‘But they know who I am. It would be hell.’ William stood watching Justin wafting blue and pink dyed ostrich plumes, ready to pin them to the turban.
‘Far too unacceptable for their sort,’ Justin lisped, as he pranced in front of a long mirror. ‘We could have some fun together.’ He wafted the plume at William. ‘Come as my secret partner. Everyone wears masks. Nobody need know who you are.’
William leaped back. ‘No bloody way! You’re not getting me done up like one of those boys.’
Justin gave a lascivious grin. ‘I doubt, William dearest, that anyone could mistake you for one of my little friends.’ He swished a swathe of gold lamé into the air, and draped it over William. ‘How about if I dress you up as King Tut, and I’ll be your servant?’
‘No way!’ William had never been to a fancy-dress do, even as a child. He wasn’t about to make a fool of himself now.
Two hours later, he was dressed in a flowing gold lamé kaftan, with a matching turban and four huge white plumes pinned to it with a gold brooch. Justin was tinting William’s face with burnt cork, mixed with some boot polish. It took ages to dry, but gradually his face became bronzed, his lips were pinked, and his eyelashes darkened with mascara.
‘Take a look,’ Justin said, stepping back to admire his work.
‘I don’t know about this,’ William said, secretly enjoying himself. Justin pushed bracelets and rings on to his stained brown hands, and hung big gold hoops from his ears. William reviewed himself in the mirror, while Justin finished his own costume. When they stood side by side they looked fabulous, and when Justin sprayed a heavy perfume over them, William started to get quite excited.
‘I’ve never gatecrashed anything, you know,’ he said, preening.
‘Tonight’s the night, then! Come along, Your Majesty, let’s knock ’em dead.’
It was after ten when Justin and William descended to the jetty where the cruiser stood ready to transport them to the Bellinghams’ estate. Four boat-boys, in turbans and sarongs, carried large fans to welcome the pair aboard. Fairy-lights were strung from stern to bow. Music blasted out of the stereo as the cruiser pulled out to sea. In the cabin, buckets of champagne and plates of caviar were laid out, where William, now in the spirit of the evening, sat relaxing on silk cushions.
The Bellinghams’ jetty was ablaze with lights, flickering torches and flowers. William and Justin could hear the band as they approached. The sea was calm. Rows of bobbing yachts and cruisers were moored by servants. There were loud cheers as the King and his servant disembarked. William surveyed the array of costumes from behind his disguise. There were women dressed as cats, trapeze artists, semi-naked servant girls, Tarzans and Janes in skimpy strips of leopardskin, pirates and princes in multi-coloured lamé.
The heavy smell of incense and marijuana filled the billowing marquee, and tables were laden with fruit, lobsters and exotic dishes. Butlers in masks and loincloths carried around trays of elaborate cocktails laced with vodka, gin or rum. The centrepiece was a champagne fountain surrounded by ice sculptures.
As William surveyed the room, he recognized Meryl Delaware, draped over a dark-skinned boy who appeared to be no more than twenty. There were pop stars, models and actors whose faces he vaguely knew. Sections of the marquee were cordoned off by flowing drapes. William peeped behind them. Couples were copulating on low couches, others snorting from bowls of cocaine. In another section of the marquee sat a fortune-teller — average party material, thought William, except that she was stark naked apart from a glittering G-string and a long blonde wig that tumbled over her breasts. Nearby, leather-masked men with leather-studded cocks strapped to their legs, strutted between women dressed in PVC corsets, wielding whips. Other men were crawling on all fours licking the women’s black patent stilettos.
‘And those bastards whipped up all that shit about me!’ said William to Justin.
‘Over a couple of bloody visits from call-girls.’
No one asked who William was, and after about half an hour he started to relax, enjoying his anonymity. He moved from one group to another until he stumbled across Lord Bellingham. Sitting cross-legged on a large cushion, with a backgammon board in front of him and four other people around him, he was wearing a kaftan and turban and smoking a large cigar. It was obvious to William that he was stoned. William watched him for a moment, then moved back, passing two women in a passionate, semi-naked embrace on the grass. He felt himself flush under his cork.
‘I want to slide under your robes, Your Majesty.’ A woman wearing nothing but a PVC loincloth stood at his side and tried to slither under his gold kaftan. William sprang back, clutching the cloth around him. ‘No, thank you,’ he stuttered, and scurried away.
William went in search of Justin. The last time he had seen him he was heading out of the tent with Bellingham’s son, Oliver, who was so drunk he could hardly stand. William wandered about, stopping to watch the cabaret of exotic dancers, then the local rock star, who jumped up on stage to sing with the band. Those with enough energy were still dancing, but most were scattered around in groups, talking and giggling as the drugs kicked in. Cocaine bowls were constantly topped up and there was an endless supply of thick joints.
Eventually, drunk and exhausted, William hitched up his kaftan and sat on a low couch beneath a clutch of palm trees away from the main action. His head was throbbing so violently he couldn’t raise it more than a fraction and when he did, he felt nauseous.
‘Pull your frock down, old boy.’ It was Justin. ‘Look, I’ve got something to do, then I’ll be back.’
‘Have they spiked the drinks?’ William asked, squinting up at Justin.
‘Probably.’
‘Dear God, I feel terrible. You’ll have to help me back to the boat.’
‘Just stay here, I won’t be long.’
The party was winding down. William lay immobile, hoping to ease his aching head. Two women had sat down on a lounger on the other side of the palm trees, unaware of his presence.
‘Ghastly man,’ one said to the other. William could hear the clink of glass.
‘The Bellinghams saw him on the quay the other day with that boy Justin.’
They were talking about him! William lay still, listening. Bellingham and his cronies joined them.
‘The stupid bugger got hammered because he was so desperate to be accepted. It always happens with his kind — they get caught with their pants around their ankles.’
One disembodied voice recalled William’s engagement to the Countess Lubrinsky. This created hoots of laughter and a few lurid anecdotes about Sylvina’s past. Then William heard a voice he recognized. It was the hideous Meryl Delaware, desperate to ingratiate herself with Bellingham. She claimed she had it on good authority that William had paid Countess Lubrinsky to broadcast their engagement in the hope that he would be accepted by the Royal Family. But the closest he had got to them was walking past the Royal Enclosure at Ascot. ‘He’s more than pitiful,’ said Meryl. ‘He’s a laughing stock.’
‘Paying a trashy countess to say she loved him and was prepared to marry him! He’s pathetic.’
Suddenly, a voice William didn’t recognize entered the conversation. ‘You’re not still discussing that awful man. Just keep the money-to-burn lowlife at arm’s length. I suspect he’s a poofter like his crony, that sicko Maynard.’
Suddenly there were shouts that the fireworks were due to start and the group heaved their tired bodies towards the quay side without glancing back at the prone figure a few feet away from them. Bellingham, however, had recognized William. Before he left he turned and said, ‘That’ll teach you to gatecrash, you jumped-up parvenu.’