Sleeping Cruelty Read Free

over the side on to the ground with a dull thud, both children smiled, as if congratulating each other, then turned to face their nanny.
    ‘Nanny, will you help us bury him?’ they asked in unison.

Chapter One
    W illiam Benedict was fifty-three, and regarded himself ‘well preserved’. He had never been a vain man, but recently his creeping paunch and loss of hair had started to play on his mind. It was the latter that he really hated. His blond hair had always made him look younger than he was and although you could never have described him as handsome, his boyishness had given him a certain attraction. Even the press nicknamed him ‘Boy Wonder’. But his youthful looks had gone.
    Standing just under six feet tall, William stared down at the scales: despite hiring a personal fitness trainer he had not lost a single ounce. Why waste time and money on press-ups and weights for nothing? And the pills, at least thirty different vitamin and mineral supplements, irritated him too – they seemed to stick in his chest for half the morning.
    William muttered with annoyance as he inspected his face in the mirror. He struck a pose, sucking in his cheeks and raising an eyebrow. He was all right, really. His pale blue eyes were as bright as they ever were – his mother always said they were his best feature. They had a permanently alert quality that could be unnerving, particularly when they darkened in anger. He glared at himself: he was beginning to feel as if someone else had sneaked into his body and blown it up. He drew his lips back toinspect his teeth, which had come courtesy of one of the best dentists in Los Angeles. He had smoked cigars all his life but his second wife had been particular about teeth and had made sure that his never bore the tell-tale stains.
    Clothes were a different matter: he dressed for comfort rather than style. He had always been told what was fashionable, and both his ex-wives had sent him to the tailor in an attempt to improve his sartorial sense. He had wardrobes full of tailored shirts, suits and handmade shoes – even his tracksuits were made by Armani. Everything looked fine on the hangers in the wardrobe, but once it was on William it gave the impression of sloppiness. The truth was, he had never really been interested in clothes. He felt he didn’t need to be. William was a man to be envied. Few could match his fortune. He had recently floated his computer company and made a five-hundred-million-pound profit, and he had numerous other interests in property and industry.
    His new project was politics. He had never been a political animal, but had voted Labour throughout both his marriages simply because it infuriated his in-laws. Now he had switched his allegiance, more or less on a whim, to the Conservative Party due to Andrew Maynard. He had heard the tall, pallid Maynard speak at some tedious charity function and the hairs on the back of his neck had stood up. It was almost as if something about the man reminded William of himself – not physically, more because, to all intents and purposes, he was an outsider. He made a note to watch the young man’s progress. When he found himself in Brighton during the 1997 Tory Party conference and noticed that Maynard was to speak, he surprised himself by going to hear him.
    As just another hopeful politician attempting to gain notice, Maynard might easily have been overlooked that week. But to everyone’s surprise, though not to William’s, he swept the entire conference hall to its feet for a standing ovation. The young man mesmerized his listeners.
    The third time William saw Maynard was at a fund-raising dinner at the Grosvenor Hotel. Having decided to back the Conservative Party, William had made generous donations to Party funds, which had warranted an invitation. Once again the young man enthralled him, this time as a guest at the same table. Maynard, William noticed, drank little and hardly touched his food. It was not until coffee was