‘I was invited to his son’s wedding,’ Sylvina said.
‘Oh, were you?’ Sharee laughed.
Sylvina became increasingly angry. ‘Yes, I was, and the Eurotrash you have met are about the only people I could introduce you to as, quite honestly, you and your appearance leave a lot to be desired. Looking like a shop assistant is not exactly—’
Sharee hit her so hard she fell off the sunbed. ‘This shop assistant, you bull-dyke, hates your fucking guts, and unless you apologize I’m walking right out of this fucking Mickey Mouse villa.’
Sylvina lay stunned on the marble tiles as Sharee got up and stood over her. ‘Apologize or I’ll kick you.’ She glared down at Sylvina.
‘Go on. Kick me.’
‘You’re sick, you know that? Sick, perverted and old.’ Sharee bent down and began to drag Sylvina by her leg towards the pool. Sylvina struggled and wriggled as the skin on her thigh was scraped raw.
‘Is this a private party or can anyone join in?’ Standing in the doorway, Justin laughed.
‘Fuck off,’ screamed Sharee.
Justin watched as both women fell into the pool and continued the fight in the water. Eventually they bobbed up, gasping, spluttering and exhausted.
‘Are you going to...’ Sharee puffed ‘...apologize for calling me a shop assistant?’
‘No,’ Sylvina spat. Sharee hauled herself out of the water, her bikini hanging off.
‘You are not a shop assistant, you are the woman I love more than anyone else in the world.’ Sylvina held out her hand and Sharee took it, helping her out of the pool. They embraced passionately as Justin watched. Sylvina’s soaked robe was torn and he could see her body shape through the thin cotton. Suddenly Sharee ripped it away, dropped to her knees and eased Sylvina’s thighs open and began to part her glistening pubic hair with her tongue. Sylvina gasped. The next moment, Justin had cupped her breasts in his hands and she moaned as he thrust into her from behind, guided by Sharee. They were both intent on Sylvina, thrusting into her and caressing her until she climaxed with such a howl of pleasure it disturbed a flock of white doves, which fluttered up over their heads.
Justin pulled back and zipped up his trousers. ‘Well, that was most pleasant and so unexpected,’ he said, as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘I’ll not be in for lunch. Back around four.’ He moved towards the door.
‘Justin!’ Sylvina called, wrapping a towel around herself.
‘Talk later,’ he said, without turning. ‘William will be here for dinner.’ He paused. ‘I’d say he’ll be hard to move out if you put on a display like that, girls, but please have a little more decorum. Make him wait... at least a couple of days.’
‘You mean he’s staying?’ Sylvina asked.
‘Yes — and he jumped at the invitation. We’re to discuss our proposition with him,’ he said, and disappeared from view. Moments later he called Sylvina’s name. She stood up and followed him into the house, leaving Sharee now collapsed on a sun-lounger. ‘One little thing my love. Get rid of the shop assistant. She really does let you down. Make some excuse. I would prefer it if she wasn’t here when I got back.’
‘But, Justin, she thinks she’s here for the summer.’
He sighed with irritation. ‘Tough.’
‘What about your other guest? How do you think she’s going to cope?’
He checked his appearance in the mirror, then his eyes strayed to hers, cold, expressionless. ‘She will be part of it. As I said, sweetie, I have been planning this for months.’
‘But you didn’t even know he was coming here,’ she said.
Justin gave one of his sly crooked smiles. ‘Didn’t I? Well, let’s just say it’s all worked out perfectly, or I’m just lucky.’ Sylvina flinched as he twisted the skin on her forearm until it hurt. ‘So get rid of the slag.’
Sylvina stepped back. ‘I’ll think of something,’ was all she said, and he brushed past her before she could add anything else.
Sylvina showered and changed. She went into Justin’s bedroom. It was tidy, apart from a stack of magazines strewn over the bed. She picked up an old issue of Vogue, and turned to where a yellow sticker protruded. It was in the property section, where she found, ringed in red felt-tip pen, an advertisement for an island in the Caribbean, for sale, price on request. She looked over numerous other articles, all referring to William Benedict’s purchase for eight million of a paradise island. Sir William was quoted as saying he intended to refurbish the island, and there were lists of the designers he had approached. She laughed softly. Perhaps Justin was not as crazy as she had thought. It was obvious now what his intentions were. He wanted the job. And maybe, just maybe, he was going to use her to persuade William to give it to him, for a fee. Well, she’d do whatever she needed to — like Justin, she could smell money dripping from the glossy pages he’d underlined and flagged.
By the time she returned to the pool, Sharee was lying topless, smothered in oil, her big breasts flopping wide across her chest. Her tiny bikini briefs were still untied and she looked, as Justin had said, like a slag.
‘You want to go down to the beach for some lunch?’
Sharee wafted her hand. ‘Nah, I’m knackered. Let’s stay here and flop around.’
‘I’m going. Come on, take a shower. Make yourself look good.’
‘I don’t feel like it.’
‘Terence Hampton just called, he’s getting a party going. The producer of Babylon Baby will be there, with a whole bunch of actors. They’re looking for locations.’
Sharee sat up and stretched. ‘In that case...’ She laughed ‘...will you gimme one of those tiger-motif sarongs to wear and those big mules with the white tie strap?’
‘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.