Miles didn’t turn on the light, content to just gaze out on to the city, letting the darkness and silence soothe him. He closed his eyes and immediately felt himself transported back to the island. For a second, his memory of that night was so clear he could almost smell the sea air, the pineapple bushes, the mangrove. Growing up, Angel Cay had been his Eden, a private pirate island to explore and to run wild in, rich with imagination and adventures. But not any more, not now.
He turned from the window and sat at his desk. His empire spanned a dozen industries and six continents, yet the glass surface of his work station was remarkably uncluttered. In two hours’ time it would be set for breakfast by his butler Stevens and the world’s most influential newspapers would be in a neat pile ready for him to read. But now it just contained a stack of contracts, a phone, a copy of Fortune magazine and a small desk lamp which finally, reluctantly, he turned on. Blinking in the yellow light, he picked up the sleek black phone and dialled his attorney. If he had to go back to Angel Cay to confront this, he wasn’t going to do it alone. Sasha Sinclair, Alex Doyle, his sister. They were going to come with him.
75
Sasha lay naked in Philip’s bed, enjoying the sensation of crisp Irish linen on her bare skin. Her head was foggy from too much red wine – just a couple of glasses was enough to do that these days – and as she started to feel more awake, she felt torn between relief and happiness that she and Philip had got together again and a flood of discomfort from being here, in her ex-boyfriend’s bed, when she should have been in the spare room concentrating on sorting out her career. Hearing a creak at the door, she looked up and pulled the sheet up to cover her bare breasts.
‘I think we’re past that stage now.’ Phil smiled, bringing her a mug of tea.
Sasha giggled, immediately feeling herself relax. Don’t be so uptight, she thought. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?
He sat down and stroked her bare shoulder. ‘You were dead to the world.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Midday.’
She sat up. ‘You are kidding me!’
He laughed and shook his head. ‘How about going out for breakfast at Daylesford?’
She gave him a saucy smile. ‘How about breakfast in bed?’
‘Or lunch, as the case may be.’
Sasha stretched out, smiling.‘How completely decadent,’ she said, feeling happier than she’d felt in ages.
‘Well, in the spirit of decadence, I’ll see if I can whip up something full of fat and carbohydrates,’ said Philip, heading for the kitchen.
Faintly she could hear her mobile ringing. Swinging her legs out of the bed, she scrabbled it out of her bag and pressed accept.
‘Sasha Sinclair?’ The voice was unfamiliar, the accent foreign.
‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘Who is this?’
‘Detective Inspector Carlton from the Royal Bahamian Police Force in Nassau.’
Nassau? She felt her skin go cold, her heart fluttering with panic.
‘How can I help you?’ she asked as evenly as she could.
‘It’s in connection with a body found on Angel Cay, the Exumas island belonging to the Ashford family.’
‘Yes, I know it,’ she said. ‘A body? Has there been an accident there?’
‘No, Miss Sinclair. It’s a very old body, discovered buried near one of the beaches. Initial forensics have put time of death around twenty years ago. Mode of death blunt trauma to the head.’
‘That sounds awful,’ said Sasha. ‘But why are you telling me all this?’
‘Because you visited the island regularly around this time on account of your relationship with Miles Ashford.’
‘That’s true. But I don’t know anything about an accident. Or a body.’
She willed herself to stay calm, stay vague with what she said, although her pulse was racing.
‘We’ve interviewed several former staff from Angel Cay working there at that time. Apparently twenty years ago a boat boy disappeared from the island. At the time everyone assumed he’d just left as he was about to get dismissed.’
She sipped her tea, but it just made her feel nauseous. Her heart was pounding fiercely. Her skin felt crawly. Breathe, Sasha, breathe, she thought, focusing on her yoga training.
‘Really? I don’t remember hearing about that.’
‘The week he went missing, you were one of the dozen or so guests on the island,’ pressed Carlton.
‘As I said, I don’t recall anything about a disappearance of a staff member.’
‘Well even so, you will appreciate that we need to interview you.’
Sasha paused, anger beginning to overtake her fear. What if she really didn’t know anything about it? Did they expect her to drop everything and go running off halfway around the world to tell them that? And anyway, if she did, wouldn’t that be tantamount to an admission of guilt?
‘I appreciate you have a job to do, Detective,’ she said. ‘But I have a job too. I run an international fashion label. I don’t have enough time for breakfast, let alone to come to the Bahamas to help you with your inquiries.’
His voice took on a sterner edge. ‘Don’t make this more difficult for yourself, Miss Sinclair.’
‘With respect, Dectective, the difficulty is yours. I have told you everything I know about this. If you wish to speak to me further, please contact my lawyer. I would be more than happy to give you his number.’
She took a cold shower straight after the call, shivering in the tiny cubicle as the icy water pinched her skin. Any thoughts of Randall Kane, Assad or saving her business had evaporated to be replaced by a sense of dread that Angel Cay, the boat boy and that horrible summer were finally coming back to haunt her.
Grabbing a fluffy white towel, she rubbed her face in the luxurious, comforting folds and quickly dressed. She went downstairs and passed through the kitchen where Philip was cooking bacon, eggs and beans on the Aga.
‘I’m going out,’ she said, reaching for the latch of the farmhouse door.
‘Hey, what about the food?’ he said.‘And anyway, your hair’s wet.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Sasha, fumbling with the lock.
He moved the frying pan from the heat. ‘Sash? What’s going on? Who was that on the phone?’
She pulled open the door and ran outside. It was raining, but she didn’t feel it; she just had to get away from the house, to clear her head, try and think.
‘Sasha, wait, please.’
Turning, she saw Philip striding to catch up with her.
‘Leave it, Philip, you can’t help,’ she called, but he had already reached her, grabbing her shoulders and holding her firm.
‘Sasha. What’s wrong? Tell me.’
The rain was soaking his shirt and he was shivering.
‘I can’t,’ she said, the words feeling strangled in her throat. ‘I just, I can’t ...’
‘Yes you can,’ he said, taking her in his arms and leading her back to the house. ‘You can tell me everything.’
He towel-dried her hair, wrapped her in a dressing gown and sat her down at the farmhouse table, putting a hot cup of coffee in front of her. She wrapped her fingers around it and began her story.
‘It’s Miles, Philip,’ she said. ‘It always is. I can’t seem to get away from him. From the second I arrived at my old school, Danehurst, I was drawn to him. He was everything I wanted to be. Rich, successful, glamorous. I thought that just being with him would make my life so special.’
Philip nodded, but stayed silent, letting her talk.
‘I loved him even though he didn’t make me feel good about myself a lot of the time. Miles liked to play power games even then, liked to keep me in my place. But I didn’t care. When you’re with Miles Ashford, you feel untouchable. People would do anything to be my friend and I could see a future for myself beyond my middle-class Surrey background that my mum had brought me up to despise.’
She glanced at him with a sense of deeply buried sham
e.
‘After our A levels we went to Angel Cay, the Ashfords’ Caribbean home. I loved it there, it was like Paradise. On the last night we stayed up all night. Drinking, smoking, taking drugs. Just before dawn, four of us, Miles and his sister, myself and Alex Doyle – you know, the musician? – went skinny-dipping in a cove, and on the way back to the house we found a dead body. Or at least we thought it was dead.’
‘Who was it? Did you know?’
‘A boat boy called Bradley,’ she said, feeling more courage as she told her story. ‘Miles said we should do nothing about it. That we should leave it for someone else to find. People would point the finger at us, the police would investigate us. So that’s what we did. Left it. Miles said he would get his father to sort it out.’
Philip creased his brow. ‘So why are you so freaked out about it today?’
‘Because that was the Bahamas police on the phone. They’ve found a dead body buried under the beach at Angel Cay and they want to interview me about it.’
‘And you think it’s the boat boy?’
‘Who else could it be?’
‘But I thought you said you weren’t sure if he was dead.’
She sighed. ‘Robert Ashford told us the body had disappeared and a boat had been stolen. He said the boat boy has taken it and fled the island.’
‘And you believed that?’
‘I had to believe it,’ she said, clenching her fists together. ‘I’ve spent twenty years telling myself that was what happened.’
‘Why?’
‘Because in my heart of hearts, I’ve always thought that it was Miles who attacked him.’ She shook her head, knowing she had to tell him everything. ‘I’d slept with the boy earlier that night and it was just like Miles to find out and take revenge. I wanted to believe that he was OK and had escaped, because the alternative was suspecting that Miles had murdered him. But if there’s a body, well, it looks like he didn’t steal a boat and escape, did he?’
There was a long pause as Philip tried to absorb the information.
‘You have to tell someone,’ he said finally, his face solemn.
‘And dig myself into a deeper hole? We found the body, Philip. I’d had sex with the boat boy an hour earlier. I doubt the police know that detail; then again, who knows what they know?’
‘Precisely. And the last thing you want to happen is to get done for misprision of felony. Still law in the Bahamas as far as I’m aware.’
Sasha shook her head. ‘Misprision of felony?’
‘Concealment of a crime.’
Her hands were trembling, but Philip came over and took them in his. She felt a surge of strength and comfort.
‘What should I do, Phil?’
‘Don’t worry, for a start. We’ll sort this out together, OK?’
He put his strong arms around her and she felt safe and protected, knowing she had someone who would fight her corner. And Sasha Sinclair had never been one to lie down and take what was being thrown at her.
‘Sod this, I’m calling Miles,’ she said suddenly, standing up and going to the bedroom. She flicked through her BlackBerry until she found Miles’ assistant’s number. The number was over ten years old, but she was still connected to a polite British voice.
‘Mr Ashford is in New York right now,’ said the woman. ‘Can I ask what it’s regarding?’
‘I’m an old friend and this is urgent business.’
‘I’ll pass on the message.’
Sasha was in no mood to be fobbed off. ‘I need to speak to him right now,’ she said firmly. ‘Tell him the Bahamian police have been in touch with me about a matter on Angel Cay.’
‘I’ll put you straight through to Mr Marshall,’ said the woman with clipped efficiency.
‘Who’s he?’ asked Sasha, but she was talking to dead air. There were a few clicks and then a rich-toned American came on the line.
‘Miss Sinclair. I’m glad you’ve called. I wanted to speak to you.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Miles Ashford’s attorney.’
Typical of Miles to put some lackey in between them. Never did like doing his own dirty work.
‘So you’ll know why I’m calling,’ said Sasha.
‘About the discovery at Angel Cay?’
She didn’t know what he knew, but as a trusted henchman of the great Miles Ashford, it was certain he had more information than Detective Carlton.
‘Don’t worry, we’re going to get this all smoothed out, Sasha.’
‘Really? And how precisely do you propose to do that?’ she said, irritated by his condescending tone.
‘Miles wants you all to meet to discuss your position.’
Sasha swallowed. ‘All of us?’
‘Yourself, his sister Grace and Alex Doyle,’ said Michael. ‘He wants you all to come to Angel Cay.’
She felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead. ‘Why on earth would I want to go there?’ she hissed.
‘Would you rather this was first discussed at Nassau’s police station?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Miles thinks you should all talk about this privately and make a strategy,’ said Michael smoothly. ‘And I think that’s a wise move. We will send his personal jet for you. You’ll land in Nassau and be taken directly to Angel Cay. Can you be ready by first thing tomorrow morning?’
Sasha had the sense of being pushed into something she wasn’t comfortable with. That’s a feeling I should be well used to with Miles Ashford, she thought.
‘I need to think about this,’ she said, playing for time. Most of all, she wanted to discuss it with Philip. He would know what to do.
‘Well, call me as soon as you have thought it through,’ said Michael. ‘You’re all in this together, Sasha. And right now, I think you all need to stick together.’
Part Three
76
Sitting at the back of the six-seater plane, Alex gripped the armrest of his seat and watched Angel Cay get bigger and bigger, the white sands growing brighter and more dazzling as the small craft circled the island then spluttered in to land on the tiny airstrip along the south shore. He simply couldn’t believe he was back here. Stepping off the plane, the scented tropical breeze warming his face, squinting at the perfect stripe of sea beyond the dunes, it was as if the summer of 1990 had been yesterday.
He glanced over at Grace and gave her an uncertain smile, knowing she was feeling it too. But Grace had other things on her mind; she had barely spoken on the flight from Heathrow. He experienced a huge wave of emotion for her, feeling the weight of what she had just been through on his own shoulders. After her hysterical phone call three days ago, he’d found her wandering aimlessly along Chelsea Embankment, her face a pink puffy mess, stuttering and shaking. He wasn’t entirely sure whether it was Julian’s affair with her daughter which had destroyed her, or the brutal words Olivia had spoken when Grace had walked in on them. Whichever it was, she had fallen completely apart, and while his first instincts had been to track Julian down and beat the living shit out of him, he had done the grown-up thing and taken her back to his Highgate home to look after her, protect her.
That was where they had been when Michael Marshall had called. A body had been found, he had said. The police wanted to question them. They had to face this together.
Standing on the dusty runway, the pale pink house looking down on him from the bluff of the hill like an imperious maiden aunt, he wondered how Grace had persuaded him to come. He always knew this day might happen, of course; in fact he had somehow known in his gut that it would, but his time in the clinic had forced him to look at his motivations in life, and he had realised that the desire to be rich, powerful and adored was really a desire to be protected, so that he would be cushioned from things like this, hiding away behind an army of expensive lawyers and legal loopholes. If he’d wanted, he was sure he could have paid enough to make this go away, but as always, Grace had broken down his defences.
Kiss Heaven Goodbye Page 60