Lynda Plante - Sleeping Cruelty

Over the course of a year, William saw his work come to fruition. He had handed over to others the day-to-day running of his business affairs. He had sold off many of his homes, and shares in his major US and Japanese companies. The last to go was his London house.

William was overjoyed to return to his paradise island and Laura. As the launch neared the jagged rocks, he saw her, way up on the cliff edge, waiting for him. His heart pounded: she was waving a big yellow towel to make sure he saw her. He watched her run down the path to be on the jetty as the boat came into the harbour. Laura was fit and filled with energy — she was a different woman. She ran towards him, arms wide. William picked her up and twirled her around. She clung to him, kissing his cheeks.

‘Welcome home.’ She held his hand, dancing alongside him as they headed for the golf cart, hopped aboard and drove him herself. She was full of a new confidence, pointing out all the plants and shrubs Marta had told him about.

As they reached the house, Marta came running down the wide stone steps. She hugged him, then both women insisted he inspect everything they had been doing to make the house into his home. After that he had to view Laura’s paintings. Many were of himself, copied from photographs. His heart lifted so high it was flying.

Then Laura tugged at his hand, wanting him to go into his suite. ‘But keep your eyes shut,’ she said. He stumbled and she steadied him.

‘Stop now,’ she said, ‘but keep your eyes closed.’ She and Marta moved away from him. ‘You can open your eyes now, Willy,’ she said breathlessly.

Straight in front of him, in place of the painting of herself, Laura had hung a new picture. She had commissioned a well-known artist, recommended to her by her painting teacher, to execute a full-length portrait of Justin, barefoot, wearing torn jeans and white T-shirt. His blond hair was bleached by the sun, and his skin deeply tanned. The artist had caught the way he tilted his head before his face creased into his wonderful smile.

‘It’s for you from me,’ said Laura, searching his face for a reaction. She whispered in his ear that she had used her diamonds to pay for it.

William stood in front of the painting, his heart pounding. Laura had seen his dream. It was a dream he had often had since Justin had died, that one day Justin would return, that one day when William was heading back to the island he would see him waving from the high point and would watch him run to greet him as Laura had that day. Now William could walk into his bedroom knowing that Justin would always be there. It was painful, but the pain would be his reminder not only of what he had lost but of what he had gained. Slowly William smiled and his eyes filled with tears. All he could say in a soft, painful whisper was, ‘Thank you.’