‘Did Justin use all those trees he cut down to build the bridges?’
‘No idea, darling,’ Sylvina said, flopping on to a teak sunlounger. Its cushions were hot from the sun, and she yelped.
‘You should open the parasols,’ Sharee said, and started towards the curved narrow staircase that ran round the outside of the house like a spiral of small white marble pillars. ‘I’m going for a swim,’ she said, and Sylvina watched her climb upwards to the rooftop pool.
‘I love you,’ she called out.
‘I should hope you do,’ came back the reply.
Dinner was to take place in a vast room with floor-to-ceiling windows draped in white muslin, lit by hundreds of candles. The huge table had a gold swan as a base, its wings balancing a slab of green-tinted glass. A vase of wild flowers, ferns and lilies sat on a large side table giving off a sweet and heady perfume. Sylvina, wearing a white robe, moved around the table placing name-cards in gold butterflies. Satisfied that the table was perfect, she moved to the ornate stone hearth and lit the fire. She would have to turn up the air-conditioning because it was a very warm night, but the fire was such a focal point that it was a shame not to light it.
It was a stunningly beautiful room, every item chosen with great care. The heavy oak floor had been shipped in from England. It had once been in a castle but now looked as if it had always belonged here. The carved oak doors had been brought from a temple in Indonesia. Content, Sylvina walked upstairs to find Sharee.
She found her soaking in the bath, bubbles up to her chin, a towel wrapped around her hair and wearing an eye-mask. ‘You should get out, sweetheart — you’ll be wrinkled like a prune if you stay in any longer.’ Sylvina sat on the edge of the bath. ‘I called Justin again,’ she said.
‘And?’
‘He wasn’t there, and nobody seems to know where he is. But I have a feeling he might turn up, the way he does!’
‘Will she be with him?’ Sharee tossed the towel from her hair, and sat up in the bath.
‘How should I know?’ Sylvina snapped.
‘Don’t get ratty, I was only asking. She’s so difficult. I mean, I can take him on his own but when they’re together it’s just awful. They’re like...’ She frowned, pursing her lips in an attempt to find the right description, but none came. And, anyway, Sylvina had walked out.
Alone in her room, Sylvina chose a cerise Valentino tunic, tight-fitting with a split to her thigh and a mandarin collar. Her high-heeled sandals, which made her almost six feet tall, had been dyed to match. She coiled her hair into a pleat and placed a fresh freesia on either side of her head. Lastly she clipped on a pair of sparkling diamond drop earrings that had belonged to her grandmother.
Sharee came in wearing an ice blue, figure-hugging dress with T-bone straps.
‘You look cute,’ said Sylvina. ‘Are you going to put on some make-up?’
‘No. If I look and feel terrible, maybe I won’t eat.’
Sylvina laughed and wrapped her arms around Sharee. ‘I love you the way you are. I wouldn’t want you to lose an ounce.’
‘I look like shit.’
‘You don’t, honestly.’
‘Yes, I do. I wish you’d help me buy some decent things,’ Sharee muttered, checking her appearance in a long carved wooden mirror.
‘When I have the funds, darling, you’ll have whatever you want.’
‘Yes, I know. But in the meantime you look a million dollars and I look like some cheap hooker.’
Sylvina closed the wardrobe then bent to pick up the various shoes and sandals lying about on the floor. ‘God, you’re so untidy. Don’t you ever put things away?’
In fury, Sharee bent down and started gathering up shoes. When she had an armful she went on to the balcony and threw them over the rail. ‘Happy now?’ She turned, but Sylvina had left the room and Sharee felt foolish. She followed Sylvina out to the patio.
Sylvina passed her a glass of champagne. Sharee’s mood was beginning to irritate her. There wasn’t anyone special arriving, thank goodness, because actually Sharee did look cheap. Sylvina checked her watch: the guests were due in under an hour. She always liked to be ready in good time, and went in search of the housekeeper, Marta, to check that all was as it should be. Marta, who lived at the villa full-time, had hired two local boys as waiters. The chef was tutting round the various tureens and dishes laid out on the large wooden kitchen table. When she was satisfied that everything was on schedule Sylvina had a quiet word with Marta about Sharee’s shoes, then returned to the patio.
The grounds were floodlit, spotlights carefully placed round the fountain to make the spray look like shooting stars.
‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ Sharee was happier now, reclining on the chaise, sipping champagne. She asked again who they were expecting, even though Sylvina had told her numerous times.
‘Baron and Baroness von Garten, Meryl Delaware, Count Frederick Capri and his guest Princess Constantina with her guest the actor Terence Hampton, and the unknown Sir William Benedict.’ Sylvina was a regular in the cheap French and English gossip magazines. She no longer even bothered to read them. However, now that she was broke, she tried to maintain some exposure so that the invitations kept pouring in. It was only at social functions that she was offered these house-sitting jobs. Sylvina’s relationship with Sharee was not public knowledge and she was keen to keep her sexual proclivities quiet. Luckily, so was Sharee, who entertained hopes of becoming an actress and knew how things like that could damage your chances — unless of course you were famous enough for it not to matter.
William sat back in the hired Mercedes. Mercifully the driver had not spoken a word since he had opened the door for him to get in. He looked down at his linen suit and wondered whether it was the right thing to have worn — linen creased so badly. He switched on the lights to examine his trousers, then worried that his shirt was too formal for the suit. By the time the car pulled up outside the gates he was sweating with nerves. He felt hot, badly dressed and wished he had not pushed himself on Countess Lubrinsky. And what if they didn’t speak English? But of course she did — he had spoken to her on the telephone. Should he have brought champagne or flowers? It was too late to do anything about that now. He’d have Michael send an arrangement the following day.
‘Magnifique,’ said the driver.
William leaned forward and looked out at the gardens. What a beautiful place! From the road there had been no indication of what lay hidden behind the trees. A crescent of vehicles was parked in the wide horseshoe drive to the right of the villa’s front door, two Rolls Royces, a Porsche and a Citroën. The driver parked the Mercedes beside the Citroën, stepped out and opened William’s door. He stood to one side deferentially as William gave a nod of thanks, and made his way to the porch. Flowers in large white tubs were placed either side of the white steps, and the pillars were draped with pink blossom. William was about to ring the bell when the door opened and Marta, in a black dress and white apron, stood before him, smiling. ‘Good evening,’ she said. ‘Please do come in.’
William walked past her into the hall as she closed the door quietly behind him.
‘Who may I say it is, please?’ Marta asked sweetly.
‘Sir William Benedict,’ he said gruffly.
She handed him a glass of champagne from a tray held by a young waiter, then ushered him into the drawing room where the smell of perfume mingled with lilies, Havana cigars and incense which made his head spin. Immediately he wished the ground would open and swallow him. The male guests were all wearing black or white tuxedos and the women, as far as he could see, long evening dresses.
‘Sir William Benedict,’ Marta announced.