Sleeping Cruelty Read online

  ‘Sure. Have anything you want, but don’t be too long. I’ve ordered a taxi.’

  ‘Okay.’ Sharee breezed past, catching her hand. ‘You look real classy, Countess.’

  Sharee had not the slightest idea that she was about to be persuaded to leave. Her lover might care for her, but she loved money more.

  The private beach area had a small but elegantly styled Moorish marquee, in which tables had been set. The champagne was on ice and plates of fresh shellfish laid out. A guitarist was playing bossanovas. In the evening, there would be a disco and the party would continue until dawn. Sylvina arrived neither too early nor too late: she timed it so that she was seen by the optimum number of guests, and could do the rounds of cheek-kissing and introductions. Today’s guests were mixed, mainly actors and actresses, a few producers and studio executives. It was rent-a-crowd time. The guest-list had been compiled by Meryl Delaware, who held court in a flowing white cotton kaftan with platform shoes, Armani dark glasses, a silk scarf tied round her hair and jangling gold bracelets. The outfit successfully disguised her squat body.

  ‘Darling, that was a lovely dinner party,’ she cooed to Sylvina. ‘My dear, you do know about that awful Sir William, don’t you? His appearance at any function will clear the room. Ghastly creature. I used to be at school with his ex-wife, Katherine Hangerford. Sweet, sweet woman and such adorable children. It’s just too awful the way he’s dragged them through the gutter press.’

  Meryl’s lipstick was already running into the rivulets that had formed around her collagen-boosted lips. Sylvina let her prattle on while she scanned the crowd for Sharee. She managed to catch her eye, and gestured for her to join them. ‘You know Sharee, don’t you, Meryl? I’ve promised to get her an introduction to Bernard Goldberg.’

  Meryl smiled bleakly. ‘Such an adorable man.’ She ushered Sharee ahead of her and glanced back to Sylvina, just a flicker to register that she was owed a favour in return for this intro.

  Sylvina looked on, as her lover shook hands with the large balding man in a T-shirt, huge baggy shorts and a backwards red baseball cap. At least he had the manners to remove the cigar from his lips as he leaned forward to catch Sharee’s name. He was in a huddle with Terence Hampton, a Brad Pitt lookalike – one of the many dotted around – and one of the Baldwin brothers, no one seemed to know which one.

  Sylvina waited half an hour, moving around unobtrusively. She was asked to a couple of dinner parties that evening, but to everyone’s surprise she politely said she was otherwise engaged. The joke about Sylvina was that even if she was stranded in the Sahara desert she’d know someone there who would give her a free meal. Eventually she made her way back to Sharee.

  ‘This is Countess Lubrinsky,’ Sharee said to Goldberg, who beamed and offered Sylvina a glass of champagne.

  She declined politely, raising the half-filled glass from which she had taken no more than a few sips. ‘I have a terrible headache. Do you mind if we leave?’ she whispered to Sharee.

  ‘What? Now?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Sharee put on a sympathetic face. ‘You go and lie down. I’ll come later.’ She leaned in close. ‘They’re all dining on his yacht later and he’s asked me. What do you think?’

  ‘Go for it.’ Sylvina smiled and left her.

  Just after six Sharee returned to the villa to change. She was quite drunk, and was with three of Goldberg’s guests in their Rolls Royce Corniche. The volume of the CD player was so loud that Sylvina was forewarned of their arrival well before they appeared on the drive. Sharee was flushed with excitement at the prospect of the party on the yacht. The plan, she told Sylvina, was to potter around the bay then maybe sail along the coast to Monaco. She was hot, feverish and angry in case Sylvina threw one of her moods and insisted that she stay.

  ‘It’s entirely up to you,’ sighed Sylvina. ‘Go, if you want. They seem a great group of people.’

  ‘They are. And Terence is coming along. Why don’t you come too?’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, I don’t want to move. Head, you know.’ She sank dramatically into a chair. ‘Pack your things, don’t worry.’

  Sharee blinked, swaying. ‘Well, there’s no need for me to pack everything. I mean, it’s just a night or two.’

  Sylvina smiled weakly. ‘Make the most of it. This could be your movie break, darling, what you’ve dreamed about. He’s very famous, isn’t he? Go and have a lovely time. And you know I hate having Justin looming over my shoulder, so I’ll probably go back to Paris if you stay on board any longer. If you’ve got all your things there’ll be no problem.’

  ‘Sure you don’t mind?’

  Sylvina picked up her case and walked her out to the car, whose stereo was still playing Guns N’ Roses’ ‘November Rain’ at an ear-splitting volume. The Corniche vanished up the drive, leaving Sylvina waving wanly on the porch. It had been so easy.

  By seven o’clock there was still no sign of Justin, and it didn’t look as if the planned dinner with William would be going ahead. The headache Sylvina had faked earlier was now coming on for real so she decided to go up to the roof for a cool swim. She paused as she passed her suite: her clothes had been taken to Sharee’s room earlier in the day. Vast clear glass bowls now held bunches of white lilies, which complemented the white bedspread, white lace cushions and the white muslin curtains that billowed out over the polished wood floor. The room was looking bare to the point of bleakness, but Justin’s impending house guest hated clutter. He always had to rearrange the furniture when she was around. He said she suffered from claustrophobia – or was it agoraphobia? Over the years she had had every phobia known to man. She was the most neurotic woman Sylvina had ever met.

  Continuing up the stairs to the roof, Sylvina walked out into the clear night air, stripped off her clothes and eased her body into the pool. She loved to swim naked at this time of the evening. It was so perfect; the water cool and refreshing. She swam a few lengths then lay floating on her back, eyes closed.

  ‘She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?’ It was Justin, whispering to William.

  Sylvina had not heard them walk out on to the roof, but hearing the whisper, she opened her eyes and smiled. ‘I didn’t hear you arrive,’ she said softly.

  ‘We got held up in some traffic,’ Justin said nonchalantly. ‘Then we did a tour of the villa, and here we are.’

  ‘It’s nice to see you again, William.’

  William smiled shyly. ‘I’m sorry if I’m intruding.’

  Sylvina swam to the side. ‘Don’t be. I’ll go and shower. Are we going to dine at home, Justin, or would you like to book a table?’

  ‘Eat in,’ he replied abruptly.

  As Sylvina strolled past them she heard Justin speaking to Marta on the poolside phone and asking for chilled champagne. William looked even more uncomfortable this evening than he had on the previous night. He was wearing another crumpled suit, with a creamy shirt left open at the neck to reveal a patch of pale skin.

  By the time they sat down to dinner, Sylvina observed that he looked marginally better having removed his frightful open-toed sandals in favour of canvas rope-soled shoes. She also noticed that he hardly touched his champagne but instead consumed copious amounts of water. She was quiet and thoughtful, allowing Justin to regale them both with one amusing story after another about his travels, then listened to him describing the numerous villas he has redesigned including his own. He told William that at one time fire had destroyed the entire top floor, and he had redesigned it. He ‘happened’ to have some of his designs on hand to show William, who seemed impressed, but not overly interested. Justin had already driven him around to show him various villas and gardens he had refurbished.

  Eventually William leaned across to Justin and tapped his hand. ‘No need for overkill, you’ve already got the job.’

  Justin laughed with delight. ‘I can’t stop thinking about what I’ll do.’

  ‘Just give me some plans to look over, and an estimate of what it�
�ll cost to do everything you’ve suggested.’

  Justin turned to Sylvina. ‘William has a wonderful paradise island … Well, it’s not a paradise yet but I intend to make it into one.’

  ‘For a price,’ she said softly, and caught the ice in Justin’s eyes. But then she made him smile. ‘Justin’s the best interior designer I’ve ever known. Exciting, inventive and, considering what he’s made of this villa, a genius.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He grinned like a delighted schoolboy and then gave her a small wink. ‘We’ve had long talks about you.’

  ‘Really?’ she said nonchalantly.

  On numerous occasions throughout the meal, she felt William’s eyes on her, but if she returned his gaze, he immediately looked away. Whenever possible, Sylvina took the opportunity to reappraise his looks. He had nice hands and wore an expensive slim gold Bulgari watch. On his left hand he wore a heavy signet ring on his little finger. His cufflinks, however, were multicoloured enamel; not so good.

  ‘Shall we go into the drawing room or on to the roof?’ Justin asked.

  ‘Drawing room. I seem to have been on the roof all day,’ said Sylvina, smiling. William, very much the gentleman, eased back her chair to allow her to move from the table. He stepped aside and she walked ahead of him from the room. It was sweet that he was on his best behaviour, Sylvina mused.

  As they headed for the drawing room, William disappeared to the bathroom, and Justin gripped her elbow. ‘He’s on the line, sweetheart.’

  ‘I can see that,’ she said coolly.

  He whispered, ‘Not just for me. I’ve worked him over for you too. You’re gonna do the Pygmalion on him, and for one million.’

  ‘What? Are you joking?’

  ‘No. Ssh, he’s coming back.’

  Marta had set out coffee, brandy and port, plus chilled lemonade and more iced water beside the two large white canvas sofas. Justin and Sylvina sat on one, with William opposite. William lit a cigar, took a few deep puffs and then leaned back, crossing his legs as the smoke curled above his head. Sylvina was taken aback when he announced softly, ‘One million.’ His face was impassive as he went on, ‘Would you like to tell me what you are prepared to do for that?’

  Justin answered for her. ‘I think it is right that you should know she’s a lesbian.’

  ‘My loss,’ said William, and gave a wonderfully engaging chuckle. ‘But I think I’ve had my days paying for sex. This will be purely a business deal.’

  Justin gave her a sidelong glance.

  Sylvina said, ‘But you’ll have to agree not to have any sex with another woman whilst I am with you, so there will be no hint of a scandal attached to your liaison.’

  William nodded. ‘How well known is your sexual orientation?’

  ‘What?’ She was puzzled.

  ‘I’m prepared to buy your services to re-establish myself as a respectable member of high society, but you can guarantee that after we announce our engagement, the British press will start digging up your past. If it is public knowledge that you are a lesbian, I’m back to square one.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ she snapped and, to her annoyance, felt herself blushing.

  ‘Any recent affairs?’ he asked, with a half-smile.

  ‘One, but she’s history,’ she said, glaring at Justin. ‘And it wouldn’t be in her interest to let it out. She wants to get into the movies, you see.’

  William was not entirely convinced. He had taken out a small black notebook and was flicking through the pages. Sylvina glanced at Justin, who raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Justin said you will need a dress allowance, a car, servants. These will be listed as expenses, correct?’

  ‘Yes,’ Justin said.

  ‘What figure are we talking here?’

  Sylvina shrugged and looked again to Justin.

  ‘Don’t look at me, Sylvina darling, you know what designer clothes cost. Anyway, William, it’ll be a good teaser sequence. You know, being seen together at the Paris fashion shows.’

  ‘My apartment’s leased for a year,’ Sylvina said, toying with her necklace, ‘but my château is always good for name-dropping, even if it is only occupied by cats and fieldmice. The exterior is still magnificent. We could have some wonderful publicity shots taken together there and …’ She was hardly able to take it in: he was paying her a million!

  William jotted a note and turned to the next page, which was filled with neat lists. He had spent the afternoon working out whether Justin’s proposition was viable. ‘How much would it cost to refurbish?’ he asked.

  ‘I have no idea.’ Sylvina sighed. ‘It’s in an appalling state. No one’s lived there for ten, twelve years. Roof, plumbing, electrical wiring from the thirties. It was occupied by the Germans during the war …’

  ‘I think I get the picture.’ William made some more notes and pursed his lips. ‘You know, I think it might be a possibility. My humiliation at being made such a public laughing-stock fired up an immediate need to get my own back, which I felt was rather childish. But I have now become genuinely excited by the prospect. I’ve decided to take a lengthy period away from my work. If I am going to be reintroduced to society life, I might as well enjoy it. How long do you think we’ll need?’

  Justin jumped in. ‘Oh, quite some time. Don’t forget, I’ll have my hands full redesigning the villa. That could be at least six months.’

  ‘Six months?’ she gasped.

  ‘Six months?’ William said, astonished.

  ‘Of course. I’ll have to ship in most of the fabrics and furnishings, and I’ll need time to prepare my plans.’

  Sylvina was now in tune with Justin. The longer it took, the more money they could squeeze out of him. ‘To ingratiate yourself into the top level of society takes time and patience. You’ll need to get to know an awful lot of people. I can arrange dinners and parties to introduce you, but you also need a bit of refurbishment yourself, William. To get a perfect suit made up nowadays takes six to eight weeks.’

  ‘So we’re looking at even longer than six months,’ William said, shutting his book and slipping it into his breast pocket. ‘But in the cold light of day, let’s face it, the proposition is a farce and might easily backfire. To play out such an expensive game would make me even more of a loser if it goes wrong.’

  ‘It won’t,’ Justin interjected.

  ‘I’ll make sure of it,’ Sylvina said firmly.

  William was beginning to feel in control again. Clearly Justin and Sylvina needed him – or his money. The game might work, but William’s business brain was still functioning at full speed. He would pay, but he would make sure he got his money’s worth.

  ‘Obviously the ball is firmly in your court, William, but last night when we talked you seemed so frustrated by all the crap you’d been subjected to,’ Justin said casually. ‘If you can live with it, that’s your business. I couldn’t – but, then, I’m not you.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ William said. He rose, and glanced at Sylvina for permission to help himself to a brandy. ‘This would be a totally new venture for me. Even if I win the game, it will provide me with satisfaction but no financial remuneration.’ He swirled the brandy in his glass. ‘On the other hand it might be fun.’ He smiled and leaned against the back of the sofa. ‘Fun is not something I’ve had much of. What I had previously regarded as fun now seems rather wretchedly mundane. However, it sounds as if you wish to be the “ring-master” – because you instigated the game you would automatically control the events. I can’t let that happen. It is imperative that I am in control. I must be the manipulator, as I am in my business dealings.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ Justin asked tentatively.

  ‘That I’ll play … but with ground rules that I set down. And if you do not come up to expectations, I walk away. Your pay-off will be dependent on success. In other words, I am perfectly willing to pay for the privilege of becoming …’ he chuckled ‘… your Eliza Doolittle, with a very attractive Professor Higgins.’ He beamed at Sy
lvina. His face was alert, his eyes bright. ‘So, here’s the proposition. If within eight and twelve months you can help me regain my standing in the upper echelons of UK society, you get your money.’

  He had one final query. ‘One thing I do need to know, though, and whether or not I agree to all we have just discussed will depend on your answer.’ They waited with baited breath. ‘Tell me about Andrew Maynard. You first, Sylvina.’

  She glanced at Justin, then fingered her necklace. ‘I know what happened to him, obviously. Very tragic, even more so because I had met him here, just the once, and he seemed to be a genuine and interesting young man. That’s all, really, I didn’t know him at all.’

  William turned a cool gaze to Justin, and gasped. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

  ‘What happened, Justin? I need to know.’

  Justin paused for some minutes before he spoke, his voice low. ‘I met him about two years ago. It was his first time in France and he was trying to buy some batteries for his camera, down on the quayside. His French was appalling, so I introduced myself and—’

  ‘And?’ William interjected.

  ‘We became friends. He moved in here to stay for the rest of his holiday. Then we became lovers.’ Justin closed his eyes and sighed. ‘He was obsessed with this place, with me, with France. It was like he had never enjoyed a moment of his life until then. But he was just a summer thing for me. I had no idea what I had … encouraged. I mean, I’m a free spirit, but he wanted to own me, and because he couldn’t, he got into some weird sex-trips with rent-boys. Andrew had been sexually naïve, but he made up for it and, from then on, whenever he could he came here. Sometimes I never even saw him.’

  ‘But you were the last person to see him in England the night he died.’

  ‘He was in a depressed state, and I will always feel guilty because I probably made him even more so. I suggested that perhaps I shouldn’t see him any more. I told him I couldn’t reciprocate, I didn’t want him. That evening I told him not to be foolish, he was taking too many risks, especially in his career. So I left him. The rest you know.’ William sighed and Justin added, in a soft, emotional voice, ‘I will never forgive myself. The way he has been written about is unfair, so cruel. He did not deserve it. You want to get even, William, well, maybe I do too, not for me but for Andrew.’