Pleasure Island (21 page)

‘
C
hampagne
!' Elaine McKenzie clasped her hands together in appreciation as her husband instructed the private on-board butler to open the bottle of Krug Clos d'Ambonnay 1998, a snip at $2000 a pop, quite literally. She watched as he meticulously decanted it into two cut-crystal Tiffany flutes, a light, oily sheen forming on his brow thanks to the intense midday sun and the fact that he was dressed in full formal livery as per strict instructions from his boss.

‘Congratulations, darling,' he said, ‘you're doing a stellar job so far in taking care of things. I'm proud of you.'

Elaine preened; a compliment from her husband was akin to a shot of amphetamine. She took a slurp of her vintage champagne. She never usually drank alcohol – she liked to keep her wits about her at all times – but today she would make an exception. Mart had returned from his business trip in the Far East and had chartered one of his yachts allowing them to spend a little quality time together. The boat, aptly named ‘
Small Change
', at 40 meters long was one of McKenzie's most understated motor yachts in a progressively impressive fleet that he'd collected over the years like Tonka toys. Today he'd chosen this particular vessel specifically for her distinct lack of wow-factor and unremarkable aesthetic, much like his wife he supposed. He was hoping to keep a low profile as they cruised around the island of Santorini for the afternoon; it wouldn't do to alert the paparazzi of his whereabouts. With breath-taking hypocrisy, McKenzie loathed having his privacy invaded. He was also mindful of drifting too far south of the island where there was the potential to be spotted on the horizon. He had handsomely paid off the locals to avoid them taking any route by boat that could bring them into clear view of Pleasure Island, lest his prestigious guests attempt to flag them down and so far they had willingly complied. Ahh, the power of the pound, or Euro in this case.

‘So, how was the Far East?' Elaine enquired, ‘I trust you've been well looked after these past few days?'

Indeed he had. In fact once the business side of things had been wrapped up he had done a little detour via Thailand on his return journey and had been thoroughly entertained by a selection of prostitutes for some 36-hours straight. Martin McKenzie gave a small, satisfied smile. He did so appreciate the Thai whores, they were so much more submissive than their Afro-Caribbean or Eastern European counterparts, therefore allowing him to fully indulge his most debased desires without too much objection. He enjoyed degrading the diminutive women, instructing them to engage in all manner of deviant sexual behaviour and had paid them well to whip each other's naked bodies until they'd screamed out in agony.

‘Business as usual,' he lamented, ‘although the hospitality, as ever, was unfaultable.'

Elaine adjusted her functional swimsuit; it was cutting into her meaty thighs beneath her sarong.

‘I take it you've been keeping abreast of events on the island?' she enquired carefully. Her husband would expect a full debrief and this made her a little nervous. She was concerned he would consider his earlier praise as having been somewhat premature.

‘Of course,' he said, clicking his neat, manicured fingers high in the air. ‘Hors d'oeuvres,' he barked to the liveried butler, who by now was perspiring profusely in the 95-degree heat. McKenzie placed a small, white bag tied with ribbon onto the table.

‘A token of appreciation, my dear,' he explained, ‘for your most loyal service.'

Elaine giggled, an act that appeared somehow incongruous with her dour, pinched features.

‘Really, Marty, you shouldn't have.'

‘Call it gratitude for keeping things ticking along nicely …'

Elaine was stunned; this was high praise indeed.

‘Well, it's certainly been interesting. I mean, who'd have thought that the lawyer was gay! I have to say I didn't see that one coming – and neither will his wife by the looks of things.' She gave a wry smile. ‘You think you know someone …'

‘Ah, but does anyone really know anyone?' he replied.

‘Husbands shouldn't have secrets like that from their wives; it's morally reprehensible,' she said, oblivious to her own situation.

McKenzie inwardly smirked.

‘Not like us, dear, all our cards on the table.'

The McKenzies had been actively swinging throughout their marriage, although he had kept her in the dark as to the full extent of his sexual desires which had become increasingly more depraved with each passing year. Besides, Elaine really didn't do anything for him anymore. That particular ship had sailed long ago. These days she was little more than a lackey to him, a PA he had doing his dirty work and who he occasionally bent over the bedpost to scratch an itch. His only real regret was that Elaine hadn't given him a child; he'd always liked the idea of having a son in particular, someone to own completely, even down to their DNA, but it had never happened. The woman was baron, in every sense.

She began to open the gift, her stubby unpainted nails clumsily fiddling with the ribbon.

‘Perhaps you have that intuitive thing,' she said, ‘whatever they call it these days … gaydar!'

‘Yes, perhaps!'

As it was McKenzie had known all along about Rupert Deyton's sexual persuasions. He had made it his business to, or his team of people had. They had been instructed to dig up as much dirt on him as possible, on all of them, and at the first flash of a fat wedge of green Mia's old chauffeur had coughed the lot. Money really was a universal language that needed no interpretation. Throw enough of the stuff at people and they'd tell you
anything
, however sordid or unflattering. It had taken months of meticulous research undertaken by a privately hired investigative team to unearth his chosen guest's most unpalatable secrets. And soon, in the ultimate final act, he planned to spectacularly reveal exactly why.

‘Oh, Marty.' Elaine gasped as she opened the box and saw the Cartier watch inside. The huge encrusted diamonds forming the circumference of the rose clock-face glinted back at her in the sunshine. ‘It's … exceptional.'

Her heart sunk faster than the boat's anchor. She would never wear it; it was it was far too ostentatious – vulgar even – although hell would freeze over before she ever told him as much. In all the years her husband had been gifting her jewellery he had never once got it right. As a result she often forced herself to adorn the presents he had given her on special occasions, mindful of hurting his feelings. Only she needn't have worried; he didn't have any. McKenzie had, as usual, given one of his PAs (young, always attractive, usually willing) a wad of cash and instructions to pick something out for his wife; unbeknownst to her he had never once personally chosen a present for her in over two decades.

‘Put it on then,' he commanded and she duly obliged. It looked ridiculous, its overstated opulence merely highlighting the rest of her plain, unremarkable ensemble.

‘Thank you, Marty,' she said, admiring it with a smile, which didn't quite reach her cold, dead eyes.

Having already lost interest in the watch, he changed the subject. ‘And what about the girl, eh? She gave an exemplary performance with the masseur, I must say. The Super Eight were most impressed.'

‘She's been putting on quite a show with Joshua, too.' Elaine swallowed her champagne with a raised eyebrow, wondering if now was a good time to discuss the conversation she'd had with Rupert. It had been troubling her.

Elaine McKenzie was a formidable woman; she did not suffer fools gladly and was capable of being an extremely fierce adversary, tricks she had learned over the years from being married to a monster like McKenzie. She gave very little of herself away in social company, unless of course that company happened to be her Lord and Master – and husband. Very little either fazed or scared her; Marty managed to do both.

‘The Deytons concern me,' she finally said, ‘they're asking questions, Mart. Too many questions. And –' she paused nervously ‘– and it seems they've somehow cottoned on to the fact that their drinks were spiked the night of the party; they're suspicious.'

Sweating like a man on trial for murder, the butler appeared carrying a solid silver cloche containing a mouth-watering selection of hors d'oeuvres including freshly prepared sea urchins wrapped in Parma ham, gazpacho, crabmeat-and-sour-cream Asian spoons and foie gras-sprinkled Beluga-caviar filo parcels.

McKenzie inspected them with a fiercely critical eye before giving him a disdainful nod to serve.

‘Did you hear what I said, Mart? Angelika and Rupert Deyton – they've been asking questions about the night of the party, about the drinks, the telephone lines … they're growing impatient. They want answers about the crash, about the staff, everything, and they want
you
to answer them. I mean these people, aren't idiots – the Deytons especially it seems.' She swallowed more champagne and debated whether or not to inform him that she'd seen Angelika locate one of the hidden cameras down by the infinity pool. There were at least 200 hundred of them spread across the entire island, all strategically placed and expertly hidden inside and out, but that bloody inquisitive bitch had somehow managed to locate one of them, which she now had in her possession and had shown to the rest of the guests, potentially throwing the whole operation into jeopardy.

McKenzie smiled at his wife amiably. Elaine was worried, he could tell and he knew exactly why, because he'd been keeping a close eye on her, too. She had fucked up, royally. And now she would have to pay.

‘Screw them.' He waved a hand dismissively, the diamond signet ring he always wore on his left pinkie catching the light with the momentum. ‘What about Manhattan? What's that bitch had to say?'

Elaine bristled. She knew very little of her husband's relationship to Mia Manhattan other than what was already in the public domain. Intuitively she suspected there was more to it than that but had never dared to ask. If her husband wanted her to know something he would tell her. Experience had taught her this lesson the painful way.

‘All that woman is concerned with is a mirror and the minor she brought along with her, although it does seem like she has gone off the boil with him somewhat, now that his attentions are on the Simmons girl.'

Her husband was deep in thought; she could tell by the way his right leg was swinging slightly over his left. ‘And obviously she and Rupert Deyton don't see eye to eye, not that you'd have known that after they'd ingested all that MDMA though.' She smiled wickedly. ‘They were really somewhat
friendly
after that.'

‘Exactly how much of the stuff did you give them, Elaine, on the night of the party?'

‘Only what you'd instructed me to,' she replied quickly, feeling the unease of his eyes upon her. ‘A little more to the Deyton woman, like you said. But I'm not a doctor, Mart; everyone's metabolism is different. It's not an exact science. How was I to know how much would be too much, that it would make her sick … start to ask questions …'

McKenzie looked his wife in the eyes and wondered for a moment if it wouldn't be just to beat her to death with the cloche there and then, throw her overboard and claim that she had drowned. He could buy the butler off, no problem. The idea quickly gathered momentum in his mind. She was practically superfluous to needs now anyway, now that he'd thought he'd found a potentially willing and suitable candidate to replace her in the young British woman who was part of the Super Eight. With a little grooming he felt she really would make a rather satisfactory replacement. He thought about the moment she had taken him in her mouth that time they had met, savoured it in his mind for a few seconds. Elaine had had her day and in truth he'd been looking for a reason to emancipate himself from her for some while; she was getting old and sloppy and had let him down. What had started out as a little bit of ‘fun', a pastime in which he and few like-minded souls could indulge their voyeuristic perversions – not that McKenzie viewed them as such – plus exact a little revenge in the process, now had the potential to blow up in his face, thanks to his wife's incompetence.

‘They'll be a mutiny if we're not careful,' she said, relaxing a little now that it seemed he wasn't as furious with her as she'd anticipated. Only she had lulled herself into a false sense of security and unwisely continued to seal her own fate. ‘Unfortunately I think Angelika may have found one of the cameras, too.' She chewed her thin lips tentatively, watching as he devoured another of the delicious hors d'oeuvres, waiting for his reaction.

McKenzie looked past his wife and out onto the blue behind her. Such a perfect day, he thought, cloudless sky, high sun, the temperature perfect, for him at least.

‘She found one the cameras?' He feigned surprise as he looked over at the butler hovering in the background. The man was the colour of lobster and he found his obvious discomfort somewhat gratifying.

‘Yes, though as yet she hasn't come to me about it … she just shared the information with the others. Anyway, it's speculation,' she said, downplaying her concerns. ‘It could easily be a security camera, which is pretty much what the general consensus was among them all, anyway. They put it down to paranoia.'

‘I see.' McKenzie kept his simmering rage contained. He'd personally guaranteed the Super Eight total anonymity throughout this whole experience, protection from any culpability and he could not afford a scandal of which there would undoubtedly be one if that journalist bitch went to the press with her accusations and suspicions. Potentially he could be investigated, even go to prison if she had enough proof, an idea that he refused to entertain for longer than a few diabolical seconds. Damn Elaine. He had made the fatal mistake of trusting her to keep things tightly under control, keep the guests in a euphoric, submissive, relaxed and happy state in which they could be easily manipulated, and she had fucked up royally. He looked at her, concealing his utter contempt carefully behind his bespoke-made gold-mirrored Ray-Bans.