The Talisman (54 page)

‘Are you happy, Charlie?’ Harriet asked him.

He appeared a trifle thrown by her question, then nodded his head. Harriet ordered a bottle of champagne and said she would go and look for Daisy.

She found her sitting in floods of tears on one of the small stools in the ladies’ powder room. ‘Oh, Daisy, Daisy, I am sorry, so sorry.’ Harriet sat next to her friend and hugged her close.

Daisy sniffed, and gulped back tears. ‘I’m being stupid, it’s just you look so beautiful, and I feel such a fat, dumpy idiot.’

Harriet wiped Daisy’s face with a paper tissue. ‘Daisy, you look lovely, you know a pregnant woman always looks radiant, didn’t you know that? You are lovely, with your little round tum . . .’

Daisy looked into her friend’s face. She knew instinctively something was very wrong. ‘What is it, Harry? Have you had that old trouble again? Have you been ill again?’

Harriet bit her lip, and her eyes filled with tears, she swallowed, and then pulled a tissue from the box and blew her nose. Daisy remained quiet, simply sitting close. Harriet reached for her friend’s hand and held it tight. She was like a schoolgirl again, and once she’d started she couldn’t stop. ‘Oh Daisy, sometimes I just don’t know what to do. I love him so much, and I try so hard to be what he wants. You know, I have spent hours at the beauty parlour today, the hairdresser, this bloody false hair, even my nails are false . . . I’m on these pills to keep me calm, and it’s like I’m wrapped in a cocoon, but I’m scared to stop taking them in case I have one of my turns . . . you see I’m not what he wants, not really . . .’

‘Oh rubbish, what do you mean not what he wants, even Charlie’s eyes were out on stalks when he saw you . . .’

‘You don’t understand.’

‘Well, why don’t you try me?’

Harriet began to pace up and down. She turned and stared at herself. ‘I never was one for all this kind of thing you know. I mean, I try, of course I do . . . but, right now he’s in his office and he’s with another woman, and I don’t know what to do about it . . . Daisy, tell me what to do.’

Daisy snapped her little gold evening bag closed. She wagged her finger. ‘Well for a start, Harriet Simpson, you’ve got to stop thinking like this . . . you just remember how that man hounded after you in France. He didn’t marry one of those bleached blondes out there with dangling earrings, he married you . . . now just you get back to being Harry. If he’s bonking some bloody woman . . .’

‘What? . . . bonking?’

‘Yes, it’s the latest slang for getting the old leg over . . . if he’s having a bit on the side, give him a wallop and get off those bloody pills, do you have to take them?’

Harry gripped Daisy’s hand tightly, desperately. ‘Oh God, you won’t tell him, will you? He doesn’t know about me.’

‘Oh don’t be stupid, I don’t even see you any more . . . you want my advice? You go out there and make sure that dish you hooked toes the line. If he won’t, give him that left upper cut you’ve got . . .’

Daisy was now well into the role of maternal know-all. Harriet laughed, and hugged her friend with such force she almost toppled off the stool. Daisy grabbed the dressing table. ‘And I thought you’d changed, you’re still as clumsy as ever, you know the only time I’ve ever seen you co-ordinated was when you were sitting on a horse. You remember that time you rode on to Daddy’s lawn and he chased you round with the hose? . . .’

Harriet shrieked, her hand over her mouth remembering the occasion. Daisy began pulling more tissues from the box to wipe away tears of laughter, recalling how her father had soaked everyone with the garden hose, he had been in such a rage . . . Harriet went quiet, her lips trembled as if she were going to cry. Instead, she gently touched Daisy’s big swollen stomach. ‘I don’t ride . . . not any more. Take care of your baby, take care of him . . .’

Daisy cupped Harriet’s chin in her hands. Her puffy face was serious with concern. ‘You know sometimes, Harry, it’s best to turn a blind eye; not all the time, but you know what I mean . . . your old man will have a lot of temptations with this place, but you’re his wife . . . he chose you. You love him, don’t you?’

Daisy felt as if she were talking to a child. There was a helplessness about her friend, a vulnerability that made her so touching . . . even more so when a single tear trickled down her face as she whispered, ‘I love him so, Daisy, I hurt inside, hurt so much sometimes I wish he’d never come back into my life. Do you feel that way about Charlie?’

Daisy laughed, ‘Good God, no . . . I just grabbed what I could get, and you should get out there before someone grabs what you’ve got . . .’

In five seconds Harriet was a different person. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, sniffed, and then did a comic Groucho Marx walk to the door. Daisy asked if she could have the name of her hairdresser as she rather fancied a similar false braid down her back. The next moment Harriet pulled off the hair switch and threw it across the room. Harriet winked, gave a small salute, and was gone.

Daisy picked up the hairpiece. The colour reminded her of Harriet’s chestnut mare, she wondered why Harry didn’t ride any more. The baby inside her kicked, and Daisy dropped the hairpiece into the bin, it was the wrong colour for her anyway.

Alex collided with Harriet as he came out of the office. Her hair was standing up on end, and he thought she was drunk. She gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Is he bonking that blonde in there?’ Without waiting for an answer, she entered the office. ‘Just what have you been up to, Mr Barkley?’ she said, her hands on her hips like Calamity Jane.

Edward walked round from his desk, and cocked his head to one side. ‘Well, Mrs Barkley, I could ask the same of you, you look as if you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards . . . come here, menace, right here and close your eyes.’

‘What have you done with the blonde?’

‘Ah, she’s in the filing cabinet. Now are you going to come here, or do I have to drag you?’

Edward pulled her to stand directly in front of him. He instructed her to close her eyes. She shut her eyes, and waited. She felt the warmth of his hands at her neck, and then something icy cold being draped around her. ‘This is an anniversary present, and it comes with my love . . . I love you, Harry . . . I love you.’

He held up a mirror in front of her so she could see the spectacular diamond necklace. His face was concerned, wanting her approval . . . The outrageous necklace was tasteless and meant nothing to her. The words ‘I love you, Harry’ made her feel as if he had given her the world. She lifted her hand and with the tips of her fingers traced his mouth. An electric shock ran through his body, he wanted to draw her close, but he couldn’t. He was held by the expression in her eyes. There was such pain, such fragility . . . so much love. Her soft, barely audible ‘thank you’ made him want to break the moment, as he could see her as she had been all those years before standing in the broken chapel with the tiny gold bracelet. He pulled her roughly into his arms, too shy, too afraid she would see such vulnerability in him. ‘Oh, my Harry, I’m so bloody proud of you, you are the best-looking woman out there, do you know that?’ He sniffed, not allowing himself to cry, and he joked. ‘Well, you were, what the hell have you done to your hair?’

‘I gave it to Daisy Millingford.’

He laughed, and he was back in control of his emotions again. He stood back to admire his necklace. He bowed to the door. ‘Your public awaits you, princess.’

Alex watched them enter the main club room, their arms entwined around each other. Jodie’s voice made him start. She stood quietly at his side. ‘Eighty-five thousand pounds around her neck, each stone is perfect, he picked each one himself . . . he’s opened the box so many times it’s already worn . . . I think it’s rather old-fashioned . . . what do you think, Mr Barkley?’

Alex said nothing. He had already said enough when Edward had shown him the necklace. It was similar to the one treasured by their mother only, instead of pearls, Edward had chosen diamonds. Alex touched the gold chain round his neck, and his mouth tightened. Edward had shown off the necklace with such pride, but Alex had been furious without really knowing why. He had even asked what had happened to the pearls; he knew where the gold was, round their necks, but the pearls? He had been stunned when Edward had told him they were buried with her, buried with their mother, and if he didn’t believe him, he suggested Alex should dig up the grave.

Harriet became the centre of attention. Everyone admired the necklace, just as Edward confided to everyone exactly how much he had paid for it.

Harriet danced over to Alex, with a glass of champagne. She made a camp, theatrical gesture with her hand indicating the necklace, then she giggled.

‘Rather makes me look like some ancient grand duchess, don’t you think?’ She hooked her arm through his, and snuggled close. ‘You know, I remember a poem I read once. It said something about painting a picture of the world, a big, big picture, and everything was painted on this picture, you know, everything that was beautiful, and then . . . then it was rolled up into a big ball . . .’

Alex listened with only half an ear. He was tired, he wanted to leave. It was after twelve. Suddenly, she lifted her arms and spoke loudly, making everyone around them stop and stare. ‘I painted a picture of the world for you, and I rolled it into a ball, and let it roll to your feet. You picked it up in your arms, and threw it back.’

Edward gave her a small frown of disapproval and she whispered to Alex. ‘He must have thought I was playing.’

Alex excused himself. He asked Harriet to tell Edward he was leaving. She gave him a kiss, and made him promise to call her the following morning.

Alex had always been aware of her strange energy, from the moment they had first met. Now he found it disturbing. When she was excited, she drew people around her, he could see it even now. The delighted faces of people listening to her, telling them stories, making them laugh. But it was all for Edward, her energy was fuelled by him; it was as if he, and he alone, could control it . . . just as she had said, if she could give him the world, wrap it up for him, hand it to him he would kick it back, thinking it was a game. She knows, he thought to himself, that crazy little lady knows. ‘Oh be warned, Alex,’ he told himself. ‘Never get to be the one in the middle; best stay well clear, get off their roller coaster or she could take you down with her.’

Alex returned to the office to get his coat. He picked up the empty diamond case . . . the lid snapped shut. It was like an omen, and from that moment Alex made the decision to distance himself from Harriet.

Harriet did call Alex a number of times to invite him for supper, even to meet him in town for lunch as she wanted his opinion on two trouser suits. Alex had refused, very politely. She detected the coldness immediately. She never called him again, never even mentioned it to Edward. She was saddened that he, Alex, could not have talked it over with her, but she understood. She had looked upon Alex as a friend, and was intelligent enough to be aware that perhaps it was not the wisest relationship. She missed him, she had liked him and she had very few friends. She made no attempt to contact Daisy whose forthcoming baby would remind her too much of her own dead son. She made a conscious effort not to allow old emotions to creep back. She was loved, and she was happy, she was safe in Edward’s love, and she stopped taking her pills.

‘Banks’ became established overnight, and the brothers watched the money roll in. Aware that the major part rolled straight into his brother’s pocket, Alex had mixed feelings, but he also watched it roll straight out again as they poured more and more money into legitimate businesses.

The Panamanian company, sitting unused and unwanted, was turned into an insurance company. Edward flew out to install a manager, and when he returned, the company had one desk, one chair and one employee. The Barkley Company had yet another string to its bow, offering high-risk policies to all the major insurance companies. Edward was about to contact certain ‘friends’ employed by the massive Lloyd’s of London when Alex appeared, and he put the phone down. He didn’t want Alex to overhear his conversation.

‘Something up?’

Alex asked if it would be all right to take a week off.

‘What for?’

Alex told him about the American collector of seventeenth-century furniture who had died, and the auction was to be in Texas. He mentioned the possibility that something he was interested in would come on to the market.

‘Can’t you send someone over there for you?’

‘Not really – you see, if the rumours are correct, there will be a lot of dealers after it. I’d like to get in first, before them, and . . . Well, I don’t know who I could trust to authenticate it.’

‘What the hell is it?’

‘Well, it might be a bed – there’s never been a record of one on the market. It would be an investment. On the other hand . . .’

‘Bed? What the hell are you talking about? For Chrissake, send someone over from Christie’s or Sotheby’s; you don’t have to go yourself, do you?’

About to reply, Alex was interrupted by Edward’s telephone. ‘Who? Oh, yeah, yeah . . . put him through in two seconds.’ Covering the phone with his hand, Edward said irritably that if Alex really felt he had to go, then go he should. Alex was dismissed, and Edward swivelled round in his chair, flicking the intercom switch. Alex had wanted to discuss other matters, but, faced with the back of the leather chair, he gave up and walked out. He paused briefly at the door, however, and overheard a little of Edward’s conversation.

‘Walter . . . Well, a voice from the past. Better not talk on the phone, why don’t we meet?’ Edward swivelled round again to make sure Alex had gone, then satisfied that he was alone he leaned his elbows on the table. ‘Best if we were to discuss it in private, Walter . . . No, no, it’s personal . . . are you free this evening? No? Well, you name the day.’

When he replaced the phone, he gave it a little pat of pleasure. Walter was now in a very high position in the Government, a position that would be useful to Edward, and the more he thought about it the better it seemed that Alex would be out of the country. He was going to ask his old friend Walter a small favour, one he knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse. He was sure a man in Walter’s position would not like a whisper getting out about a certain boating accident in Cambridge.