The Baron strolled over to join them. ‘Boat coming in,’ he said.
William stepped out of the cabin and looked up at the island. Dahlia was on the quay waiting, her hand held out to guide him down the ramp. They saw him kiss her cheeks.
‘Oh, my God! Is that his latest? His housekeeper!’ the Baroness said sarcastically, then leaned forward.
Angela shrivelled into her cross stitch. With every fibre of her body she wanted to see him, but she refused to look.
Matlock woke with a start when he heard the powerful engines of the boat at the dock. He was sweating like a pig and had spent too much time in the sun. He swore, wrapped a towel around himself and stood up in time to see William step into the waiting buggy and head for the house. He sat like a king, tanned and relaxed, smiling: a happy man.
In the control room, Justin was applauding. ‘Bloody Oscar-winning stuff,’ he said, into the mike. ‘I’ll see you after dinner. Just do as instructed, then meet up at the westerly cove. Now I’ve got to set some tapes recording...’
‘My God, he looks like something out of a movie. How many servants has the man got, for heaven’s sake?’ asked the Baron, downing the rest of his champagne. ‘Certainly splashing his money around, as if he was printing it himself.’
They all laughed. Within moments, they were joined by Cedric Hangerford, who’d been monitoring William’s arrival from his own veranda. ‘Typical of that jumped-up parvenu,’ said Cedric.
At that moment, Humphrey Matlock appeared. ‘I see our host has arrived. Rather like Anthony Steele in one of those sixties movies.’ He laughed.
Angela couldn’t help thinking that William looked rather good. Then she remembered how much he had hurt her, ignored her, treated her like a nobody. Seeing him again had unsettled her. She reached out and patted her husband’s arm. ‘You look very hot, darling,’ she said.
‘A few lengths will cool me down,’ he replied, turned and drived into the pool with a tremendous splash.
Angela watched her husband swimming up and down and recalled her first meeting with him. At first she’d found him loud-mouthed and frightening, but she’d soon discovered his deep-seated insecurities. It was a touching evening when he told her that he longed to better himself. He knew he was going to be successful and he wanted, or needed, someone like her to smooth off his rough edges. ‘Excuse me,’ he had said, ‘if I’m a bit unrefined. I don’t have your high-society connections.’
She’d laughed and told him the truth: her family was middle class with social aspirations. They’d saved every penny they had to send her to Roedean, so that she would meet all the right ‘gels’. But despite that, Angela was still a greengrocer’s daughter. Her elongated vowels and Sloane style were cultivated. She’d told him how frightened she was of love. She said she had been in love before, but she’d been hurt. Twice. Later that evening Humphrey told her all about his childhood, told her things he had never mentioned to another living soul. It was as if they had found sanctuary with each other. Six months later they married.
In many ways, Matlock was like William. He had the same insecurities and the same need to be educated in the social graces. But, unlike William, Matlock had married Angela. Perhaps deep down, though, Angela always knew that for her Humphrey Matlock was second best. As the years progressed, she learned to put up with his moods, his aggression and his terrifying temper. He grew more and more successful and Angela felt the need to hide herself in his shadow. She knew about his mistresses, nothing ever escaped her, but she felt this was a cross she had to bear. She doted on her son, but at times she couldn’t help seeing he was a mirror image of his father.
Sinking deep into depression, Angela’s hatred of William resurfaced. She was a woman who appeared to have everything, but in truth had nothing. She had a wretched, loveless marriage, for which she blamed William. He had taken her youth and love, and had humiliated her twice. She had waited many years to repay him. She had badly wanted to hurt him and she had used her husband to do so. It was reading about Andrew Maynard’s death that had set it off. She urged her husband to dig deep, to ruin William, even hurt him through his own family. When he questioned her obsession, she murmured only that he owed her: she had turned a blind eye to his own philandering. Matlock had laughed and then, of course, had obliged.
Chapter fifteen
The next day dawned with a cloudless azure sky and just enough breeze to blow away the humidity. The guests explored the island, swam, rode the jet-skis, played tennis, worked out in the gym. Now they gathered on the veranda overlooking the jetty for tea. Plates of sandwiches, pastries, muffins and fruit were placed in the shaded buffet area, with every conceivable variety of tea: Assam, Formosa Oolong, Orange Pekoe, Earl Grey, and herbal. They chattered excitedly, sharing their day’s discoveries, all relaxed and enjoying the food. They turned as a powerful speedboat appeared on the horizon, heading for the island’s jetty, the boys running hot-foot to welcome the new arrival.
The guests shaded their eyes against the sun to stare.
‘Here comes someone else,’ Cedric Hangerford stated unnecessarily, as the boat’s engines were cut. To Matlock’s disappointment, only one figure could be seen, and it was that of a woman.
Laura remained in the stern of the boat, her eyes shaded by dark glasses, an ice blue chiffon scarf draped around her head, matching her Chanel shift. The staff hurried to remove her Louis Vuitton suitcases, but she remained a serene figure. Extending one slender hand to a waiting boy, she stepped from the boat in a fluid movement, like a dancer. As if in slow motion, she unravelled her trailing scarf and her white-blonde hair swirled around her shoulders as perfectly as if she had been in a shampoo advertisement. Laura was not tanned: her skin was translucent, pale, like that of some exotic ice maiden.
Max let out a long sigh of admiration. ‘My God, she’s so beautiful... like a mirage.’
The Baroness gasped and turned to her husband. ‘Isn’t that... it is, isn’t it?’
‘What?’ said the Baron, buttering a scone.
‘Laura. It’s Laura Chalmers.’
The Baron looked up, butter trickling down his chin.
‘Justin’s sister, remember? We met her once at Grimaud.’
‘Ghastly temper,’ the Baron said, holding his empty teacup for Kiki to refill. ‘You remember Christa, that evening when she appeared like a Hollywood Oscar in that gold lamé dress?’
‘There’s Benedict again,’ shouted Hangerford, grabbing the binoculars.
William was walking casually down the jetty, and they saw the beautiful woman turn, and then, to their astonishment, fall into his embrace. To even further amazement, they watched the couple kiss.
‘Bloody hell, she’s young enough to be his daughter,’ spluttered Hangerford. ‘The dirty old sod. After all that scandal, I think I’d have shot myself if I was him. But look at him!’
They all expected Laura and William to join them for tea, but by five thirty, they had not made an appearance, so they drifted off to their various suites to digest the day and rest before dinner.
Dinner was well attended that night. The Baron and Baroness were seated at a table for four with Cedric and Daphne Hangerford. The Matlocks were at an adjoining table with their son James. Max and Clarissa sat at a table by the open balcony doors. The main dining table, which could seat twenty, remained empty, save for two Mexican silver candlesticks that stood in the centre. A mellow light threw shadows around the wall, enhancing the oil paintings and tapestries and making the suit of armour shimmer. The room could just as easily have been in England, Austria or Russia; the ambience was theatrical.