The Talisman (57 page)

Edward ate as hungrily as his wife, and said that someone had to get the house organized. Harriet hopped out of bed with marmalade all over her cheek, and opened the bathroom door. ‘An artist of my calibre cannot be bothered with the mundane, boring, day-to-day running of this tip . . . Look, I made this in class.’ She held up a strange-looking pot with a very thick rim.

‘What’s that?’

‘Well, it’s supposed to be a sugar bowl, but I didn’t quite get the wheel going right – what do you think?’

Edward didn’t even look, but opened the
Financial Times
, then laughed, ‘Bloody hell, he’s ironed it! Look!’

The bathroom door slammed shut.

Down in the kitchens Agnes and Dewint were at loggerheads. He was giving his critical assessment of the very tarnished silver. Agnes slapped her dishcloth down on the table. ‘Listen, by the time you’ve cleaned up after that Mrs Barkley, you’ll have no time for cleaning ruddy silver. She had a pigeon in here yesterday, ruddy pigeon she’d found in the garden.’

‘I’d be grateful if you did not speak of my hemployers in derogatory terms. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take the ’ot toast up, and in future, wrap it in a napkin, hit keeps it warm.’

Edward came out of the bathroom and found that Dewint had already stripped the bed. Over a chair hung a clean shirt and trousers.

‘I ’ave not has yet ’ad time to familiarize myself with your wardrobe, sah. But given time I will know exactly what your preference is . . . I believe you are going to the office this morning, so I have laid out what I think is suitable, sah.’

Edward smiled and thanked Dewint, who walked out with a bundle of sheets. By the time Edward was dressed and ready to leave, Dewint was on his hands and knees on the stairs with a dustpan and brush. Edward gave him a small pat on the head as he passed, and went on down the stairs.

‘Might I ’ave a quick word, sah? The wine cellar is rather depleted, and I wondered if you would like me to order for you . . . St James’ is a good company, and very reliable.’

Edward looked up, leaning against the banisters. ‘I’ll leave it to you. If need be, open an account with them. And check the larder. In fact, check everything and make some kind of an inventory. Looks like you and I are going to get along fine.’

Dewint had just reached the bottom stair when Harriet called out – or rather, shrieked – from the studio, ‘Deeeewint!’

He blinked slightly at the brilliant yellow walls. Harriet was covered in wet clay, her pottery wheel spinning wildly out of control. A strange, malformed blob sprayed the daffodil-yellow walls with specks of brown.

‘Yes, modom?’

‘Could you switch the thing off? It’s that plug on the wall, the pedal’s stuck or something.’

Dewint caught a speck of clay in his eye, wiped it and pulled out the plug. Harriet puffed with relief, then apologized profusely for the mess. Dewint wiped his face, gave a polite cough, and suggested that if modom was in agreement, he’d stock up the larder.

‘Yes, modom is – and you can call me Harry . . . and don’t worry about me interfering, you will be a godsend. Come here.’ Dewint moved closer, and she whispered to him, ‘Do you think we can give Agnes the heave-ho? I can’t stand her.’

Dewint’s eyes twinkled. ‘I must hadmit, mod . . . Harry, I’m not exactly enamoured myself. Would you prefer hit if I settled the matter?’

‘Oh, yes. Now then, tell me, what do you think of this pot? I know the rim’s a trifle thick, but do you like it?’

‘Oh, yes, it’s a splendid piece.’

‘It’s yours . . . Right, off you go, I’m going to try and fix my wheel.’

Carrying his strange gift, Dewint returned to the kitchen. Agnes snorted, ‘Gawd almighty, night classes, workin’ all hours up there an’ that’s what she’s finished up with . . . What the hell is it? The lift don’t stop at the top floor with that one, I know it, I can tell.’

‘It’s a large-lipped pot, and, oh, by the way, you are fired.’

Dewint opened accounts with the wine merchants, grocers and butchers, and simply handed the bills over at the end of each month. Edward came to entrust him with more and more of the basic running of the house, and his salary rose along with Edward’s trust. He seemed to know instinctively when to remain with Edward for a nightcap and when to leave, and he turned a blind eye to any ‘goings-on’. He adored the outrageous dinners, never knowing who would be there. He recognized many of the faces from the television.

Dewint had become a part of their lives, and he felt it particularly keenly one evening when he was laying out Edward’s evening clothes. He felt Edward’s hand on his shoulder.

‘Has Alex, my brother, called at all while I’ve been out?’

‘I have not heard from Mr Alex, sah . . .’

Edward appeared disappointed. ‘It’s my birthday – the years start moving faster once you pass thirty, don’t they?’

‘Oh, yes, sah, they do, and may I wish you a very happy birthday.’

Edward checked his appearance in the wardrobe mirror, and Dewint bowed himself out. Edward picked up his white silk scarf and headed downstairs. As he passed the doors to the dining hall, Harriet flung them open, revealing a big birthday cake with candles. On the cake, in bright pink icing, was written, ‘Happy Birthday, Edward – 35 Today.’ Harriet was dressed in one of her Paris creations, singing, ‘Happy Birthday to you . . . Happy Birthday to you – ’ at the top of her voice. It took him completely by surprise – he couldn’t recall ever telling her when his birthday was – and she dragged him into the room to blow out all the candles. There were gifts, neatly wrapped and tied with bows, and Dewint stood by to open the champagne. Edward looked at his watch, and Harriet picked up the tiny gesture immediately, trying to hide her disappointment. ‘Do you have to go wherever it is? Can’t you put it off? I thought we’d go out for dinner.’

‘Sweetheart, I can’t – but I promise not to be late. We can save the presents until I get home, okay?’

She kissed him, and she and Dewint drank his health. It was Dewint’s turn to feel sorry for her, she looked so deflated. She had been working for days on the surprise, hiding the gifts, ordering the cake. ‘So much for the surprise . . . Ah well, cheers . . . cheers . . .’

Dewint watched her walk slowly upstairs. He knew it wasn’t his place, but he couldn’t stop himself. ‘As you won’t be dining out, I’ve prepared a small chicken, perhaps you would like . . .’

She didn’t let him finish his invitation, didn’t even turn to face him. ‘No thanks, I’m not very hungry . . .’

Edward had finally made contact with Walter, and they had arranged to meet at Banks. Walter had been very dubious about the meeting, and had cancelled twice, but in the end he went along.

He was very impressed by the club. Edward had reminded him that he was no longer called Stubbs, and not to mention that name. So Barkley was the name Walter asked for at the door, and it certainly made everyone jump.

Walter had changed a lot since university days. He was balding, and his spots had left pockmarks on his face. He still had to wear thick glasses. He nibbled nuts from the dish on the table, checked his watch. Edward was late. A waiter asked him if he had changed his mind, if he would care for a drink, but he refused and asked where the telephone was. The waiter promptly brought one to his table, and he called his wife.

As Edward entered the club and looked over at his table, he had an opportunity to view Walter without his knowing. Edward’s usual bottle of Dom Perignon was brought over as he greeted Walter, towering above him.

‘Well, well, it’s been a long time . . . No, don’t get up, Walter.’

Having come straight from the office, Walter was still in his dark navy pin-stripe, and he blushed. Edward looked elegant, his suit beautifully tailored, and he was even more handsome than Walter remembered. ‘Strange thing, you know, saw some photographs of you once, and I remember thinking how like you this Barkley fellow was. Must congratulate you, place is very chic.’ He pronounced it ‘chick’.

Edward noticed immediately that the northern accent had gone, along with the spots and the National Health spectacles. Walter now sported a pair of fashionable rimless glasses, which magnified his eyes as his old pair had done, but also made him look affluent. Walter was no longer nervy, he seemed confident and his manner was relaxed.

‘I should congratulate you, Foreign Office, eh? You’re up for the Minister’s replacement, I hear? Aren’t you going to join me?’

Again Walter refused a drink, and said he didn’t, only mineral water. A glass of iced water was brought, and Edward asked if his table for dinner was ready, they would eat. Walter murmured that he had really only a few moments as his wife was expecting him home for dinner.

‘Nonsense, you’ll eat with me – use the phone, call her, say you’re with an old friend from Cambridge.’

So Walter called his wife again and told her to cancel dinner, while Edward looked over the evening’s menu.

The table in the restaurant was also always reserved for Edward. Walter was impressed again, this time by the standard of the cuisine. He was no fool, and kept asking himself why, after all these years, Edward had suddenly made himself known again. He found out soon enough, and flushed.

‘I want the building contracts for all the areas I’ve mentioned, and I know that with a word and a helpful nod from you I can bypass any other companies, and it goes without saying that you would benefit from the deal.’

Walter couldn’t eat another mouthful. He pushed his plate away and said Edward must understand that at this stage in his career he could not afford any scandal to be so much as whispered. ‘If I get you in on any other level than a totally viable . . .’

‘Bullshit, Walter, that is exactly why we’re having this little tête-à-tête, because that is precisely what I want and I know you can do it . . . Now then, you look as if you really need a drink.’

Gulping down the brandy, Walter began to sweat. He knew what would come next.

‘At this stage in your career you can’t afford any rumours about a young woman student who drowned in a boating accident on the Cam.’

Walter wiped his mouth with his napkin, sweating even more. ‘You wouldn’t bring that up?’ But he knew Edward would, and his heart sank. All the years of hard work, and he could see everything suddenly slipping out of his grasp. ‘I’m sorry, it’s out of the question.’

Edward rose abruptly from the table, tossed his napkin down. He towered over Walter like a giant. ‘Fine, so we know where we are. Thank you for coming. I’ll put in my bids for the contracts and simply keep my fingers crossed. Goodnight, Walter.’

Walter hurried after him on the pavement. Edward’s Rolls had already been brought round, and he was opening the door.

‘Can we talk about this, please?’

Edward opened the passenger door, Walter got in, and the car sped off.

They drove straight to the house in Notting Hill Gate, and Walter found himself out of his depth. The women, the flowing champagne . . . He made two more calls to his wife in Clapham. By the end of the evening he was thoroughly drunk, and the two blondes looked so like Marilyn Monroe that he was ecstatic.

‘Make sure he really enjoys himself, that clear? And this one’s on the house, anything he wants, just mark it down.’

Edward let himself into the manor. It was in darkness. He walked quietly into the dining hall where his cake and gifts had been left for him. He looked at his watch – it was after three. Without bothering to open the gifts, he took off his coat and crept up the stairs.

She was awake, he knew, and he slipped his arms around her. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s always “sorry”, isn’t it? You ever think how little I see you? And tonight of all nights couldn’t you have given me just one evening, just one?’

‘I’m sorry, but how was I supposed to know you’d arranged anything?’

‘It was supposed to be a surprise, that’s why. There’s no point in even talking to you – besides, you stink of stale cigars and booze. Have a nice time, did you? Go to your fucking club, did you?’

‘Don’t swear, I hate you swearing.’

‘Oh, well, fuck you and the horse you rode in on. What do you take me for? What am I supposed to do? Sit here and wait? Wait for when you have a spare half-hour you can give me . . .’

‘You can do anything you like. I don’t ask you to sit waiting, I never have. It’s your choice.’

‘Oh, fine, fine. Isn’t that what a wife’s supposed to do?’

‘Since when have you played that part?’

She turned over and thumped her pillow. He looked up at the ceiling, the drapes of the canopied bed. He sighed with tiredness, becoming irritated with her. ‘I love you, Harry, it’s just right now I’m in the middle of negotiations with South Africa. It’s a very big deal, and tonight I had a meeting with a man who can open doors there for me.’

Harriet hunched over, further away from him. He rolled over and curled himself around her back, pulling her close. It was a simple gesture, but one she had grown to love, the way he pressed his body against hers.

‘You’re not going to get round me, I hate you.’

‘No, you don’t.’

‘I fucking do, I’m going to run off with Dewint.’

Edward laughed and kissed her back, massaged her neck. Eventually she rolled over and looked into his face. He kissed her lightly on the nose, and then traced her cheek with his finger. ‘You know, maybe we should think about starting a family. You’re always talking about me breaking promises, but as I recall a certain young lady gave me a promise in a punt. Four sons – well, don’t you think we should start? Neither of us is getting any younger, so I’d settle for two.’

Her body arched, stiffened, and he was shocked when he saw her face change. He was so close, he could see the darkness in her eyes. ‘What is it? Harry?’

She was out of bed, pulling a robe around her naked body. ‘What do you think this is, a stud farm? Well, screw you, I’ll sleep in the spare room.’

Dewint heard the doors banging below. He thought to himself that they were at it again – but they always made it up. He woke, hours later, to the sound of muffled sobbing. He crept to his door – the sobbing was coming from her studio. Obviously they hadn’t made it up yet.