The Talisman (84 page)

Edward put his arm over his face as if to block out the image that would appear next. He couldn’t bear to face his mother, but she was there, standing at the kitchen door and begging for them to stop. He could see her clearly, her white pinafore, her dark red, coiled hair. She tried to come between them, but Edward pushed her aside and she fell backwards. The dog was barking – Rex, the white bull terrier, growling and yapping, scuttling between their feet, jumping up as if even he was afraid of what was going to happen. He yelped as Freedom tripped over him and lurched against the kitchen table . . .

Slowly, the inevitable happened again, so slowly . . . Edward opening the kitchen drawer. Edward taking out the sharp knife, the big knife Evelyne used to carve their Sunday roasts. He took out the knife as his father turned to him . . .

Edward’s face was distorted with blind rage as he screamed, ‘Come on, you bastard! I dare you to fight me now! Come on!’

Freedom seemed to relax. He no longer attempted to take his belt to his son – instead, he smiled, and lifted his arms in a gesture of love, opening his arms wider and wider, moving closer and closer to his son, closer to the knife.

Edward tried to stop the memory, tried to stop the memory continuing . . . Picking up a bottle, he smashed it against the fireplace . . . but the smiling face of his father would not go away. He moved closer, as if to embrace his son. Edward snatched up a poker from beside the fireplace and brought it crashing down between the open arms, crashing into the face that haunted him, the face that would not let him be in peace, would not let him forget. He smashed the face in the mirror into a thousand pieces, broke his own face into myriad jagged pieces . . . but Freedom was still there.

Edward put his hands over his ears to cut out the sing-song voices – and suddenly there was silence. He felt his father’s arms embrace him as the knife cut upwards into his heart, opening his chest. Freedom sighed, he sighed just as he had done on the day it happened . . .

Edward stepped back, looking at his blood-stained hands. Splinters of glass had cut his palms to shreds and he was covered in his own blood, but his mind was so confused and disorientated that he believed it was his father’s.

Freedom was lying face down on the floor, lying where he had fallen, embedding the knife deeper into his heart. Evelyne knelt beside him, rocking him in her arms, as his blood spread like deep crimson flowers over the carpet, over her white apron . . . Edward’s mother cradled Freedom until his body was stiff, until they had to prise his arms away from her.

Slowly the images faded, the song stopped, the fire outside the window was gone. Edward was left with his own blood still wet, still dripping from his cuts. Now he knew what he had done, and he felt the pain opening him up within; he felt his head draw back as if the pain was so great it was splitting him into two beings. And the howl, when it came, was so loud, inhuman, it sounded like the baying of a wounded animal.

At the top of the house, Dewint heard the howl. At first he thought it was an animal, something trapped. As he listened he realized it was coming from the sitting room below.

He crept down the stairs, fearful of what he would discover. The sound was quieter now, and he listened at the door. Gradually the howling subsided and was replaced by sobbing. Concerned, yet too afraid to go and see, he sat on the stairs and waited.

Edward lay face down on the sofa, his head buried in his hands. At long last he was able to ask his father’s forgiveness for what he had done. When Dewint inched open the door, he saw the blood all over the floor, the broken mirror, and Edward’s still figure. Above the fireplace, where the mirror had hung, a red spray of blood resembled a necklace, with small blood drops like pearls. The talisman.

Creeping closer, he saw that Edward was still breathing. He hurried to the telephone.

Alex arrived at the manor within the hour. Dewint let him in and ushered him towards the drawing room. This would be the first time Alex had seen Edward since that terrible Christmas, since the realization that Evelyn was in fact Edward’s son. Any anger or hatred evaporated as soon as he saw his brother, his bloated body, his blotched, boozed-out face and his filthy clothes covered in bloodstains. Like a bum, he half sat, half lay slumped on the sofa staring vacantly at the wall. Aghast, Alex turned to Dewint.

‘Dear God, how long has he been like this?’

‘Ever since the funeral, sah, and I can’t do anything with him. I think he’s dying, sah. He’s been in this room for days.’

Alex looked down into his brother’s face, now hardly recognizable. Looking closely at him, the physical change was frightening. He must have weighed almost twenty stone, and was such a tragic figure that Alex knelt down beside him. ‘Eddie, it’s me, Alex. Can you hear me?’

Suddenly the ghost of Edward’s old self flashed across his dazed face, he gave a sad half smile. ‘Hello, old buddy. How ya doin’?’

‘A helluva lot better than you, by the look of it.’

‘You should have been at her funeral, Alex. She was very fond of you, always liked you. You should have given her that much respect, Alex. She hadn’t a bad thought in her poor mind.’

Dewint carried in a bowl of hot water and a face cloth.

‘It was eerie, sah. He sat at the kitchen table, even carved her name on it, he did. Then he went outside, stood by her tree and the phone rang to say she was gone. He seemed to know, sah, as if he’d come back to bury her . . . and he’s been this way since he returned from Yorkshire. I’m going to wash your face now, Mr Edward, just lean back. Shockin’ mess you got your hands in.’

‘I’ll call a doctor,’ said Alex. ‘I think someone should be brought in to see him, get him checked over. All this extra weight can’t be good for his heart.’

Alex looked around the dark bottle-strewn room and moved to open the curtains. Suddenly Edward’s voice was strong, angry. ‘Leave them closed, don’t open them.’

Alex shrugged and let the dark velvet curtain fall into place. He moved back to Edward and sat on the edge of the worn sofa.

He tried not to let his anger show, but seeing Edward again and knowing the mayhem he had caused, the trouble he had been through just to get permission to let cheques leave the company without his brother’s signature, the deals he had lost due to delays, constant enquiries about his whereabouts, and not one word . . . He sighed. ‘Where the hell have you been, Edward, where?’

Slowly Edward turned to him and his bloodshot eyes blinked.‘To hell and back, brother, but I hear you’ve been running things pretty smoothly without me, not made any gigantic steps forwards, but the company is still looking good, brother. But you can take a breather for a while, because I’m back . . . I’m still alive. How’s Evelyn?’

Alex clenched his fists, and with all his will-power kept his voice quiet, even managed to keep the smile on his face as he answered, ‘Evelyn is just fine. Well, if there’s nothing I can do here, I’ll leave you in Dewint’s obviously capable hands, but I’ll organize a doctor to give you a good check-up, all right? I’ll show myself out.’

‘Not going to say you’re glad to have me back, eh? Aren’t you glad to have me back?’

Alex slammed the door behind him. Edward let loose a deep shuddering sigh, shaking his head. ‘Why do I do it? Norman? Why do I always have to goad him? Even now . . . Hell, I try so hard, even want to put out my hand to him, hold him, but instead I torment him, why?’

The old pixie face peered up at Edward. ‘Well, sah, maybe because you know that you can. Straightaway you ask him about his son, knowing it’ll be like a knife . . .’

Edward frowned, then leaned back. ‘And you, you old faggot, know more than you should. Now, leave me alone and let me sleep.’

Dewint’s knees cracked as he straightened up. He paused before he left the room. ‘You carry on this way, sah, tormentin’ him and you will be sorry. Leave his son alone. You can’t always have what you want, that’s the way life is.’

Edward looked at the man who had served him for so many years. He smiled. ‘What did you want that you never got, Norman?’

Dewint cocked his head to one side. ‘Well, I would have liked a round-the-world travel ticket.’

Edward laughed and held up his hand for Dewint to help him up from the sofa. Dewint buckled beneath his weight as Edward leaned heavily against him. ‘Right, Norman, I think it’s time for breakfast television.’

They staggered into the hall and began slowly to mount the stairs. The telephone rang and leaving Edward already out of breath only three steps up, Dewint went back to answer it.

‘It’s Skye Duval, Mr Barkley.’

Edward leaned over the banister to take the phone, and spoke into it briefly. ‘Okay, I’ll sort it out, leave it with me . . .’ He eased his bulk to sit on the stairs and hung up. ‘Norman, if you get anyone asking for me, I am unobtainable, that clear?’

‘Is it trouble, sah?’

‘You could say that, there’s a warrant out for my arrest.’

Alex decided to go straight to the office. He still had no idea where Edward had been for all that time, but he was back and Alex knew if he intended holding on to the reins, now was the perfect time to have Edward declared unfit to return as his partner. He called George Windsor to arrange for two independent Harley Street doctors to visit Edward that morning. He wanted proof of his alcoholism, proof he was incapable in his present condition of running the company.

At eleven-fifteen Miss Henderson rang through to say two gentlemen had called to speak to Edward. She knew he had returned to London for the funeral, and wondered if he was coming into the office.

‘Who are they?’

‘They wouldn’t give me their names.’

‘Tell them Edward is indisposed and can’t see anybody.’

Two hours later Miss Henderson entered his office. She appeared flustered and said that the two men had returned and were refusing to leave. Alex sighed and briskly told her to find out who the hell they were. She said they were customs officials and now wished to speak to him; they had said it was a very urgent matter. Alex checked his watch, he had already set up the board meeting to discuss his brother’s return and subsequent dismissal, and had two appointments for that morning. Miss Henderson waited for his instructions.

Angrily, Alex said she was to show the men in but interrupt him in five minutes.

Alex knew instinctively something was up as the two men entered. Both wore ill-fitting grey suits with white shirts and silk ties, and carried identical leather briefcases. They were sun-tanned and very confident. Alex’s hackles rose like those of an animal who could smell danger. These were no ordinary customs officials.

‘Well, gentlemen, how can I help you?’

He glanced at their identification, and indicated two seats for them in front of his desk. They were from the South African Government. He continued, ‘I’m afraid my brother is unobtainable, but if you would like to tell me how I can be of assistance . . .’

The two men were investigating the illegal exportation of semi-precious stones from South Africa. Their neat briefcases contained thick files on Skye Duval of Duval Limited.

‘Do you have any knowledge of this company, Duval Limited, Mr Barkley?’

Warily Alex shook his head. How many times in the past had he heard that name? He wished he had checked more thoroughly. He could feel the sweat trickling down his spine, knowing that this must have been what his brother had been doing for the last six years. His hands were steady as he took the documents outlining the vast mining activities of Duval Limited. His eyes flew over the pages . . .

‘The Duval company has, over the past ten years, systematically bought up thousands of acres of perlite territory. The crosses indicate the exact locations of the productive mines. The mines close to rivers, marked with blue lines, have been producing semi-precious stones.’

Miss Henderson tapped on the door and entered, interrupting Alex as he had requested. He gave her a sharp, dismissive wave, then waited until the door closed behind her.

‘You must forgive me, gentlemen, I am sure you have some reason for wanting to speak to my brother about this . . . er, Duval organization, but for the life of me I cannot understand why. I am a very busy man, and my brother, as you have been informed, is unobtainable, so unless you have a very valid reason for taking up my time I must ask you to leave.’

He was handed an enlarged black-and-white photograph, and one of the men, in clipped tones, asked, ‘You know this man?’

Alex stared at the photo and shook his head.

‘But you can identify this man, can’t you?’ Alex was shown another photograph. He flicked a look at it.

‘Yes, that is my brother. The other man I have no knowledge of.’

‘That is Mr Skye Duval and, sir, we have reason to believe that Duval Limited is in fact owned by your brother, Mr Edward Barkley.’

‘Then, gentlemen, I suggest you take this matter up directly with him, or with Mr Duval himself, surely he can assist you. I’m sorry I cannot be of any further help, but I do have another appointment, so if you will excuse me . . .’

The two men took their time, carefully repacking the files and photographs in their briefcases.

‘You are aware, sir, that the transportation of gems out of South Africa without an export licence is a criminal offence? Perhaps you would inform your brother that we wish to speak to him, and that he must contact us as soon as possible. I think it would benefit all parties if we were to discuss this amicably. Thank you for your time, sir. Good day.’

Miss Henderson jumped to attention as Alex opened his office door. Before the two men had left the reception area, Alex had cancelled his next two appointments. He ordered his car to take him to Greenwich, and left instructions that the board members were to wait for his return if he should be late.