The Talisman (85 page)

Edward was lying on his bed, watching television. The room was littered with used cartons from take-away food, and the stale smell of hamburgers, brandy and cigars sickened Alex. He stared at Edward, waiting for him to acknowledge his presence. Eventually he walked across to the TV, switched it off and stood in front of it. Edward made no move to stop him, but yawned and asked, ‘What do you want?’

‘Some facts . . . about South Africa, about a man called Skye Duval . . . you listening?’

Edward laughed, wagging his finger at Alex. ‘Ahhh, and I thought for a second you were interested in my well-being. That’ll be the day, huh? The day anyone gives a fuck about me, I’ll be under the sod.’

Alex pulled up a chair and sat close to the bed. ‘Two so-called customs officials were at the office this morning. They had photographs of you and this man, Duval.’ He passed Edward their calling card, and waited as he turned it over. He looked at Alex with a bored expression, then sighed and lay back on the pillows.

‘Well, haven’t you got anything to say about it? Edward? They are making enquiries about illegal shipments of gems out of South Africa . . .’.

‘So what? Nothing to do with me.’

‘No? So how come they have photographs of you and this Duval character? Are you behind this company or not?’

Edward shrugged his massive shoulders and yawned. Alex stared at him, then pushed his chair back in anger. ‘Jesus, I might have known it, are you crazy? What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’

‘It’s got nothing to do with you.’

‘Like hell it hasn’t! I want to know what’s going on and I want to know now. You’re not dragging me down any sewer with you, you try it and I’ll . . .’

Edward reached out and grabbed his brother’s wrist. ‘What, Alex? What’ll you do? It’s none of your business, I’ll take care of it, all right? I’ll take care of it just like I take care of everything else . . .’

Alex brought his wrist up so hard he caught Edward’s face with his hand. Blazing with anger, he shouted, ‘You do that, Edward. If this is trouble, then you take care of it because, as from today, I wash my hands of you and your stinking deals . . .’

Edward applauded him, smirking, ‘That’s my brother talking . . . You do that, Alex. You go and wash your hands of me, but don’t come back with them held out begging when you fuck up!’

Alex slammed out of the room and hurried down the stairs. He brushed past Dewint, snatched his coat from him, and said, ‘Make sure he sees the doctor. Start cleaning the place up and I’ll sort someone out to give you a hand, all right?’

He hurried to his car.

Hearing a sound, Dewint looked up the stairs. Edward smiled down at him, then crooked his finger for him to go upstairs.

‘Run me a bath, and see if there’s anything in the wardrobe I can get into . . . now, Norman. Don’t bother cleaning the place, you’ll have plenty of time for that when I’ve gone.’

Alex strode back into his office. Miss Henderson scurried after him, telling him that the board members were all gathered and had been waiting for over half an hour.

By the end of the afternoon Alex was well pleased with his work. The board had discussed his taking over at length, and in the end it had been agreed that when medical certificates verified his brother’s precarious mental state, there could be no foreseeable opposition to Alex heading the company. As it was, no one could deny the fact that it was Alex who fronted the vast organization, and it would therefore only be a matter of time before he had the company legally under his control.

George Windsor, waiting to drive Alex home, reported that Edward was no longer in residence, he had done yet another of his famous disappearing acts. The doctors had been told he had gone abroad – somehow he had managed to get himself together and slip the net. Alex’s buoyant mood collapsed. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the leather upholstery and spoke very softly, almost to himself.

‘Well, the seeds are sown, give the bastard enough rope and he’ll hang himself.’

J
inks had half expected to hear from her father. Over the years she had been used to his broken promises, but after the funeral and the subsequent meeting with Barbara, she had thought their relationship had become closer. But he didn’t contact her, and she made no effort to see him. In truth she had no need of him, her finances were always dealt with by Miss Henderson, and her allowance covered any expenditures she incurred.

She had flown to New York, returning after two weeks, having enrolled for the forthcoming term at Vassar. She also made her early morning appointment with Barbara, and they had bought a number of smart outfits in preparation for the trip to Paris. Barbara had already booked an appointment with an optician, and Jinks’ glasses were unceremoniously dropped in the waste bin, Barbara ignoring her pleas that they helped disguise her problem.

‘What problem? That you’re a bit short-sighted, or what?’

‘No, I have a lazy eye, my left one. Mother was always going on about it.’

Jinks could smell Barbara’s heady perfume as she peered closely, then held Jinks at arm’s length, scrutinizing her eyes. ‘Absolute rubbish, there’s not a sign of a squint, probably all in her imagination.’

She was positively smug with satisfaction when the optician announced that Jinks did not need any kind of correction to her sight. ‘You see? What did I tell you? All the years you’ve had those terrible things wrapped around your face and you never needed them. Typical! Once I asked your mother to be a guest at a Wild Life luncheon – you know, Save the Animals – my dear, she turned up with a silver fox fur dangling round her neck! It was frightful, all through the lunch I could see this wretched thing with its glass eyes glinting at me. She did it on purpose – typical! Your eyes, darling, are your best feature, and you must learn to make the most of them. In fact, you are going to learn to make the most of yourself . . .’

Jinks was paraded through beauty salons, her body massaged and creamed. Her hair was trimmed, but Barbara wouldn’t hear of her having it cut short. She ran her fingers through Jinks’ thick curls and instructed the hairdresser to simply thin and shape it. Jinks, beginning to trust Barbara’s judgement, didn’t argue. There was no particular warmth between them, and Barbara treated her neither like a daughter nor a friend. But if she felt it a chore to be Jinks’ chaperone, she never showed it. She felt slightly sorry for Jinks in some way; the girl’s helplessness and lack of social graces were a challenge to her. And unlike her own daughters, Jinks took her advice without question. Then, as the trip drew nearer, Barbara suggested to Jinks that she should stay overnight in Mayfair so they could travel to the airport together.

Jinks was given Evelyn’s bedroom. The small room contained little or nothing of the boy, but she took a sneaky look through all the drawers and even read some of the stories he had written when he was a child. They dined very formally and Jinks said little, but noted the interaction between her uncle and his elegant wife. They appeared as formal with each other as they were to her.

Later, as she got ready for bed, she overheard them talking in Barbara’s bedroom. When she realized they were discussing her father, she listened intentionally. Alex had been quiet at dinner, but obviously agitated. Jinks could hear Barbara asking him if Jinks’ presence in the house upset him. Alex replied that he really couldn’t care less.

Jinks pressed her face against her door, eager not to miss a word of what was being said. Alex’s voice rose in anger as he described Edward’s total disregard for the company, for the amount of work Alex was doing . . . Jinks could hardly believe what she was hearing.

‘That bastard will drag me down with him unless I do something drastic. This time I’m not taking it, this time I’ve had enough. At this afternoon’s board meeting it was carried unanimously. I am taking over the company . . .’

‘It’s about time. I’m surprised you waited this long. If it’s not drugs, it’s drink; you should get him certified . . .’

‘That is just what I am doing.’

Alex’s laugh sounded hollow, humourless. The next moment, Jinks had to hurry across to her bed as she heard him in the corridor. Her door inched open, and he popped his head round.

‘Jinks? You asleep? If I don’t see you in the morning, have a good trip. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Uncle Alex, and thank you for letting me stay.’

‘You’re welcome any time, good night.’

He closed the door and went to his own room, leaving Jinks unable to sleep for hours, repeating over and over in her mind every word she had heard her uncle say. She wondered if it was really possible for Alex to take over the Barkley empire and, if so, where would that leave her?

Jinks had been a lonely child, often having to take care of her mother. Now the realization that she also had to take great care of her own future, that nothing could be depended upon, made her aware of just how valuable Barbara Barkley could be.

Jinks began to practise a subtle manipulation of her aunt. She wanted to cut corners, and she knew Barbara could show her exactly how; after all, as her father had said, ‘You don’t have to like the woman, just use her.’ She began to see just what he had meant. The first-class travel was easily bought by anyone, but the extras that a VIP like Barbara Barkley could command were a revelation. She did indeed know everyone, and they moved their suites at the Hotel St George twice before Barbara was satisfied.

‘Honey, you never accept the first room they offer. You want the best, you can pay for the best, you make damn sure you get it . . .’

Barbara swept through Paris. The season was in full swing, and before they had unpacked the telephone was ringing every two minutes. Invitations poured in, and Barbara acquired a personal maid, a chauffeur-driven stretch limo and a secretary, plus a PR agent to announce where Barbara Barkley would be and at what time. Jinks stood back and admired her, flattered her, and paid close attention to every detail. Barbara obviously loved it all, exuding energy and a zest for life that women half her age would covet. She delighted in having Jinks close at hand to whisper and giggle with, and often said the most outrageous things. She appeared to know who had had what lifted and by whom, and when Jinks asked how she knew so much she roared with laughter.

‘Because, sweet thing, I have used their doctors myself. You don’t remain thirty-eight for long without paying for it, and when it’s in such good condition and all in working order, you bet your sweet arse I know who else has been having the same tucks . . .’

Together they moved with the élite, surrounded by film stars and Parisian society. Jinks soaked up everything she saw like a sponge. Barbara never let her down, and whisked her to one designer after another. She also took her protégée’s wardrobe very seriously and introduced her to many young designers she thought more suitable than the named houses she herself preferred. After one show she insisted on taking Jinks backstage to meet Jerry Hall, a model as tall, and with feet as big as Jinks’, to give her a good look at what she could do with herself if she tried.

Barbara received so many invitations that did not include Jinks that occasionally she would depart for luncheons or dinners without her. On one of these evenings Jinks was sitting alone, brushing her hair and trying on some of her new clothes. She had ordered room service, so when there was a knock on the door she called for them to come in to set up her dinner. But there were no sounds of a trolley or clinking of cutlery, so she walked through to the lounge.

Evelyn Barkley leaned against the door frame. For a moment she was afraid, not recognizing him, then he tilted his head and smiled at her.

‘Well, hello, cousin, surprise, surprise! Expected Mother, where is she?’

Jinks felt herself flushing, and stammered that Barbara was out for the evening.

‘Oh, she must have forgotten. Still, not to worry.’

There was a knock on the door and he opened it, standing aside for room service to enter. Jinks excused herself and returned to her bedroom to dress. By the time she came out, he was sitting down, pouring a glass of wine.

He was wearing the filthiest pair of leather trousers and an old leather jacket, a scarf knotted at his throat. His motorbike boots had so many straps and buckles he looked like a Hell’s Angel, but he was perfectly at ease. Smiling, he told her he had ordered a steak for himself.

She could not meet his black, slanting eyes. His delicate bone structure was reminiscent of Barbara’s finely chiselled features; and he was an exceptionally handsome boy, but his face, like his hands, was filthy. His hair was lank and greasy, and he wore an elaborate silver skull-and-crossbones earring. She accepted the glass of wine, and before she could offer a toast he had downed his full glass and was pouring another.

‘So what’s with you? What are you doing here with the duchess?’

‘I’m here for the collections.’

He looked at her and laughed. ‘Oh, we’re here for the collections, are we? Christ, how tall are you? You must be nearly six feet.’

Jinks flushed bright pink and sat down quickly, picking up her napkin to cover her embarrassment. He leaned over and tugged her hair. ‘You look better than you did last time. Christ, you used to wear those specs, and those pigtails . . .’

Jinks could not think of anything to say, so she sipped her wine while he made himself at home, forking salad out of the bowl and then eating it with his fingers, filthy fingernails prodding at the tomatoes and then dipping them into the salad dressing.

‘How’s college, aren’t you at college here?’ Jinks finally managed.

Evelyn snorted. With his mouth full, he told her about his time at St Martin’s of Pontoise. ‘Place is, rather was, run by friggin’ monks. We hadda call them Brother or Frère. Place was like a concentration camp – mass every day, bloody dormitories, fucking ice-cold showers . . . Jesus, it was a shit-hole. I got out after my first term, not that the old lady knows, or the old man. They wouldn’t know if I died of the clap over here, but they keep on sending the allowance, so who gives a fuck. Know what I mean?’