Pleasure Island Page 4

  Billie-Jo leant forward and kissed her husband on the lips for the first time that day.

  ‘I’m coming!’ she called out to the voice below as her cries reached fever pitch.

  And in this particular case, she wasn’t lying.

  4

  ‘Bit bloody cloak and dagger this, isn’t it?’ Rupert Deyton remarked, unimpressed, as he reclined into the back seat of the unmarked limousine next to his wife. ‘Why send a car at silly o’clock in the middle of the night anyway? Couldn’t he have organised an afternoon flight instead … why all the ridiculous subterfuge?’

  Angelika shrugged. She could feel the irritation coming off of her husband in waves.

  ‘You missed your vocation in life, Rupert; you should’ve been a journalist, all those questions … perhaps he wants us on the island first thing. Maybe this was the only slot he could get in airspace o thr the pilot needs to be somewhere else by midday. Or maybeere’s absolutely no reason whatsoever.’

  ‘This is Martin McKenzie we’re talking about,’ Rupert snorted, flicking his dark, salt-and-pepper hair from his face. These days it was more salt than pepper, something he would’ve liked to have rectified before this infernal trip had come around, but the State vs the well-known actor, Peter Cheshunt, had gone on far longer than was good for anyone, least of all Cheshunt himself. ‘Believe me, that man has a reason for everything he does.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s to add a bit of drama to the occasion.’ Angelika’s eyes widened and she squeezed his arm for effect. He automatically recoiled from her.

  ‘Aren’t you even a little bit excited, you miserable old sod?’ She pulled away from him, though was careful to keep her tone light and playful. There was still time for him to change his mind after all. ‘I mean, it’s not every day you’re flown via private jet to a paradise Island gratis by one of the world’s richest, most powerful men is it?’ The Deyton’s weren’t exactly on the breadline but they weren’t in McKenzie’s league, not many people were, and Rupert had always grumbled about shelling out for expensive holidays, preferring to spend his hard earned cash on property and cars, ‘things that hold value and don’t just become memories’ as he stoically put it.

  Rupert shook his head. ‘There’s no such thing as “gratis” where men like McKenzie are concerned, trust me. We’ll end up paying for it somehow, mark my words, and less of the old, Angelika.’

  Angelika exhaled. She wished she could just have a normal conversation with her husband, one that didn’t automatically degenerate into a series of sarcastic barbs, subtle snipes and asides. It was all so futile, so … exhausting.

  ‘Don’t pretend you’re not as intrigued as I am about the whole thing,’ she sniffed. ‘You wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise, and you damn well know it.’

  She was right, not that he would ever admit it. In fact he was more than just a little intrigued by McKenzie’s latest venture – and by the man himself, truth be known. Yet his natural cynicism told him that this was not simply going to be two weeks of unadulterated luxury like his ever-optimistic, and frankly naïve, wife seemed so convinced of.

  ‘Didn’t have a choice really, did I dear?’ he mused, looking out of the blackened window in a futile bid to try and fathom where the hell they were headed. ‘It was either that or stare at your miserable face for all eternity.’ He pretended to be more annoyed than he actually was by his wife’s blatant stitch-up. Cross as he’d been to learn of her agreeing to this on his behalf, he was also admittedly as intrigued by it as she was. Not that he was about to let Angelika know that.

  Angelika instantly thought of a caustic comeback but stopped herself short.

  ‘I hope I packed the right things,’ she said, changing the subject. She chewed her bottom lip. ‘The invitation didn’t specify a particular dress code … I mean, will it be formal evening wear, round the captain’s table, that sort of thing, or do you think it’s going to be bit more of a chic, bohemian, Ibiza vibe?’ She sighed once more, realising the futility of asking him such questions. Rupert’s idea of dressing for dinner amounted to throwing on a bowtie. ‘And of course we don’t know who else has been invited do we? No doubt a supermodel or two … just to make me feel better.’

  ‘With a stroke of luck,’ he muttered, though frankly he wasn’t in the least bit interested. ‘At least the view will be half decent, even if the conversation isn’t.’

  Angelika ignored him. She was excited about this trip and wasn’t about to let the joyless shit she’d married spoilt it for her. Her sharp journalist instincts told her something momentous was about to happen. Something she wanted to be part of.

  ‘Aren’t you even a little intrigued as to who the other guests are going to be? After all, McKenzie’s seriously well-connected. We could even find ourselves spending the next fortnight in the company of royalty.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rupert agreed, his wife’s zealousness beginning to grate on him, ‘which begs the obvious bloody question as to why he’s invited the likes of us comparative no-marks?’

  ‘I guess we’re going to find out soon enough.’ Angelika’s blue eyes were alight in the darkness as the car came to a slow halt.

  ‘Looks like we’re here,’ she said, clasping her hands together, her heart beating a song inside her chest.

  ‘Wherever here is,’ Rupert continued to mutter underneath his breath, a habit she found infuriating, as the chauffeur opened the car door.

  Angelika exited first and after a few seconds stopped dead before turning to look at her husband, her expression giving him immediate cause for concern.

  ‘Holy shit, Ru,’ she said, eyes wide, her mouth forming an ominous ‘O’ shape as her heart dropped to her wedge-heeled sandals, ‘you’re not going to like this … not going to like it at all.’

  ‘Call my agent now!’ Mia Manhattan was practically destroying her Jimmy Choos as she stomped up and down the tarmac. ‘Get that fucker Bailey on the phone,’ she commanded to the young, hapless Asian woman wearing a red and black uniform to match her hair and lipstick. ‘I don’t give a flying rat’s fucking arsehole if it’s the middle of the shitting bastard night; I want that treacherous cunt on the phone this instant!’

  Joshua Jones stood behind Mia and tried to refrain from laughing. Boy, did this broad have a dirty mouth on her!

  ‘I’m afraid that’s impossible, mam,’ the young woman advised her gently. If she’d been offended by Mia’s choice language she certainly didn’t seem it.

  ‘Impossible?’ Mia visibly recoiled, her head retracting into her neck, veins protruding, fat with blood.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t have your agent’s number,’ she replied with the slightest raised brow.

  Mia let out an incredulous laugh. She’d been so used to having people jump through hoops for her that sometimes she was inclined to forget small details – such as the facts.

  ‘Well, if you think I’m getting on that plane with him –’ she pointed a manicured burgundy nail in Rupert and Angelika’s direction ‘– then you’ve got a long wait ahead of you. I’d rather eat a shit sandwich than spend the next two weeks with that incompetent Eaton-educated arsewipe.’

  JJ laughed out loud, he couldn’t help it. This was a side of Mia Manhattan he hadn’t seen before, though arguably he’d only really seen her on her back. They’d not exactly done much talking since they’d met. But then that suited him fine. During the few occasions they’d actually had dinner together, she had regaled some ‘back in the day’ type tales that had meant nothing to him about people he knew shit about. Way before his time, man. But the woman was still a legend and was kinda hot for an older broad. Besides, the paps had gone fucking ape for them ever since they’d hooked up, giving him some serious exposure which was A-OK with him. He couldn’t be sure that she’d had any sway in the fact that his band had just been signed to Sony in the UK, but it sure as shit hadn’t done him no harm that was for certain. So what if the dudes in the band had ribbed him about fucking Grandma’s pussy. He’d do that shit
all day long if it meant his mug shot made the dailies. Joshua Jones had waited for his fifteen minutes all his goddamn life and was prepared to go to any lengths to get them. Screwing a famous woman old enough to be his mother … hell, maybe even Grandmother, was a no fucking brainer. Besides, that cougar was using him just as much as he was using her. He read the papers; she wanted to get back at that old man of hers for boning some young chick behind her back and frankly he was stoked to be of assistance. Anyway, at least she wasn’t giving him bullshit like the chicks his own age did with all their possessive crap, wanting to tie him down and get all exclusive on his ass.

  ‘Jesus, do I have to do everything myself?’ Turning her back on the woman, Mia reached inside her tote for her phone and pressed her agent on speed dial. ‘This had better be fucking good, Bailey,’ she hissed as it began to ring, ‘fucking good indeed.’

  5

  ‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome on board Mr McKenzie’s G650 private, business jet. My name is Aki. I am your flight attendant and I will be serving you for the duration of your flight. Your captain today is Hiro: a very experienced pilot, and Mr McKenzie’s personal favourite.’

  The young woman spoke with authority and a radiant smile as she gestured towards a red, velvet curtain where a pilot with a small, pinched face and severe, slicked-back black hair sat, unsmiling. He saluted the six guests formally, silently, before closing the curtain.

  ‘I’m afraid I am unable to tell you our exact destination due to strict instructions from Mr McKenzie,’ she explained, ‘but what I can tell you is that you will not be disappointed.’ She paused. ‘First things first, if I may take your watches and mobile phones please. The G650 is as sensitive as she is powerful. This is simply for flight security, you understand,’ she quickly explained, ‘they will be returned as soon as we are airborne.’

  She made her way through the small but palatial cabin with a soft, black, cloth bag.

  ‘Why can’t we just switch them to airplane mode like usual?’ Billie-Jo enquired, panic settling in her flat stomach. She wasn’t enamoured by the idea of relinquishing her beloved Samsung, nor the diamond Rolex that Nate had gifted her on their wedding day. It was the most expensive thing she owned.

  ‘I’m afraid I must insist on having both your phone and watch, madam; the plane cannot take off until I have them all in my possession.’ Aki’s pasted-on smile remained in perfect tact as she spoke.

  ‘Bit drastic, isn’t it?’ Rupert chipped in, though he duly obliged, throwing his iPhone in the bag as he undid his Breitling.

  ‘Just a safety precaution, sir, at Mr McKenzie’s request, you understand.’

  ‘What is this, the Third Reich?’ Rupert muttered under his breath, snatching Angelika’s phone from the small, drop-down table, and tossing it inside the bag after his own. ‘My wife doesn’t wear a watch, do you, darling? Doesn’t like anything too tight around the wrist,’ he whispered loudly, ‘she was a convict in a previous life.’

  Aki’s smile remained unchanged as Angelika bristled. Rupert liked to make jokes at her expense, subtle putdowns that he passed off as humour. She supposed it was harmless to an outsider’s ear, little more than a husband’s banter, but over the years it had become damaging.

  ‘I don’t wear a watch either,’ Joshua remarked as if imparting such knowledge would somehow be of benefit or indeed interest to anyone. ‘I’ve met some awesome people through asking them the time.’

  He grinned and Angelika smiled at him. She’d read about Joshua Jones and his band, The Dope-a-somethings or the other. They had just secured a record deal with Sony and were set to become the next big thing. He looked much younger in the flesh than all those paps shots she’d seen of him and Mia together. His fair skin was smooth as a baby’s and his wide, green eyes had an innocence about them that belied the whole rock-star image. It was little wonder the press had dubbed Mia a cradle snatcher. Jesus, he looked about twelve years old.

  Belongings collected, Aki turned to the seated guests.

  ‘I trust you will have a comfortable flight. I am here to fulfil your every request as best I can, so please do let me know if here is anything I can get you should you so wish.’

  ‘Yes, I wish you could get me off this fucking plane right now!’ Mia piped up from her seat. She was absolutely fuming, shaking she was so incensed. Thanks to that treacherous old bastard Bailey, she was now sharing confined space with a man who had helped practically destroy her life and career. And that was even before she got to McKenzie. Moreover, according to Bailey, there was absolutely bollock-all she could do about it.

  ‘You signed the contract, Mia,’ her agent had advised during the tense phone call that had just taken place between them, finally managing to squeeze a word through her high pitched shrieking. ‘It clearly states that you’re obliged to go or else pay a forfeit of one million dollars.’ It had been enough to silence her almost immediately.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ she had asked, her voice a low growl through clenched teeth? ‘Were you aware that Rupert Deyton would be here. Because if I find out …’

  ‘I swear to you,’ Bailey had cut in, wondering which fate would be worse, Mia discovering the truth or disobeying McKenzie’s orders. Talk about rocks and hard places, ‘I had no idea who the other guests would be.’

  Mia had had chose to cut him off without so much as a goodbye. She would deal with Bailey when she got back. First things first she would need to tackle Deyton.

  ‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t my learned friend,’ Mia had said as she’d come face to face with him on the concourse.

  ‘Mia,’ Rupert Deyton had reluctantly acknowledged her. She’d looked at him with such contempt that it had practically altered her entire appearance. ‘What an … unexpected surprise, I take it you’re also one of … one of McKenzie’s special guests.’

  ‘Unparalleled levels of deduction, Sherlock.’ The sarcasm had dripped from Mia’s voice like poison. ‘That education of yours really did pay off, didn’t it?’

  Rupert had managed a small, thin smile, though inwardly he was surpressing a diabolical mix of outrage and despair. Mia Manhattan being a fellow island guest had been his worst nightmare realised. He had history with this woman – unpleasant history.

  During the early 90s, when Mia had been at the tail end of the height of her career and he had been a young, up-and-coming barrister, Rupert had been bequeathed the misfortune of representing her in a lawsuit that her then-record company, Polyright Records, had taken out against her for having failed to deliver an album on time and in accordance with her contract. Rupert had been brought in by her attorneys, Clinton Smyth and Jameson’s, to take care of business.

  He hadn’t truly expected it to become the long, bitter and acrimonious battle that had dragged on for almost half a decade, practically bankrupting her in the process and undoubtedly damaging her – until then – unblemished career. Mia had hardly worked a day since, largely citing her ‘inept legal representation’ as the main reason, something which Rupert was vehemently resentful about to this day. She still brought it up in interviews, dragging his good name through the gutter.

  However, Mia’s attempted decimation of him in the eyes of the media had been bittersweet; arguably, and somewhat ironically, it had actually helped raise his profile, but it had also given rise for future clients to be suspicious of his abilities, giving him a dubious reputation before he’d even had the chance to prove himself. Even today, over a decade and a half later, his name was still associated with that damn vengeful woman’s case.

  Similarly, the whole business had all but broken Mia, leaving her finances and career in ruins, not to mention her professional reputation. If the press had been unkind to him they had completely annihilated her, painted her as a stereotypical difficult diva who viewed herself above the need to deliver on her promises, not too far off the money as far as Rupert Deyton was concerned.

  This was the flipside of fame; every miserable bastard she
’d ever had a cross word with in her life had come crawling out of the woodwork like lice, eager to jump on the bandwagon of haters, stick the knife in, in exchange for a few bucks. Her career had never fully recovered from it. Neither in truth had Mia herself.

  It was common knowledge that following the trial’s less-than-favourable outcome, she had suffered a complete mental and physical breakdown and for the most part of five years had been strung out on medication that had rendered her a reclusive zombie. It was only thanks to her then husband’s continuing love and support throughout that she hadn’t gone on to top herself.

  Mia momentarily closed her eyes, the memories of that ghastly period in time too painful for her to revisit. It had been undoubtedly the second-worst experience of her entire life, the only saving grace being that somehow the press had never discovered the truth about the first.

  6

  Put quite simply, the Gulfstream G650 business jet was the platinum standard in private business aviation. Outclassing any other business jet, it boasted extreme, superior comfort as well as being the fastest and safest way to travel via airspace. Martin McKenzie owned five of them in his vast collection of luxury aircraft.

  ‘I’m gonna have a plane like this one day,’ Billie-Jo announced with such breath-taking self-entitlement that Nate was in no doubt she meant it. ‘Look at it, it’s fucking awesome,’ she said, running her neon-pink false nails along the jet’s pristine white-leather interior, while simultaneously wondering if 3am was too early for champagne plus a cheeky livener to get the show on the road. Fuck it, they were on holiday, right?

  ‘Hmm.’ Nate was busying himself with the Gulftream’s handbook. ‘It says here that the G650 comes equipped with powerful Rolls-Royce engines and can cover shorter distances at a speed of Mach 0.925 … apparently no other traditional business jet will take you closer to the speed of sound.’