Pleasure Island (27 page)

‘
H
e's here
, on the island.' Angelika was so breathless by the time she'd reached the pool that she could hardly get the words out. Mia, who was rocking gently on one of the enormous hammocks next to JJ, lazily opened one eye.

‘Who … who's here on the island?'

‘McKenzie.' Angelika felt lightheaded with adrenalin, her nerves jangling like a wind chime in a gale. She needed a drink, a proper drink. ‘Where's Rupert?'

Mia sat bolt upright, using one arm to prevent her untied bikini top from slipping clean off as she practically fell out of the hammock. ‘You've
seen
him?'

‘Just now at the mansion. I was looking for Elaine.'

‘How long has he been here?' Mia was already snatching up her belongings and throwing them haphazardly into her Heidi Klein raffia beach tote.

‘He says he flew in today, not long ago.'

‘Flew?'

‘Apparently he bribed a pilot to bring him.'

‘Nice one,' JJ chipped in, ‘guess this means we get to meet the man in person, after all.'

Mia and Angelika exchanged stony glances.

‘So does this mean the telephone lines are up and running?'

Angelika shook her head.

‘He claims he hasn't been able to get hold of Elaine since we arrived, who, by the way, has had a car here on the island all along.' Once again she deliberately decided not to mention the boat, at least not yet, not until she'd spoken to Nate, not until they'd found it first.

Mia blinked at her.

‘A car? That fucking bitch had
a car
…'

‘McKenzie said she went out in it earlier today and hasn't been seen since. Gave me some cock-and-bull story about her wanting to save the gas for a real emergency. How she didn't want to create hysteria by telling us about it …'

‘It's a fucking set-up!' Mia screeched. ‘That bastard …' Her eyes met Angelika's. ‘He's been fucking with us all along. Well, now he'll have me to deal with. And we've got old scores to settle.'

Angelika didn't argue with her, though she was intrigued to know just what those scores might be. Raj appeared with the ubiquitous tray of champagne, nodding at her, and she thought about having a glass but decided against it. She kept replaying the conversation she'd had with McKenzie in her mind, something he'd said about the mutes. ‘…
I suppose you could call it somewhat pretentious … just like your husband said
…' It suddenly struck her: how would McKenzie possibly know that Rupert had said such a thing?

‘Where's Rupert?' she asked again.

‘Fishing,' JJ said, wondering if Billie-Jo had a heads-up on the latest news. She'd gone back to the cabana to freshen up, for him he assumed, for the round two he hoped they'd have later on this evening. Though he'd have to be discreet judging by the tricky conversation he'd not long had with Mia.

‘So, you have your eye on the little cockney sparrow then, darling?' She'd mused as she'd sipped a strawberry mojito and made herself comfortable on the white, string hammock next to him. She didn't waste any time in getting to the point, he gave her that much.

‘Difficult not to, really,' he'd replied awkwardly, ‘I mean, she's been up in my face since I got here.'

‘Ha!' Mia had snorted into her glass, though she bore no real malice by it. ‘Please don't insult my intelligence, sweetie. I've kept library books for longer than you've been alive.'

JJ had been duly silenced.

‘Take my advice: she's a married woman, Joshua, and regardless of whether that marriage is a happy one, which is clearly debateable, it wouldn't do to start rubbing people's noses in it, mine included. Be a little discreet, there's a love, or better still, wait until we're back on home ground before you start swinging that delectable dick of yours around, hmmm?'

It was more command that polite request and he got the message. After all, it was only a couple of days ago he'd had Mia bent over the leather chaise longue. Now she was offering him relationship advice and it made for uncomfortable listening.

‘Just a bit of harmless flirting, babe,' he'd said, playing it down. ‘I've only got eyes for you, you know that.'

Mia had thrown her head back and laughed, sloshing more of her mojito down her cleavage in the process.

‘Oh, please, Joshua,' she'd said, lowering her head, cocking it to one side, a gesture that made him feel stupid. ‘Do what you will with the girl but at least have the decency to wait until I'm out of the picture, OK?' She was saying it for his own good and for Nate as much as herself. She felt a little protective towards Nate Simmons. He was sensitive, much more so than his hard-faced wife and she genuinely had begun to think a lot of him.

JJ had nodded a little pathetically. He supposed he owed her that much at least.

Mia turned her thoughts back to what Angelika was saying.

‘He wants to invite us all up to the mansion at midnight where he says he'll answer all our questions as fully as possible. Aperitifs on the roof terrace. Formal attire. He says he has a big surprise for us.'

‘I didn't even realise there was a roof terrace on the mansion,' JJ mused. ‘Wow, man, the view must be awesome!'

‘Screw the view,' Mia hissed, ‘if that man thinks he can just roll up after everything and start dictating, I don't think so! View … I'll give him one he'll not forget in a hurry.'

‘We should let Nate know he's here, and Billie-Jo, of course,' Angelika quickly added.

‘Sure, I'll go find her.' JJ pulled himself up out of the sunlounger with his good arm, ‘Tell her.'

Mia flashed him a look.

‘I mean tell
them
,' he quickly added.

‘No need, darling.' She shot him an asinine smile. ‘Look, they're headed this way.'

R
upert had been
fishing off of the peninsula for the best part of the afternoon and hadn't even so much as had a gentle pull on the line.

‘Couldn't catch a bloody cold here,' he grumbled to himself. Still, as far as beauty spots went, this one was pretty spectacular, the Mediterranean Sea stretched out in front of him like a glistening, aqua blanket, rippling in the gentle breeze that seemed to whisper around the small, sheltered plane he'd found for himself upon the rocks. He'd watched it for some time, mesmerised by the eternal ebb and flow of the water's surface, ever constant in a world of such inconsistency. It had given him a tranquil – almost humble – sensation; a peaceful sense of solitude and calm, which was somewhat ironic as in that very moment he was unknowingly being watched by thousands of strangers across the world.

Rupert shifted his body towards the direction of the sun and basked in the sensation of the heat against his naked stomach. Looking down at himself he thought about how he might've lost a few pounds since he'd been on the island, which again was somewhat ironic given the delights he had imbibed. He'd allowed his facial hair to grow out a little too and had even begun to feel less conscious in his island attire of rolled-up chino shorts and open muslin shirts. It wasn't just a shift in his physical appearance that had taken place, though; he felt different too.

Slowly, painstakingly, he was beginning to reconcile with the truth within. Complete denial, he realised, was no longer an option; two weeks in paradise and the events that had occurred had forced him to evaluate. Being ‘gay', or even ‘bisexual', was something Rupert had never allowed himself to consider, not even for a split second. The word ‘homosexual' had always sounded somewhat unpleasant to his ear, much like an incurable disease or affliction. He was aware that times had significantly changed since his youth, though, and that these days being gay almost carried a certain cachet. No one really batted an eyelid if you batted for the other side nowadays, only it wasn't as straightforward as ‘coming out of the closet', at least not for him. He was, as far as appearances went, a straight, married man in his 40s, a high-flying, high-achieving barrister; what would his family think, his colleagues, his son, and, of course, Angelika? As much as she irritated him to despair sometimes, he did care about her so much and wasn't sure he could ever drop such a bombshell upon her.

The emotional detonation would just be too catastrophic: the humiliation, the hurt and shame, the sense that their entire marriage had been a sham, which incidentally he didn't feel was entirely true. Despite everything theirs had been a solid partnership on many levels, only to his great sadness and regret his heart had never truly been in it 100%, and it was only now he could finally bring himself to admit it.

Part of Rupert even wished that Mia had outed him all those years ago like she had threatened to do; it would've all been over and done with now and perhaps he and Angelika would've been respectively happy, though not with each other. Perhaps she would've gone on to have had a family, a relationship with a husband who appreciated her physical attractiveness instead of a repressed, bitter, shell of a man who she was forever at loggerheads with, unspoken resentment and mutual competitiveness forever simmering beneath the surface of a carefully constructed façade.

Angelika was 38 years old; it wasn't too late for her; she was young enough to start again without completely destroying his conscience in the process, wasn't she? At least that's what all those bloody magazines she wrote for were always saying: ‘never too late to start again'; ‘40 is the new 30'; ‘black is the new white'; ‘gay the new straight'; or whatever bullshit it was they peddled to make women feel better about their shambolic, unfulfilled lives.

Would she forgive him? Could he ever forgive himself? Rupert sighed. Who was he kidding? They could barely say a civil sentence to each other as it was already. No, he'd lived with, and largely successfully buried, this part of himself for long enough; he would just have to carry on regardless. In a couple of days' time it would all be over and back to business as usual, his drunken sexual misdemeanour with Raj banished to the annuls of his memory bank next to Michael. Perhaps it was easier to live a lie when the truth was too unpalatable for all concerned.

Too late in the day to be gay, Rupert thought as he gave a little snort of mirth. And yet deep down he knew that he would never truly be at peace until he learned to accept himself. Part of the problem was the fact that Rupert was actually something of a sexual prude; he found the idea of people looking at him and wondering if he was ‘giver' or ‘receiver' completely abhorrent and found his own sexual desires distasteful, even shameful. He stared out onto the horizon once more, at the sun high and blazing, majestic in its glory, unrepentant, a force of nature that brought with it such joy and pain in equal measures, much like being on this island itself; much like
life
itself.

‘Penny for them.' The voice startled him so much that he momentarily dropped the fishing rod he'd been holding.

‘Raj.' Rupert stared up at him in shock, his heartbeat galloping inside his chest. ‘What on earth are you doing here?'

He shrugged. ‘Came to find you.'

‘And how did you know where to look?' He stood up, placing the rod down by his side, sucking in his exposed stomach, suddenly feeling self-conscious about his state of undress.

‘Call it a sixth sense,' Raj said, smiling, his salt-white teeth off-set by his smooth, mocha skin.

He has such kind eyes, Rupert thought. Eyes that seemed to answer questions before he'd even needed to ask them.

‘And you
do
speak?'

‘Only when spoken to,' he replied, with a wry smile.

His accent was British, clipped, and came as a surprise. Rupert tried to avert his eyes from his perfectly formed abdominal muscles. He suddenly felt emotional and wanted to bury himself into his chest, to let go at last.

‘But I make exceptions...' Raj continued.

‘For who?'

‘Exceptional people,' Raj replied, his dark, chocolate eyes shining as they held Rupert's own in a fixed gaze. ‘People like you.'

Rupert swallowed dryly.

‘I think I preferred it when you didn't speak,' he said quietly.

‘In that case,' Raj said, taking a step closer towards him, ‘I won't say another word.'

M
artin McKenzie's
phone was about to blow up. It had been buzzing all day and eventually he'd had to switch the damn thing off just for a little respite. The moment he'd turned it back on, however, it was at it again, vibrating like a hooker's faulty dildo. Pressing it angrily, he looked down at the screen, 67 missed calls in 24 hours. Someone wanted to get hold of him badly. Well, whoever it was they could wait, he thought contrarily, throwing it across the room. He had important things to attend to here now that Elaine had been ‘relieved' of her duties. After all, someone had to clean up the mess that incompetent bitch had left behind.

McKenzie poured himself a crystal tumbler full of Scotch and took a generous mouthful. It was unlike him to feel nervous, and the feeling unsettled him. Still, he supposed it was natural for one's feathers to be a trifle ruffled having just done away with your wife. He sat back into the old, leather chesterfield and put his legs up onto the seat, kicking off his hand-stitched Italian brogues. They made quite a satisfying sound as they hit the polished, wooden floor. He booted up his screen, ostensibly to view the players but also to check to see if the tech guy had got back to him regarding this little user error that had been brought to his attention. Sure enough he had.

‘I'm on it, sir, right away,' the email read. ‘Please be assured that my original testimony stands. It's impossible for even the smartest brain to have penetrated the security on this. There's zero cause for alarm. I put my life on it. However, I will rectify this error immediately and report back as soon as it's investigated.'

McKenzie relaxed. It was just as he thought; this was just a technical glitch. As a precaution, however, he typed a message to the club members copying the tech's words in a show of reassurance.

‘This is absolutely no cause for concern. I have been given 100% authority on this. It was a technical error that has now been rectified. We need not discuss further.' He wrote, calling an end to it.

McKenzie sighed with fatigue. It had been a trying sort of day and he couldn't help wondering if now, perhaps, he'd been a tad hasty in murdering Elaine. The image of his long-standing loyal wife's skull exploding as he had brought down the cloche onto it with such brute force flashed up in his mind – and her expression: one of total surprise and ultimate despair as she realised in that nano-second what he'd done to her. Poor old Elaine. He wondered what her last thought had been before she'd made impact with the water, if the blow had been enough to kill her outright or if she'd subsequently drowned. Ah, well, no matter; the outcome had been inevitable anyway. Still, it was unlike him to act in such a spontaneous manner and it was this lack of forethought that had given him the jitters.

McKenzie was still very much aware that murdering one's wife was illegal and that as such he could be held accountable should he not cover his tracks most thoroughly. He liked to be meticulous about things, plan them to the nth degree. Acting spontaneously ran the risk of being sloppy and overlooking things that couldn't afford to be overlooked, and it was for this reason he was a little cross with himself. He wished now that he had waited. Still, recriminations were futile. What was done was done and couldn't be undone. Elaine was in a watery grave and he had business to attend to.

Sinking more of his Scotch, McKenzie sat up, replaced his shoes and suit jacket, and slicked back his carefully dyed hair with the palm of his hand before opening his laptop. Clearing his throat and switching on his webcam he smiled as his face came into view.

‘Good evening, lady and gentlemen. It is with my immense personal pleasure that I welcome you to the final act …'