The Talisman (59 page)

Edward ran his fingers through his hair. He was quieter now, and gave the doctor a half-smile. ‘She always was a bit of a handful . . . What will be the next move?’

‘As soon as she is physically tip-top, I want to put her through a course of psychotherapy. She’s had a number of therapists before, but I am not sure at this stage which type of therapy would be most beneficial. Perhaps a group would be best, as she has had a considerable amount of cognitive and behavioural therapy through the years.’

Edward said that there were no financial problems and he wanted the best there was. The doctor rose from his seat and shook Edward’s hand. He realized now that the bravado had been a strong cover-up, and Edward was obviously very disturbed and shocked.

‘You know, Mr Barkley, a good marriage, a strong marriage in which there is total openness and understanding, is likely to discourage Harriet’s depressive states from becoming regular occurrences. External events can trigger a depression, and when this happens, outside help is always advised . . . You obviously care; you love your wife a great deal. Perhaps together you can beat it.’ He noted the fleeting look of anger cross Edward’s face before he gave a charming smile and said it was time to visit Harriet. As he reached the door, still with his back to the doctor, he said, ‘I love my wife, guess I’m not the easiest person to live with. But from now on I’ll give it a damned good try. Thank you for your time.’

Edward spent a long time sitting outside Harriet’s room. He digested everything the doctor had said, and the future seemed daunting to say the least. He couldn’t bring himself to face her, to cope with her.

A nurse came out of Harriet’s room, carrying a tray. When she saw Edward, she paused and put her head back round the door. ‘Oh, your husband’s here, Mrs Barkley . . . It’s all right, Mr Barkley, there was no need to wait. Can I bring you a cup of tea?’

‘No . . . no thanks.’

He picked up the big bunch of Harriet’s favourite flowers, tapped on the door and walked in. She was sitting propped up on pillows, surrounded by so many bouquets of flowers the room was heavy with perfume. She smiled brightly. ‘You’ve overdone the flowers, place looks like a funeral parlour! There’s a sweet little Indian girl down the corridor, and I’ve sent quite a lot of them to her . . .’

Edward laid down the flowers almost afraid to look at her. She had that flushed look, her cheeks rosy, hair shining. It had now grown to her shoulders, and she had tied a ribbon around it.

‘I didn’t notice before how long your hair’s grown, looks nice. Dewint’s in a terrible state without you to clear up after. He’s started polishing everything in sight.’ He pulled up a chair and she offered him grapes, oranges – he caught her hand and held it tight. ‘It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s all right . . .’

Her eyes brimmed with tears and she chewed her lip. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry . . . have they told you all about me?’

‘Yes, no stone unturned. You’re going off to a nice place for a rest, then they say you’ll be back home as good as new. And, I’ve got instructions from Dr Wilson on how to be a good husband. I’ve not tried hard enough, I know it, but I’ll make it up to you. We’ll go on a holiday together, wherever you like.’

‘You know I might get a bit wobbly again, I mean, I’ll try not to, but did they tell you?’

‘Yes, they did. Dewint and I will keep our beady eyes on you, make sure you’re stocked up with pills, all you have to do is get yourself fit and come home fast.’

‘You still want me, then?’

‘I’m your husband, what the hell do you expect? You’ve got me under contract, haven’t you?’

She smiled, then her eyes drooped, and he held her hand until she fell asleep. She was comforted that he had taken no phone calls while he sat with her, and had not looked at his watch once . . . He leaned forward and kissed her brow, then crept out and closed the door silently behind him. He felt so depressed himself he wanted to weep.

Edward had always made a point of never associating with Jodie’s girls. They were for his punters, but tonight he needed someone. He got very drunk, and went up to the rooms with the prettiest and youngest of the girls. Jodie gave strict instructions, this was no ordinary customer . . .

It became a nightly arrangement. He never asked for any particular girl, taking anyone available. But Jodie always made sure he got the very best. He treated the girls with great courtesy, and although he owned the place he tipped them well and sent frequent gifts. They all liked him. He was still a very handsome man, and his prowess in the bedroom made their work a pleasure.

Edward changed his drinking habits. He had never been one to overindulge, but now he started drinking heavily. Many nights Dewint found him passed out in the drawing room, and in the mornings he would be hung-over, often asking for a drink as soon as he awoke. He never brought any of the women home, which was a blessing, but it was Dewint who sent the flowers and gifts on his master’s behalf.

Allard took longer than the five days, but he did eventually agree to work for Edward, for cash in hand. As an added incentive, Edward gave him carte blanche membership at Banks, and a special introduction to the house in Notting Hill Gate. He then secured four high-risk policies, and farmed them out to his own insurance companies, two in Panama and one in Brazil. He had still had no word from Alex, and with money pouring in he prepared for a long-overdue visit to South Africa.

The records of his ‘hits’ remained in a separate file, one that was not to be seen by Alex.

Harriet came out of hospital and moved into a rest home. Edward was a regular visitor, although he never stayed long. He was always attentive, and brought flowers and gifts. There was a growing void between them, and she felt helpless, unable to reach out to him, and blamed herself. Often after these visits she regressed, and her therapist soon connected part of her trouble with her husband. Edward refused when it was suggested that he join Harriet in therapy, feeling that as he was paying vast sums of money they should be able to get his wife straightened out without his assistance. The therapist therefore concentrated on Harriet’s relationship with Edward in their sessions. Piece by piece, Harriet imparted snippets of valuable information concerning her emotional ties to her husband, and it became clear that she placed him above everything else in her life.

She showed no marked improvement until she began drama classes. Suddenly she found a release, and a vocation. A month went by, and Dewint visited instead of Edward. Hesitantly, he explained that Edward had gone to South Africa, but would be in touch as soon as he returned. In fact, Edward had not yet left, he was sitting at home by the telephone. He placed a call to Skye Duval and waited. The line was buzzing, there were echoes of different operators. At last he heard Skye’s familiar voice. ‘Duval speaking, who is it?’

‘Hello, buddy boy, I need a meeting with you, we’re on, want to start things rolling fast.’

‘Okay . . . I’ll meet you at the airport, just say when.’

‘Don’t bother, I’ll come to you . . . two days’ time.’

Skye replaced the phone and reached for the vodka. Edward had walked back into his life once before. The first time Skye had tried to tell him to go to hell, but he was broke, boozed up and easy for Edward to manipulate, just as easy as it had been all those years ago. He smiled as he recalled the days of Edward’s first big scam, and wondered what he would have in mind this time. He knew intuitively that it would be crooked.

Alex began to get edgy. He had been away from London far too long, and was worried that his telexes to Edward had gone unanswered. But he had been enjoying himself so much that he put off his return even longer. The auction of the Hunter Hardyman estate was now imminent.

Barbara showed not the slightest interest in the auction; all she wanted was to be rid of the place, with its reminders of her hated grandfather. Alex was fascinated by the old man’s massive wealth. There were, however, many branches of the Hunter Hardyman family, a few of whom he had met and found loud and uncouth in comparison with Barbara.

‘I owe that to my mama. She hated him too, and I was educated in the very best school we have to offer, and so were my daughters. But I’m afraid they’ve inherited some of the worst of the family traits. They both need to go to France or Switzerland to complete their education, what do you think?’

At times she was so innocent, turning to Alex for guidance, but it was often quite obviously calculated. She didn’t really need anyone; she had a mind like steel, and yet she could smile so like a child that it touched him. ‘You know I was married at sixteen, I really never had any time for myself, with two young daughters and an alcoholic for a husband. Now I want to live, Alex, really live.’

She had tried to steer Alex towards the bedroom, but had never pushed it. She was much too calculating and, although he was attentive, he had never so much as kissed her.

When he told her he had to leave for England in two days, and suggested she and her daughters might like to visit him some time, Barbara bit her lip. It was an invitation, but a very open-ended one. He mentioned no dates. She decided she would have to work even harder on him, she had held off the seduction for too long.

A bottle of champagne, on ice, was waiting for them when they entered his hotel suite. Barbara slipped off her chiffon wrap, trailed it along the floor and murmured that it was dreadfully hot. He opened the balcony windows and turned up the air conditioning, but that was not what she had in mind. She insisted on taking a bath to cool off. She turned on the taps of the vast double bath, trailed her hand in the water and sipped champagne. Alex could see her through the open door, and she knew he was watching. Slowly she took off her diamond necklace and earrings, then even more slowly she untied the chiffon sash at the front of her dress.

Aroused, Alex moved to the bathroom door, watching intently. The dress seemed to slip away from her of its own accord, and she sat naked on the side of the bath. ‘Take your clothes off, slowly, Alex, do it really slowly.’

He loosened his tie, pulled it off slowly and dropped it to the floor, then began to unbutton his shirt. She sat, sipping champagne and watching. His initial nervousness dropped away as his shirt did. He unzipped his flies and still she watched, sipping and smiling up at him.

Barbara had found him an intensely attractive man, but now as he stripped in front of her it took all her willpower not to rip his trousers down and go down on him there and then. Her first husband had been a drunk, but a very experienced man, and a kinky one. He had trained his blushing bride well – too well – and his alcoholism had resulted in his sweet, not-so-innocent young wife moving on to fresher fields, taking his carefully taught sexual prowess with her. She had had many lovers, and when she realized she had outgrown her husband, she divorced him on the grounds of his drinking. Now she put all her experience into this one night – she was going to seduce this quiet, handsome Englishman, and what’s more he was never going to forget it. It was a gamble, but Barbara never gambled without being very sure she would win.

Alex would have taken her as soon as he was naked, and moved to hold her, but she slipped away from him, the bath forgotten, and walked into the bedroom. In her hands she held a bottle of sun-tan oil from the bathroom . . . She smiled and held out her hand to take him to the bed.

‘Lie down, lie down . . . come on, baby, lie down.’

Alex moaned, hardly able to contain himself, and he lay face down on the bed, clutching the satin cover. Barbara sat astride him and began to oil his shoulders, and he gasped, gritting his teeth . . . He was back in jail with Brian, in their cell . . . She smoothed the oil over his back, over his shoulders, and was kissing his neck and his ears, all the time her expert hands moving up and down his body. Twice he tried to turn, but she pushed him back, oiled him and smoothed him until her hands reached his buttocks . . . She licked at him, she was driving him crazy, and eventually he turned over and pulled her beneath him . . . Still she fought him off, kissing his chest and murmuring all the time, soft, lewd words . . . ‘Beg for me, Alex, beg for me, come on baby, beg for me. Tell me how much you want to fuck me . . . Come on, baby, tell me . . .’

He wanted to scream, she was sucking him, biting him between his thighs, and he was helpless, her hands were everywhere, smoothing, pulling, oiling . . . and then he grabbed at her head, pulled at her hair until she cried out, pushing her face against his thighs, pushed so hard that her teeth cut into his leg . . . and then she put her perfect mouth around his prick . . .

Alex came with a shudder that shook the bed. He put his hands over his face, he didn’t want her to see the extent of the pleasure she had given him, but she pulled his arm away . . .

‘Now it’s your turn . . .’

Alex did not leave the bedroom the next day. They remained together, food was sent in, eaten, and then they were back to screwing again. Alex had never known such pleasure, he made up for all the lost years . . . until even Barbara was exhausted. He never stopped, this Englishman was more than she had ever bargained for . . .

‘You’re really going to leave me, go back without me? You can’t leave your baby, can you? Alex? You can’t leave me now, can you?’

He moaned and held her tight, her body slithering in his arms like an eel, and he kissed her. ‘I’ll take you with me.’

Barbara was determined she would somehow trap Alex into marrying her. Marriage to Barbara had, naturally, crossed Alex’s mind, along with the massive fortune that went with it. He certainly found her the most sexually attractive woman he had ever encountered, but then he had not had all that much experience with women.

He lay on the bed and thought about Ming, then his mind wandered back over all the years to Dora. He closed his eyes, let the memories flood through him, and he had a sudden impulse to see Dora again. He reached for the telephone wondering if the operator would be able to trace Dora’s husband with just the name Kinnerton. He couldn’t remember the man’s first name . . . On second thoughts he decided against it. He rolled off the bed and walked into the bathroom, where Barbara was lying in the bubble-filled tub. She flicked water at him, and sat up so he could see her beautiful breasts, the soapsuds around her like a cloud.