The Talisman (49 page)

‘You know that twerp, Jasper thingy, has the big boat in the harbour? Get him over for lunch . . . No, fuck the lunch, ask him for a drink this morning, would you?’

Alex checked his watch and reached for the telephone. ‘No sooner said than done. You don’t mind if I give it a miss, do you? There are a few things I’d like to get organized before we leave for London, and I should like to get a detailed inventory of the château . . .’

Edward threw back the bedclothes and rubbed his head. He was still badly hung-over, and wearing his socks. Alex noticed one of them had a large hole in the heel. ‘I’ll get you some socks while I’m in town . . .’

Waiting for the operator to connect him with the boat, Alex looked around the bedroom. It was unbelievably messy and reminded him of when he and Edward had shared a bedroom as boys. Jasper Hamilton’s lazy drawling voice gave Alex no chance to dwell on the past. Jasper was a strange effeminate man, known to be biding his time until he inherited a family fortune, a fortune made from a special brand of mustard. He had also seemed on familiar terms with both Harriet and Rochal at the party. Jasper was known to have considerable debts as he chose to live in great style and without the means to pay for it, his ‘hot mustard money’ still clenched in the hands of his ancient mother.

Edward didn’t beat about the bush. Within minutes of Jasper’s arrival he was offered money for information regarding Pierre Rochal. Jasper’s eyes lit up, and he sat back to feed Edward any scrap of gossip he could think of. This included the restaurant the couple used regularly on the harbour front.

Edward obtained a prominent table for lunch at the restaurant, and had just started his meal when Pierre and Harriet sauntered in. He asked them to join him, but Harriet politely refused, saying they were expecting friends. They sat in a booth and Edward finished his meal alone. No one joined them.

Pierre could see Harriet was on edge, and asked her if it was anything to do with Edward. Deftly filleting her trout, she laid the bone on the edge of the plate, refusing to answer the question.

On the beach later that afternoon, Pierre checked his watch to see if he had time for one last swim before going back to work on the barn. Shading his eyes, he could see Harriet mono-skiing way out in the bay. He waved his towel, and started to pack their beach bag. He looked up a moment later to see Edward Barkley sitting on the sea wall. He wore dark glasses and a seasonal, open-necked shirt, but with a dark suit over it. Edward gave Pierre a nonchalant wave and gazed out to sea.

Harriet was an extremely good water-skier, and was now executing a jump. The water sprayed out behind her . . . the boat made a wide curve and headed inland. She released the rope and glided into the shallows.

When she and Pierre walked up the beach, she gave Edward a polite nod. They climbed into the Aston Martin and roared along the quayside, but Harriet did not even turn her head in Edward’s direction.

Alex was furious – Edward had raided his wardrobe. The doors stood open, his suits were thrown across the bed, shirts had dropped off their hangers.

‘Edward? Edward! If you want to borrow my clothes have the decency to ask! You’ve chucked everything all over the room.’

‘Well, you’re shorter than me, but what d’you think, look all right?’

He was wearing a pale blue cotton suit with a white tee-shirt underneath it. His face was tanned, and his teeth shone whiter than white.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Alex. ‘Do you know what time it is? It’s after ten.’

‘Yeah, well, the discos don’t hot up until late, I’ve been told the groovy people don’t arrive until after ten, so . . . You don’t have a comb? Can’t find mine.’

Alex handed him a comb and watched as Edward stepped back from the mirror to admire himself. ‘She can’t resist me tonight, eh, buddy boy?’

‘I’ve released the staff as from tomorrow, that all right? And I’ve arranged a meeting with Rothschild . . . Eddie? Edward!’

‘Fine, you handle it – whatever you say. See you in the morning.’

Pierre was beginning to get irritated. It was quite obvious that Edward Barkley was trailing around after them. First at lunch, then the beach, even the intimate little restaurant they used for dinner. He was always alone, always asking if they would care to join him, when it was he who obviously wanted to join them. Harriet gave him not so much as the time of day. His appearance at the disco made her burst into laughter, but she still refused to talk to him. The latest thing to annoy Pierre was Edward walking up to them on the dance floor and asking if he could cut in. Harriet put her hands on her hips and cocked her head on one side. ‘Cut in? Oh my God, I haven’t heard that expression since I went to dances in the church hall.’

Edward still stood in the centre of the small, square dance floor. The music was so loud it was almost impossible to hold a conversation, so Harriet bellowed, ‘Do you mind, Pierre? Perhaps if I give him one dance he’ll leave us alone.’

Pierre shrugged and went moodily back to their table. Their friends asked him about Edward – the papers had been full of his château and the party he had thrown. They all watched the couple on the dance floor with interest.

Harriet danced around while he made pitiful efforts to mimic the strange movements of the other dancers. In the end he pulled her close to him.

Close to him, feeling him against her, she couldn’t play any more games. He bent his head to talk to her, shouting above the music. ‘I want two minutes with you alone, two minutes.’

Pierre watched them thread their way among the tables. He had seen the intimate way Edward had drawn Harriet into his arms, the way she leaned close. Whether she liked it or not, he would have it out with her that night. It was obvious she knew the intrepid Mr Barkley very well.

Harriet and Edward walked along the sea front. He didn’t attempt to touch her – they kept about a foot apart. When they stopped, he laid his hands on the rail, and she did likewise. She was even taller than he remembered, and her body was taut, lithe . . . He could see the strength in her hands as they gripped the rail. Her curly red hair was cropped like a boy’s, and gave her an urchin quality, a tomboy look. He had her to himself, and he was dumbstruck. Not knowing how to begin, he inched his hand closer and closer to hers on the rail, until they touched. The contact helped him, but when he spoke, his voice sounded alien. ‘I love you, Harry, and I want to marry you. I love you.’

He wanted desperately to hold her close, but she moved her hand away, and he could see her knuckles whiten as they tightened on the rail. She gazed at the sea as she spoke. ‘You know how many times I have dreamed of this moment, dreamed of you saying exactly that . . . I waited, you know, I waited for you . . .’

He touched her cheek gently, a soft, stroking gesture. He felt her stiffen, turn her head away from him. He couldn’t speak, didn’t know what to say to her. Pierre was at the entrance to the club, holding her wrap. He called out. ‘Harry . . . Harry . . . Harry!’

‘You are too late, Edward, leave me alone, please, go away from me.’ Her voice was no more than a whisper, but so cold, so unemotional he turned and walked away. He couldn’t help but look back, and Pierre was wrapping her shawl around her shoulders. She remained staring out to sea.

Edward ran along the dark beach, ran until he flopped exhausted on to the wet sand.

Pierre had to prise Harriet’s hands away from the rail. He guided her to the car and drove her home in silence. When they pulled up outside the barn, she turned to him. In the dim light the tears sparkled on her cheeks.

‘I can’t marry you, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’

‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow. You’re freezing – come on, I will make you a hot drink.’

‘No . . . I’ll stay with Daisy – it’s better that way. I’m sorry, please don’t ask me to explain.’

‘I think I deserve some explanation, for God’s sake. It’s him, isn’t it? Edward Barkley?’

He thumped the steering wheel with his fist. She gave him a wobbly smile. ‘At least I saved you forking out the price of a ring.’

‘This is no time to joke, Harry. At least come inside and talk about it.’ But Pierre could not persuade her to leave the car. Eventually he slammed the door and walked into the barn.

It was quite a while before he heard the engine revving, then the car roared off. He downed a large brandy in one gulp and hurled the glass at the wall. The next second he heard the screech of brakes outside. He ran to the door. ‘Harry? Harry?’

Edward Barkley stood in the pitch dark, his Rolls-Royce parked precariously near to the edge of the open well.

‘I want to talk to her, let me talk to her.’

‘She’s not here . . .’

‘Don’t bloody lie to me . . .’

Pierre shouted, but Edward charged him like a mad bull . . . disappearing down the well with a howl. Pierre peered down the deep hole. ‘I tried to warn you – I’ve a good mind to let you stay down there.’

‘Fucking hell, I think I’ve broken my nose.’

Pierre examined Edward’s face. His nose was intact, but he would have a very black eye. His temple was already turning a dark, angry purple. Pierre handed him a damp cloth. ‘You’ll live. You want a drink?’

‘Christ, I feel such a bloody fool.’

‘I guarantee you’ll look even more like one tomorrow, you’ll have a real shiner. Here – it’s brandy, but more than likely not the vintage you’re used to.’

‘Where is she? I have to talk to her.’

‘When you’ve finished your drink I’ll put the storm lights on. You’ll have to back down the track . . . she’s staying with friends.’

‘Where?’

‘Why don’t you just get the hell out of here before I throw you out?’

Edward downed his brandy and stood up. He towered over Pierre. For one second he even thought about throwing a punch, but instead he walked to the door. Turning, he held out his hand. His suit was sodden, his face bruised, and there was a helpless air to the big man.

‘I love her . . . I’m sorry to come here like this. If I’d been in your shoes I’d have let me rot in the well . . . Harry and me, we go back a long time. You take care of her . . . I won’t bother you again.’

Pierre had never seen such raw and desperate emotion in a man before. It made him feel inadequate. Edward obviously loved her and, given the choice between the two, Pierre was sure he would be the loser. In truth he already knew he was.

Pierre told Edward where he could find Harriet. He even held a torch so Edward could reverse safely down the track. Then he walked back to the barn. Half-painted in bright daffodil yellow, it called out her name . . . She was everywhere he looked, and he made up his mind to leave for Paris, cut short his holiday.

It wasn’t until Pierre had packed that he felt a strange sensation of relief – a confusing and unexpected emotion. He tried to analyse his feelings, and eventually they were clarified by a moth-eaten teddy bear. The small, worn bear sported a hand-knitted vest with the letter ‘E’ embroidered very badly on the front. The bear travelled everywhere with her, and he knew she would be frantic without him. But this was no longer Pierre’s responsibility – it was Edward Barkley’s.

Edward rang the bell beside the electric gates. There was not a light to be seen. He kept his finger on the button, rattled the gates, but still there was no answer. After prowling around the walls, he got into the Rolls and drove it close to the wall – so close he scraped the wing on the driver’s side. He then climbed out of the passenger door, on to the roof, and scaled the wall.

Once inside the grounds he made his way to the main entrance. As he stepped on to the porch all hell broke loose – two Dobermann pinschers galloped across the lawn, teeth bared. Edward almost pulled the door knocker off its hinges while he shouted at the dogs. Suddenly, lights blazed in the hallway, he heard voices shouting and the frightened face of Daisy Millingford’s father appeared through the frost glass door panel.

Edward just made it into the hall before he lost his trousers to the dogs. A gardener in a dressing gown dragged them back, snarling, to their kennels. Daisy rushed down the stairs, pulling her hair rollers out while trying to explain to her father who Edward was.

In the midst of the confusion, Harriet appeared at the top of the stairs. Edward, in his filthy, mud-splattered suit, sporting a black eye, ran up the stairs two and three at a time. The family looked on aghast, while Daisy shouted that he was Edward Barkley, the Edward Barkley from the château.

‘I love you, Harry, I love you . . .’

Edward showed not the slightest embarrassment at his extraordinary behaviour. Harriet sat on the stairs, her legs shaking. She was wearing a ridiculous, frothy pink nightdress of Daisy’s.

Daisy ushered her family and the housekeeper into the kitchen, leaving the lovers alone, but before she closed the door she took a quiet look . . .

They were sitting side by side, their arms about each other. If Harriet turned him down now, Daisy would be up those stairs like a hare . . . She closed the door, and tried to explain to her family what was going on.

Alex woke with a start when his bedroom lights came on. Edward beamed at him from the doorway.

‘Alex, I want you to meet my future wife . . . Harry, this is my brother, Alex.’

Alex stared from one to the other. Harriet was still wearing the frothy pink creation, with the addition of a blanket around her shoulders. Edward had ruined Alex’s suit, and to cap it all he looked as though he’d been in one hell of a fight. Alex was speechless, but Edward was already on his way out.

‘I’ll leave you two to get to know each other . . . this calls for a celebration.’

Alex ran his fingers through his hair, then gestured for Harriet to sit on the bed. She curled up like a cat at the far end and scrutinized him. He flushed, and tried to think of something to say.

‘I told him not to wake you, but he insisted. This isn’t my nightie, it’s Daisy’s.’

‘Ahhh, I see – that makes all the difference.’

She giggled, and he looked up shyly. Suddenly she crawled up the bed to sit closer to him. She took his hand, kissed his cheek. ‘You look so uncomfortable – you’re not at all what I expected.’