Sleeping Cruelty Read Online Free PDF

enough to realize that Maynard was drinking more than usual. But the warning bells still did not ring and William was merely pleased to see his protégé looking almost handsome: he’d been away in France and the suntan suited him, and he had started taking more interest in his clothes. Maynard was wearing a slim gold watch and the lining of his expensive new suit was of a dark emerald green satin.
    The conversation turned to the predilection of the British press for public hounding, and to the most powerful man in British journalism, the newspaper magnate Humphrey Matlock. Matlock’s powerful control of virtually every newspaper in the UK made him a formidable opponent. Although William didn’t know him, he admired Matlock’s tenacious strength of mind. Maynard, however, believed that no single individual should beallowed such control of the national media. William pointed out that as long as Matlock was on their side they had no reason to try to stop him.
    ‘We’ll never know exactly which side he’s on. And now that everyone is afraid to get on the wrong side of him, whichever party they belong to, he’s unstoppable,’ Maynard insisted.
    ‘I don’t understand why you suddenly feel the need to attack him. As I recall, he’s never done anything but enhance your image,’ William replied, then stood up to leave – he had a three-thirty appointment.

    The next morning at five fifty-five William had had his morning shower and was throwing on his clothes. He caught sight of the documents he’d been reading in bed the night before, and his heart leaped with pleasure. He owned numerous sumptuous homes around the world, all run by a permanent staff and ready for occupancy at any time of the year. But his latest purchase was the jewel in his crown. He was looking forward to showing it off to Maynard. He wouldn’t approve, of course: he maintained that one home was enough for anyone. William had bought a small island in the British Virgin Islands. In the sixties it had enjoyed brief fame as a jet-set getaway, and appeared in all the top magazines as one of the most exclusive playgrounds in the world. But in the intervening years the owner had grown infirm and his money had gone on health care rather than upkeep. Now the island was in a state of total disrepair.
    William had spectacular plans to make his paradise rise from the ashes like a phoenix. He had bought it at a good price because the refurbishment costs would be astronomical. He invited a select group of designers to tender for the renovations, and took great delight in poring over their Toytown models. It was a huge job and, judging from the way the companies fell over themselves to produce their designs, a desirable one. Maynard would be appalled at the fact that no expense would be spared to make William’s dream come true.
    It was six thirty and William went downstairs for breakfast. As he sat at the table and shook open that day’s Times , he smiled to himself. He was where he had always dreamed he would be, right at the top of the world, and he had, as he constantly reminded himself, got there solely by his own hard work. He read the social column: ‘Not So Idle Rich’ was the headline. William Benedict already had a knighthood they said, how long would it be, at this rate, before he moved into the Upper House? William raised an eyebrow. He’d like that. He’d like to sit in the House of Lords, perhaps become one of the government’s advisers . . . and maybe, with the help and guidance of Andrew Maynard, it was within his grasp.

    Andrew Maynard’s cleaner, Mrs Skipper, always arrived promptly at six a.m. She would tidy the house, prepare breakfast and cook an evening meal he could heat when he wanted it. Andrew Maynard was meticulous about his domestic routines. He did not like her to be there all day, or to stay overnight. He hated to work in his study with the sound of vacuuming, or the smell of cooking lingering in the air. By nine he had