The Villa

THEVILLARUTH KELLY ContentsPROLOGUE: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER ONE: THE REPORTERCHAPTER TWO: THE REPORTERCHAPTER THREE: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER FOUR: THE REPORTERCHAPTER FIVE: THE VIEWERSCHAPTER SIX: THE REPORTERCHAPTER SEVEN: THE REPORTERCHAPTER EIGHT: THE REPORTERCHAPTER NINE: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER TEN: THE REPORTERCHAPTER ELEVEN: THE REPORTERCHAPTER TWELVE: THE REPORTERCHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE VIEWERSCHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE REPORTERCHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE REPORTERCHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE REPORTERCHAPTER NINETEEN: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER TWENTY: THE VIEWERSCHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: THE REPORTERCHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: THE REPORTERCHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: THE REPORTERCHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: THE REPORTERCHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: THE VIEWERSCHAPTER THIRTY: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: THE VIEWERSCHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: THE VIEWERSCHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER FORTY: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER FORTY-ONE: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER FORTY-TWO: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER FORTY-THREE: THE VIEWERSCHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER FORTY-SIX: THE VIEWERSCHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER FORTY-NINE: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER FIFTY: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: THE VIEWERSCHAPTER FIFTY-THREE: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE: THE VIEWERSCHAPTER FIFTY-SIX: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER FIFTY-NINE: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER SIXTY: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER SIXTY-ONE: THE VIEWERSCHAPTER SIXTY-TWO: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER SIXTY-THREE: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE: THE CONTESTANTCHAPTER SIXTY-SIX: THE VIEWERSCHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT: THE PRODUCERCHAPTER SIXTY-NINE: THE SURVIVORCHAPTER SEVENTY: THE SURVIVORCHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE: THE SURVIVORCHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO: THE SURVIVORCHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE: THE SURVIVORCHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR: THE SURVIVORCHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE: THE INVESTORCHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX: THE VIEWERSACKNOWLEDGEMENTS For Mum, forever in my heart,and for Michael PROLOGUETHE PRODUCERAruna, Balearic IslandsNOWBroken glass crunches beneath my trainers as we move towards the pool. The sun is setting over the villa, the golden light that once bathed it in glory now a dull tarnished amber.Detective Inspector Jose Carlos Sanchez lifts the blue and white police cordon and bows underneath. He raises it for me and I notice the forensic gloves he’s wearing. Milky white – signposting me to what lies ahead. He stops and makes a visual sweep of the area.‘Tell me where all the cameras are located, señora.’Despite the sea breeze, the heat is cloying. It’s attacking me and I’m sweating in places I didn’t know were possible.‘Señora?’The locations. Every single one I know by heart. Months of meticulous planning had gone into designing and hiding the cameras. Positioning them in such a way we’d capture even the slightest nuance in the contestants’ expressions. There were no secrets on my show. I surrendered all of myself to create perfection – constructing the greatest entertainment show of all time.I point to the magenta plant beside the sunlounger. ‘Have a look in there.’ The leaves are now dry and shrivelled – how quickly things die when they’re not being nourished.We walk in step towards it. He peers inside the terracotta pot and nods. Then he signals to one of the many officers guarding the crime scene from press and rubberneckers. Since the news broke, the villa’s location is no longer my best-kept secret. I notice the camera’s red ‘recording’ light has stopped flashing.‘Where else?’ asks Sanchez.‘Over there.’ I point up, into the palm tree shading the jacuzzi. ‘There and there.’ I reel off ten more locations.‘And the one closest to the pool?’ he says. Drawing me towards her.My stomach contracts. It’s coming. We’re almost there. I want to look away, but a morbid curiosity is pulling me in.There she is. Face-planted on the hot stones. Her platinum blonde hair fanned around her head like a halo. Blood still leaks from her skull, seeping into the pool. Streaks of crimson run through the turquoise water, diluting into nothing, like a watercolour painting. If it wasn’t so disturbing it would be beautiful.‘It’s over.’ I whisper the words as I stare at her.Sanchez looks at me. ‘What did you say?’My gaze lifts and meets his. ‘This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.’I shut my eyes, imagining how it should have played out. The fireworks exploding across the sky, perfectly timed to music. Their colours reflected by the ocean. Millions of viewers cheering from their living rooms. The pantomime handing over of the cheque.I don’t know what shock is but I’m certain that’s what I’ve slipped into. My fingers and wrists tingle. The corners of my mouth prickle and I still can’t tear my eyes from her.‘Miss Jessop, I need to know the location of the camera closest to the body.’Body. Dead. No longer spoken of as a person with a name. She’s become a thing to be processed. I swallow back the bile that’s crept into my throat.‘It’s in there.’I point into the water, to the camera embedded in the side of the pool. Finally I divert my eyes away from the grisly scene.Two men and a woman in white forensic overalls arrive. I watch as they put on shoe covers, as she tucks her hair into her hood. They approach the body like spirits who have come to collect the dead. They carry what resembles a cool box, but I know there isn’t any finger food and chilled wine inside. They are the crime scene examiners and they have come to collect evidence.Evidence. Crime. The words sink like rocks to the pit of my stomach.A second white gazebo is being erected over where more blood was spilled. Now rust-coloured, peeling in the heat.Two more officers arrive holding a stretcher and a black body bag.‘They’re taking her away?’ I turn to Sanchez. Of course they are, Michelle. Shut up. Use your fucking brain. She’s dead.She’ll be the last contestant to leave the villa. That really will mark the end. The thought panics me more than anything. I don’t want to let go.‘We’ll need to perform an autopsy after the examination is complete.’‘Have her family been told?’ I ask.‘They’re on their way to Madrid.’I feel sick at the thought of their grief.‘Anything else you need me for? I’ve so much to do, there’s a lot I need to take care of.’Catastrophe management. Reputation salvaging. I have an entire production team waiting for me to explain what’s going to happen next. A press