The nightmare began again. William’s home was surrounded by pressmen. He couldn’t move outside without cameras flashing and microphones being thrust under his nose. The press regurgitated all his past indiscretions with hookers, and his ex-wives’ quotes were rehashed. The onslaught was relentless. This time Michael was impressed by the way William handled it all. He remained composed and quiet. His demeanour when he left the house was sad, resigned, and that belied his abject humiliation. Eventually he decided to give a press conference. The battery of cameras and television crews with reporters fighting for front-row positions was sickening, all for some ridiculous article that might titillate a few readers.
Fortified by a few glasses of wine, William walked out to face the baying mob. He read a short statement he had written himself, and felt his anguish rising. Eventually he broke down. The flashbulbs popped. On returning to his house, he felt that the press conference had been the straw to break his back. He was appalled that he had lacked such self-control, and refused to watch any newsreels or read another paper. Now he was seriously contemplating ending it all.
Then everything changed. The fickle world turns on a fivepenny piece. The press began to depict him as a wronged lover and the public loved it.
Michael hired a PR agent, who played heavily on William’s shock and trauma at the revelations. William was amazed by an avalanche of sympathy letters and articles. He was now seen as a man seduced by a gold-digger who had betrayed him. The débâcle went on long enough for William to be sickened at first then amused that without making any effort himself he had come out smelling of roses.
Sylvina and Sharee had unwittingly given William a new public image, and to Justin, this turn of events was a gift from heaven. He had dropped the scoop to Meryl to spite William for dropping the plan. But the miraculous turnaround also meant that William’s putative guests would be sure to accept an invitation from such a popular media star. He called William to talk him into leaving London to visit the almost completed paradise island.
‘I can’t right now, Justin,’ said William, tired from all the interviews and phone calls.
‘Right now is the perfect time. William, are you there?’ There was a pause. ‘I want you to think about our plan,’ Justin began.
‘At the moment I can’t think about anything.’
‘But you have to.’
‘Justin, I can’t talk now. Call me later.’ He hung up.
At the other end of the line Justin’s face twisted into a paroxysm of fury. Then, in a fit of rage, he smashed the receiver to pieces against the wall. He berated himself for acting too rashly.
He had been sure that the exposé would make William even more eager for revenge, but it seemed to have had the reverse effect. ‘Will this idiot never come to his senses?’ Justin muttered to himself. Gradually he calmed himself. It was just a setback. He’d leave it a day or so then call again. The fish was still on the line, he assured himself, just wriggling dangerously. Justin would land his quarry, even if it meant drawing him out to the island and slitting his throat himself.
Chapter eight
A few days later Justin called William again.
William was surprised to feel genuinely pleased to hear from him, but with the Sharee story, he was desperate to get out of London. He couldn’t face going to work. ‘I’ll get the next flight out,’ he said.
‘What?’ Justin asked loudly.
‘I said I’ll be flying out as soon as I can.’
‘Oh, fantastic. By the way, I’ve ordered four jet-skis, and I told you about the speedboat, didn’t I? Expensive, but out here it’ll be an eye-popper. Hopefully it’s arriving today. Let me know what time your flight gets in, and I’ll have a boat fixed up to collect you, if yours hasn’t been delivered. Hello? Are you still there?’
‘I’ll have Michael call you, Justin.’ William hung up and pressed the intercom. ‘Michael, arrange a flight for me, would you? I want to leave as soon as possible.’
‘Where to, sir?’ came Michael’s clipped tones.
‘The island. So get Mrs Thingy to pack enough suitable clothes for a fortnight.’
‘You have board meetings the day after tomorrow.’
‘Cancel them.’
Michael accompanied William to the airport, ostensibly to take notes and instructions, but his boss seemed distracted.
‘The new mechanical toys are ready for you to test, sir. Do you want me to send them out to you on the island?’
‘What toys?’ William asked.
‘The fox and hens, remember?’
‘Oh yes, yes, just go ahead.’
‘What about the patent?’ Michael asked, aware that they had been copied from some William had bought in Paris.
‘Well, I reckon we can get away with it. I’m sure I remember seeing some designs for a similar toy done by one of my boffins years ago. If they do decide to take on the Benedict Corporation, which I’m sure they won’t, we’ll be able to pass it off as ours anyway. In fact, Michael, get my lawyers to look into the company that made that cat-and-mouse thing and root out our old files. Maybe we can sue them!’ With that, they arrived at the airport.
The speedboat’s engine was cut and it cruised into the small, immaculate dock. It was late afternoon and still blisteringly hot, but a sea breeze kept the air fresh. Justin, deeply tanned, was wearing cut-off blue jeans, a white T-shirt with torn seams and a faded pair of flip-flops. His gold Rolex wristwatch glistened in the sun, and a pair of black Armani shades hung from the neck of his T-shirt. A boy in white shorts and dirty sneakers was at the controls. He jumped deftly out of the boat on to the quay, and Justin hurled him a coiled rope, which he tied around a wooden post.
William was sitting in the small harbour café with a whisky and soda. He had landed in Miami, then booked the Cherokee two-seater to taxi him to Tortola, the adjacent island; his own had no airstrip. Another seaplane landed at the same time, and William was irritated to see Count Frederick Capri, whom he recognized from Justin’s villa in France, greet the disembarking passengers.
His mood darkened as he watched the lithe, handsome Justin strolling towards him. He seemed to know everyone who passed, waving and laughing, speaking fluent French one moment, Spanish the next. William sipped his drink and squinted into the sun as Justin made his way towards the café veranda and leaned against the railing. ‘You made it,’ he said, smiling, his white teeth dazzling against his dark skin.
His hair had grown quite long since William last saw him and he wore it combed back from his high forehead. It was bleached almost white.
‘The boy’ll get your cases,’ Justin added, slipping on his shades and checking his watch. ‘We shouldn’t leave it too long, there’s a bit of wind and it might get choppy. Besides, I want you to see the island in the best possible light — when the sun is just slipping down.’
They walked to the quay, got into the boat and surged off. William pressed his back into the leather seat. Justin sat next to him, tilting his face to catch the last rays of sun. ‘So the Countess buggered off,’ he said.
William shrugged. He could smell Justin’s sun-oil, and glanced at the small diamond ring he wore on his little finger.
Justin hooked his arm around William’s shoulder. ‘This is nerve-racking for me. It’s been almost eighteen months, did you know that?’
‘Time passes quickly,’ William said, uneasy with the man’s closeness.
‘I have created a paradise,’ Justin said, tightening his arm. ‘Sometimes it was hard for me to remember that I was creating a place for you, not me. I’ve grown to love this island with a passion.’