Pleasure Island

by Anna-Lou Weatherley

  ‘I have felt permanently a little, well, tipsy, is the only way I can describe it I suppose.’

  Oddly he knew exactly what she meant as he too had struggled with a slight malaise ever since they’d touched down onto the island. He’d put it down to lack of sleep and trauma.

  ‘Maybe you ought to lay off the champagne then,’ he remarked, welcoming the conversation’s change in direction.

  ‘Hmm … yes, perhaps the champagne’s the answer.’

  ‘Champagne’s always the answer.’

  Angelika began brushing her hair. ‘What do you think is in the box he gave us?’

  Rupert removed the last of the foam with the razor and shook it into the sink.

  ‘God knows; nothing probably. It’s just McKenzie’s fuckery. You above all people know what a control freak he is. He’s only done it so that we will have this exact conversation. It’s a big PR stunt, the whole bloody thing.’

  ‘Yes, but if that was the case then surely he would’ve only invited press people. Why invite Mia for instance, or Nate and Billie-Jo for that matter? He’s a footballer and she’s an –’

  ‘Idiot? No to mention a little gold-digger and a slut.’

  Angelika scowled.

  ‘So judgemental, Rupert.’

  ‘Come on, don’t tell me you disagree.’

  ‘I disagree with you being so judgmental. She seems nice enough.’

  ‘Well, once thing’s for sure, we’ll no doubt get to find out! Until those bloody phone lines are fixed we’re stuck here with the lot of them.’

  18

  Never argue with stupid people, they will drag you down to their level and beat you with experience. This was the thought running through Mia’s mind as she stretched out on the enormous egg-shaped sun pod in a cat-like manner and took a large slug of champagne.

  She was sure McKenzie had done this deliberately – throwing her and Deyton together like this. After all, her dislike of her former brief wasn’t exactly a big secret. Perhaps they were all in it together: McKenzie, Deyton and that bastard Bailey – she wouldn’t put it past any of them, trio of unscrupulous fuckers. If only McKenzie had been brave enough to show his face she would’ve ripped it clean off. Instead, however, the big shithouse had sent his weird little wife to do his dirty work for him. Coward as ever. She shifted uneasily on the sunbed, unable to find comfort. Admittedly the setting was spectacular – he’d got that part right at least – the 360-degree view of tranquil crystalline ocean swathed in palms and sheltered by craggy cliffs and powdery, white sand was picture-postcard perfect in its simplicity, nature at its most breathtaking. For now she was content to bask in the unforgiving heat, the sun high and proud above the cliffs casting a white sheen over all it touched. In any normal circumstance Mia would’ve thoroughly appreciated the chance to rest and recuperate in such a spectacular location, and with all that was on hand too, but she couldn’t relax.

  What was McKenzie’s real reason for inviting her here? He’d ignored her for years. Why now? Whatever it was she had a bad feeling about it. It was Bailey’s fault for talking her into it. He had manipulated her, convinced her it would re-boot her flagging career, pave the way for a comeback and stupidly she had allowed herself to be seduced. She should’ve known better; Martin McKenzie was born with a hidden agenda. But what was that hidden agenda in this instance, and what did it have to do with her? She had history with him granted, but McKenzie didn’t even know the half of it.

  Their story went back over thirty-five years – practically a lifetime ago now, or so it felt – when she had been a terribly young, terribly beautiful and terribly talented wannabe star. McKenzie, a decade her senior at the very least, had already accrued a name for himself as something of an impresario in the entertainment industry, ostensibly in television broadcasting and talent spotting. He’d found her singing in a backstreet pub in Pimlico and promptly signed her on the spot.

  ‘I’m going to make you the biggest star on the planet.’ She would never forget his opening gambit. This was what she’d been waiting for from the moment she’d been consciously aware of her own existence. Recognition – and from someone with McKenzie’s burgeoning clout – was like being given a golden ticket and it was only fair to say that he had made good on his word; for the next two years she had been his number-one priority in every sense, and had introduced her to anyone of any importance or sway in the business. He’d hooked her up with big name producers, people who’d worked with the likes of Diana Ross and Elton John and set about transforming her into a household name, a superstar with global appeal. ‘You got the voice, baby, and that’s all you need to worry about. You just let Uncle Mart do the rest, huh?’

  Mia had never considered objecting, not to anything he said, ever, not even when he’d insisted on changing her birth name from June Longfield to Mia Manhattan. ‘No one famous ever had the name June Longfield, honey.’ McKenzie was the master, and she his slave. She had trusted him both professionally and personally, and with a naivety that was a preserve of her youth.

  The affair between them had, with hindsight, been as inevitable as it was brief. He had taken her virginity with breathtaking self-entitlement and she had given it willingly, grateful to him for everything. She knew he was married and accepted it could never be anything more than what it was. He had even encouraged her to date other boys her own age, which she had done simply to please him and in a futile attempt to make him jealous. She supposed she had been in love with him. However, what had happened next had given Mia cause to despise the man, to loathe him with such raw hatred that she had willed him a slow, agonising death ever since. This secret, one she had carried and kept for over thirty years, had shaped Mia’s entire existence and changed her life forever, the kind that never left you alone; it was always there, burning a hole through her heart, tormenting her thoughts, creeping into her consciousness whenever she found herself feeling happy and contented. Guilt was such a terrible affliction; it never let you forget. It was like a cancer, slowly corroding and gnawing away at her.

  She had tried to forgive herself for it but guilt had a different agenda, its own life force, and no matter how much she had tried over the years to push it away it was always there, threatening, stealth-like beneath the surface, to remind of her of what a dreadful, cruel and heartless woman she really must be. Dickie was one of just three people who knew of her true past. McKenzie only knew half the truth but Rupert Deyton knew the lot. During her trial, when she’d been in a highly emotional state, she had confessed her terrible secret to him only to instantly regret such a moment of candour. Rupert bloody Deyton, of all people! What had she been thinking? She clearly hadn’t been. And now he knew. And now he was here. However, while concerned, she wasn’t overly so because she had dirt on him too. Shit, what she knew could be used as leverage should he ever threaten to spill the beans. He wouldn’t though, would he?

  The champagne had acted like a sedative, and sweeping her moribund thoughts out of her mind like ashes, Mia finally found herself drifting off in a fitful slumber – until suddenly she was aware of a shadow across her, an a drop in temperature as someone blocked the sun.

  ‘Hey, babe,’ the voice said, ‘I didn’t wake you, did I?’

  Mia sat bolt upright.

  Oh my God,’ she gasped loudly, ‘Joshua!’

  19

  A scorching hot day had given way to a sticky, sultry evening where the guests had gathered, as per instructions, underneath the white, canopied terrace. Dinner, preluded by champagne aperitifs, had been a truly spectacular affair, a no-expense-spared feast of five-star cuisine displayed on sizzling silver platters: a plethora of fresh crustacean and melt-in-the-mouth meats; foie gras appetisers; and fresh fruits carved into elaborate works of art that looked almost too good to eat.

  After clearing away the devoured dishes, one of the mutes brought a selection of digestifs along with a box and placed them onto the table before bowing subserviently.

  ‘Mine’s a brandy and
lovage,’ Rupert said, giving him the nod to pour.

  ‘Another box?’ Billie-Jo peered over at it. It had the words ‘Play if you dare’ written on the front. She repeated them with a raised eyebrow. ‘Sounds like a challenge to me!’

  ‘Looks like a board game or something,’ Nate said opening it. ‘Ah.’ He pulled out a set of cards and some instructions. ‘It is a board game.’

  ‘Ooh, I’m in.’ Billie-Jo clasped her painted hands. She loved playing games, of every variety, and anything that contained the word ‘dare’ in it had her vote. ‘How about you guys?’ She looked over at Mia and Joshua, who she noted had been surprisingly quiet since his return to the island just a few hours ago.

  ‘Can’t remember nothing,’ he’d said honestly of being flown off the island to have his arm fixed up. ‘I swear it’s all a hazy blur, dude … all I can remember is waking up to some nurse peering over me and the next thing I’m on a plane being taken back here.’ He’d taken a swig of a cold cerveza and shrugged.

  ‘You don’t remember where they took you? Or if you had access to a telephone?’ Mia supposed the poor boy had been sedated up to the eyeballs.

  ‘Are you in pain?’ Angelika had expressed her concern.

  ‘Like I said, I don’t remember nothing … they pumped me full of morphine, man. I could’ve been in Tennessee or Timbucktoo, and no, no pain at all thanks to the liquid H.’ He’d waved his cast arm as if to demonstrate. ‘I kinda feel like a new man.’

  Billie-Jo smirked. She knew the feeling.

  Mia was glad he wasn’t in any pain at least, but still she couldn’t help feeling a little irritated by the fact that Joshua had not have the savvy to make a phone call from the hospital. If he’d alerted someone about the crash landing and who was here on the island, namely Rupert bastard Deyton, then it would eventually get back to Dickie and he would’ve sent a plane for her, she felt sure. But she was mindful of grilling him; the boy had been through the ringer and looked pale and tired. A relaxed supper and an early night was just what the doctor ordered, so to speak. Billie-Jo, however, seemed to have other plans.

  ‘It’s one of them truth-or-dare type games,’ she announced, snatching the instructions from Nate and scanning them. ‘An icebreaker it says here …’

  Nate glanced over at Angelika and gave a little eye roll. There was no stopping Bee when she got one in her bonnet.

  ‘Icebreaker? How very … American.’ Rupert couldn’t think of anything worse.

  ‘Actually, I’m feeling pretty exhausted,’ Angelika said, ‘and I’m sure Joshua here would like to rest, wouldn’t you? After what he’s been through.’

  ‘What we’ve all been through,’ Rupert chipped in.

  Super8#6 watched the players from behind his computer screen. He felt apprehensive; it didn’t look as if they were going to bite the bait and he felt a little panic rise within him. He had hoped to impress the club members with his psychological prowess; he knew that if they would only play it, then it would make for sensational viewing.

  ‘Looks like you got all your timing wrong, my friend.’ Super8#3 typed, unhelpfully.

  Super8#6 felt his irritation spike. All the Super8 club members had tuned in for tonight’s anticipated action and he knew they would be disappointed to sign off unsatisfied, no one more than himself.

  ‘Let’s just see shall we, my friend.’ It was official; Super8#3 was a complete jerk.

  Billie-Jo gulped at a glass of Courvoisier.

  ‘Aw, come on, you killjoys.’ She continued to read the instructions. ‘It’s our first proper night all together on the island and look, it says here the winning couple are in store for a prize!’ This was more than enough of an incentive for Billie-Jo. She liked the idea of a prize, especially one from the likes of Martin multi-billionaire McKenzie. ‘Let’s face it, we could all do with having some fun.’

  No one could exactly argue with her.

  ‘Suppose a quick game won’t hurt before bed,’ Angelika acquiesced, although something told her it wasn’t a good idea.

  Mia glanced at Rupert, up-lit by the candelabra. He was on his second brandy and lovage, and had an austere look on his face. This wasn’t particularly unusual from what she could remember but still it put her ill at ease.

  ‘So –’ Billie-Jo picked up a small, white card from the pack. She had taken it upon herself to become task master ‘– I will ask the first question and I will ask …’ She scanned the table quickly ‘… you!’ She pointed at Angelika. Angelika decided to top-up her own Courvoisier glass; subliminally something told her she may need it.

  ‘Truth or dare, Angelika?’

  Billie-Jo shot her a sly smile though Angelika wasn’t sure why. She had been nothing but pleasant to her from the moment they’d met.

  Angelika hesitated.

  ‘Come on, Angelika,’ Rupert interjected, ‘you’ve played spin the bottle before, haven’t you?’

  Actually, she wasn’t sure she ever had.

  ‘Truth,’ she reluctantly replied. The truth couldn’t hurt you after all, could it?

  Billie-Jo grinned as she read the card.

  ‘What’s the worst lie you’ve ever told your partner? Two points for truth or forfeit one with a dare.’

  Angelika’s eyes widened.

  ‘Does it really say that, on the card I mean?’

  Billie-Jo held it up for her to see.

  Super8#6 broke into a smile.

  ‘What were you saying about timing #3, my friend?’ he wrote, smugly. And so it had begun …

  Angelika felt the heat of the other’s eyes upon her, expectant.

  ‘Well?’ Rupert said. He looked almost amused by her discomfort.

  Angelika knew the answer to the question right off but she was damned if she was going to confess her sins like this!

  ‘And don’t lie or I’ll know!’ he added, though he was careful to make it sound light-hearted.

  She wracked her brains to come up with something plausible but her exhausted mind failed her.

  ‘OK,’ she said sheepishly, ‘… dare then.’

  Rupert’s eyes widened and Mia began to laugh.

  ‘So you have a secret you’re not telling me: a lie I don’t know about … or that you don’t want to say? What is it, Angelika?’ he felt indignant, embarrassed; his wife had opted out of a confession and chosen a dare instead. What was so bad that she couldn’t tell him?

  ‘We all have secrets, Rupert,’ Mia smirked, ‘don’t we?’

  ‘Some more than others,’ he fired back.

  Nate sensed Angelika’s discomfort and felt sorry for her.

  ‘Dare it is then!’ Billie-Jo was relishing this game already. She picked up a card from the deck. ‘Point to a person here who you would most like to have sex with other than your partner … Oh my God!’ She gasped excitedly. Now this really was her idea of fun.

  ‘This is ridiculous!’ Angelika objected, ‘seriously?’

  ‘Says here if you refuse the dare then you must “suffer the consequences”.’

  ‘Which are?’ Nate said.

  ‘Dunno, just what is says …’ Billie-Jo shrugged. ‘I’ll have to hurry you, Angelika.’ Billie-Jo was enjoying herself as she began to sing the iconic timed-out tune from the TV show Countdown.

  ‘OK … OK …’ She quickly pointed at Nate and felt herself redden.

  The gesture burst Billie-Jo’s bubble with a pop that was almost audible.

  Mia and Joshua were looking at the three of them simultaneously. Billie-Jo’s mouth was slightly agape, Rupert’s expression was stony, and Nate, though Mia could tell he was making a stellar effort to disguise it, looked pretty-damn chuffed.

  ‘Hey, so what’s wrong with me then, Angelika? Not your bag huh?’ JJ grinned at her. He wasn’t exactly offended but his ego was certainly a little bruised. After all, he was younger, and a rock star. And was used to all the attention from pussy of all ages. So what was this chick’s problem?

  ‘No offence,’ Angelika apologised qui
ckly, ‘it’s just … well … there’s not too much in the way of choice, is there? And … and … Nate’s more my age,’ she added, not daring to look in his direction. ‘No offence,’ she said again, this time looking at Mia. How excruciating!

  Billie-Jo studied her husband’s reaction carefully. Was that a half smile she could see on his face? She’d have to keep an eye out for Angelika Deyton. It was always the basic bitches you needed to watch out for when it came to protecting your assets. Surely he didn’t fancy her?

  Rupert fixed his wife’s eyes and she widened her own as if to say, ‘What was I supposed to do?’

  ‘So …’ Billie-Jo attempted to keep the animosity from her tone, ‘your turn, Angelika.’

  ‘Go on then!’ Rupert said, as if to challenge her.

  Angelika reluctantly picked up a card from the top of the pile with an unsteady hand. She wasn’t enjoying this.

  ‘Explain … ahem.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Explain your three least-favourite characteristics about your partner and why, and allow the others to guess which is your top least favourite.’

  Mia’s eyebrows rose. Some game this was turning out to be.

  ‘I don’t think I want to play this anymore.’ Angelika placed the card back down onto the table and simultaneously sipped her drink.

  ‘Don’t be shy, darling,’ Rupert mocked her. ‘Things are just about to get interesting.’

  Super8#4 smiled to herself.

  ‘Aren’t they just?’ she typed. ‘The lawyer is seriously pissed off that his wife wants to fuck the footballer … now you all know I predicted this.’

  ‘Quite the clairvoyant,’ Super8#2 wrote back.

  ‘Well, where do I begin?’ Rupert laughed. ‘Angelika, Angelika, Angelika … hmmm … the three things I like about you least …’

  ‘Oh, come on Rupert, it shouldn’t be too difficult,’ she humoured him in a bid to conceal her mortification.