‘I’m on it, sir, right away,’ the email read. ‘Please be assured that my original testimony stands. It’s impossible for even the smartest brain to have penetrated the security on this. There’s zero cause for alarm. I put my life on it. However, I will rectify this error immediately and report back as soon as it’s investigated.’
McKenzie relaxed. It was just as he thought; this was just a technical glitch. As a precaution, however, he typed a message to the club members copying the tech’s words in a show of reassurance.
‘This is absolutely no cause for concern. I have been given 100% authority on this. It was a technical error that has now been rectified. We need not discuss further.’ He wrote, calling an end to it.
McKenzie sighed with fatigue. It had been a trying sort of day and he couldn’t help wondering if now, perhaps, he’d been a tad hasty in murdering Elaine. The image of his long-standing loyal wife’s skull exploding as he had brought down the cloche onto it with such brute force flashed up in his mind – and her expression: one of total surprise and ultimate despair as she realised in that nano-second what he’d done to her. Poor old Elaine. He wondered what her last thought had been before she’d made impact with the water, if the blow had been enough to kill her outright or if she’d subsequently drowned. Ah, well, no matter; the outcome had been inevitable anyway. Still, it was unlike him to act in such a spontaneous manner and it was this lack of forethought that had given him the jitters.
McKenzie was still very much aware that murdering one’s wife was illegal and that as such he could be held accountable should he not cover his tracks most thoroughly. He liked to be meticulous about things, plan them to the nth degree. Acting spontaneously ran the risk of being sloppy and overlooking things that couldn’t afford to be overlooked, and it was for this reason he was a little cross with himself. He wished now that he had waited. Still, recriminations were futile. What was done was done and couldn’t be undone. Elaine was in a watery grave and he had business to attend to.
Sinking more of his Scotch, McKenzie sat up, replaced his shoes and suit jacket, and slicked back his carefully dyed hair with the palm of his hand before opening his laptop. Clearing his throat and switching on his webcam he smiled as his face came into view.
‘Good evening, lady and gentlemen. It is with my immense personal pleasure that I welcome you to the final act …’
48
‘There’s nothing here,’ Angelika whispered quietly as she looked at Nate, her blues eyes wide with disappointment. ‘Round the back of the harbour, they said. I heard them clearly. We have to find it, Nate. We have to see if there’s a way off this island.’
He heard the urgency in her voice, his heartbeat mirroring it.
‘Perhaps they’ve already left in it,’ he said. ‘Maybe we’re too late.’
Nate scanned the deserted harbour. It was dark, though not pitch-black quite yet, and the stillness was disconcerting.
‘Do you think we’re being watched, right now, I mean?’ Angelika felt the heat of a thousand hidden eyes upon her and her skin prickled.
‘Who knows,’ he said. ‘It’s a possibility.’
Spurred on by a mix of adrenalin and determination, she began to navigate her way barefoot further down the rocks towards the edge, holding her Havaiana flip-flops in one hand and balancing herself with the other.
‘Be careful, Ange,’ he called out to her in a hushed voice. ‘It’s dark down there. Tread carefully.’
Nate’s revelation of his grim, bathroom discovery had confirmed what she had suspected all along, that McKenzie had been spying on them, or at least someone had, invading their most intimate moments and violating their privacy in a way that seemed unimaginable. The thought that ‘they’, whoever ‘they’ were, had watched her take a shower and use the toilet, maybe even seen the rare, intimate and not-altogether-pleasant moment which had taken place between her and Rupert in the en suite made her flesh crawl. She had been right to listen to her intuition, to trust her instincts. If they could just find a way off Pleasure Island without alerting suspicion then they could go to the authorities, get them to send a plane for them all and have that bastard McKenzie bang to rights. The man was sick –
a criminal.
‘He won’t get away with it, Ange,’ Nate said, as though reading her thoughts. ‘Whatever he’s done, we’ll make sure he gets what’s coming to him through the proper channels.’
Only she wasn’t so convinced. Men like McKenzie had a habit of getting away with everything. And the six-billion-dollar question hanging over everything still remained paramount in her mind. Why? She suspected that at midnight tonight they were about to find out and, as much as she was horrified, unnerved and scared to death, she needed to know. First, however, they had to find this goddamn boat.
‘Well, fuck-a-doodle-do, dude … ho-ly shit!’ JJ gave a loud whistle as he and Mia made their entrance onto the roof terrace. ‘It’s like something out of Tony Montana’s place in Scarface!’
The roof-top terrace of the mansion was indeed nothing if not ostentatious. While the mansion itself was testament to McKenzie’s exorbitant wealth with its lofty, high ceilings, abundance of marble pillars, gold fixtures and intricately decorated ceilings, he had, Mia concluded, saved the best until last, or the top in this case. They had reached the terrace by glass elevator, stepping out onto a white-and-gold marbled expanse of floor that was shiny enough to reflect the low sunlight that was quickly disappearing upon it. In the middle of the huge terrace was a pool, within it a large, ornate sculpture depicting the Greek mythological scene of Narcissus starring at his own reflection, his mouth the fountain piece from which water poured, beautifully up-lit by tiny lights and shrouded by carefully pruned box tree. An array of seating was thoughtfully positioned throughout: huge, white, leather chesterfields scattered with sumptuous, gold cushions in an assortment of the finest fabrics; striped chaise lounges surrounded by gold statues of cherubs and angels; a pair of porcelain tigers, six-foot high stood either side of the seating area, their regal, feline faces flickering in the light provided by a number of gigantic free standing gold candelabras that towered above them.
Positioned at the furthest north point into the mountains, the view afforded an unparalleled backdrop out to sea. The sun was setting at eye level, its pastel colours painting the 360-degree view like a Monet and appeared so close it felt like you were part of the picture itself. Underneath a large, white canopy was a long, banqueting table dressed to an exquisitely high standard, solid, silver cutlery glinting in the throes of the fading light, fine china and crystal cut glass. Countless magnums of Vintage Krug, Dom Pérignon and Cristal sat inside large, silver, ice buckets on huge piles of crushed ice.
On closer inspection, Mia saw that there were also platinum, hand-engraved name places, and noted that she was seated next to Joshua, a small but welcome relief. To the right of the table, a large video screen had been erected as though they were about to enjoy a film premier and her interest spilled over into unease: they were going to watch something. Music was playing in the background, just low enough to be heard and she suddenly recognised it was one of her songs: ‘Pretty Little Lies’, a smooth, soulful ballad she had written at barely 22 years old. She hadn’t heard the song in many years; it had never been one of her greats, yet it had always remained one of her favourites. It stopped her in her tracks, flooding her with a million memories, transporting her back to a time in her life when she had been so young, so beautiful and naïve, so … hopeful. Swallowing hard, Mia’s maudlin thoughts were broken by a member of staff offering her a glass of champagne, which she duly took. It was chilled to perfection.
‘Well, the sculpture is apt, if nothing else,’ she remarked.
‘Huh?’ Joshua gave her a blank look.
‘It’s Narcissus, the scene from Greek mythology …?’
He shrugged and she sighed.
‘This suit is uncomfortable man.’ He pulled a face as he fiddled with the cummerbund. ‘I
feel like a douche.’
‘Yet you look divine,’ Mia said. ‘Get used to it, darling. Black tie means just that … rock star or not.’
‘Yeah, well screw that,’ he grumbled, wondering why he couldn’t have just done the whole ‘white T-shirt and cool suit’ combo. He bet Adam Levine didn’t have this kinda problem. Mia, however, had gone all out in an embellished, couture, Marchesa gown that was split to the thigh to reveal matching, bejewelled underwear.
‘So then –’ she’d done a 180-degree twirl for JJ earlier, once he’d managed to pour her into it ‘– what’s the verdict?’
The verdict was that the gown was probably two decades too young for her, but he knew the drill by now.
‘You look da fucking bomb, babe.’
Mia had been horrified. Da bomb? God, how she missed her Dickie in that moment, a man who knew how to give a woman a proper compliment. Da bomb indeed! Age inappropriate or not, Mia had been happy with her choice of attire. She had always known how to give good gown.
Rupert greeted her with an asinine smile, ubiquitous glass of fizz in hand. ‘Playing one of yours, I hear, Mia?’ He was smoking a cigar and looked far more comfortable in such formal dress than JJ did, but then she supposed he’d had more practise.
‘Surprised you even noticed,’ she said.
‘Incredible dress,’ he said in a bid to avoid any frosty exchange.
She wondered if he actually meant it.
‘You can borrow it, if you like,’ she quipped, ‘but then again, you’ve a wardrobe full of them, I should imagine. After all, you wear a gown every day to work, don’t you?’
Just then Billie-Jo joined them – having taken in as much of the view as she could enjoy – resplendent in a lime-green and leopard-print Versace dress, the neckline plunging all the way to her bellybutton and showcasing the high, round firmness of her enhanced assets.
She knew she looked incredible, if somewhat overstated dripping in make-up and jewellery, but then she was determined to make an impression on the impresario she hoped to finally meet this evening. McKenzie would remember her; she would make sure of it.
‘Looking fly, BJ,’ Joshua remarked.
‘Not looking bad yerself,’ she returned the compliment, aware of Mia’s watchful eye.
‘So, do you think we’re gonna get to open them boxes tonight, then?’ she said. They’d been instructed to bring them along to this evening’s proceedings and her need to know what was inside had reached fever pitch.
‘I should imagine that’s the idea, dear,’ Mia said.
‘What do you reckon’s inside them? Jewellery, perhaps? Keys to a soft-top Merc?’
Rupert raised an eyebrow. The greedy girl was nothing if not hopeful.
‘Your wife not joining us this evening, Rupert?’ Mia asked, noting Angelika’s absence.
Now that she’d mentioned it, Rupert had started to wonder just what, or who, was keeping Angelika. She had said that she would follow him up onto the roof terrace imminently.
‘You go on ahead,’ she’d suggested as she’d applied her make-up in the ornate mirror back at the cabana. ‘I’m not quite ready yet and we don’t want to be late, we might miss something important.’ She’d smiled at him, adding, ‘I won’t be long.’ Never one to wait around, not least for his wife, he had not needed telling twice and hadn’t given it a second’s thought until now.
‘She should be here any minute,’ he said.
Billie-Jo’s facial expression clouded over. Now that she thought of it, Nate had also agreed to catch her up. He’d complained of feeling unwell and had gone for a walk in full black tie to supposedly ‘clear his head’ before dinner. Had he and Angelika sloped off somewhere together?
‘No, Nate either,’ Mia remarked dryly, ‘although I’m sure it’s just an innocent coincidence.’ She kept her eyes firmly upon Rupert’s.
‘If he’s gone off with that bitch, I’ll fucking kill him,’ Billie-Jo hissed underneath her breath.
‘Chill, babe,’ JJ whispered in her ear. ‘Like, do you even give a shit?’
Billie-Jo bristled. After all, she supposed she wasn’t exactly in a position to start bitching about her husband’s suspected infidelity, not when she’d spent the afternoon bouncing all over JJ’s hard dick. But still, at least she’d been discreet about it. Nate, it seemed, hadn’t even gone to any length to cover his tracks; brazen bastard, she would nail him to the wall after this.
Rupert sucked on his cigar in a bid to soften the sense of foreboding that was gnawing at him.
The three of them all stood staring at each other, none of them wanting to ask the question they knew they were all thinking: where the fuck were Nate and Angelika?
49
‘I want to make love to you in the boat, on the way back … Jesus, Ange, I want to make love to you here, in this club, right now!’ Nate looked at her like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time. Angelika smiled at him, her eyes sparkling, up-lit by the neon lighting of the packed bar. She could not remember a time a man had so obviously desired her and she only wished that she could give him her full concentration, but her mind was elsewhere, a thousand unanswered questions wrestling for space inside her head, answers she sensed were imminent, answers she felt lay somewhere on this island, with the pressing mission being to find the boat.
They located it eventually, tucked away inside a tiny alcove, carefully hidden between rocks, and boarded it with a mix of elation and unease, their collective adrenalin fizzing like electricity between them. They hugged instinctively, triumphantly. As she made to break away, he stopped her, held her there in his arms.
She smiled at him through her eyes, deep and blue, and he felt as if he could dive into them, swim in them. She parted her lips a little, displaying her teeth, neat aside from that slight snaggle that he had come to adore; a tiny flaw in an otherwise-perfect smile, or perfect for him, at least. She was so beautiful to him in that moment that he could not prevent himself from wanting her. She made sense to him; her skin soft and a little aglow in the moonlight, eyes shining like the ocean, her hair sun-and-windswept into soft, messy waves. She didn’t flinch as he pulled her closer, her body soft, feminine, pliable as it lightly pressed against his own.
She was shaking slightly, and he wondered if it was because of him or the evening chill from the water. He felt the heat of her breath as his lips slowly reached hers, eyes closing as they finally connected, the lightest touch to begin with, the scent of her skin in his nostrils as his mouth began to explore her. She tasted so good, so different to Billie-Jo, like he had known her lips all his life, or at least should’ve done. He pushed his tongue gently into her open mouth and she responded with her own.
‘Oh, God, Ange,’ he said breathlessly, his arms gripped tightly around her now, his hands touching her exposed skin as the kiss escalated into a passionate frenzy. He was hard for her now. Jesus, since he’d met her he’d been hard for her, and he could not stop himself from pressing up against her, his pelvis touching her own. Gently, their lips still upon each other’s, he laid her down inside the boat and in that moment Nate could think of nothing other than her: making love to her; touching and tasting her; smelling her intimate scent. He had never felt sexual desire like it before in his life. He wanted his woman – really wanted her – in every sense. She would be his wife one day, he thought as his hands began to explore her small, pert breasts, her nipples stiffening to his touch, his mouth around them, gently nibbling and sucking as she began to gasp in pleasure underneath him.
‘Nate … oh, Nate …’ Angelika surrendered completely. It was inevitable; she could no longer deny the desire she felt for this man: a desire that she’d felt from the beginning; an unspoken connection that she could neither understand or explain. She had tried so hard to do the right thing, to hold back, repress her feelings because she was, after all, a married woman, but finally she gave in to the heat of her desires, the ache she felt between her legs, pulsing, throbbing, needing him there.
Her dress was open, her bare breasts exposed, lit up in the darkness as he gently, softly worked his mouth around them, circling her nipples with his tongue until she felt she might cry out. Nothing felt more right in that moment than their bodies touching, the smell of his hair as his tongue travelled from her breastbone to her hips, slightly damp, fresh from the shower, like mandarins. And she realised just how it felt to be wanted by a man, really wanted and desired, a feeling she had been missing her entire marriage, it felt, as his lips touched her intimately, causing her to moan in pleasure as he buried his mouth into her, her legs naturally opening wider to accept him, giving herself to him at last …
A sharp noise – a crack in the air – startled them and they both bolted upright, killing the intensity of the moment.
‘What the hell was that?’ she asked, breathless, her chest heaving. She pulled her dress together.
‘Jesus, I don’t know,’ he said, his head darting in all directions in a bid to locate the source.
‘Let’s get out of here, Nate,’ she said, suddenly remembering that they could be being watched right this very second. Panic seized her. ‘Let’s go … they could be watching.’
Reluctantly he agreed.
‘And we have to be back by midnight,’ she reminded him. Whatever they were about to discover she would not miss the chance to confront McKenzie face-to-face with what she now knew.
Nate could not contain his disappointment but he knew they had to leave. She was right; they may be watching and he did not want the moment violated. They would have to wait.
Pleasure Island Page 29
