Pleasure Island (19 page)

Elaine picked up the receiver from the old-fashioned antique telephone on the desk and held it out to him.

‘Check for yourself. The lines are still down. Perhaps you haven't quite understood,' she explained slowly, her tone falling somewhere between disingenuous and patronising, ‘this is a remote place Rupert, one that my husband has gone to great lengths to make inhabitable but nonetheless still quite rudimentary in parts; the storm destroyed all the cable lines we had put in. I'm afraid they were very basic and could not withstand the battering they took. I'm hoping they will be fixed imminently and that we'll soon have satellite signal again but you must understand, this is a slow place...the pace of life, everything is
mañana
.'

‘I think you're forgetting just who're you're talking to.' Rupert raised his chin defiantly. ‘You may think you can try and pull the wool over my eyes but really this would be a foolish mistake,
Elaine
.'
He accentuated her name with a smirk. ‘And frankly I'm sick of talking to the organ grinder; I want to see the monkey face to face.'

She dismissed his invective with an affable smile.

‘Well, that makes two of us,' she said, ‘but as I've already said, it's not safe for my husband to fly here while the weather is still inclement and we're on alert.'

Rupert shook his head. ‘The breeze wouldn't even knock your hat off; it's been the epitome of calm ever since we got here.'

‘That may be, and long may it continue, but until we have the official go ahead –'

‘So what happens when the food runs out, hmm? When there's no more champagne and lobster? What then? And what about the staff? Don't they have families who'll be concerned about their safety, worried when they can't make contact home? You insult my intellect, McKenzie.'

‘Your concern for the staff is touching, I must say. It'll just take a little longer to be fixed, and then … all will be well. These people have come to expect such inconveniences in life, Rupert, unlike you and I. A little more patience is perhaps a good lesson, no?'

Rupert chortled.

‘Well, they do say you have to meet the wrong people to teach you the right lessons in life, so perhaps you've got a point.'

She laughed too now, a manic sound that made him feel edgy.

‘I appreciate your cereal-box sentiment, Rupert, but I fear your profession has made you somewhat cynical and suspicious.'

‘What's in the boxes?' He met her steely gaze with his own. ‘Those big, black, metal boxes you gave us all at the start of the week … not to be opened until you get the “nod from God”.'

‘I really have no idea, I'm afraid,' she said, honestly this time. The boxes had been Martin's plan, a plan she hadn't been privy to. All she knew was that she was not to distribute the keys until he said so. Frankly she was as intrigued as her guest.

‘I'm sure once the phone lines are up and running …'

‘And what if that doesn't happen?'

Questions, so many damned questions. He was beginning to irritate her. But then she supposed she might be as uptight, too, if she had to carry around the secrets he did.

‘Will we be stranded here forever, for the rest of our natural days. Will we
die
here, Elaine?'

This was not really an idea Rupert had truly contemplated but it had dramatic effect in driving his point home nonetheless.

Elaine McKenzie undid the top button on the collar of her shirt, white bespoke Givenchy poplin, and lit another brown, foul-smelling cigarette. She looked up at him. Stupid, pompous, arse of a man, she thought, forcibly blowing smoke in his direction.

‘I never had you down as a drama
queen
, Rupert.' She sighed, her eyes fixed intently upon his own. ‘Besides, I could think of a lot worse ways to go, couldn't you?'

T
he moribund silence
during aperitifs was deafening as all but Mia convened, as they did every evening, underneath the shaded, canopied patio on the grounds of the McKenzie mansion. Set back into the mountains at some considerable height, the position afforded perhaps one of the most-stunning views over the entire island, though this was subject to debate; the sea stretched out eternally into the distance like a shimmering, rippled blanket, the last of the days rays dancing on the surface like silver fish, surrounding shady trees casting intricate black crochet shadows around them like a web. The sun was beginning to descend now, slowly slipping behind the water, dripping its final throes of maroon light into the giant expanse of sea.

‘Not even a boat,' Angelika said, her thousand-mile stare unbroken by her words. ‘Just the perfect colours of nature, untouched … the sun and the sea …' Her words trailed off along with her gaze.

‘If only a blasted boat.' Rupert's brittle tone shattered the moment. ‘I mean, have you even seen a boat?' He addressed no one in particular and no one answered. ‘Exactly. It's been over a week and none of us has seen anything pass this godforsaken place, sea or air.'

The mention of a boat once again sparked something in Angelika's memory. She felt sure she'd seen one, possibly two at some point but couldn't quite remember where or when. Perhaps she really had just imagined it after all and it was just wishful thinking. Or perhaps they had been on the far north side of the island that was obscured from view by McKenzie's mansion and gardens. Access to this part of the island wasn't straightforward; you had to pass through McKenzie's grounds and on a descending rough trail that led down to the other side of the beach. She vowed to take a look soon.

‘Ah, who gives a shit, man,' JJ said, swishing his long hair from his face in a
laissez-faire
manner, ‘who cares where the fuck we are. It's awesome here. And we're supposed to be having fun, right?'

Jesus, JJ wondered, did this dude ever stopped complaining? From the moment JJ had returned to the island, Rupert had not stopped bitching about something or the other. Whiney-assed Brit. Like, what did he have to complain about anyways? After all
he
was the one who'd almost lost his freakin' arm in a plane crash.
He
was the one with his digits in fucking plaster unable to wipe his own ass properly. If anyone had cause for griping it was
him
, but why bother? It was done, right? He'd survived, they all had, and his arm would mend. Besides, this place was six-star luxury of the like he'd never see again in ten lifetimes. What's not to like? While admittedly the accident had been a real bummer, the welcome-home party in his honour had more than made up for it in JJ's eyes.

Still, in a way he'd wished he'd not put so much of that shit up his nose because it had clearly fucked with his head, he couldn't remember a damned thing and was pissed about it; he would've liked to have had some recollection of boning Billie-Jo. Whatever was up the British dude's asshole he didn't know but he was certainly enjoying himself.

‘How's the arm, JJ?' Nate asked. He thought it best to make small talk with JJ, act ignorant to his obvious designs on Billie-Jo. There was every real chance JJ had already screwed her: a fact he was oddly resigned to and not nearly as upset about as he should've been.

JJ waved his good arm in the air.

‘Never better, dude,' he laughed, amused by his own wit.

Billie-Jo giggled. Having already broken her promise to Nate – one she'd no genuine intention of keeping forever, if she was honest with herself – she felt the warm rush of the line of coke she'd secretly snorted before drinks circulate her bloodstream and resurrect the remnants of last night's intoxication on its journey. Nate had made her promise that she would never touch the stuff again after he'd seen the remnants of it on the table but the truth was she needed it to get her through the night, and most of the day, or so it had become anyway.

‘Sound, I'm glad,' Nate smiled, ‘we were pretty damned worried when they whisked you off on that light aircraft. I think I can speak for us all on that.'

JJ shrugged.

‘Don't remember a thing, bro, from the moment we stepped on that plane and pretty much ever since, but hey, that's rock 'n' roll!'

‘Or being drugged up to the eyeballs,' Rupert muttered.

Nate glanced at Angelika who appeared still deep in thought. Tonight she was dressed in a long, slightly translucent, white, maxi dress, the outline of her small breasts just visible through the flimsy, cotton fabric, delicate arms adorned with stacks of gold-and-silver bangles and her long wavy hair hung loose to her shoulders partially covered by a battered straw Stetson. She reminded him of a 70s love child, like she would rather have flowers in her hair than diamonds on her fingers and he resisted the urge to playfully steal her hat. It was childish perhaps but he wanted her attention, to see that smile of hers, get a glimpse of that snaggle tooth that did strange things to him. In direct contrast to Angelika, tonight Billie-Jo had opted to wear a Cavalli playsuit in acid brights, the plunging-neckline and tiny-hot pants combo as ever leaving very little to the imagination.

In that moment Nate understood the adage that less is more. Undeniably Bee turned heads, but her ‘look at me' sartorial approach inevitably drew all the wrong kind of attention, but then again he suspected perhaps that was the whole point. Angelika, however, was more of a wrapped present that gave you just a subtle hint of the gifts inside. He thought about the time he had seen her naked, swimming down by the cove, lost in a moment of abandon, the curve of her belly and soft round hips, her small breasts and the arch of her back, her naked bottom as she had rolled over and over in the water …

‘Admiring the view, babes?' Billie-Jo's voice dripped with sarcasm. She'd been watching her husband stealing glances at Angelika ever since they'd sat down. Regardless of her own antics, the sight of Nate showing an interest in anyone else was enough to consume her with jealousy. Why the fuck was he interested in
her
? She looked at Angelika. Stuck up bitch looked like a fucking gypsy who wouldn't know what to do with a cock if it came flat-packed with instructions.

‘Perhaps we should tell them, Ang,' Nate said.

‘Oh,
Ang
, is it now?' Billie-Jo sneered, unable to contain her green-eyed monster any longer.

Rupert's lips curled. Angelika and Nate were clearly on very friendly terms and admittedly it bothered him. Whatever else Angelika was still
his
wife. These bloody footballers all thought they were God's gift and could have any woman they wanted thanks to their extortionate earnings and the fame that went with it, yet he knew deep down Angelika was not the sort to have her head turned by either of those things. Rupert was about to say something when a scene from the previous evening flashed up in his mind of the tanned, toned, bronze Adonis that was Raj, naked and erect standing over him with that salt-white smile. Even if the man could've spoken, in that moment he'd not needed to say a word. He savoured the image for a moment until it was shattered by the recollection of Mia's shrill voice ringing like a round of bullets through his mind: ‘
Well now, aren't you two a pair of very, very naughty boys …
'

He took a slug of his Scotch miserably and kept quiet.

‘Yes,
Ang
, do tell us,' Billie-Jo continued, her heckles raised. ‘Bit over …' she struggled to find the word she as looking for and felt her anger accelerate. ‘Bit over … friendly … bit …
familiar
, ain't it?' That was it!
Familiar
.

Angelika shifted awkwardly in her seat.

‘Where's Mia?' Rupert asked suddenly. In spite of the knot of dread he felt in the pit of his stomach, he was surprisingly hungry and wanted to eat, only the rule was they all had to be seated before dinner could commence. ‘That bloody woman would hold up her own funeral,' he muttered.

‘She couldn't decide what to wear,' JJ said, slipping his hand underneath the large, wooden banqueting table and sliding it onto Billie-Jo's bare thigh. He was still feeling horny even after the quick knee trembler he'd had with Mia over the sofa the previous day, who, he'd noted hadn't seemed quite as into him as she'd previously been. This had pissed JJ off no end. Just a few days ago the old lady couldn't get enough of him. He was getting the brush off from Grandma and it wasn't a cool vibe, man. He put Mia's fluctuating libido down to her age; she was probably having hot flashes or something. Being aware that their relationship had been purely based on her wanting a bit of young cock and him wanting to cash-in on her celebrity status, he wasn't sure what his role was supposed to be anymore. Did this leave him open to being fair game, like if she didn't want the goods any more would she be down with him going elsewhere?

Billie-Jo flinched a little as his hand connected with her inner thing but didn't remove it. She had even more reason to keep JJ sweet now; he was her plan B, after all, and the way things were headed it looked like plan B may well soon need to be upgraded. Besides, she had the hots for him big time and was upset that she couldn't remember if they'd already had sex or not.

The night had been one long blank, pretty much, which was exactly the excuse she'd given Nate that afternoon when he'd finally questioned her about it.

‘You were naked underneath that robe, Bee, not a stitch of clothing on … sprawled out on the couch opposite JJ and you'd been snorting coke! Coke, Bee! Where the fuck did you get it from? Did you bring it with you?' Nate detested drugs, always had. He'd seen what they did to people, likeable people who started out decent enough and then turned into monsters with enough toot inside them. He's seen that shit wreck careers, relationships and reputations over the years and as such had made a vow never to touch the stuff himself. Drugs really were for mugs. He'd suspected that his wife occasionally dabbled with the party powder but he thought she'd have more sense than to get a serious habit, or more vanity at least. Now, however, it was slowly dawning on Nate that he really didn't know the woman he'd married at all.

‘I swear it was here when we arrived,' she'd explained, honestly this time, ‘a fucking sugar bowl full of it. I never said nothing to you because I know how much you hate drugs, babe. Would you believe me if I told you it was just one line?' She'd looked at him with saucer-like blue eyes, her lips subtly pouting. She had been wearing one of his shirts, unbuttoned, the curve of her high-profile implants visible on her chest. She'd played with her hair childishly as she'd posed on the bed, twisting and curling a lock around her finger, only the innocent baby-face routine hadn't washed with him. When he'd looked at her that afternoon he'd felt nothing but indifference – pity, if anything at all. In contrast he only had to think of Angelika's face to experience the exact opposite emotion. It had floored him how he felt more for a woman he'd known practically a matter of days than he did his own wife, yet he could not deny it. His thoughts had left him both elevated and depressed and in that moment he'd wished he'd never met Billie-Jo.

‘No, Bee, I wouldn't,' he'd replied sharply.

‘Well, I'm not bloody lying!' she'd screeched. ‘It was here, in the cabana when we arrived … and last night … I don't know.' She'd shrugged. ‘It's just a blank, babe, all of it. I don't know what happened.'

This much Nate had believed. He'd felt like his own memory had exploded and random, scattered fragments had been all that remained. He had, however, recalled his wife getting rather familiar with the injured guest of honour.

‘Anyway, you can't talk,' Billie-Jo had snapped, wrapping his shirt tightly around her naked body defensively, ‘you were all over that fucking Angelika bird like a rash.' Attack had always been Billie-Jo's first form of defence, as in most cases involving a guilty conscience. ‘Last thing I remember was you and her in the Jacuzzi making eyes at each other.'

Nate had shaken his head.

‘Don't be ridiculous, Bee,' he'd replied feebly. ‘We were all drunk. Besides, I'm surprised you even noticed … you were so busy getting all up on Joshua.'

Billie-Jo had laughed. Some jealousy.
Finally
.

‘More your type, is she,
Ang
? Got one of them Octopus complexes, have ya?'

‘Edipus,' he'd quietly correctly her.

‘Yeah … that thing where you wanna fuck your mum or whatever it is.'

‘She's not old enough to be my mother,' he'd said.

‘Ooh, 'ark at you, defending her.' Billie-Jo was enraged. How could Nate possibly fancy that plain Jane in favour of her? While Angelika had been nothing but pleasant to her throughout the duration of their stay so far, and admittedly she had been the one to comfort her during the aftermath of the crash, she was hardly Nate's type. If anything she was a bit bland really, certainly not brimming with charisma, sexiness and charm like Billie-Jo was. ‘Well, you know how the saying goes, why go out for McDonald's when you've got
filet mignon
at home?'

Nate began fumbling with the small plastic device in his pocket that Angelika's beady eye had spotted in the bushes up by the affinity pool.

‘If I catch you doing coke again, Bee, I'll divorce you,' he'd said flatly. ‘I think you should go into rehab when we're back in London. Get cleaned up, get that shit out of your life once and for all because I'm telling you, there's not room for both me and the coke. Do you understand? I want to help you, Bee; that shit will destroy you from the inside out.'

The D-word alone had sent fear down her spine like a hot rod. Rehab? Fuck that shit. There was no way she was checking into some glorified nut house to have it all washed out of her arsehole and brainwashed to boot. She knew friends who'd done the whole Priory thing, and they'd all claimed it was a living hell. Besides, her habit wasn't that bad, was it? He was overreacting as usual. She'd immediately switched to charm offensive mode. Allowing his shirt to fall open and expose her full-frontal nakedness, she'd smiled sweetly as she had walked towards him on her knees across the bed. Looking up at him, eyes wide, she had slowly begun to pull his shorts down and had taken him in her mouth.