The Talisman (53 page)

The Betting and Gaming Act went even further than the Commission’s recommendations in allowing a fixed charge to be made in advance to members (of twenty-four hours’ standing) of a club. The Act did not stipulate, as the commissioners had recommended, that the charge should be limited to an amount that would cover the cost of providing the facilities.

Edward listened intently as Alex outlined the gaming laws. They could not move without a licence for their club. If they opened without one they would be shut down and fined heavily. Edward was furious, knowing that illegal clubs were coining it all over London.

It appeared to Edward that Alex was doing everything to dissuade him from continuing the club project. Alex, however, had learned fast and his initial desire to be one hundred per cent legitimate was beginning to bend. He knew more than anyone the potential earnings from clubs, he had after all run one himself.

Edward swung backwards and forwards in his chair, giving Alex sidelong glances. ‘Your nose twitching, is it, brother? I thought you were sidestepping my deal. What d’you want?’

The curse laid to rest with Freedom’s talisman now moved like a shadow into the room. They carried it close to their hearts in the shape of the small gold medallions. The brothers, unaware of its existence, felt nothing untoward happening, but Alex, who had until now refused to participate in any underhand dealing, was changing. Edward felt it, but put it down to simple greed. ‘Well, what d’you want? Part of the club?’

Alex shook his head, leaned forward smiling. ‘I get a percentage of whatever comes through the company, just taking care of my interest . . . now, will you pay attention and listen. The law has no right of entry into any club to do checks, therefore any criminal proceedings would be slow. That could give us a chance to switch the games. We could stay one jump ahead of the law quite easily, but we will have to think about cabaret, dancing, making the restaurant larger . . . We can also get around it by bringing in customers. Advertising here is cut to a minimum – in other words we aren’t even allowed to advertise as a club – but there is nothing to stop us bringing in customers from abroad. We hire special flights, give them special deals, overnight memberships . . .’

Excited, Edward clapped his hands, thumped Alex on the back. He was making phone calls before Alex had finished.

The brass plate outside the club said simply, ‘Banks’. The closed membership had given rise to many people fighting to join. The gaming rooms contained American roulette (with double zero giving advantage to the house), blackjack, punto banco, French roulette, craps, and baccarat, and there were two rooms for private high-stakes poker games.

On the ground floor was an exclusive restaurant, with a larger room leading off containing a small dance floor and a cabaret stage. The interior, so elegant and ornate, drew people like magnets. High-class American acts were hired, and a six-piece band. The staff wore uniform, the hostesses dressed in fashionable evening gowns. All the girls had been hand-picked for looks by Edward himself.

It was made clear to the girls from the word go that he wanted no tricks being turned, no girls earning extras on the side. They were there only for decoration and to be pleasant to the customers, without behaving like hookers.

Six young chorus girls were hired. Their costumes were showy, glitzy and sexy, their routines provocative. They were to open the two sessions of the cabaret, at nine o’clock and midnight. There was just enough room for their routine on the small floor.

Tirelessly, Edward supervised every item in the club, double-checking with Alex, vetting the first night’s guest list for class, contacts and, above all, wallets. ‘No good getting in a crowd that don’t have a cent to their names, so make sure we mix and match.’

Alex was kept on the go, organizing the cashiers, checking croupiers, barmen, doormen. They had to have exemplary credentials, otherwise they were dismissed without wasting a second. The brothers had to watch their backs, knowing how much could be siphoned off.

At last everything was set, and Edward called all the male staff into the restaurant – the chefs, waiters, doormen, croupiers and cashiers. As always, Alex remained in the background, watching from the office door as Edward called them to order. The whole room hushed as Edward waved his hand for silence, standing taller than any of them, wearing a white dinner jacket, a cigar clamped between his teeth. His speech was short and to the point, telling them simply that they had been hand-picked, they were special. He stressed to them that if the club did well they could all expect a bonus. ‘There will also be a large bonus for any member of staff discovering any in-house fiddling, backhanders, from the roulette tables down to the ladies’ powder-room tips. If any member of staff even suspects something is going on, they must come to me in confidence, and they will be rewarded for their loyalty . . . I don’t have to tell you what will happen to anyone caught with their fingers in the till. The reason I have called you all here, from the head waiter to the washers-up, is that this is a family, one big family, and anyone stepping outside the family circle must be dealt with. The success of the club depends on you all, and I assure you, the more successful we are the higher will be your financial rewards . . . Thank you.’

Alex watched them file out. They were cocky, self-assured, proud. Edward had such a manner that even the lowliest of the kitchen staff behaved as if they had a share in the club.

Alex and Edward sat together in the private office and Edward, expansive as ever, opened a bottle of champagne. ‘Christ, what a night it’s going to be, this place’ll be a gold mine, bloody gold mine! I’ll have punters fighting for membership – that’s the trick, don’t let ’em in easy and they come knocking at your door . . . here’s to us, to Banks.’

Alex raised his glass and toasted the club. The intercom on the desk buzzed, and he flicked it on, then picked up the phone, covered the mouthpiece. ‘Just give everything the once-over for me, would you?’

Dismissed, Alex gave a mock bow. ‘Anything you say.’

As soon as the door closed behind Alex, Edward spoke into the phone. ‘Send her in . . .’ He picked up Alex’s untouched glass and held it out to Jodie as she entered.

Chosen for her background and experience in three other clubs, Jodie was the head girl. Tall, with elegant shoulders, she wore a long, skin-tight, sequinned dress that flared from the knee into layers of net. Her hair was dressed in a neat coil at the back, swept up to show off her perfect neck and high cheekbones. She closed the door and leaned against it, smiled and arched one of her carefully pencilled eyebrows. ‘I’ve contacted everyone, they know the score. And I put the list in the top drawer of the safe.’

She took the glass of champagne Edward offered her, her long red nails brushing his hand. ‘Cheers . . . Let’s hope it goes off well.’

‘There’s no hoping, sweetheart – it’s imperative, and I’ve left nothing to chance – nothing.’

More than anyone else Jodie knew just how careful Edward had been, and why he had chosen her above all the other girls. She was on a big salary, double that of most of the others, and she had a dual job. She was to oversee the girls employed in the club, but she was also to make sure that certain clients were taken care of. Using Dora’s stash of films and list of clients, Jodie’s job was to make them aware that their little foibles could be well taken care of. Not at the club, but Jodie would be their contact. Edward had kept Dora’s information to himself – Alex had not the slightest idea it existed.

Jodie sipped the champagne and smiled over the rim of the glass. ‘Club’s name’s good, Banks . . . “in” joke, is it? Barkley’s Bank?’

Edward laughed, then got down to business, following Dora’s initiative. He had bought a large house in Notting Hill Gate, in a very exclusive area. From the outside it looked eminently respectable, but all its bedrooms had been carefully decorated to suit certain clients’ ‘tastes’. Jodie’s hand-picked girls would be under her direct supervision. It was another, very exclusive, part of Banks.

‘Just make sure, Jodie, that my name is never, never mentioned. There must be no connection whatever between me and the house. One word leaks out and you’ll be out of a job along with the girls, so make sure they don’t even know my name.’

She hitched up her dress, adjusted her stocking seam and told him it was all taken care of. She gave Edward a small salute and swanned out.

Watching her leave, Edward thought, ‘what a waste’. She was a very beautiful woman, but then so was her girlfriend. The reason Jodie was in control was because she hated men, and Edward had gone to great pains to find her. He laughed – that old slag Dora had certainly known her business.

Harriet wore a stunning pearl-encrusted white gown. Her hair was coiled into a thick long braid of false hair, threaded with pearls. Edward introduced her to everyone, and they all were impressed with the very glamorous Mrs Barkley. Harriet appeared to know already a lot of the society people, and took Alex by surprise. She gave no outward show of nervousness. Her familiarity with the upper echelons of the English aristocracy was obvious. Her class reared its head, and she made many introductions, never putting a foot wrong. She was very calm and serene; the tomboy quality had been replaced by a new sophistication.

Alex stood to one side, he remembered Dora, the small Masks club. He smiled to himself thinking how she would have loved to swan around tonight. It was all going very well, in fact better than he had dared to hope and he turned to search the room for his brother. Edward was always easy to find, head and shoulders above everyone else. Like Harriet, he had the same ability to appear attentive, always giving the other person the impression that whatever he or she was saying was of the utmost importance, but somehow Edward had perfected the act and could actually note everything else that was going on around him while he was listening. He didn’t miss a trick. They make a good pair thought Alex as he turned from Harriet back to Edward. Alex saw the flash of pride in his brother’s face as he edged further into the shadows, unnoticed, and able to watch as his brother passed behind her. He saw him rest his hand on her neck. The caress was somehow showing her off as his property and that touch made her stop in mid-sentence and rub her cheek against Edward’s hand. She turned to follow his progress through the milling guests. Alex was fascinated, her eyes were bright, like a child’s, and then her smile froze and he could almost feel her panic. Alex had to crane his neck to see who Edward had joined.

He was speaking to Jodie, his head close, and he was whispering something. Jodie then stood on tiptoe and cupped her hand over her mouth to hide what she was saying. They appeared intimate, close, and Alex’s heart sank. If he had seen it and felt something was going on, then he knew Harriet must be aware of it too. He moved quickly to her side. ‘Everything all right?’ he asked.

‘Everything is fine,’ she retorted, ‘who’s that blonde woman with Edward?’

Alex shrugged, said she was just one of the girls. They both saw the secretive pair enter the door marked ‘Private’. Alex reached for Harriet’s hand, and gave it a squeeze. He looked at her eyes closely, her pupils were enlarged. ‘What are you staring at?’

‘Nothing . . . nothing, I was just thinking what a lucky man my brother is.’ She had obviously seen Edward’s interaction with Jodie. Her whole body was tense with jealousy. Before Alex could calm her down he heard someone screech. ‘Harryyyy.’

Moving towards them with a lot of waving and floating panels of chiffon came a heavily pregnant Daisy Millingford. She was flushed, and dragging a chinless, equally sweating husband. ‘Gosh Harry, I was hoping I’d see you, this is Charlie, you remember Charlie?’

Harriet turned with any icy expression. ‘No, and you are?’

Daisy was taken aback. ‘Oh Harry, don’t be so beastly, it’s Daisy. I’m married. I sent you an invitation, don’t you remember? Charlie Lambert, this is Harriet Simpson, or I should say Barkley.’

Poor Daisy was met with such a disdainful look she turned nervously to her Charlie. ‘Oh sweetheart, I’m in dire need of a fizzy drink, would you mind?’ He jumped to attention hurrying after a waiter. Daisy tried to cover the embarrassing moment holding out her hand to Alex. Harriet made no effort to introduce him. ‘Hello, I actually met you at your wonderful château in France, but I’m sure you won’t remember me.’

Alex murmured that he was delighted to renew their acquaintance. He insisted they move to a table. When they were seated, Alex leaned close to Harriet, who stared with a fixed glower towards the still closed office door. He whispered that he would bring Edward to meet Daisy.

The two girls sat opposite each other. Daisy began talking non-stop. ‘I’m preggers, due in two months . . . we’ve bought a sweet little mews house in Maida Vale. It was in a dreadful state, but then Charlie isn’t qualified yet, he’s a law student.’

Harriet was staring into space and quite obviously not listening. Daisy battled on, her high-pitched voice getting slightly hysterical. ‘I say, have you seen anything of that Froggy chap you were engaged to? What was his name? You know that barn is still there. Oh, someone bought it and did it up, resold it for a fortune . . . do you live in town?’

Still Daisy got no response from Harriet. She couldn’t believe Harriet could be so rude. She gave a nervous laugh, patting her hair into place. ‘I’ll just go to the powder room. If Charlie comes, tell him I won’t be a moment.’

Daisy had to ease herself up, and pull down her dreadful dress. Suddenly, she turned angrily to Harriet. ‘I don’t know what I have ever done to you, Harry, but I was your friend, I’ve thought of you so often, even wished I could see you. You’ve changed, and if you don’t mind me saying, I think you are fucking rude . . .’ Daisy pushed her way to the ladies’ cloakroom.

Charlie brought Daisy’s drink to the table, hesitantly brushing his hair back with the palm of his hand. ‘Sorry I took so long but it’s freshly squeezed orange. She’s all right, isn’t she? Er . . . is it all right if I sit down? . . .’ He sat, and almost pulled the cloth off the table as he inched himself round on the velvet booth’s seat. ‘Whoops sorry . . .’