was worried, he could tell and he knew exactly why, because he’d been keeping a close eye on her, too. She had fucked up, royally. And now she would have to pay.

  ‘Screw them.’ He waved a hand dismissively, the diamond signet ring he always wore on his left pinkie catching the light with the momentum. ‘What about Manhattan? What’s that bitch had to say?’

  Elaine bristled. She knew very little of her husband’s relationship to Mia Manhattan other than what was already in the public domain. Intuitively she suspected there was more to it than that but had never dared to ask. If her husband wanted her to know something he would tell her. Experience had taught her this lesson the painful way.

  ‘All that woman is concerned with is a mirror and the minor she brought along with her, although it does seem like she has gone off the boil with him somewhat, now that his attentions are on the Simmons girl.’

  Her husband was deep in thought; she could tell by the way his right leg was swinging slightly over his left. ‘And obviously she and Rupert Deyton don’t see eye to eye, not that you’d have known that after they’d ingested all that MDMA though.’ She smiled wickedly. ‘They were really somewhat friendly after that.’

  ‘Exactly how much of the stuff did you give them, Elaine, on the night of the party?’

  ‘Only what you’d instructed me to,’ she replied quickly, feeling the unease of his eyes upon her. ‘A little more to the Deyton woman, like you said. But I’m not a doctor, Mart; everyone’s metabolism is different. It’s not an exact science. How was I to know how much would be too much, that it would make her sick … start to ask questions …’

  McKenzie looked his wife in the eyes and wondered for a moment if it wouldn’t be just to beat her to death with the cloche there and then, throw her overboard and claim that she had drowned. He could buy the butler off, no problem. The idea quickly gathered momentum in his mind. She was practically superfluous to needs now anyway, now that he’d thought he’d found a potentially willing and suitable candidate to replace her in the young British woman who was part of the Super Eight. With a little grooming he felt she really would make a rather satisfactory re
placement. He thought about the moment she had taken him in her mouth that time they had met, savoured it in his mind for a few seconds. Elaine had had her day and in truth he’d been looking for a reason to emancipate himself from her for some while; she was getting old and sloppy and had let him down. What had started out as a little bit of ‘fun’, a pastime in which he and few like-minded souls could indulge their voyeuristic perversions – not that McKenzie viewed them as such – plus exact a little revenge in the process, now had the potential to blow up in his face, thanks to his wife’s incompetence.

  ‘They’ll be a mutiny if we’re not careful,’ she said, relaxing a little now that it seemed he wasn’t as furious with her as she’d anticipated. Only she had lulled herself into a false sense of security and unwisely continued to seal her own fate. ‘Unfortunately I think Angelika may have found one of the cameras, too.’ She chewed her thin lips tentatively, watching as he devoured another of the delicious hors d’oeuvres, waiting for his reaction.

  McKenzie looked past his wife and out onto the blue behind her. Such a perfect day, he thought, cloudless sky, high sun, the temperature perfect, for him at least.

  ‘She found one the cameras?’ He feigned surprise as he looked over at the butler hovering in the background. The man was the colour of lobster and he found his obvious discomfort somewhat gratifying.

  ‘Yes, though as yet she hasn’t come to me about it … she just shared the information with the others. Anyway, it’s speculation,’ she said, downplaying her concerns. ‘It could easily be a security camera, which is pretty much what the general consensus was among them all, anyway. They put it down to paranoia.’

  ‘I see.’ McKenzie kept his simmering rage contained. He’d personally guaranteed the Super Eight total anonymity throughout this whole experience, protection from any culpability and he could not afford a scandal of which there would undoubtedly be one if that journalist bitch went to the press with her accusations and suspicions. Potentially he could be investigated, even go to prison if she had enough proof, an idea that he refused to entertain for longer than a few diabolical seconds. Damn Elaine. He had made the fatal mistake of trusting her to keep things tightly under control, keep the guests in a euphoric, submissive, relaxed and happy state in which they could be easily manipulated, and she had fucked up royally. He looked at her, concealing his utter contempt carefully behind his bespoke-made gold-mirrored Ray-Bans.

  ‘Perhaps we should open the boxes,’ he said casually. ‘I think it’s time.’

  Elaine’s eyes flickered with relief. He wasn’t angry with her.

  ‘Ok,’ she agreed, ‘I’ll do it tomorrow night.’

  ‘Grand,’ he said.

  ‘Fancy a swim before lunch, dear?’ he asked.

  ‘Why not,’ she said, a little surprised by the sudden suggestion. Marty wasn’t much of a swimmer.

  McKenzie stood and Elaine duly followed suit.

  ‘Ladies, first,’ he gestured with a florid bow.

  ‘It’s the perfect spot for it, at least,’ she remarked, looking out onto the small, sheltered cove where they had moored for lunch. There wasn’t a soul insight. ‘The water looks divine.’

  ‘Doesn’t it,’ he agreed.

  The butler watched from his assumed position as the pair abandoned the dinner table he had so carefully and lovingly prepared earlier. His vision was becoming a trifle blurred from the sweat that was dripping into his eyes, causing them to sting, and he felt a touch lightheaded. He needed some water, to take off this damned, heavy, woollen, coat-tail and loosen his bow tie. He was beginning to feel rather unwell and somewhat unsteady on his feet.

  ‘I’m terribly curious to know what’s in the boxes, Mart,’ Elaine said with her back to her husband as she untied her sarong and made her way to the edge of the boat, peering over the steps that led down into the inviting crystal-clear water below. Her husband followed close behind. ‘Rupert Deyton has been asking me about them and I genuinely couldn’t give him an answer. Told him I had no idea myself which is true.’

  ‘Well, you know what they say about curiosity, dear,’ he said, raising the silver cloche and smashing it down onto the back of her head with considerable force, watching as her skull exploded, a deep burgundy pool of liquid quickly forming on deck. There was a look of genuine surprise and despair etched onto Elaine McKenzie’s face as she half-turned to look at her husband before falling sideways into the water.

  ‘It killed the cat,’ he said calmly.

  McKenzie made his way back to the table, popping the last hors d'oeuvres into his mouth before replacing the cloche back on top of the silver platter and wiping his wife’s blood and brains from the rim with a starched white napkin. Sighing, he turned to the butler, only he wasn’t there. His eyes darted across the boat.

  ‘Ah!’ he said, spotting him. Poor bastard had passed clean out in the heat dressed in all that heavy livery and was lying in a hot sweaty heap on the deck. Still, this made things much easier all round.

  ‘Sorry about this old chap, nothing personal,’ he said to him as he took the man by the wrists and began dragging him towards the edge of the boat and straining to roll his dead weight over the side, ‘but you look like you could do with cooling off.’

  37

  ‘What are you doing, Angelika?’ Rupert watched her as she manically searched the cabana, pulling back the shutters and rifling through the closets.

  ‘I don’t know exactly,’ she replied, shortly. ‘Looking for cameras, I think.’

  Rupert shook his head. This place had sent them all round the twist.

  ‘Well, I highly doubt they’d be under the bed,’ he mused as she scrabbled about on all fours, searching the mattress.

  ‘So, where do you suggest I look, Columbo?’

  Rupert snorted softly.

  ‘Look, I realise things have been a little … odd since we’ve been here, but aren’t you taking this all a little too far? I mean, spy cameras? Whatever McKenzie’s reasons for this madness, filming us without our permission … well, it’s a very serious criminal offense. Even a man like McKenzie wouldn’t do something so insane. He’d never get away with it. Besides,’ he said, pouring himself a finger of Scotch, ‘why on earth would he want to film a bunch of no marks like us?’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ she shot back. ‘Anyway, you said it yourself: the man’s a control freak, a maniac …’

  Angelika noted the whiskey glass in her husband’s hand. It was 10.30 am. Rupert was worried about something; in all their married life she had never seen him imbibe alcohol before lunch. He clocked her staring at his glass.

  ‘It’s enough to turn a man to drink all this –’ he gestured around him to nothing in particular ‘– and all this secret camera talk is making me nervous, Angelika, so please stop it. Anyway, I’m on holiday.’ He drained his glass and poured himself another.

  ‘If you’ve nothing to hide, then there’s nothing to be worried about,’ she said. ‘And I have no idea why McKenzie would want to secretly film us but I’m convinced that’s what he’s been doing.’ She padded defiantly across the wooden floor in her bed shorts and white vest, her nipples visible through the cotton fabric. Her long hair was messily piled high onto her head and her face make-up free and lightly tanned. It was no surprise Nate found her attractive really, Rupert thought objectively; she was the antithesis to his high-maintenance fake wife. A woman like Angelika would be a refreshing change, he imagined. Funny how people always seemed to want the opposite of what they already had. He swallowed his Scotch and closed his eyes as the fiery liquid hit his empty stomach and spread its warmth throughout his churning guts. He hoped to God Angelika wasn’t really onto something with this whole camera debacle. If, and he held onto the word hopefully, her suspicions had grounds then someone somewhere would have seen everything. The very idea made him want to gulp back the entire bottle of single malt in one hit.

  ‘I may go fishing today,’ he suddenly announced. ‘There’s really not much else we c
an do until the phones are back up and running, which Elaine has said will be any day now. May as well make use of what’s on offer while we can.’

  ‘And how will you go fishing without a boat?’ The boat … damn it, she just couldn’t locate inside her mind; it was so frustrating. ‘Don’t you think it’s odd that there are no boats here on the island, not even a fishing one, especially since McKenzie collects the damn things. You’d have thought he’d have one of this yachts moored here at least, something to take us all out on and impress us.’

  ‘I don’t know, Angelika,’ he answered sharply, sick of all her questions, ‘perhaps he meant to, perhaps the storm prevented it, or perhaps you ought to stop being so damned paranoid and asking so many questions. Anyway, I was thinking of navigating the rocks down by the beach, they go quite a way out, I’m bound to get a catch eventually.’ The idea of some peace and solitude appealed to him. He would grab some fishing gear, request a packed lunch and finish this bottle of malt while he was at it. It was becoming an increasing struggle to look his wife in the face. Besides, he wasn’t sure he could stomach another day of Mia Manhattan’s supercilious remarks and knowing smirks. The fear of the woman opening that great gate of hers had him on tenterhooks the whole time and he couldn’t relax. Jesus, he looked forward to going home, getting back to reality, back to hiding behind a mask of middle-class respectability. He was even looking forward to making a return to the courtroom, not to mention the bloody polo playing field where by rights he should’ve been in the first place.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ she said, ‘I think I’m going to go on a little trek around the island again. I haven’t been up beyond the house yet, on the north side. It’s the only part I haven’t seen.’

  ‘Looks pretty baron to me,’ he said, ‘nothing but rock and brush.’

  ‘I’d still like to check it out, see what’s up there. I may have missed something.’

  ‘Rather you than me, Poirot.’ Rupert’s eye was drawn to the black box on the kitchen table. It had been sitting there on the shiny marble kitchen counter almost mocking him since their arrival and he’d had a terrible feeling from the beginning that whatever was inside it was not going to make for a happy discovery. Perhaps he would take it down to the beach with him and throw it off the rocks, yet his own curiosity, he knew, would prevent him from doing so. He took another sip of Scotch, only he wasn’t convinced that it was helping. If anything it was facilitating his maudlin thoughts and burgeoning ill ease. If they could just make it through these last few days without any more drama, then he would never complain about anything again. Not even his wife. What had happened here on the island would stay here with it when they left and with a bit of luck he would never be confronted with any of it ever again. He comforted himself in the knowledge that soon this experience would simply be a distant memory, with the exception perhaps of one remissible sin – that he would not forget, though it would be a whole lot easier if he could forgive himself for it. The sketchy encounter with Raj flashed up inside his mind once more, of the man’s strong, soft hands and glistening lips as they’d wrapped themselves around his …