The Talisman (87 page)

Barbara did not get the satisfaction she had hoped for. Jinks had already left Paris by the following morning, on her way to New York. Evelyn called his mother and, afraid he would turn up looking as wretched as he had on the previous night, she arranged for more money to be transferred to his account. She made no attempt to enquire if his studies were going well. She still seethed over the scene with Jinks, and as Evelyn had been more than a problem throughout his life she found it easier to pay him whatever it cost to keep him out of her sight.

Evelyn’s so-called friends waited for him to return with the money. In some way the group replaced the family he had never been part of.

The money he had taken from Barbara was used to buy two .22 Birettas. Like children playing with new toys, they inspected the weapons. Evelyn practised loading the .22 short cartridge, and listened with awe as one of the boys, their self-designated leader Kurt Spanier, took it from him. Kurt was older than the rest of the group, and with great authority he told them the Israeli teams used the same weapons, although they were ballistically limited. However, the SOPS of the Massad ‘Sayaret’ teams liked them because they were fairly quiet.

Evelyn looked from Kurt to the gun and back again. ‘Yeah, but we’re not going to kill anyone . . . I mean, these are just for show.’

The gun was held to Evelyn’s temple and his friend whispered in his ear, ‘Best way is to pump the shots directly into the bastard’s brain. That way, my rich friend, death is assured . . . and that is exactly what we’ll be doing, if it should prove necessary. We’re gonna hit the post office in two weeks, and we need more cash, ’cause we’ll need explosives. So, we got a few hundred from mummy – why don’t you tap that nice rich daddy of yours, he’s a fuckin’ capitalist tycoon, isn’t he? Or has one visit with your bourgeois relatives changed your ideals?’

Evelyn was paying for the rent on the farmhouse, plus most of the food they consumed. Suddenly, with the talk of using the weapons, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to get involved so deeply. The embrace of Spanier, hugging him close so that Evelyn could smell the garlic breath, made him afraid. His fear increased when Spanier whispered, ‘You don’t like it, my friend, you go out wrapped in the blankets the rifles came in, you understand? You, my friend, are in too deep to walk away, so don’t even try it.’

S
kye Duval was speechless. He couldn’t take it in, couldn’t assimilate all the facts and figures in one sitting. Edward poured another glass of wine. His cigar smoke made the air, already thick and clammy, stifling.

Edward had arranged a complete buy-out with an American-based company. He wanted to retain nothing except the Fordesburg mine. That had been his only stipulation . . .

Skye picked up the thick folder of documents, then looked at Edward. Edward’s face was jowelled, his once-slim, muscular frame so overweight that his suit and shirt flapped as if accentuating the flab beneath. He was also sweating profusely, and his breath hissed in his barrel-like chest.

Skye chewed on a matchstick, saying, ‘But I can’t see why! I mean, if those bastards are after you for exporting the stones, we pay ’em off as we’ve always done. But to sell off everything we’ve worked for all these years . . . I mean, don’t you even want to retain any of the rights in the beds not yet mined?’

Edward sighed. ‘I’m through, an’ I got a feeling it’s the right time. In a few years all hell will break loose over here. We sell now, I sell now, and the money is secure.’

Skye threw his hands in the air. ‘Why? It’s not as if you need the money . . . You tellin’ me the Barkley Company’s in shit? You tellin’ me I don’t know how many millions you’ve already got stashed away in Switzerland? God knows how many banks we’ve got all over the world? So what in hell is making you sell now, before we’ve opened a quarter of the mines . . .?’

‘Maybe I wanna buy something.’

‘You wanna buy something? You walk in, tell me to sign on the fucking dotted line, sign over my life’s work, because you wanna buy something? What?’

Edward picked at the end of his cigar. ‘None of your business, buddy. You’ve got a few hours, then, I’m afraid, whether you like it or not, I’m walking. You’ve been bleating on about wanting out, having no time for yourself . . . Well, now I’m offering it, and you’ll get more than your share.’

He puffed on his cigar until his face was almost obscured by the thick, heavily scented smoke, then tapped the ash off the end. Slowly he placed the documents in his briefcase. There was a finality in the gesture, and Skye put his head in his hands.

‘Jesus Christ, you’ve already done it, haven’t you?’

Edward snapped the briefcase closed and leaned on the table. ‘Thanks for all you’ve done. If you want to stay on, there’s a place for you, just a different man pulling the strings, so it’s up to you. You want some advice, get the hell out . . .’

Skye reached over and gripped Edward’s hand. ‘You can’t walk out on me. I want in on whatever you’re so desperate to buy . . . Take me with you – whatever the deal, I want to be part of it.’

‘Not this time, buddy.’

‘But you an’ me, we’re partners! Even if you don’t want me in on the deal. Just tell me, what, in God’s name, costs so much?’

Edward released Skye’s hand gently. His dark eyes looked into the desperate face, and then he pulled Skye close in a bear hug. His voice was gruff with emotion. ‘My son . . .’

Edward Barkley walked out of Skye Duval’s life just as he had walked into it all those years ago. He left his puppet a rich man, but without that powerful hand guiding him. Without his master pulling the strings, it would only be a matter of time before Duval would, as he had threatened years before, blow his brains out. There would be no tell-tale witness to Edward Barkley’s illegal transactions in South Africa.

Edward’s arrival in New York coincided with his daughter’s birthday. He had not seen her since just after the funeral of Harriet. He had cabled her from Mexico, where he had been systematically selling off all his holdings and finalizing the sale of various companies.

He had booked a suite at the Plaza Hotel and ordered flowers and champagne. His gifts were wrapped and stacked on a coffee table. Miss Henderson had been called to double-check that Jinks had received his cable and would meet him as requested. Now he paced the room, checking the time, and called down to the desk to say his daughter was expected.

Juliana Barkley arrived in a chauffeur-driven limousine. She had been with her college friends, celebrating the honours passes she had gained in every subject, and would take this chance to discuss with her father her ambition to join the company. She was nervous and, purposely, fifteen minutes late. As she rode up in the lift Jinks checked her appearance. She had put Barbara’s advice about clothes to good use, and was wearing Calvin Klein. She was still exceptionally thin, but had learned to wear her hair in a more flattering style, and had inherited her mother’s flawless skin, so she required little make-up. Her mouth felt dry, and she licked her lips. She had virtually written herself a script for this meeting with Edward, rehearsing exactly what she would say to him. She was armed with the knowledge that Alex was intending to try to take over the Barkley Company, and that Evelyn was her father’s illegitimate son.

Everything she had prepared to say, all her neat, rehearsed speeches, flew from her mind. Just as she was about to knock, her father opened the door and clasped her in his arms. He pulled her into the room and, like a little boy, proudly gestured to her birthday gifts. Then he held her at arm’s length and swept her once more into his arms, hugging her close, telling her how wonderful she looked, insisting she open his gifts. As she slipped the ribbon from a large silver box, the telephone rang. Edward glared at it, apologized, and crossed the room.

She had a chance to look at him properly. She could see how much weight he had put on. He was like a giant. She continued to open her gifts, taking out a delicate nightdress. He covered the telephone mouthpiece and beamed.

‘You like it? I chose it myself . . . open the small box on your left next . . . Hello? Edward Barkley here. What . . .?’

Jinks saw his manner change. Turning his back to her he listened intently to the caller. She saw his fists clench, and the small muscle at the side of his cheek twitched. It was as if she were forgotten, no longer in the room.

‘You sure about this? I see . . . Well, I want a meeting straight away, can you come to my hotel? Good, ’bout fifteen minutes.’

She heard him murmur under his breath, then he carried the phone to the small desk and sat down. His bulk made the writing chair creak ominously. He began to thumb through a small notebook and promptly redialled, tapping his fingers on the desk.

‘Is something wrong, father?’

Edward gave a brief nod, then spoke into the phone in a low voice. Jinks could not make out exactly what he was saying, but he was asking about shares in some company and what they were now standing at. Eventually he hung up, but made four more calls before turning to her. She still held the small box and he waved his hand for her to open it. At the same time he checked his watch.

‘Sorry, sweetheart, something’s come up. I had hoped we could spend some time together.’

‘So had I.’ Her mouth was a thin, tight line. She stood up, carefully folding the tissue paper from her gift box.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and sighed. ‘It never works out with you and me, does it?’

She shrugged, picking up her handbag and gloves. ‘No, I guess not, but then you’ve never really had time for me. I’m starting work with a bank on Wall Street to gain experience. I would like, when you have a spare moment, to see you about working for the Barkley Company.’

Edward retrieved his briefcase from the sofa and began to take out files. She waited for an answer: receiving none, she walked to the door.

‘Don’t go. Maybe you should sit in on this meeting. I own twenty-five per cent of a company called “Ming”. The little Japanese bitch who owns it has tried unsuccessfully to get back that twenty-five per cent. Over the years she has skimmed and cheated, even threatening to try to cut me out of a business that I virtually handed to her on a plate. Now she’s got Japanese partners, and they don’t like having anyone else in the pond with them – in particular myself. So what she’s done is form another company called “Lotus”, specifically to deal with Japan.’

Jinks joined her father at the desk and started going through the files with him.

‘Is this legal? I mean, can she do this?’

‘Sure, she’ll be competing against herself. She’s going public with Ming, and obviously she’ll push all the money back into the new company. I wouldn’t be surprised if she intends letting it go into liquidation eventually. Easily done – she starts to bring in new lines that don’t sell, and bingo, she gets liquidated, but still retains the secure new company – and my twenty-five per cent won’t be worth a penny.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Put her out of business. I’m going to start buying more shares in Ming as soon as it goes public.’

‘But you’d have to be named if you buy more than five per cent of shares in any company! They have to know the purchaser, that’s the law.’

Edward smiled at his daughter’s bid to show him she knew the business. He found it charming, and he pinched her cheek.

‘But if I buy 4.99 per cent, the law’s on my side. I’ll use what is called the “concert party” system. I buy my quota, you buy, you get your friends to buy, they get their friends to buy . . . and when the show closes, they sell their shares straight back to me. End result? I own the lion’s share, and the first thing I do is knock Miss Takeda right off her perch and, second, we flatten Lotus and get the Japs coming straight to us.’

Edward laughed his deep, rumbling, infectious laugh. He strode over to her unwrapped gifts and began ripping the paper from them. ‘See her new lines? All this stuff is from Lotus. It’s Japanese and she’s got French labels sewn in. She’s sticking ridiculous prices on them. We’ll expose it, get some great press. We’ll buy the same stuff and undercut her by half . . . then when the company is back on its feet I sell, and guess who to?’

‘The Japanese?’

‘That’s my daughter. Now, look over these contracts and . . .’

The phone rang again. Edward answered it, gave his name and just listened to the caller. Jinks looked at the ‘gifts’ – even those were connected with his business, and yet she couldn’t feel any anger because she was genuinely interested. The garments were very delicate, in pale shades of pink and lilac, with fine handmade lace – and all with French designer labels.

Edward called her. He held his hand over the mouthpiece and told her to go down to reception and bring him all the English newspapers.

She returned to the suite to hear Edward instructing reception to get his car brought round as he was leaving for the airport immediately.

‘You’re leaving?’

Edward held out his hand for the papers and flipped them over. ‘You had a look at them?’

‘No. I just brought them straight up.’

He banged them down on the desk. His breath hissed as he flipped through them. ‘Jesus Christ, the stupid kid, the stupid bastard!’ He strode into the bedroom and began throwing his clothes into a suitcase.

Jinks looked at the papers. She picked up
The Times
and followed her father into the bedroom. There was a photograph of Alex halfway down the front page under the banner headline, ‘TYCOON’S SON ARRESTED’.

‘I’m getting the first flight to Paris. Stupid bastard’s in real trouble; you read it?’

Jinks skimmed the article, which stated that Evelyn Barkley had been arrested among a group of French terrorists.

‘What about the meeting? You said they were coming here?’

‘Forget it, this is more important. You wait here, tell them I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. I’ll leave the documents, just hand them over.’

He swept into the lounge to pack his briefcase just as reception called to tell him his car was waiting.