Michael shook his head in disgust, and replaced the invitation. ‘So you won’t be going, sir?’
‘You accept, Michael, and send a bouquet of flowers to his wife. Then, nearer the date, you can telephone and say I have been unavoidably detained.’
Michael gave a quizzical look, but noted down his latest instructions. They were getting more bizarre every week — and he had detected a frosty atmosphere between Sir William and his countess.
Sylvina was looking ravishing, and William thanked her for the scrapbook of press-cuttings she had sent him.
‘It was really just to make a point,’ she said. ‘All that coverage was hard work, and sometimes I thought you didn’t know how much time it took.’
William smiled and passed her a white envelope. ‘You’ll find a cheque inside, certified, of course, plus a list of the extra expenses that I did not agree to pay. I have deducted them from the fee we agreed.’
Sylvina gasped. Three hundred thousand pounds had been deducted from the million-pound payment. Even the solitaire diamond engagement ring had been charged to her. He had a funny crooked smile on his face.
‘You fat bastard!’ she snarled.
‘Maybe I’m fat but I’m not stupid. Not stupid enough for you to rip me off anyway.’
After Sylvina left, still cursing, she phoned Justin and at last managed to speak to him.
‘Hi, gorgeous, how’s things?’ he drawled.
‘My cheque was short. The mean bastard deducted three hundred thousand grand.’
‘He’s got some sense, then?’ He laughed.
‘Soon you might be laughing on the other side of your face too,’ she said angrily.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Exactly what I said. He’s back doing business again like a demented kid. Every time I got him invitations from those wretched names on his pitiful list, he did nothing about it.’
‘Did you get to Matlock?’ Justin asked sharply.
‘Yes. He’s going to some function at the man’s home. That’s why I’m out of here.’
‘You’re leaving London?’
‘I’m on my way to the airport right now.’
‘He’s going to Matlock’s?’
‘I just told you so. He’s got the invitation, squeezed out of Matlock’s prune-faced wife. What a dull woman she is.’
‘Shit,’ Justin hissed. Sylvina laughed. ‘Goodbye,’ she said, as she switched off her phone. She leaned back smiling. She had just made herself a tidy sum and could look forward to enjoying herself. She certainly had the wardrobe for it, and all the press she had engineered for William had benefited her too. Life was good.
Meanwhile, far from feeling relief at Sylvina’s departure, William felt seedy and foolish, and more so when he considered that he had instigated the madness of the past year. But for what? He thought of other men who had been publicly vilified by the press: Profumo, Lambton, Archer and, of course, Aitken, now released from his prison sentence. Admittedly, the scandals in which they had been involved were more sensitive than his. In fact, he hadn’t even been involved in a scandal. He was innocent, but he wondered if those others felt as he did. Had they at some time wanted revenge for the way they had been treated, or had they simply accepted it and got on with their lives? The public hounding as journalists dug into their families’ lives must have hurt each of them, just as it had hurt him.
William looked at the array of invitations to high-society functions that had come in daily while Sylvina was at his side. How ridiculous to have coveted such meaningless things. He knew that if he continued to lavish money on certain charities he would remain on their lengthy, highbrow guest-lists, but he no longer cared. Maybe that was what he had learned from Sylvina: all it took to penetrate the higher echelons was money and ‘face’. He had been a self-made mega-rich tycoon with one fatal flaw: his need for social acceptability. Now at last he realized how hollow that had been. How could he find a real purpose in life?
William, too, placed a call to Justin. He asked, uninterestedly, how the work was coming along. Justin assured him that everything was going according to plan, that the game would soon be ready to begin. William told him quietly that the game was off. It was pointless. Sylvina had gone, and as soon as Justin was finished with the refurbishments he was to go, too. Justin flew into a rage, but knew better than to show it. When William hung up Justin let out a furious scream.
‘I’m off home now, sir,’ Michael said, popping his head round William’s study door.
‘Goodbye.’ His employer’s voice sounded empty.
Michael stepped into the room. ‘Everything all right, sir?’ he asked, with some concern.
‘Yes, everything’s fine. Goodnight.’
‘Will the Countess be coming back?’
‘No, she won’t. She’s gone.’
William gave a small, sad smile. ‘Not much luck with the ladies. See you in the morning.’
Michael closed the door quietly. He could think of nothing to say.
If he had seen William opening his locked desk drawer and taking out a Luger pistol, he would have been more than concerned. William placed it on his leatherbound blotter and stared at it. The awful loneliness had something to do with Sylvina’s departure but more to do with him. He contemplated ending it all. All he had to do was pull the trigger. But that was easier said than done. The pistol had belonged to his father. It had not been used for thirty years, and the firing pin was bent out of shape. He held it to his head as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, and remembered the discovery of Andrew Maynard’s body. Had he really died of heartbreak... or through fear of his private life being exposed? Suddenly William focused on Humphrey Matlock’s invitation. He lowered his useless pistol and tossed it back into the drawer. A spark of anger ignited amid his spiralling depression. ‘I want to get that bastard,’ he muttered.
William decided then that, after all, he was going to fight back because he was an innocent man. He had not stolen, lied or destroyed anyone in his climb to success yet he had been vilified. He was still wary of Justin’s plan, but the dream of revenge on Matlock had pulled him away from the edge.
In the middle of the night, an enraged Justin placed a call to Meryl Delaware. She was about to launch an angry tirade at him for waking her at such an hour but he didn’t let her get a word in. Speaking in a low, urgent voice, he gave her a front-page scoop. It concerned a young actress called Sharee, and her relationship with Countess Sylvina Lubrinsky, Sir William Benedict’s future wife.
Two days later, as William was sitting down to breakfast, he was surprised to hear Michael arrive and tap on the door. ‘I’m sorry, sir but I couldn’t have blanked it. It came right out of left field.’
William looked up expectantly. ‘Blanked what?’
In an exclusive that seemed exclusive to every tabloid paper in Europe, Sharee had disclosed her sexual relationship with William’s fiancée. The headlines were beyond belief — ‘Britain’s Bad Boy Falls Prey to Sex Goddess’ — but the articles were explicit, and accompanied by photographs of Sharee either in a sexy pose, pouting, tits to the fore, or as an angelic baby ‘used and abused by lesbian temptress’.