The Millionaires' Death Club Read online

  ‘But he loves her.’

  Mencken shook his head. ‘Trust me, he detests her.’

  ‘You haven’t seen them together.’

  ‘I don’t have to. Sam will take everything she throws at him. He’ll pass every test, meet every challenge. Why? – because he’s got nowhere else to go. If he admits defeat, he’ll hear the laughter of the bullies all over again; hear his dad slamming the door on him for good.’

  ‘That’s mumbo jumbo.’ But the more I thought about it, the more I believed it.

  ‘Freud said that every psyche has a bullet in it,’ Mencken went on. ‘If you want to heal someone of whatever’s making them sick, you have to remove that bullet. Sam’s is his childhood. He’s never come to terms with it.’

  ‘And if someone keeps reminding him about it?’

  ‘Then the bullet goes in deeper, maybe fatally deep.’ He seemed to enjoy the way I had started to fidget. ‘Coming round to it now, aren’t you? When it comes to Sam and Jez, expect the unexpected. I was astonished when Sam found out about Jez. I still don’t know how he figured it out.’

  ‘Found out what about Jez?’

  Mencken waved his finger at me, smiling. ‘Your job is to get me NexS. Forget everything else.’

  ‘Don’t you want to be in on it next time?’ I asked as he walked towards the door. ‘Don’t you want to meet Zara?’

  Mencken stopped then turned, half smiling. ‘Perhaps I already have.’

  Chapter 23: Telling Tales

  I’d arranged to meet Jane for a quick lunch in the West End. As I hurried along to the San Cesario restaurant in Leicester Square, my mind was buzzing. What had Sam discovered about Jez? As for Mencken and Zara, maybe Mencken wasn’t teasing and he really had met her.

  That wasn’t all I had to think about. I hadn’t seen Jane since our mutual debacle with Sam and Jez, but I knew she’d be feeling as sore and miserable as I was.

  She was sitting at the bar, gulping down a large glass of white wine. Her last text said she had ‘mega news’, so I was curious to discover what was so important.

  We found a corner table and ordered a bottle of Sicilian white wine to accompany a light Caesar salad for each of us.

  ‘Anyway, he was shit in bed,’ Jane snarled as soon as the waitress had served our food. So much for her initial take that Jez was fantastic. ‘I had to do all the work,’ she said. ‘I faked every orgasm.’ She gave me a twisted look. ‘You know, the only difference between real orgasms and fakes is that men prefer the fakes.’

  I felt strangely pleased that she was so bitter. It had always irritated me then she never seemed to suffer man trouble. Until now, men were always the ones in trouble when Jane was around.

  ‘I gave him every orifice,’ she went on, almost muttering to herself, ‘and if I’d had any more I’d have given him those too.’

  After giving her a good chance to bitch, I managed to steer the conversation onto her mysterious news.

  Her eyes gleamed. ‘Well, I was chatting with Nadine, one of the girls in our New York office, and giving her a blow-job-by-blow-job account of my encounter with Mr Jez right-up-himself Easton.

  ‘Nadine told me I’d got off lightly, then gave me this story about some scandal that Jez was involved in a couple of years ago. Apparently, his publicists hushed it up and his legal team threatened to sue if anyone leaked it to the media, but every PR person in Manhattan got the low-down anyway.’

  I listened in astonishment as Jane passed on what she’d heard. Weeks before their infamous MTV bust-up, Sam had let Jez and Mencken use his penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park in Manhattan while he was out of town filming. They’d had a raucous party that ended abruptly when a girl fell to her death from the balcony outside Sam’s bedroom. According to the autopsy, she’d taken a large amount of cocaine and alcohol.

  Mencken’s PR people spun the whole thing as a tragic accident, and the police played along. But it came out that detectives were concerned about conflicting witness statements from the people who attended the party. What was for sure was that Jez was alone with the victim just before she jumped. Some of the partygoers claimed a strange ritual took place in Sam’s bedroom half an hour beforehand. Those who were allegedly in the bedroom, including Jez and Mencken, denied involvement in any ritual and said they were simply chilling out.

  The upshot was that the case was closed with a non-committal open verdict. When Sam returned he was furious, and from then on things became strained between Jez and him, culminating in that MTV low point. There were rumours that Sam had secret surveillance cameras in his bedroom and that the events of the night in question were taped. Sam rubbished those claims, but the speculation persisted.

  When I asked Jane what the bottom line was, she said some people wondered if the girl had been pushed rather than jumped. Alternatively, they thought it was possible she’d been given something that made her take a leap. More colourful theories speculated that she was possessed by a demon following a black magic ceremony to summon the Devil.

  Jesus, first I’d heard from Big Pat that NexS was a miracle Nazi drug and now I was learning that Jez and Mencken were Satan worshippers. The whole thing sounded stupid and I wasn’t surprised the NYPD didn’t give the claims any credence. Jane was lapping it up purely because she had the hump with Jez. Then again, perhaps I’d now discovered the cause of Jez’s recurring dream. Was guilt the burden he imagined he was always dragging around with him?

  ‘Well, do you think Jez is a psycho killer?’ Jane asked.

  I was shocked to realise I was beginning to find her rather low grade. I’d been in awe of her at Roedean and for years afterwards because I thought she was incredibly sophisticated. That impression was rapidly draining away. In comparison with Zara, she was like some Essex slag, giving knee tremblers to cheap tricks up back alleys at midnight.

  I didn’t want to admire Zara. In fact, I wanted to hate her for stealing Sam from me, but more and more I found myself thinking of how I might emulate her. I stared at the clock. It was almost time for today’s Top Table event.

  I shuddered when I realised how much I was looking forward to it.

  Chapter 24: The Pov Parade

  I found the Top Table sitting on black deckchairs on their front lawn. It was another sweltering day, but it would be stretching things to say the students were sunbathing. They were dressed in black paramilitary uniforms like riot police, and had black helmets equipped with full-face tinted visors lying within easy reach. None of them spoke. All of them had their noses stuck in a book. I soon realised it was the same one – Poetry of the First World War. There was no sign of Zara, Leddington or Marcus. Sam and Jez were missing too.

  It was hard to recognise one student from another in their uniforms. They were all slim, good-looking and somehow bland. Their individual characters had vanished, had been assimilated: the Zara effect. Then I saw the bukkake girl, still looking as pure as Snow White. I went over to ask her what was happening, but as soon as I spoke she stood up, walked to the front gate, opened it and strolled out onto Queen’s Walk. All the others filed after her one by one.

  As I watched them go, I wasn’t sure if I detested them or longed to be one of them. Wouldn’t I be better off if I stopped resisting and just bathed in Zara’s glory. I slammed the gate behind me and tried to catch up. They walked quickly, attracting a lot of attention from tourists.

  At the foot of Queen’s Walk, there was a parking area with a large Reserved sign overlooking it. Nine scarlet Lamborghini Diablos with black windows were parked in a line. The Top Table drivers pressed their key fobs and the hi-tech scissor doors of their supercars simultaneously swung upwards in flawless synchronisation. The tourists who were milling around filming with camcorders let out a collective gasp. Separating into couples, the Top Tablers took up position beside each car.

  I felt a tap on the shoulder and turned to find Sam standing behind me. He was looking all sexy in his tight white jeans, with a black hoodie pulled forward
to hide his face.

  ‘Hi! How are you?’ I said.

  ‘Nice cars, huh?’

  ‘Do you know what’s happening?’

  ‘Leddington told me to be here at two pm, so here I am. I guess we’re going for a drive.’

  ‘Have you…um?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I thought after what happened at the mansion, you might not be too keen…’

  ‘Don’t sweat it,’ Sam replied. ‘Last night’s history.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘What do you drive in the States, Sam?’

  ‘A Maserati MC12,’ he sang, his eyes lighting up. Twelve cylinders, top speed of 205 mph, nought to sixty-two in 3.8 seconds. Cost me a million dollars and I still think it was a bargain. A thing of beauty.’

  ‘Is that the best car in the world?’

  ‘Well, here’s the thing. The MC12 is really a downgraded version of the Ferrari Enzo, but only fifty MC12s were ever manufactured whereas there are four hundred Ferrari Enzos, so the MC12 is actually more expensive, even though the Enzo is the superior car.’

  ‘So, you really want an Enzo?’

  ‘I must have the best, you know that, Sophie.’

  ‘What’s stopping you?’

  Sam smiled. ‘The whole stock of Enzos was sold years ago to existing Ferrari customers who put their names on a waiting list years earlier. And no one who’s got one ever sells.’

  ‘And what about these Lamborghinis lined up here?’

  ‘Same deal. Generations of these kids’ families have probably been loyal customers of Lamborghini. Automatically, our Top Table friends get on a privileged customer list for any new Lamborghinis. The only list I’m on so far is Maserati’s. All the rest are fucking snobs.’

  A tenth identical Lamborghini Diablo arrived and I saw Sam staring at the driver’s door as it scissored open, no doubt hoping Zara would appear, but it was Charles Leddington who climbed out. A moment later a passenger appeared – Jez.

  ‘What the fuck’s he doing here?’ Sam growled. ‘Well,’ he said, fidgeting with his hood, ‘I guess this means Game On.’

  Jez gave us a little nod but made no attempt to come over and speak. He and Leddington remained with their car, chatting conspiratorially. They were both wearing the same black uniforms as the others, but Jez had added a black baseball cap and black shades. I’d always thought Leddington held Jez in contempt but now it was like they were the best of friends. Had they been secretly meeting up over the last couple of days? All around me, relationships were shifting, shape-changing. Zara and Mencken, Jez and Leddington, Marcus and me, Sam and me, Sam and Jez. I couldn’t keep track.

  ‘How are things between you and Jez?’ I asked Sam.

  ‘He does his thing and I do mine.’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to be bonding?’

  ‘What makes you think we’re not?’ Sam said gruffly.

  Was he joking?

  Some of the throng of tourists began to point at something. Following their gaze, I saw a spectacular jet-black car cruising along The Mall. Just when it seemed it would drive past, it swept into the parking zone, making several tourists scamper out of the way, and came to a dramatic dead stop.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Sam yelped.

  Instantly, I realised we were looking at a Ferrari Enzo. No need to ask who was driving. Both doors opened at once, but these were no ordinary doors. I found out later they were called gullwings. They swung high into the air and came to rest on the roof. They looked like a fly’s bulbous eyes. In fact, the whole car resembled some huge sleek and scary insect.

  Zara emerged and flashed a radiant smile. Wearing a fitted pink leather jerkin, complete with soft leather helmet, goggles and tight black jodhpurs, she looked irritatingly glorious. I glanced at Sam and saw that familiar look in his eye: lust beyond all reason.

  ‘Glad you could all make it,’ she said loudly, standing opposite the row of Lamborghinis and ignoring the tourists who were enthusiastically taking her picture. ‘Pov Parade is here again. For those of you who haven’t done this before, you have a unique treat in store.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Come on, the povs need their annual entertainment. Let’s hit the road.’

  Pov Parade? I looked at Sam and he shrugged. Jez and Leddington got back into their Lamborghini and all around us pairs of students disappeared into the other cars. I began to worry that Sam and I might be left behind. Then I saw Marcus signalling to me.

  As I climbed in beside him, I noticed that Zara’s Ferrari was the only other car left. She slipped inside and sat there smiling. A black widow spider, I thought, awaiting her prey. A moment later, she beckoned to Sam and he sprang forward and leapt into the passenger seat. I took a deep breath and began to fumble for my seat belt.

  A Smart car pulled up nearby. A guy with a goatee beard, clutching a huge, professional-looking camera, got out and started snapping away. Zara would hate that.

  Seconds later, I heard police sirens. Jesus, were we all going to be arrested? I looked in panic at Marcus. ‘Shit, what are we going to do?’

  Four motorcycle cops appeared and flashed their headlights at Zara’s car.

  ‘Time to get moving,’ Marcus said, with the cheesiest of smiles.

  I gazed at him, my mouth gaping.

  Marcus continued to grin.

  We set out in convoy, with Zara’s car moving to the front, behind two of the police motorbikes. The other two motorcycle cops dropped to the back.

  ‘I love Pov Parade,’ Marcus commented.

  ‘And what is it exactly?’

  ‘Just sit back and enjoy the ride.’

  *****

  ‘So,’ Marcus said as we drove fast through west London, ‘having yourself a time?’

  ‘I think my head’s going to burst.’

  Marcus smiled. ‘Well, we like to provide lots of surprises. Every day is a rollercoaster ride with the Top Table. You aren’t that much different from us, you know. I’m sure you want to avoid the flatliners as much as we do.’

  ‘The flatliners?’

  ‘You know who I mean – the white noise, the static…’ We were on the Hammersmith flyover and Marcus waved his hand in a great arc over the whole city. ‘Them.’

  ‘You mean Londoners?’ When he didn’t react, I offered another suggestion. ‘Chavs?’

  ‘Chavs! I’m talking about Mr and Mrs Average doing their average couple thing then their average family thing then their average holding down a tedious job to pay off their tedious mortgage thing while sending their children to private school thing. Those people are dead already; they flatlined when they were about fifteen years old.’

  ‘Is that what the Top Table saves you from?’

  ‘There’s one question you’ll never catch flatliners asking,’ Marcus said. ‘Is…life…worth…living?’ He laughed. ‘Why would they ask it? I mean, it’s not as if any of those cunts were ever alive in the first place.’

  I thought about Mencken’s back-to-front theory. According to that, Marcus was revealing that the thing he feared most was that he might be just another Mr Average. It seemed spot on.

  The convoy accelerated as we reached Chiswick, where our police escort parted company with us.

  ‘A few people in my year are getting ready to join City firms after graduation,’ Marcus said. ‘I see them looking in mirrors, continually checking that all the blood hasn’t drained from them, that they still actually possess a reflection. They’re husks, zombies with fatter wallets than the other flatliners, but slowly fading away just like the others.’

  He shook his head. ‘One time, Zara took us along to a City recruitment fair and gave each of us a mirrored mask. When the recruiters asked what we were doing, she told them we were making life easy for them. “After all,” she said, “all you do is recruit in your own image.” Afterwards, we stood in a circle facing outwards, with our arms folded, staring at the others. We must have spooked a lot of people. Someone called security to move us on.’ Marcus�
��s eyes shone with approval. ‘I was so impressed with Zara that day.’

  ‘You really admire her, don’t you?’ The word I wanted to use was ‘love’.

  ‘Eyes I dare not meet in dreams,’ he responded. ‘In death’s dream kingdom.’

  ‘Don’t tell me – T.S. Eliot.’

  ‘That’s right. Zara told us how much she loved The Hollow Men and we all decided to learn it by heart so we could recite it to her on her 21st birthday.’

  I couldn’t make up my mind if that was one party I was delighted I’d missed, or if I’d have given anything to be there.

  ‘I want to do something special,’ Marcus went on, ‘something Zara will appreciate.’ He tapped his fingers against the driving wheel. ‘It’s hard to think of anything that’s up to her standard. I mean, she’s so imaginative it’s frightening – how can I come up with something that won’t seem dullsville in comparison with the things she dreams up? One day, she got us all to stand outside the Houses of Parliament. We wore masks with question marks on them, like The Riddler in Batman, and held up placards with nothing on them but even larger question marks. No one made a sound; the police were baffled. When an MP asked Zara what we were doing, she replied, “Questioning things.” It was so funny.’

  I turned away. I didn’t want to admit I was impressed.

  All through the journey, our convoy attracted attention. Cars going the opposite way regularly tooted their horns. Every time we travelled along a high street, pedestrians stopped to gawp.

  After an hour’s drive, I noticed towerblocks in the distance and signs for Feltham – Chav-central. Why on earth were we going there?

  *****

  Feltham was everything I expected: run-down housing estates, grim high-rises, litter strewn everywhere.

  Marcus opened the car windows. ‘Listen to this.’

  I heard a loud ticking sound. If my ears weren’t deceiving me, it was coming from Zara’s Ferrari.

  ‘Tick tock,’ Marcus shouted. ‘Tick tock.’

  ‘What’s going on?’