The Millionaires' Death Club Read online

  ‘Where’s the food?’ I asked to make him look at me.

  ‘It should be here any time soon.’ He gestured in the direction of the tennis court we’d passed on our way in. ‘Ah, look, dinner is about to be served.’

  A gold Rolls Royce swept into the park. It parked about fifty metres away and two men in black bowler hats and frock coats got out. They went to the boot, brought out a huge wicker hamper then walked towards us over the grass in some sort of ceremonial march, each holding a handle of the hamper.

  ‘Fortnum and Mason’s?’ I spluttered. No expense spared, obviously.

  When the two men arrived, they put down the hamper and threw back the lid.

  ‘Voila,’ one of them said. ‘Twenty-four fish suppers, twenty-four cans of Barr’s Irn-Bru, and assorted sachets of condiments. Bon appetit.’

  The men took off their bowler hats, gave a little bow, then turned and went back to the Rolls. I got to my feet to look inside the hamper. I was amazed to see a mound of newspaper-wrapped packages. One of the servings even came wrapped in the unmistakable pink paper of The Financial Times.

  Zara sauntered over, immediately plucking the pink package from the hamper. She also collected a can of Irn-Bru, much to my surprise.

  ‘Look,’ she said, pointing at an article on the newspaper, ‘the proles have found a new Pied Piper. Someone called Ligger.’

  ‘I know him,’ I blurted, grabbing the newspaper wrapping from Zara’s fish and chips. I’d never forgotten meeting Ligger outside Ballum-Rancum all those months ago. I still had his hat somewhere at home, and he was right that whenever I pulled my ear I automatically thought of him. I’d read somewhere that his band was getting rave reviews for their live performances and being tipped for mega success. According to The Financial Times’ article, it had now arrived – big time. Their newly released album was the fastest selling in UK history, the article said.

  ‘Why does that not surprise me?’ Zara said. ‘I bet your contact book is full of all the classiest names,’ she sneered. ‘Low class, I mean, naturally.’

  ‘Well, you’re in it,’ I retaliated.

  ‘I can’t be held responsible for your fantasies,’ she said and turned away.

  I wanted to throw my chips at her, but I didn’t have the nerve. Besides, they smelled great.

  I vowed only to have a few chips and just a small corner of the fish, but once I added salt and vinegar and poured a blob of brown sauce on the edge of the paper, I felt like a crack addict and compulsively stuffed my face.

  ‘You have to hand it to the Povs,’ Marcus said as he ate greedily. ‘Their food is the best.’

  I let him talk on, nodding politely as I dipped a chunk of my fish into the brown sauce.

  ‘Last year was good too,’ Marcus said between mouthfuls. ‘Like I said, we were in Brick Lane. We rounded up a bunch of homeless people and took them back to the mansion. We treated them to a fabulous meal with our usual full waiter service. We stood behind the vagrants in complete silence for the whole evening, studying them as if they were zoo creatures. We wanted to see if their dignity outweighed their hunger. There was no contest, of course. I think they hardly noticed us. They certainly didn’t show any signs of feeling insulted even though we were aiming to be as insulting as possible. In the end, Zara led us in a round of applause for them. Later, we drove them back to Brick Lane. Of course, we had to have the cars and the whole mansion fumigated afterwards.’

  I scowled, but said nothing.

  ‘Not crazy enough or too crazy?’ Marcus asked, taking a sip of Irn-Bru.

  ‘Can’t you tell the difference anymore?’

  He gazed towards the lake. Zara and Leddington were chatting at the edge of the water as they ate their fish supper. Zara laughed and Leddington put his hand round her waist. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

  Marcus turned away.

  ‘Are those two…?’

  ‘Let’s not talk about it,’ Marcus huffed.

  Why did that woman inspire all this slavish male devotion? She was no messiah, just a spoiled diva.

  ‘They say that Medusa turned men to stone because she was so ugly,’ Marcus said wistfully. ‘I think the opposite was true: Medusa was beautiful beyond imagining. Her beauty paralysed men. It was because they became so still when they saw her that people believed they’d been turned to stone.’

  ‘So is Zara Medusa?’

  ‘Heart of Darkness is her favourite book,’ Marcus said. ‘She loves Mister Kurtz. He was terrible and demonic but also brilliant and charismatic. I think that’s how she sees herself. In the book, Kurtz’s assistant says, “You can’t judge Mr Kurtz as you would an ordinary man.” That’s how I feel about Zara.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure if I’m Marlow searching for Kurtz, or one of the savages who worshipped Kurtz.’ He gazed at the grass. ‘Aren’t we all searching for something to worship? Bataille said, “Love is based on a desire to live in anguish in the presence of an object of such high worth that the heart cannot bear to contemplate losing it.”’

  I leaned over, took his hand and clasped it for a moment. I wanted to kiss him. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. He gently pulled his hand away.

  I turned and looked at the beautiful water, shimmering and sparkling as though the bed of the lake were encrusted with diamonds. Zara and Leddington were still at the edge of the lake, inches from the water. I noticed Jez strolling over to them. He said something that made the others laugh, then patted Leddington on the back and sauntered away. When did they all become such good friends?

  I scanned around for Sam and saw him standing alone under one of the trees in the small wood.

  Marcus must have followed my gaze. ‘So what’s going on there?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You have the hots for him, don’t you?’

  I picked at my skirt glumly.

  You seem curious about Zara and me,’ Marcus remarked. ‘Is it any different from you and Sam? But he’s not extraordinary like she is. He’s just an actor.’

  It was odd hearing a Hollywood megastar being reduced to the status of a non-entity, but I didn’t contradict Marcus.

  ‘I used to be contemptuous of Sam,’ Marcus went on. ‘Now I pity him. I think he believes Zara is waiting for Mr Right – for him – but he’s read her all wrong. She’s not some demure lady counting the days until her true love shows up. She’s a terrible goddess, who can tear men apart.’

  ‘What was Zara’s initiation into the Top Table like?’ I asked, picturing her all young and eager.

  ‘Now you’ve entered the land of myth,’ Marcus laughed. ‘I’ve heard two versions of what happened. One says she served herself up as a surprise dish at a banquet in Balliol College’s main hall. Six men in tuxedos carried in a huge silver soup tureen. They laid it on the High Table where the master of the college was discussing, over a fine dinner, future funding with the Secretary of State for Education, the Minister of State for Higher Education and the Economic and Financial Secretaries of the Treasury. With a grand flourish, Zara’s men removed the lid. There was no soup, of course, just Zara lying on the dish, stark naked.’

  I didn’t believe a word of this. Even by Zara’s standards, it was preposterous. I rolled my eyes. ‘And what did the master and his guests do?’ I asked sarcastically.

  ‘They were shocked, of course. I don’t know if anyone made a formal complaint, but apparently there was talk of rusticating Zara. It didn’t come to anything. At the disciplinary meeting, she read the opening chapter of her thesis. It was a searing denunciation of conventional academics. She said they were frauds, traitors and saboteurs, poisoning the wells of intellectual life. It made her sick, she said, whenever she encountered timid university lecturers who were more interested in paying their mortgage than leading an intellectual insurrection. The master was all too aware of how well connected she was, how she could cause all kinds of trouble, so he simply buried the whole thing.’

  Marcus poured another
blob of HP sauce over the last of his chips. ‘Anyway, she was just repeating a stunt performed by Lady Caroline Lamb – you know, the crazy blueblood who sent a clipping of her pubic hair to Lord Byron. She’s one of Zara’s favourites.’

  ‘I thought you had to recreate a scene from a movie or a book?’

  ‘Well, maybe you’d prefer the other version. According to this one, Zara attended a garden party for professors of Classics visiting Oxford for an international conference. They were standing around an ornamental pond, sipping champagne and admiring two swans that had been supplied for the day. Zara announced that, for the professors’ delectation, she would perform Meretrix to Imperatrix, based on a recreation of Procopius’s infamous account of a performance by the Empress Theodora in the early years of the Byzantine Empire. Theodora was a highly skilled and amazingly smart prostitute who caught the eye of the Emperor.

  ‘The professors smiled and applauded, no doubt imagining they were about to be shown some anodyne version of the story. That’s not what they got. Zara stripped naked in the middle of the lawn, lay on her back and smeared honey over her, um, pudenda. One of her attendants scattered some barley grains on top of the honey. Immediately, the two swans waddled out of the pond, went over to the honey-trap and picked up the barley grains with their bills.’

  ‘Heavens!’

  Marcus laughed. ‘Well, no one in the Top Table actually says they saw it, not even Leddington. We heard about it second-hand.’

  ‘What about the two official witnesses everyone’s supposed to have? Can’t they confirm what happened?’

  ‘They’re not part of the Top Table anymore,’ Marcus said quietly

  There was an awkward silence as we both sat looking at the lake. ‘When she first met me,’ he went on, ‘she put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Bring down the curtain, the farce is over.” It was a quote from Rabelais. She was saying it was time to be reborn. That’s the opportunity Zara gives all of us.’

  He munched on his final chip.

  ‘She’s my beau idéal,’ he said, his eyes tracking to where she was standing, animatedly pointing at the redbrick building. As he gazed at her, he recited a couple of lines of poetry.

  I have spread my dreams under your feet;

  Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

  His adoration unnerved me and our conversation tailed off. I excused myself and wandered away to be on my own for a while. I hadn’t gone far when Leddington strolled up to me. Raising his hand, he shooed away a wasp flying erratically near his head. He reached into his pocket and brought out a pair of sunglasses.

  ‘Hello, enjoying yourself?’ he asked. ‘I must say you’re looking particularly pretty today.’

  I saw exactly where his eyes were directed and instantly blushed, feebly trying to cover my chest by waving my hands in front of me.

  ‘Is that a designer dress?’ he went on. ‘It fits you perfectly.’

  ‘That, er, building across the lake…’ I stumbled.

  ‘Curious, aren’t you?’ He put on his shades. ‘We use it for…’ I saw myself reflected in the blue-mirrored lenses of his sunglasses. ‘…special occasions.’

  When I tried to find out more, Leddington held up his finger to his lips then walked away. I went over to Zara’s car and sat down with my back against the front wheel. I sipped some wine and tried to shut out the world.

  ‘These people are whacko,’ someone said, not too far from me. It was Jez? ‘Let’s split,’ he went on. ‘We could go visit Scotland. I’ve always wanted to see all that Braveheart stuff. Did you know the sword of that William Wallace dude was almost six feet long? He was one huge motherfucker.’

  ‘I’m staying,’ a voice replied – Sam. ‘The Top Table is something else. Zara…I’ve never met anyone like…’

  ‘Forget it, man. That bitch is sick. She won’t sleep with me and she’ll definitely never sleep with you. Can’t you see? – she’s laughing at you. You’re her freak-show for the year, a gas for when she goes back to Oxford. “Hey, everyone, I made a giant ass out of a Hollywood megastar.”’

  ‘Garbage, man. This is a much bigger gig than that. These people…’

  ‘They’re fucking Nazis. The Klan would welcome them with open arms.’

  ‘Yeah, and what about us? I remember I was at a premiere with you when you said, “Watch out, Eyes approaching; let’s move to cleaner air.”’

  Jez raised his voice. ‘You’re totally gone, man.’

  I heard scuffling feet and I sat up to watch as they walked off in opposite directions. I got up and scampered after Jez.

  ‘Long time no see,’ I said when I caught up with him. He was standing in the middle of some bluebells.

  He smiled. ‘London’s a big city.’

  ‘Things not going too well between you and Sam?’

  ‘Sam’s nuts,’ he whispered. ‘I think Zara’s put a hex on him.’

  ‘So, what are you doing back in the fold? I thought you had bailed.’

  Jez looked around. I presumed he was checking to see if Sam was nearby.

  ‘Well, confidentially,’ he said, ‘I called Mencken. I told him what was going down – not too many details, of course – and he said I should check up on Sam from time to time. So, here I am, being a good boy scout.’

  ‘Very noble of you.’

  ‘So. I’m surprised you’re still here, Sophie – haven’t you been weirded out by everything that’s happened?’

  ‘Does that mean you’re weirded out? I have to say I thought you and Leddington were getting on pretty well. And I had the impression things were even better between you and Zara.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean. I was just being civil with Leddington’ His voice crackled. ‘As for her…she scares me to be honest. She gets off on mind games.’

  ‘She scares you?’ I repeated.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He stared out across the lake and seemed to shudder. ‘When that woman’s around…people end up dead.’

  Chapter 27: Zero Night

  As Jez made his way back to the group, I couldn’t help staring at Zara. She was standing on her own, seemingly deep in thought. I was shocked by what Jez had said about her. He was right – she had a deadly presence, if there’s such a thing, or maybe it’s just that beautiful women always cause trouble. Don’t the French say cherchez la femme whenever a dead body shows up?

  As we drove back to Green Park, Marcus put on the radio and a report came on about the riot at Feltham Young Offenders’ Institution. There was an interview with the Inspector of Prisons who denied he’d deliberately engineered an incident to test new riot control techniques. He said he’d told the inmates a few home truths and they’d reacted violently. There wasn’t a single mention of the Top Table.

  Marcus winked at me and remarked on how effectively the Top Table maintained their secrecy. ‘If we wanted, we could be the most famous people on earth, but that’s not Zara’s bag.’ He started blabbering on about how Zara was an authority on some French philosopher called Baudrillard and she was exploring his concept of the hyperreal. She was fascinated by simulation and simulacra, whatever that meant.

  We didn’t speak for a while after that. I was too busy thinking about Zara. At Roedean, the Chaplain told us about the angel of death flying over the homes of the Egyptians to take the lives of their firstborn. I could easily picture that angel with Zara’s face.

  That was the end of things for the day because the Top Table were having what they called a zero night, when they stayed in and chilled. They made it clear that Jez and I weren’t welcome. As for Sam, as a two-button member he was entitled to remain, but he had decided to spend the evening on his own.

  I went back to my apartment and zoned-out for a while in front of the TV, then spent a fruitless couple of hours searching the Internet for any mention of NexS. Finally, I collapsed into bed around two.

  When I stepped into the reception of the Sargasso the next morning, I discovered Mencken and Jez chatting at the desk
. I hung back as Mencken pulled Jez towards him and the two men embraced. After a moment, Mencken turned, saw me, quickly let go of Jez, and began brushing some imaginary fluff from Jez’s collar. Strange. What was that all about? Mencken whispered something to Jez and then left him talking to the woman on the desk as he wandered over to me.

  ‘All good things come to an end,’ he said.

  I looked blankly at him. What was he on about?

  ‘I think Sam’s going to be staying on for a few days,’ he continued.

  It took me a moment to realise he was telling me Jez was checking out.

  Jez finished his business at the desk then came over.

  ‘Going back to the States?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve done everything I had to.’ He grinned. ‘It’s been a blast.’ Leaning forward, he kissed me on the cheek. ‘Sorry if we gave you a hard time. I think you did swell. I’ll definitely look you up when I’m next in town.’ He glanced in a mirror and smoothed his hair. ‘I’ll mention you to my friends.’

  When I started this whole business, those were the words I prayed I’d hear. Now they were empty. ‘What about NexS?’ I asked.

  ‘We’re leaving that to Sam and you. Don’t let us down.’

  ‘There’s your car,’ Mencken said as a black Mercedes pulled up outside the hotel. He gestured to a bellboy to take Jez’s luggage out to the limo.

  ‘I guess that’s everything,’ Jez said.

  I couldn’t let him go without asking the question that had been at the back of my mind for ages.

  ‘What did Sam say to you at the MTV awards? It must have been bad to make you throw a punch.’

  Jez glanced at Mencken.

  ‘There are some questions you should never ask,’ Mencken said sharply.

  Jez gave me one last smile. ‘Oh, pass on my best to your friend Jane. She was one hot babe.’

  Yeah, but not worth more than one night or a civil word to tell her it was over. I felt like giving him the finger as he left.

  ‘Jez is a good boy,’ Mencken said quietly as we watched Jez stroll out of the front doors.