The Talisman (60 page)

‘Tell me about your husband, what was he like?’

Barbara blew bubbles at him from her hand, but her eyes narrowed. Why did Alex want to know about her husband?

He sat on the side of the bath and gently soaped her shoulders. She caught his hand and kissed it, kissed each finger, sucking at them, and he bent down to kiss the top of her head. The damp, steamy atmosphere in the bathroom had made small curls form by her ears, and he twisted one around his finger.

‘I hated him, Alex.’

‘Not at first, surely?’

‘Oh no, I was sixteen, and he was very glamorous. He used to ride up to see Daddy, and he was always bringing me little gifts . . . But he was thirty-eight, married four times already.’

‘So, go on . . . you agreed to marry him?’

‘Daddy married us – wanted him to oversee some of his oilfields, and then they had this new pipeline running through Alaska or something, I don’t know. But it was more of a business deal. Contracts were exchanged.’

Alex looked at his nails. ‘And? Go on.’

Barbara was desperately calculating how much she should tell Alex about this part of her life. She remained silent, flicking at the soap bubbles with a fingernail. She had trailed after her first husband, panting after him like a chubby puppy. She had been as overweight as her daughter Selina, and so besotted with this handsome, debonair man that she had persuaded her father to somehow arrange that he marry her. At first her father had refused, but at the thought of how much business he could acquire by joining the two together he changed his mind and pressured Joe Taverner to marry his plump, spoiled brat of a daughter. Taverner had accepted the deal, and Barbara.

He had never let her live it down. In the first year of their marriage he tormented her, forcing her to beg to be taken into his bed. He found his young bride only too eager to act out his fantasies. She became a slave girl, a mute, a willing partner in every sexual game he could devise. For the first three years she lived with him, tied to his bed in chains, whipped in the stables, dressed in kinky leather costumes made to his own designs. He turned away from his many mistresses – his wife had supplanted them. She balked at nothing, and took him to such a sexual peak that his obsession inverted itself. He became the slave, the mute, and her fertile young brain devised many more perverted games – he became the one bound to the bed, tied up in the cellar, now he was the one to crawl and beg for her favours.

Taverner had always been a hard drinker, and with a wife whose energy was directed into nothing but sexual gratification, he spent more and more time at their ranch, drinking. Two daughters were born, and immediately handed over to nannies and nursemaids. The games began again as soon after the births as possible. Then Taverner made the mistake of introducing third parties. At first it was other women, but when Barbara had tired of that, he brought home men of all shapes, colours and sizes – paying them to screw his wife.

By the time she was twenty-one, Barbara had had more lovers than most women would have in three lifetimes. She tormented her husband with them and drove him to distraction. Her puppy fat had disappeared and, as though emerging from a chrysalis, she had been transformed into a stunningly beautiful woman, insatiable and obsessive in her desires.

Taverner lost control of his drinking and wrecked his business. Rumours of his wife’s behaviour were spreading – she was becoming notorious, not only for her sexual perversions but for her outrageous spending sprees. Having always had plenty of money, she had never known a moment when she could not have whatever she wanted when she wanted it. She threw parties, bought speedboats, yachts, racehorses, even a plane, and grew bored with them almost before the ink had dried on the cheques. Taverner, sodden with drink and broke, was cast aside. Barbara’s father threatened to cut her off unless she behaved herself, so she controlled her urges and limited herself to one man at a time in the privacy of her own home.

And this was what was lying in Alex Barkley’s bathtub, this beautiful sophisticated woman was more of a whore than any of Dora’s girls – even Dora herself. Barbara Taverner was a slut in thousand-dollar dresses with a billionaire’s daughter tag around her neck. The veiled looks that Alex had detected from Dallas society and presumed were envy, really meant ‘sucker’. They knew all about her, and they pitied him.

‘My husband, Alex, wasn’t a very nice man. He would subject me to horrible things, tie me up and beat me . . . It was terrible because I was so young, I had no one to turn to, no one. My father wouldn’t listen, and then when Joe got so drunk, so drunk he couldn’t screw me himself . . . Oh I can’t, I can’t tell you . . . I am so ashamed . . .’ Tears rolled down her perfect cheeks . . . ‘I hated him so much, and I could do nothing . . . Now you know, I am so ashamed, oh God, he beat me, and . . . Alex . . .’ She turned her tear-stained face to him, held out her arms. ‘Sometimes he even made me enjoy it. Help me, oh, don’t leave me, I need you, Alex, I would die if you left me . . . You’re everything he wasn’t. I trust you, I trust you so much, and you have made me respect myself again, when I never thought I could.’

He knelt and took her in his arms. She seemed so childlike, so desperately lonely. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. Barbara knew it was now or never, and she clung to him, held him tight. She became girlish and coy, nuzzling his neck, giggling. ‘I would be such a good wife to you, Alex, entertaining – and something I’ve always wanted is to be part of English society, you know, mix with the titles and meet everyone. I’d be such a good wife, I would – do you mind me being so rich? Is that what troubles you? But it mustn’t – think, darling, oh think what we can do together, what we can accomplish . . .’

She climbed out of the bath and danced around the room, putting on a plummy English accent, bowing and curtseying, then knelt at his feet and looked up into his handsome face. ‘I love you, Alex, I love you so much. Whatever you want I want, I love you.’

Alex hugged her tight and said over and over again that he loved her too. He had never spoken those words to anyone in his life before, and it was as if she had opened a floodgate inside him. Taking her by the hand he dragged her into the bedroom, opened a bottle of champagne and poured them each a glass. ‘Will you be my wife?’

She wept, flinging her arms around him, shouting over and over, ‘Yes! Yes! Yessss . . .’

Skye Duval discovered just what Edward wanted him to do. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t back out.

‘See, old chap, I need someone here I can trust, someone who will keep their mouth shut and run the business this side. You’ll have a lot of money passing through your hands, and as I said, I need someone I can trust.’

Skye shrugged. ‘I don’t have much choice, do I? Hey, listen, I’m not arguing, I need the bread . . . but there’s got to be something more in it for me than cash, I want my papers back.’

Edward gave his word, he would return them, even if Skye didn’t agree to do the business. Skye laughed, he had to hand it to his old buddy boy, he could still lie better than anyone he had ever known. Skye knew he was caught in Edward’s web, Edward could eat him alive if he wanted to. ‘Okay, you’re on . . . make me a rich man again, eh?’

Edward held Skye’s shoulders. ‘Yes, but keep off the booze. You foul it up and I’ll kill you.’

Skye laughed again and told Edward he would have a hard time – he had been dead for years. Edward then took him completely off guard, held him in his arms, like a caress. ‘I need you, buddy boy, don’t let me down.’

Skye’s voice was barely audible as he gazed up into the strange, dark eyes. ‘You know I won’t, you’re all I’ve got, even though you’re an incorrigible bastard.’

Edward began to tell Skye of his plans for buying up vast areas of land for mining perlite.

When Edward returned to London, he was angry that Alex had still not returned. He responded to Alex’s many telexes by telling him to ‘get his arse back to London’.

Dewint noticed how unkempt Edward looked, and he was drinking more heavily than ever. He did not ask after Harriet, and made no effort to visit her. He prowled moodily around the manor, eventually giving Dewint instructions to have the studio repainted. Looking at the bright-yellow walls, he said, ‘It’s enough to drive anyone nuts. Get it cleaned up.’

‘Yes, sir . . . do you have any particular colour in mind, or will you be asking Mrs Barkley when you see her?’

Without replying, Edward walked out. Dewint watched him drive off far too fast, clipping the gatepost. He decided to paint the studio a pale lemon, he was sure Harriet would like that.

Edward tried hard not to think about Harriet’s eventual return. He felt guilty about the thoughts that kept creeping into his mind. He wanted an heir, a son, and it was obvious to him now that Harriet would never have a child. Harriet’s love had always made him feel good – her almost innocent attitude to sex meant that it was always he who made the first move. It was this innocence that had always attracted him to her. Having had a surfeit of sexual experience in his youth, he had not given it a great deal of importance in later years. But now, the girls in the Notting Hill Gate house had whetted his appetite, brought desire to the surface again. Now he made up for lost time. Harriet seemed like a ghost from the past, and one he was seriously considering consigning to the past. He was not sure how he should go about it given her precarious mental state.

The last person in the world Edward wanted to see was Richard Van der Burge. One of the staff informed him that Richard was trying to get into the club, and had mentioned Edward’s name. Edward excused himself from his table, leaving the attractive Brigitte Bardot look-alike pouting. He strolled out to meet Richard.

Richard looked terrible, down-at-heel and as scruffy as Skye. He was shaking, and his fingers were badly stained with nicotine.

‘So, Richard, how’s life?’

Richard shrugged and smiled nervously, and lit yet another cigarette.

‘You still work for De Veer’s?’

After inhaling deeply on his cigarette, Richard replied, ‘No, no I don’t . . . Not working at present. Had a bit of trouble, you know, chaps kept getting promoted over my head. Got difficult, so I walked.’

‘You all right for cash? You know, if you need tiding over while you’re out of work?’

Richard asked for ten thousand and, without batting an eyelid, Edward wrote out a cheque. Then he offered Richard a job in the insurance office. He suggested quite a high salary, more than he had intended. ‘It’ll be old pals’ time – you see, you’ll be working with Allard Simpson.’

‘Oh, that’s fantastic . . .’

‘Yes, that’s the good part . . . the bad part is that you’ll be in South Africa.’

Richard agreed, and with a hesitant look in the direction of the gaming rooms he left to pack his bags. He didn’t thank Edward for the cheque, believing that he was owed more than a meagre ten thousand, much more – and he intended to get it.

Edward drank heavily for the rest of the evening, embarrassing his beautiful escort so much she left the club in floods of tears. Too drunk to drive himself home, he took a taxi.

Dewint wondered what Harriet was up to. He had been surprised to see her home, and knew Edward was not expecting her. He gave a silent prayer he would not return with a woman. His initial nervousness was dispelled within moments of her arrival. She kept him in such a state of laughter as she mimicked the doctors and patients, he was exhausted. She firmly instructed him to retire to his pigeon loft and she would wait up for Edward.

As the hours ticked away and Edward did not return she grew more nervous. She rehearsed what she would say to him, holding his photograph in front of her and altering her script as often as she changed her clothes. She eventually got into bed, curling up in her thick nightdress. He wasn’t going to come home and she couldn’t really blame him.

Edward managed to open the door. The hall was in darkness and he bellowed for Dewint. She peered at him through the banisters. ‘It’s his night off, will I do?’

Edward stumbled to the stairs, then patted the wall searching for the light switch. He muttered drunkenly about his intentions to visit her. He couldn’t look her in the face, but tried to apologize for his lateness.

‘It’s all right, I understand – business . . . you want a hand?’

Even though he leaned against her as she helped him up the stairs, he could not look into her face. He fell across the bed face down.

‘Right, I’ll start with the shoes and work upwards . . .’ She tossed each shoe into a corner of the room, happy to have something to do for him. He rolled over and leaned on his elbow. His face was flushed. Their eyes met and he looked away embarrassed not knowing what to say to her. There was an awful silence, a helplessness to them both. He loosened his tie. ‘You look good, is that a suntan? Where’ve you been then?’

‘I’ve been using a sun lamp, and I’ve put on weight, lean forward and I’ll get your shirt off.’

She began to undo the buttons, slowly moving closer, touching him. Her hands were shaking. He wrapped his arms around her waist burying his head against her. His voice was muffled, ‘You all right?’

She stroked his head. ‘Yes, I’m all right, my love.’

His grip tightened around her. ‘I’ve missed you, missed this bloody flannelette nightgown . . . Oh God, Harry, Harry, I’ve missed you, this place is a morgue without you.’ Slowly he lifted his head, and looked into her eyes. He was drunk enough to be honest, to be open about the way he felt and his vulnerability touched her. ‘Christ I’ll take care of you, you’re never going away again . . .’

She rocked him in her arms . . . ‘I’m home now, I’m home now.’

There was no void, no shyness between them.

Later, when she lay next to him, he reached out in his sleep and pulled her close, the way he always had. She closed her eyes. She could feel his powerful body and pressed her backbone against him, surrounded by him, curled against him. Now she was home.

Feeling buoyant, Edward whistled as he entered his office. Miss Henderson handed him a cable, and he started to laugh as he read it. He ordered her to get his wife on the telephone. It was only nine o’clock but he poured himself a brandy.