The Talisman (93 page)

The colour drained from her face. She waited for them to continue, her heart thudding . . . The lawyer looked at Alex, and got as far as saying that Alex would retain his half-share in the Barkley Company and would receive a further two million when Alex snatched the will and read for himself what was written.

Edward Barkley had left to Evelyn, on condition that he publicly announced he was Edward’s son, his entire fortune, plus all his shares in the Barkley Company. In other words, Evelyn was now Alex’s partner. No cheque, not a single document, could be sent out from the Barkley Company without a double signature. The power, only just tasted, held for so short a time, slipped out of Alex’s hands.

His initial shock subsided into a calm, deep rage. Edward had cheated him, even in death. With every ounce of control he possessed, Alex stood up and walked out of the room. He passed his son, Edward’s son, with nothing more than a cursory glance. Evelyn lifted his hand as if to stop him, but Alex brushed past him. He was quickly followed by Barbara, who almost snapped her fingers to her daughters and their husbands to leave with her.

Evelyn was confused – they were looking at him with such hatred, such open loathing . . . He banged the table suddenly. ‘What the hell is going on? What does he mean? What does this mean?’

Evelyn held up the will, and Barbara snatched it from him, threw it back to the lawyers. ‘He wants you to announce that you are his bastard, don’t you understand plain English? All your life he wanted you, tried to get you, but he couldn’t . . . Now he’s grabbed at you, making fools of us all, from his grave. Well, damn him, and damn you . . .’

Her family gathered around as she burst into tears. They left in a pack, and the roar of their powerful cars sounded like the start of a race . . .

Jinks turned to the lawyers, showing no emotion, showing nothing of what she was feeling. Quietly, she told them they could leave.

Evelyn, sitting with the will in his hands, offered it back to the lawyer, who nervously suggested he keep it, as it was only a copy.

Jinks remained in her seat, waiting until she heard the front door close behind them. She then turned to Evelyn as she picked up her fine, black kid gloves. She eased one on, pulling the fingers until they fitted snugly . . .

Evelyn moved closer, close enough to touch her. ‘I don’t want it, I don’t want any of it.’

She brought her hand back and slapped him across the face. The leather hurt more than flesh . . . The slap was masculine, with so much force behind it that his neck cracked, and he gasped in shock. She then picked up her other glove.

Her voice was still low, husky, the same throaty sound he had teased her about as a little girl. She leaned close, and he could see the perfection of her skin.

‘You will not get it, not a penny, it’s mine . . .’

Alex paced his office like a wild animal. He walked into his brother’s office, wanting to take a knife to the painting, slash Edward’s face. But he didn’t – he looked up at the portrait and laughed. He must have been out of his mind – the stupidity of his rage, his ridiculous behaviour . . . He could manipulate Evelyn, use him – he had brought him up, so what the hell did it matter if he announced he was Edward’s son? Whoever he was, Alex would still be the controller. Evelyn knew nothing about banking, about the company, and Alex was his legal guardian. The Barkley empire had feet of clay, it was rotten to the core. This boy, this fool he had fought so hard for, was totally dependent on him, and now he would fight to bind Evelyn to him until he could make no move alone . . .

‘You mind if I come in – Uncle?’

Alex had not heard her soft steps, and he turned, startled at her voice. ‘No, no, Jinks, come in . . . I was just ticking myself off for my rather stupid show of temper this afternoon. Can I get you a drink?’

‘No . . . I was here earlier, actually. Hennie – Miss Henderson – and I are old friends. I think I had better come clean . . . You see, I was just as, shall we say upset, as you were this afternoon. I am the legal heir, Alex, and I want my fair share. Now, I am sure whatever Evelyn wants or doesn’t want will, as far as you are concerned, be of little importance – either way, you win – am I right?’

Alex side-stepped sharply. She had her finger right on the pulse. She was Edward’s daughter, all right, and he shrugged, giving her a dazzling smile. ‘Well, I suppose that would be Evelyn’s decision, he is Edward’s son . . . I’ve known about it for years, and now I suppose everyone else will. I’ll just have to accept it.’

‘But I am his daughter. I am his legitimate daughter – I could bind this company up in legal wrangles for years. You know I could fight that will – my father’s drinking, and his mental state at the end of his life was rather . . . unsavoury, wasn’t it? You and I know that. So don’t let’s play games. If I were to freeze this company’s assets there would be years of litigation . . . I want to be your partner, Alex.’

‘Well, sweetheart, what you want and what is legally left to you are two different things . . .’

‘Whoever’s son he is, it doesn’t make him anything but a fool. You and I know what he is, and we can cut him out like that.’ She snapped her fingers.

He stared at her, his eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want? You have more than enough money, what do you want?’

She leaned against the desk, smiling. ‘Well, I want what you thought had slipped right out of your hands when you heard your little boy had got the lion’s share – I want this company.’

He smiled, believing she was joking. But her face was deadly serious. ‘I sold Ming’s – Miss Takeda’s – shares back to her, for a very good price, but for less than they would have reached on the open market. In return she has given me information, Mr Stubbs. Make me your partner, or you will end up back in prison. I will make them open the grave of Alex Stubbs, East End gangster, club owner found dead in – I think it was a 1962 Jaguar, white, registration number 243 HJL. I will take over this office tomorrow morning. Perhaps you would like to know exactly what is on my father’s computer? You made a mistake there, Alex, you should have got to it first . . . Miss Henderson and I are just like that.’

Juliana ‘Jinks’ Barkley held up her crossed fingers. She gave Alex a small bow and walked out with a smile on her face, a smile so like Edward’s that Alex’s breath caught in his throat and left him speechless.

He sat down, incapable of coherent thought. After a long time he took off his tie and began to loosen his stiff white collar. His fingers touched the gold medallion. ‘Game, set and match, Eddie, and by your own daughter.’ Alex started to laugh, shaking his head at her audacity, and he let his laugh grow until he rocked back in the chair. His voice boomed out, roared with laughter. It had been years since he had laughed, actually laughed out loud. The brothers had fought for their son and, unnoticed, right under their noses, she had grown up. He knew she would be as ruthless as Edward and, just maybe, as mad as her mother. The game wasn’t over, not yet, not by any means . . . Only now, he was going to enjoy every minute.

The telephone rang, and he was given the tip-off that he was to be honoured, from now on he would be Sir Alexander Barkley. He laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. At last someone, somewhere, had beaten Edward, and it was fate, fate in the shape of his own daughter. And she was his daughter all right, no question about it. She was like an Amazon, a beautiful, red-haired Amazon.

The following morning, Alex discovered his Amazon had not stopped after her visit to him in his office. Among the mail left for his attention was a legal document requiring his signature for the transfer of all Evelyn Barkley’s shares in the Barkley Company – transferring them to none other than Juliana Barkley. He now had a fight on his hands for his own survival. Juliana, he suspected, wanted more than a partnership.

Evelyn watched his father flip through the documents, spreading them out in his hand like a fan. He then threw them in Evelyn’s face in fury.

‘Why? Just tell me why?’

‘You’re better off without me, if you’re honest you’d say it yourself.’

‘Too damned right I’d be better off without you, so why didn’t you sign them over to me? Why give your share to her – I sign this and you’re out, you relinquish everything.’

‘It makes you equal partners, that is what she wanted. It won’t quite be everything, I still have a considerable amount to live on.’

Alex interrupted him, shouting, ‘You said it, that little bitch wants the entire company! She’s already got access to Edward’s own transactions – she doesn’t want a partnership, you idiot, she’ll have the major share, don’t you even understand what that means?’

Sighing, Evelyn stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared out across the river. It seemed he could never do anything to please his father.

‘Maybe, maybe I did it for you. I don’t want to fight, I don’t want to be dragged through the law courts, I don’t want to stand up publicly and make you a laughing stock. I give her what she wants, I don’t have to make a statement, a public statement that Edward Barkley, your brother, was my father . . .’

Alex closed his eyes and seemed to deflate completely.

Juliana applauded, leaning on the jamb of the open sitting-room door. ‘Well, isn’t this cosy? Believe me, Alex, all I want is my inheritance, my share, my partnership, nothing more. It will save a lot of time if you sign here and now. I have no intention of taking over, we will continue the double signature, we will both run the Barkley Company.’

Alex spun round, loathing her smirking, beautiful face, but he was already unscrewing the top of his solid gold fountain pen. He snapped, ‘You learn very fast.’

‘I don’t let the carpet get worn out under my feet, as my father would say.’

Evelyn watched Alex as he began signing the documents. Juliana, standing at his side, slowly eased off her soft leather gloves. She then signed alongside each one.

That done, she carefully replaced the cap on the pen and handed it to Alex. ‘Well, partner, will you have lunch with me? I have a reservation at Le Caprice for one-thirty, and I’d like to discuss the data on Father’s computer, it makes very interesting reading . . . in particular the South African companies. If you agree, I’d like to call a halt to the cloak-and-dagger tactics of my father, bring it all out in the open.’

Alex had to hand it to her, even though he would have liked to wring her neck. He stood back in admiration. ‘I’ll be there, one-thirty.’

She bent and kissed his cheek, taking him right off-guard. She seemed quiet and sincere, meeting his eyes with a warmth he had never seen before. She touched his cheek affectionately. ‘I won’t let you down, I’ll make you see that this was the right, the only, decision to be made.’ As she passed Evelyn on the way out, she gave him not one word of thanks, didn’t even look in his direction.

Neither man spoke a word until they heard her car going away down the drive, then Alex sighed. He felt strangely awkward, even trying to make light of the situation.

‘Well, that’s that. I suppose I should thank you. If any scandal had broken I doubt I’d get my title . . . Did I tell you I made the Honours List?’

‘Congratulations . . . Goodbye, Alex.’

Helplessly, Alex watched Evelyn walk from the room. He picked up his briefcase and followed his son into the hall. He had already reached the top of the staircase.

‘What’ll you do?’

Evelyn didn’t look back. Mounting the stairs, he said, ‘Don’t know, not thought about it yet.’

‘If you need me, you know where I am.’

Evelyn laughed softly, and his reply was almost inaudible. ‘Yep, you’ll be at the office with your partner.’

Neither of them was able to say what he felt, they could not even hold each other. The front door closed softly after Alex.

Evelyn lay down on Edward’s bed. He felt drained, squeezed, wrung out. Dewint coughed politely.

‘Excuse me, sah, but I was packing my possessions and, well, there’s a few things Mr Edward left in ’ere . . . I found this.’

He handed Evelyn a small, brown envelope. Inside was a worn, flat book, stamped across the front. It was a Post Office Savings book, the copperplate handwriting faint over the stamp, looped and old-fashioned. It was dated May 1921, and bore the name of Evelyne Jones. Between the pages was a photograph that Evelyn remembered being taken the Christmas he had stayed at the manor.

‘Who’s Evelyne Jones?’

‘I don’t know who she is, sah, there was never anyone called Jones livin’ ’ere. Will you be staying on? Only, I’m almost packed, be off in the morning. Goin’ to Bermuda, sah, I’ve always fancied it.’

Evelyn smiled at the old man. ‘Well, you have a good time . . . oh, and Dewint, if there’s anything you want from the house, take it, take anything you like.’

Dewint gave one of his formal little nods, and paused at the door. ‘Thank you very much, sah, an’ may God bless you.’ Evelyn’s dark eyes and black hair made him want to weep, he was so like Edward. His high-pitched voice broke, and he swallowed. ‘He loved you, sah, always loved you.’

Bowing out for the last time, Dewint went to finish his packing. Evelyn stared at the ceiling, unconsciously holding the small savings book. He turned it over, then opened it.

In Edward Barkley’s handwriting was a neat list of bank account numbers. They belonged to his first-class Swiss accounts, and they were now made over to his son. The old legacy, left to his grandmother, Evelyne Stubbs, then passed to her son, Edward, still contained one pound, fifteen shillings and sixpence to be withdrawn. Evelyn Barkley held in his hands not only the original legacy, but also access to the vast personal fortune of his blood father. One billion in cash, no strings attached, no partnerships, no ties, just a short scrawled message:

‘This is your freedom.’

O
ne year after the death of Edward Barkley, the Barkley Company, with Juliana and Alex at the helm, was well respected and had moved into legitimate share-trading, reaping vast profits. But the nightmare of the City crash in October 1987 looked set to destroy all they had built.