Dear William
I have no ambition left, just heartbreak and terrible longing.
I am sorry,
William delved around in his desk and withdrew more letters. In one, written to him on thin airmail paper, Andrew had signed off ‘Longing to return to work’. It was the word ‘longing’ that did not match the suicide note. The letter ‘L’ was looped on the note but Maynard’s Ls were straighter. He chewed his lip.
The office door banged open and Justin appeared. ‘Right, we’re all set. We leave early in the morning, first flight out.’
William looked up, covering his papers.
‘Did you hear what I just said?’
‘Yes, yes, just clearing my desk, join you in a moment.’
Justin closed the door and William sat for a few moments longer. He knew that Justin had been the main beneficiary in Andrew’s will, but that had been a mere few thousand. What was he thinking of? He gathered up his papers, replaced them in the drawer and joined Justin in the drawing room.
Chapter fourteen
William was holding his ‘script’, making final notes as Justin joined him after his morning swim.
‘Morning,’ Justin said cheerily.
‘Morning. I’ve been rethinking a few moves.’
Justin held out his hand for the thick pile of carefully typed notes.
‘Can’t afford any mistakes,’ William said. ‘We’ve only got two more days. So let’s start from the top. I don’t think I should be on the jetty to greet everyone.’
Justin raised an eyebrow. ‘Why not?’
‘Angela might just freak; who knows how she’s going to feel at seeing me again? She might persuade Matlock to do a U-turn off the island.’ Justin nodded. ‘So, you make up some excuse, say I’ve been delayed. It’ll be more dramatic and I’ll make a good entrance after they get nice and relaxed... What do you think?’
Justin nodded. It irritated him that William was making this last-minute adjustment but he had to admit it made sense. ‘Anything else?’
‘Yes.’ There was a heavy pause. ‘Partly to protect myself...’ William began and paused. ‘When things get under way, perhaps I should find some excuse to leave the island. This will obviously protect me from any repercussions, should there be any.’
Justin couldn’t have asked for an easier way to make sure William was out of the way when the game commenced. Nevertheless, he sighed and studied William with a concerned look. ‘I don’t know about that. It sounds as if you’re backing out.’
‘Think about it, Justin. I get called away — we’ll make up some emergency. I travel to London for a few days and what goes on here has nothing to do with me because I wasn’t here. And it’ll leave Laura alone. It’s a far better idea than me staying.’
‘You’re right,’ Justin said. ‘You’re a wily old codger, aren’t you?’
William shrugged. His plan meant that whatever Justin and Laura got up to his hands would be clean. He hadn’t liked the ruse about the Prime Minister being a guest and was worried it might cause problems.
‘But you’ll be here for their arrival. You don’t want to miss that, do you?’ Justin asked.
‘’Course not. I’ll hide in one of the beach houses and make a grand entrance. In fact, you could say I got called away again to check on security for the rest of the guests.’
‘My, my, you’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?’ Justin said, with a grin.
William was thoroughly enjoying himself. He loved the script sessions, which invariably involved discussions with the staff, who had been briefed one by one: Dahlia would co-ordinate the ‘girls’ who, on the surface, were attentive servants, their other attributes to be offered quietly at the right moment. The handsome Kurt had been primed to prepare workouts and ‘special extras’. The massage rooms, sauna, steam room and the gym were all filmed continuously, as was every other area of the island. Every sexual predilection could be catered for and recorded.
Opening night was near, the cast waiting in the wings, but the man still nominally deemed the ring-master remained supremely unaware that Justin was pulling the strings. It was obvious to all except himself that William Benedict was dancing to Justin’s tune. Nevertheless, all the staff were instructed to maintain the pretence that William ran the island, and due to his rearranging sections of the plans, there was no reason for him to believe otherwise.
Justin lowered the binoculars. He was standing precariously close to the cliff edge he had nicknamed Suicide Point because of the sheer drop down to the rocks below. He could hear the plane but it was hidden by clouds. He looked down, without trepidation, at the swirling, foaming water below, battering against the lethal, jagged rocks.
‘Here we go,’ he said. ‘William, time for you to hide.’
William’s stomach churned. So many months and all this preparation. He crossed his fingers. ‘Good luck,’ he said.
‘You know the agenda, William. Wait till the coast is clear, then into the seaplane. A launch is waiting for you just beyond the two rocks.’
‘Roger and out,’ said William, saluting.
Through the clouds, the seaplane suddenly emerged, much lower. ‘I’ll wireless you when we need the love scene!’ Justin yelled after William, who laughed as he headed for his prepared hiding place.
Justin trained his binoculars on the seaplane. It dropped lower and lower, and then, like an osprey, hovered before swooping down to the waves. It made a smooth landing on the water, then motored slowly towards the jetty. Justin made his way down there, training the binoculars on the disembarking passengers. Baron and Baroness von Garten were already on the quayside, looking around with astonishment. Even with their nonchalant disregard for the trappings of vast wealth, they were unable to hide their surprise. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,’ murmured Justin.
He looked down at his list and ticked them off in the column headed ‘Arrivals’.
Klaus von Garten was six feet tall, wearing white shorts and leather thonged sandals, his Gucci shades pushed back on his forehead. His statuesque wife Christina stood beside him. At forty-four, she was still the envy of many women: the surgery to her face and neck had ensured she was unblemished by age, and enhanced her Germanic high cheekbones and full lips. She was beautiful, intelligent, bilingual and had great social graces. She oozed class.
Next to alight from the plane was a rather handsome boy of about eighteen, whom Justin recognized as the Baron’s son, Max. He had a lovely, rangy adolescent body with long, slender arms and legs and strawberry-blond silky hair. Behind him came another boy. Justin double-checked with the profile in his folder: James Matlock. Smaller in stature than Max and already tanned a deep golden brown, Justin could tell that, although James was around the same age as Max, he was far more worldly. He was athletic, with strong muscular legs, a tight torso, and even his worn shorts and T-shirt had a groovy ‘I’m cool’ look, unlike the beige chinos and white shirt worn by Max. Justin knew he would enjoy breaking them in.
Next came Cedric, Lord Hangerford, fat, puce and sweating, just as William had described him. He was followed by his fatter wife, Daphne, and their daughter Clarissa. Then came another woman, mousy, plump and nondescript. Her face was pleasant enough and she obviously took care of herself: her pale skin was barely wrinkled, even though she was in her late forties if not early fifties. Her blonde hair, probably natural, was cut into a simple style, neither elegant nor flattering. So this was William’s ex-girlfriend, the ‘pretty, sweet’ Angela, Matlock’s wife.