‘Penny for ’em,’ Matlock said now, holding out his empty glass again.
‘I was just wondering how late James was going to be.’
Matlock swung his legs off the chaise-longue. ‘I’m going to have words with that little sod. You spoil him, lazy good-for-nothing.’
‘He’s with all the youngsters at a disco,’ she said, pouring his gin, slicing lemon and scooping up the ice.
‘He’s missed out on some fantastic hours on that boat.’ Matlock had been the first up and the last to return ever since he had arrived, fishing from early morning until dusk. ‘You make sure he comes out with me tomorrow,’ he said, deep in the article about Hangerford again, hardly able to contain his delight. He checked the journalist’s name and wondered who’d leaked the scoop. It was certainly a good one. ‘I must call the office tomorrow,’ he muttered, tossing the newspaper aside. The photograph of Cedric was on the front page and he chuckled.
Something somewhere was lurking in Matlock’s brain, making dull connections, but he didn’t have the energy to gather together the train of subconscious thought and link the ‘scoop’, the ‘journalist’ and the ‘story’ that had made his career, so long ago.
As the guests on the island prepared for dinner, their offspring, apart from Max, arrived in Tortola. Justin ushered James and Clarissa ahead of him into the dark, dingy back bar of the Coca-Baba club. They were early and the place was only half full, so he suggested they sit at the bar and order some drinks. He felt irritable and tired, and when James leaned close and asked if he needed a hit, he shook his head. He watched James head for the lavatory then ordered a round of rum punches.
Clarissa slid up next to him. ‘You were so horrible to me,’ she said, pouting.
‘Was I?’ Justin turned away and lit a cigarette, as she went on to complain about the way he had treated her. It had made her feel terrible.
‘You know, sometimes, Clarissa, a man needs to shoot his load. You just struck lucky. Think nothing of it. I don’t.’
‘You hateful shit,’ she said, returning to her stool.
Justin looked around the club, which was slowly filling up with kids on vacation with their parents — the ‘Brit Pack’, as the locals nicknamed them. James returned from the toilets. He was so high he almost missed his seat and went flying into Justin. When he eventually sat down, he ordered more drinks. ‘Pity Max isn’t here,’ he said.
‘Yeah, life and soul of the party is Max,’ Justin said flatly. ‘Good-looking, and getting more so every day. His body’s filling out like his dick.’
James seethed. ‘Yeah, well, we all know where he wants to stick it.’
Justin laughed. ‘Jealous?’
‘I didn’t mean you. Max is panting after your sister.’
Justin’s jaw tightened.
James leaned closer to him. ‘I think she’s cute too. I may even try and fuck her again myself. She’s easy meat, I’d say.’
Justin hooked his foot under James’s stool and tugged hard. The stool slid sideways and James fell awkwardly to the floor, where Justin kicked him hard in the groin. ‘Never talk like that about my sister. Now get up, sit up and shut up.’
Clarissa giggled as James heaved himself to his feet and picked up the stool. She was obviously intending to get blotto before the night was over. She was going to show the repellent Justin Chalmers that he couldn’t hurt her with his snide remarks.
Laura slipped into William’s study to check that the tapes were in order. Satisfied that everything was working and ready to go, she was about to leave when she saw one of the intercom lights flashing. She crossed to it. It was the jetty phone. Then she noticed the light blink on Dahlia’s line, which made her worry. She wondered if perhaps the weather had turned bad: sometimes it was too rough to make the trip across. She pressed the speaker button, which enabled her to listen in on any call made anywhere on the island.
‘He’ll be on the first plane, so be waiting. It is imperative you say nothing, especially to Justin or Laura. Sir’s orders.’
Laura gasped. ‘Sir’ had to be William. Why was he returning before time, and why was his arrival to be kept a secret?
Max was finding it difficult to stop smiling. He was seated at his parents’ table and rose to greet them as they arrived. ‘Hi, I thought I’d sit with you this evening as everyone else on my usual table’s gone clubbing.’
‘How nice,’ his mother said, as he held out her chair.
‘You look stunning,’ he said, kissing her cheek.
‘Thank you.’ She sat with rigid shoulders. ‘Your father will join us shortly. As usual he’s taking his time dressing.’
‘Would you care for a glass of champagne?’ Max asked, and his mother nodded. He signalled to the waiter, who crossed to them and poured two glasses. Max looked around the room. ‘We’re the first down,’ he said, trying to make conversation.
‘How observant of you!’ She lifted her glass, wanting to throw its contents into his silly, boyish face. Max half rose again as the Matlocks came in.
‘Are we all dining together?’ Matlock said loudly, looking at the table set for eight.
‘I believe so,’ the Baroness said, forcing a smile, then looked at Angela, who clung to her husband’s arm. ‘You look quite lovely, Angela, adorable dress. Very flattering colour, lemon.’
‘Where’s your better half?’ asked Matlock.
‘He’ll be joining us. We’ve had some troublesome news from Berlin, and I’m afraid we’re forced to cut short the holiday. We’re leaving early in the morning.’
Max looked astonished. ‘You never told me. Does this mean I have to go with you?’
‘No, dear. You can stay on. You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am,’ he said, with relief.
Daphne Hangerford shuffled in with the Baron. She was leaning against him and clearly quite drunk. ‘Don’t get up, please.’ She plonked herself into a seat and shook out her napkin. ‘This’ll be my last night. Clarissa and I have...’ she hesitated ‘...a few problems.’
The Baroness almost gave herself whiplash she turned so quickly. ‘What did you say?’
Daphne broke open her bread roll, scattering crumbs over the table. ‘Just personal things. I have to leave.’
‘If it’s the report in The Times, we’ve all read it.’
Daphne gulped some water, but before she could reply the Baroness leaned closer. ‘We’re leaving too, we’re so bored here. We’ve got tickets booked, but we’re not broadcasting it, and if I were you, I wouldn’t say too much. Don’t want to appear ungrateful, do we?’
‘We’re missing one,’ Matlock said, nodding to the empty seat at the head of the table. ‘Ah, no, she’s here.’ He looked with admiration towards the door where Laura stood. She was wearing a white sequinned gown that floated around her like stardust, tied in a halter neck with a white satin ribbon. She crossed to her usual table and signalled to the waiter to bring iced water.
‘Won’t you join us?’ Matlock asked, leaning back in his chair.
Laura turned and smiled. ‘Thank you, but I’m rather tired and will retire shortly.’
‘Nevertheless we’d like you to at least spend a few moments with us.’ Matlock had stood up and was holding out his hand to her. She hesitated before allowing him to guide her to the empty seat next to him.
‘Thank you,’ she said coyly, smiling at everyone apart from Max, who had flushed. Matlock asked her if she would care for a glass of champagne. Just like his wife, he had eyes only for Laura.
‘No champagne, thank you.’
The lights lowered, leaving the room candlelit. The young guitarist entered and began to strum unobtrusively in the corner.