Page 14 of Kiss Heaven Goodbye

Reluctantly, Bradley turned round and stooped to get the cigarette.

‘Now that one,’ Miles said, flicking another cigarette, ‘and that one.’

Cigarettes rained down on the sand. Miles was laughing now as the disorientated boy crawled around, fumbling to pick them all up.

‘Come on, get a move on,’ he barked. ‘It shouldn’t be so difficult if you’re sober.’

‘Miles, stop it,’ said Alex. ‘This isn’t funny.’

‘Of course it’s not funny,’ snapped Miles, pulling his arm away. ‘We have a drunk working for the family. I should fire this lying sack of Yankee shit right here and now.’

Finally Bradley had had enough. He stood up and glared at Miles. ‘Just because you own this island doesn’t mean you can speak to me like that,’ he said, his voice trembling.

Miles’ mouth remained in a thin, firm line. He took a step forward until they were just a couple of feet apart and slowly raised the last cigarette to his mouth, lighting it and blowing the smoke into Bradley’s face.

‘Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do, boat boy,’ he said coldly. ‘This is, as you correctly say, my island and I make the rules here. So I suggest you do exactly what I say: take your lying face and your stolen beer back to the servants’ quarters where you belong.’

The boat boy’s lips curled into a sneer. ‘Asshole,’ he whispered.

The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion for Alex. He watched Miles’ face twist in fury and contempt, his nostrils flaring, his upper lip curling back. He saw Bradley’s look of quiet defiance change to fear and disbelief, his mouth slowly gaping. But most of all, he saw Miles lift his cigarette and jab it into Bradley’s face. Then, just as suddenly, everything came back into real time: Bradley’s stagger, his scream, his hands covering his face. Alex leapt forward, yanking Miles’ arm away, but Miles pushed him so hard, he slipped over in the sand.

‘Jesus, Miles,’ cried Alex. ‘What the hell...’

The truth was, Alex was afraid of Miles in this mood. He was vicious, cruel, out of control. Alex had seen him reduce people to tears, seen him slap them, but never anything like this.

Miles was standing over the crouched form of the boat boy. ‘Go on, fuck off,’ he growled, throwing the cigarette butt at his back in a shower of sparks.

With a hurt glance up at both of them, Bradley jumped to his feet and, still holding his cheek, ran up the path towards the house. For a moment it was silent except for the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore.

‘What the hell was all that about?’ said Alex, but Miles didn’t seem to hear him. The look on his face was distant and detached.

‘I’m going for a walk,’ he said quietly and strode off.

Alex watched his friend disappear away from the house towards the furthest part of the island and felt himself overwhelmed with anger, disgust and confusion. But above all, he felt regret and, to his surprise, loneliness. Because in the space of a few short minutes, he knew that his relationship with his closest friend in the world had changed for ever.

6

Sasha was livid. The dinner on the beach had been her idea. She had arranged it with the staff, decorated the table and spent hours poring over the seating plan – and then what happens? That pompous prat McKay spoils everything by falling out of a coconut tree.

Too busy voicing their phoney concerns for Oscar, not one person had commented on the ambience of the evening or her cleverness for thinking of moving their ‘last supper’ to the water’s edge. To add insult to injury, Miles had practically ignored her for the entire meal and that slut Freya had spent an hour doing some sort of hamfisted seduction on Robert Ashford. The whole thing had been a disaster from start to finish.

She sat down on the stone wall behind the beach and took a swig from the bottle she was carrying. At least it was Krug; the one positive of Miles’ father arriving was that he had brought decent bubbly with him.

Where is Miles? she thought angrily. What does he think he’s playing at?

Sasha certainly had better things to do than spend the whole night wandering around the island looking for her so-called boyfriend. After dinner, he’d practically sprinted to the beach then spent half an hour goading Angus to drink a bottle of rum and jump over the bonfire. He’d barely looked in her direction. What was his problem? She had a good mind to dump him – then he’d come crawling back. Well, maybe. After this evening’s performance Sasha wasn’t entirely sure of anything. It certainly wasn’t going according to plan; she had to admit that it didn’t look like a proposal was on the cards tonight.

‘Has he abandoned you for the boys again?’

Robert Ashford strolled up to her, cupping his tumbler of peach juice.

‘No, just taking a break,’ she said, trying to lift her mood. ‘Miles’ friends can be a little ...’

‘Immature? Stupid? Irritating?’ suggested Robert with a smile.

‘Yes, exactly.’ She giggled.

He took a seat next to her and suddenly she felt very grown-up. Robert Ashford was one of Britain’s most successful entrepreneurs. Under the umbrella of Ash Corp., he had a commercial property portfolio that spanned the globe, with interests in everything from hotels to casinos, car parks to out-of-town shopping malls. The smart parts of London that weren’t owned by the older, moneyed families like the Grosvenors, Cadogans and Portmans were, by and large, part of the Ashford group. But Robert Ashford was a self-made man and believed in the famous Tory slogan of getting ‘on your bike’. He’d started his empire from a run-down guest house in Notting Hill in the 1960s and worked his way up to a billion.