The Talisman (74 page)

If Harriet was aware of Edward’s drinking she said nothing, she was so wrapped up in her new role of motherhood. She agreed that Jinks would benefit from some fresh air, and proceeded to pack. Edward drove them both to the station, and as he watched the train pulling out of the station, his daughter’s face pressed against the window as she waved goodbye, his depression deepened. He couldn’t really understand himself why his moods changed so radically and why, whenever he felt content, felt that life was good, something inside him, like a sickness, made him try to destroy that happiness. He caused mayhem when he returned to the office that morning; he was already drunk, his behaviour erratic. He screamed instructions to Miss Henderson and made her wish for Alex to return to regain some semblance of order.

Alex did not return for a week as he had been in Mexico trying to decipher the companies that Edward had, without a word to him – his so-called partner – been running for years. Miss Henderson was more than relieved to see him. She was close to tears and she showed him the bedlam created by Edward: his manic instructions, his new shares and business transactions were a confused mess of papers. Alex listened, his fury mounting at the destructive and foolish deals his brother had begun and left half finished.

‘You’d better give me the keys to his office, Miss Henderson. God knows what else he has got us involved in.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, I don’t have a spare set, no one does . . .’

‘Well, if that’s the case, I’d better go and find him. Is he at home?’

‘I don’t know. I can call the manor, if you wish.’

‘Don’t bother, I’ll go personally. Make a list of all these new transactions and leave them on my desk.’

Dewint opened the front door, and looked aghast as Alex stepped in. ‘I’m afraid, sah, Mr Edward . . . he has company, sah.’ He told Alex that Harriet and Jinks had gone off to spend a few weeks in Yorkshire. But Alex would not be put off.

‘Tell him I am here, would you, Dewint, and I have no intention of leaving.’

Alex looked into the lounge; the room was a mess. Bottles were strewn everywhere, dirty glasses. From somewhere in the house he could hear music. Then he heard Edward’s voice, shouting, telling Dewint he didn’t want to see anyone. Alex strolled back to the hall door and saw two scruffy tarts being hustled out by Dewint. He sighed, about to turn away, then froze.

Edward appeared, unshaven, his eyes red-rimmed. Alex could smell him a mile off, and he was reeling drunk. He started shouting, incoherently, then slumped on to the sofa. Alex calmed him down and tried to talk to him, begging him to rest. He was sure Edward was an alcoholic, but he just could not fathom out what had caused the change. He seemed hell-bent on destroying everything they had built up.

‘Why, Edward, in God’s name, what is the matter with you? Just as everything is going so well . . . Are you ill? Is that what all this is about?’

Edward stared at him without replying, then began to pick up empty bottles.

‘You need a doctor? You carry on this way you will destroy everything we’ve built up together.’

‘Together? Don’t be so fucking crass, you an’ me aren’t together, you line your own pockets like every other bastard I come into contact with . . . fuck off, leave me alone!’

Alex sat down, tried to keep his voice calm. He played for time, his mind reeling, wondering what Edward had discovered. ‘Maybe that’s your fault . . . you see, every time I think I can trust you, I find out something that makes me more wary of you than ever . . . what the hell have you got going in South Africa?’

Edward sneered at him, poured himself another drink. ‘Whatever I’ve got going keeps you out of the shit, so why worry . . . I’ll go to prison, not you, haw haw haw.’

Alex wanted to shake him, hit him, but he gritted his teeth and tried once more to discover what Edward was working on in South Africa. ‘Is it legal, just tell me . . .?’

Edward laughed, a boozed, humourless laugh. Then he switched on the stereo so loud that it was pointless to continue.

He watched Edward as he moved around the room, trying to dance to the music. It was pitiful. Alex closed the door and switched off the stereo as the music ended, determined to talk things through. Edward smiled at him, fumbled in his pocket. ‘Look, I’ve been making out my will. You get the lion’s share, on condition you take care of Harry and Jinks. Christ, look, I’ll come clean – I am bored, understand? I am so bored, and . . . and I packed them off to Yorkshire. I’m thinking of upping and leaving, you know . . . Oh, you won’t understand, I get these feelings inside of me and . . . I feel trapped here, I’m trapped.’

Alex read the will. Sure enough, Edward had left him everything apart from some legacies to Harriet and Jinks. He looked up as Edward poured himself another drink. ‘Here, take it back. And if you want some advice, grow up. You’ve been a selfish bastard all your life – just for a change, think about Harry, about Jinks, and what they’d do without you.’

‘Think about them? Jesus Christ, I spend my whole life worrying about her and the kid . . . Well, I can’t take it, it’s like living with a bloody time-bomb – I never know when she’s going to blow. Have you any idea what it’s like . . .’

‘Getting yourself drunk won’t help matters. Maybe you should take a holiday, you’ve pushed yourself to breaking point. You can’t be an easy man to live with, Edward, and, well, you’ve got your daughter to think of . . .’

Edward drained his glass. ‘Yeah, little Four-eyes. She’s so damned well behaved, so quiet, she’s like a fucking mouse. Even the nanny creeps about like a fucking nervous cow.’

Edward leaned back on the sofa, turned his bleary eyes to his brother and, out of the blue, asked about Evelyn. Alex shrugged and said he hadn’t seen much of him lately as he had only just returned from New York.

‘He a good little chap, is he?’

Sighing, Alex replied that he was a bit of a handful, and they were unable to keep a nanny for more than a few months. Edward stared sullenly into the fire and hurled his glass, shattering it on the tiles. ‘I’m going out, fancy a night out?’

‘No, I’m on my way home, and if I were you I’d get to bed, sleep it off.’

Edward began to swear to himself, and he didn’t even notice when Alex walked out.

On the back seat of Alex’s car lay the tell-tale newspapers, and he picked one up. It showed a picture of the ‘tycoon’s brother’, drunk and being thrown out of Tramps nightclub. Alex swore and waved his hand for the chauffeur to drive away. ‘Go on, drink yourself to death, you bastard, and the sooner the better.’

Edward continued drinking, and by daybreak his initial mood of despondency had switched to belligerence. He decided to wipe out all the men he knew were waiting with their hands out for the payoffs, for his bribes. He wanted to destroy them, they were making him sick, making him drink, the vultures . . . Well, he would get rid of them all, start with a clean slate . . . And last, but not least, on his list was his brother. He had plans for Alex – he would take Evelyn from him. The boy was his, Evelyn was Edward’s son.

He weaved out of the room, clutching the banisters to help him climb the stairs. Dewint, coming out of the kitchen, looked up in horror, Edward’s face was unshaven, his eyes unfocused. There was a helplessness about him that was heart-breaking. Dewint hurried up the stairs . . .

‘You’d best lie down, sah. Here, let me give you a hand.’

Dewint buckled at the knees as Edward put his arm around his shoulder, and leaned heavily against him. Together they swerved like dancers to the master bedroom.

‘You are a good chap, Dewint, good chap. You think you could get me cleaned up a bit? Old hands shaking and I don’t want to cut my throat, though there are many who would love it if I did.’

Dewint swished the shaving brush round the bowl, and gently soaped Edward’s face. He was propped up in bed, his eyes vacant, staring ahead.

‘What if I were to run you a nice bath, sah?’

‘Thank you. You’re a good chap, Dewint.’

He busied himself running the water in the big porcelain tub, laying out the fresh sheet-sized bath towels. When he returned to the bedside Edward had not moved. He was weeping soundlessly, tears streaming down his face. As Dewint made quietly to leave the room, Edward reached for him.

‘Just sit with me for a while, old fella, I’m in a bit of a mess . . . need a bit of company, need . . .’ Edward wept, holding tightly to Dewint’s hand . . . twice he tried to stop the tears, giving Dewint a sad half smile and a little shrug of his shoulders. But the tears continued. The bath water grew cold as they sat, Dewint not knowing what to do to comfort Edward. Suddenly Edward lifted Dewint’s hand to his lips and kissed it . . . whispering so softly that it was hardly audible . . .

‘Thank you. I’m all right now . . . I’m all right now.’

And it was over. Abruptly Edward reached for the telephone. He dialled a number and waited. He turned to Dewint . . .

‘Top up the bath and lay some clean clothes out. Then you’d better fix me something to eat – omelette, one of your specials, okay? Hello? It’s me!’

Dewint sprang into action as Edward was stripping off his shirt, talking to Miss Henderson at the office. Gone was any sign of emotional turmoil, instead he was sharp and abrupt.

‘Alex was round asking about South Africa; fend him off, Henny. I don’t want anything to do with my business out there getting into Alex’s hands. Tell him anything, but make sure he sees nothing . . . that includes telexes, cables and any reference to Skye Duval. I’ll leave it to you then and, Henny, this is important to me, understand? Good girl. I’m fine. Yes, I’m fine.’

After his bath Edward sat eating hungrily as Dewint kept up a steady refill of piping hot coffee. Edward ploughed his way through a stack of old newspapers, flicking over the articles that referred to himself. There was no hint of the man who had sat weeping, but Dewint knew, more than anyone else, that Edward was cursed with a consuming despair. A despair that he seemed to try to reach out to, as if he craved to be punished, for what Dewint couldn’t even contemplate. What impressed him was the way Edward fought back . . . He loved this man, admired him, and yet was always, would always, be a little frightened of him. Edward caught Dewint watching him as he checked over his appearance in the hall mirror. He gave his extraordinary wolfish and yet boyish smile as he said softly, ‘He’s mine, and I am going to get him. Clear the place up will you? I shouldn’t be too long . . .’

Edward drove straight to Mayfair. Checking his watch, it was four o’clock. His son would be home from school. He had decided he would walk in and take him. It was as simple as that. Evelyn was his son. He parked opposite the gates of Alex’s house, and was just about to get out of the car when he saw Evelyn pedalling round and round the garden on a small tricycle. He fell off twice, but picked himself up and sped around the garden again. His thick black hair had been cut short, and he wore strange, burgundy-coloured knickerbockers and long, wrinkled socks, part of the uniform of the small, private Hill House School. Edward shook his head and muttered to himself – what a terrible get-up for his son to be wearing. Again he was about to cross to him, when he saw Alex coming out of the house . . . the little boy turned, leaped from the bike and hurtled towards Alex, flinging himself into his arms. Alex twirled him round, to the boy’s delight . . .

‘Do it again, Daddy. Do it again.’

Edward watched as Alex threw Evelyn up into the air and caught him, putting him up on to his shoulders. They went back into the house. Edward sat for another ten minutes before he drove to Hill House School and enrolled his daughter for the next term. It made him feel better. The time had not been right, but with the two children at the same school he would be able to keep an eye on Evelyn, get to know him . . . then he would take what he had always wanted, a son, his son. Edward lit a cigar. He flicked a look into the driving mirror and ran his hand through his black hair, hair identical to his son’s.

Edward breezed into the office, gave Miss Henderson a bunch of roses, kissed her frazzled head and waltzed along to his office. He unlocked the door, whistling as Alex came to his own office door. He was always taken aback at the way his brother could switch from mood to mood, but he had been sure his recovery this time would have taken considerably longer.

‘Well, you recovered fast. Binge over, is it, or was it something I said?’

Edward gave him a strange smile. ‘Maybe something you’ve got is worth sobering up for, brother, be with you in a minute.’

Half an hour later Edward again took Alex by surprise by laying on his desk the contracts for his companies in Mexico, not only details of the projects but also very well kept accounts.

‘I hear you went on a trip to see for yourself? What do you think of the project?’

‘Now that I actually know it exists, it’ll take time to assimilate, just as this load of extra deals you’ve made will take time to assimilate . . .’

‘But on the surface, brother, things don’t look quite as bad as you thought, and there’s your name, sweetheart, in black and white. You’re not cut out of anything . . . Right? Am I right? So I’ll leave this with you. I’m going to collect Harry and Jinks, won’t be more than a few days . . .’

Edward was already on his way out when Alex rose from his chair.

‘Hang on, I’m going to need your signature on some documents.’

‘Can’t they wait? I’ll only be a couple of days. How was Ming?’

Alex caught the nasty sideways look, and pursed his lips. ‘The Japs won’t consider a third party involvement, there’s no deal unless we sell our shares.’

‘Well, that’s that then, no deal . . . I can wait. They’ll come round eventually, it’s too good a proposition, unless you have other ideas. You got any other ideas, Alex?’

Alex flushed slightly and shook his head. Right now his share of the Mexican companies was too big a prospect for him to jeopardize because of Ming. ‘No, but I would like to know what is going on in South Africa.’

It was Edward’s turn to flush, and he swung the door backwards and forwards. ‘Okay, I’ll come clean, I’m looking at some possible land, mining land, but as yet there’s nothing concrete . . . haw, haw . . . that’s a joke. There are possible perlite mining facilities, but I’ll keep you informed if and when it looks like I can pull it off.’