Sleeping Cruelty by Lynda La Plante

cost him a lot of money by withdrawing from their deal. Worse still, he had sold instead to William’s strongest competitor. It was not just a financial slap in the face, he had also lost out on a vast potential European market. He had not yet found another suitable site and, more infuriatingly still, the rival company that had bought the factory had made offers to the staff William had earmarked for positions and interviewed in Germany. The Baron and Baroness now turned their backs on him. If he compiled a list of people to take a swipe at, these two stuck-up sons-of-bitches would be close to the top.
    Sylvina had noticed William’s embarrassment and now linked her arm through his and guided him towards the other guests. ‘I am sure you know Meryl Delaware?’ she purred.
    William felt his belly turn over. It was bad enough to have the von Gartens cut him dead, but now he was faced with this fat, painted bitch with her gossip-tuned ears. Meryl, dressed in black lace with too many fake diamonds around her neck, turned to face him. Her red mouth dropped open in shock. Then she forced a brittle smile. Meryl Delaware had written one of the most unsavoury articles about him and Maynard for one of the glossy magazines. In it she had hinted that Sir William had appeared very close to his protégé, and had illustrated it with a photograph of William leaning forward to talk to Maynard. As with many other photographs, it had been doctored to exclude the other members of the party to make it look as if the two had been having an intimate, candlelit dinner. ‘How do you do?’ she said, before turning back to face the wall.
    The atmosphere changed swiftly from sophisticated elegance to the deep silence of unease. Everyone but Sharee was fully aware of who William was and unsure how to react.
    Sylvina gestured to Marta to refill her champagne glass, and told her to adjust the place settings. Sir William should sit next to her with Terence Hampton on his other side. Terence was a social ‘actor’: you could put him next to anyone and theconversation would never dry up, as long as it revolved principally around himself.
    As the guests were ushered towards the dining room, Sylvina fell into step beside William. Suddenly the von Gartens were standing in front of her. As though William was not there, the Baroness announced, ‘I’m afraid it is inappropriate for us to dine here, after all.’
    Nothing like this had ever happened to Sylvina. ‘I’m sorry, Baroness. Are you feeling unwell?’ she said. ‘Please do stay, dinner is served.’
    ‘Maybe if someone was asked to leave . . .’ said the Baron, eyeing William.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Sylvina. ‘Sir William is my own personal guest.’
    William was appalled. He shifted from foot to foot and stammered, ‘It’s all right, I’ll go.’
    Sylvina gripped his arm. ‘No way, baby.’
    She was still smiling as the Baron and Baroness huffed and puffed their way out of the door. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I have seated you beside me, so we can get to know each other.’
    William murmured that he could think of nothing he would like more. He felt even better when she patted the sleeve of his jacket. ‘This is from the new Armani collection, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes, it is,’ he said, flushing deeply.
    ‘I thought so, and so much more comfortable in this heat than a dinner-jacket.’ She whispered, ‘No smell of mothballs.’
    He caught her warmth and her wonderful, genuine smile, and began to feel more confident.
    ‘I’m sorry about that little unpleasantness earlier.’ She leaned right into him and added, ‘The Baron is no paragon of virtue and neither is his wife. How odd that they should show such bad manners.’
    But as the chilled avocado and mint soup was served, the conversation became stilted. The other guests were talking under their breath about the von Gartens’ exit or William’s tabloidexploits. Aware of the awful silences around the table, Sylvina told