The Talisman (78 page)

Ming leaned back against her white sofa, her delicate fingers cupping her brandy glass. Alex stood by the window, looking down on the busy avenue below.

‘Did Barbara admit it? She actually admitted it?’

‘It’s hard not to, you only have to look at him to see the resemblance. I have been such a fool, such a bloody fool . . .’

Ming said nothing, carefully placing her glass down on the polished coffee table. This was not the time to discuss her own business, to repeat her persistent request for the brothers to sell their shares in her company. Instead she commiserated, her voice soft and soothing. Alex joined her on the sofa and gripped her hand tightly . . .

‘He beats me at every turn. You were right, some partner he is! I had no idea what was going on in Mexico, but I accepted it without a murmur when he dropped the contracts on to my desk, accepted it because he’d included me. I’m a dumb piece of meat that he has squeezed every drop of blood from . . .’

‘I’m glad you came to me, because I have always been there for you. You know that, don’t you, Alex?’

He smiled, his grip relaxing, and she slipped her arm through his. ‘So what are you going to do? Divorce?’

He sighed and closed his eyes. ‘Barbara has millions tied up in the company. It won’t be that easy. It’s Edward I have to deal with first. Barbara is simple in comparison. You know, I think, truthfully, that Edward is insane. I’m not just saying it, but if you could have seen him when I went back the last time he was drunk and incoherent . . .’

Ming massaged Alex’s shoulders, her eyes more cat-like than ever.

‘Had anyone else ever mentioned that he could be unstable?’

‘You just have to read the papers – drunk, thrown out of night clubs, his driving licence has been taken away so many times, he’s crashed his car. Wish to God he’d smash himself up in it, then we would be rid of him.’

‘Well, that could be arranged, but surely it would be simpler to prove to the board members that he is incapable of running the Barkley Company, even if he is who he is, and then you could take the reins legally . . .’

Alex turned to her and smiled, cupping her face in his hands. ‘I knew I was right to come here.’

‘You must tread carefully, Alex. Don’t let him get round you the way he always does, not this time . . . You can get control of the company, I know it.’

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Yes, I know it too, and the first thing you’ll want me to do is sell back your shares. Am I right, you little minx? Well, sweetheart, I promise you that will be the first thing I’ll do.’

‘And the second, Alex, is divorce Barbara. Promise me that, too, Alex.’

He looked at her and knew his brother had been right. She was as dangerous as Edward had always said, but he had not bargained for her genuinely loving him. Alex kissed her, swept her up in his arms and carried her to her bedroom. ‘First, my darling, I am going to take you to bed.’

Evelyn peeked from his bedroom to see his father with Ming in his arms. He quietly closed the door, afraid to be caught, confused and lonely. He wished he was still at the manor house, wished he was still with his uncle. He took out the gift he had taken from beneath the big Christmas tree, the shiny police car with the bells and the lights, his face twisted as he tried not to cry.

Later that night Alex lay wide awake, unable to sleep, thinking how he should go about taking over the company. Beside him Ming slept, as composed in sleep as she was awake. He studied her face, wondered what their life together would have been like if Edward had never interfered; but then they would never have met if it had not been for Edward. The realization of the immense power his brother had always had over him made Alex even more determined to beat him. He began to twist his gold chain round his fingers, unaware that Edward had in a way already beaten him. There would be no satisfaction in removing Edward because he had quite simply removed himself.

T
he following day Alex and Evelyn returned to England. Dewint rushed to change out of the taffeta frock he had bought from the Blue Cross charity shop. He scurried downstairs as the doorbell rang again, wiping the cream from his face, still trying to get his make-up off. ‘I’m afraid Mr Barkley is not at home, sah.’

Alex pushed past him and ran up to Edward’s bedroom, began to search through his desk, through his drawers.

Dewint hovered at the door. ‘I really don’t think you should, sah.’

Alex straightened up. He was sweating, red in the face. ‘Where does he go? Do you know? All these months away from London, where does he go?’

Flustered by Alex’s anger, Dewint stuttered, ‘W-Well, sah, I-I really don’t know, he has f-friends in California, and, er, he goes to Africa, but I really d-don’t know where he is at this p-precise moment in time, sah.’

Looking around, Evelyn saw the drooping, bald Christmas tree, the dead fire in the grate. The place seemed cold and lifeless. Dirty dishes were left on a tray, and the warmth, the Christmas atmosphere, were gone. He shivered – the house frightened him. ‘Daddy, who are all these people in the paintings?’

Alex pushed past him into the lounge, and snapped to Dewint that he should clean the place up.

‘When will my brother be back, do you know?’

‘I’m s-sorry, sah, but he never tells me when he is departing or returning, I just . . . I suppose you heard about Mrs Barkley? She was taken very bad again just before Christmas, and Jinks has been sent to boarding school. I’m here alone, you see . . .’

Evelyn was more confused than ever. The manor house was different – cold and ugly. It was as if he had only imagined the warmth and happiness of the Christmas festivities. He was looking forward to seeing his mother.

Barbara was resting. The stitches were still there but the swelling and initial tenderness of her breasts had subsided. She would soon be back in circulation, and she was already planning functions and parties.

Evelyn rushed to his mother to give her a hug, and she screamed, pushing him away. ‘Don’t touch me! My God you’re so rough.’

Evelyn walked out, pausing in the doorway to give his mother a cold look. Then he slammed the door behind him.

Alex, unaware of Barbara’s many cosmetic operations, or the present condition of her breasts, saw only his son’s hurt face. ‘He only wanted to kiss you, for Chrissake.’

Barbara got up, flustered. She hadn’t expected them to return from New York for at least another week. ‘Did you have a pleasant Christmas? How is Ming, well?’

Alex smiled. Barbara could never resist getting her small digs in. He ignored the question. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Edward at all, have you?’

Barbara inspected her face in the mirror, gave him a veiled look. ‘I’m not likely to, am I?’

Alex looked at her reflection and was struck by her flawless skin, her still-beautiful face. She caught him staring at her, and made a move towards him. ‘Alex . . . Alex, I’ve missed you, can’t we at least talk?’

Just like his son he walked away from her, annoyed that he had even given her the opportunity to see the effect she still had on him. Unlike Evelyn he did not slam the door but closed it quietly and firmly behind him.

Alex was handed all the documents Edward had left for him. He asked Miss Henderson what had happened, if she knew where his brother could be contacted. All she could tell him was what had taken place the last time she had seen him, and then she handed him the sealed envelope.

‘Mrs Barkley is very sick, did you know?’

Alex was confused, for a moment thinking she was referring to Barbara, but then realized she was talking about Harriet.

‘She’s in a mental institution. She had a nervous breakdown just before Christmas. I have the address, and also Juliana is now in a boarding school.’

‘And you don’t know where Edward is? Didn’t he leave a contact number?’

‘No, Mr Barkley. The last thing he said to me was to make sure you received that envelope.’

Alex closed his office door, put down the thick file of all the listed documents left by Edward, saw the stack of signed cheques, and then opened the envelope. There was no letter, just a copy of Edward Barkley’s will, naming as sole heir his brother Alex Barkley. He read the small print carefully, but there seemed to be no hitch, no catch . . . Edward had disappeared simply handing Alex the reins. He wouldn’t know for how long, but he was going to make damned sure he would grab hold of them, maybe hold so tight that Edward would have a tough time getting them away from him when and if he returned.

E
velyn was sent to Harrow as a boarder. In this, his fourth year, along with two other pupils, he went down to Oxford Street and stole two records from a store. The three boys then got very drunk on the journey back to school. Two of the boys returned to their dormitory, but Evelyn passed out on the tennis courts. The housemaster discovered him the next morning as he went to play his regular eight o’clock game.

The boys had stolen the records while wearing their uniforms, and the school had already been informed about the theft. Evelyn was discovered holding the two albums in his arms – one by Jimi Hendrix, and the Beatles’
Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
. He was expelled.

Barbara was having her hair blow-dried when he sauntered into her bedroom. ‘Good God, what are you doing at home?’

‘I thought you knew,’ he replied, cockily, ‘I’ve been given the old heave-ho . . . Where’s Dad?’

‘At the office of course, what have you done? Lyn? Evelyn! Will you come back here, I’m talking to you!’

Evelyn reappeared and leaned against the door, picking his nose. ‘What do you want?’

‘I want to know what you did this time? Have you any idea how difficult it was for your father to get a place for you at Harrow? It was bad enough in your junior school.’

‘No, I don’t know how difficult it was, but I’m sure you will tell me, Mother.’

‘I’m going to call him, right now. You are the most infuriating person I have ever met – and for God’s sake use a hankerchief.’

Evelyn walked out. He was fifteen years old and arrogantly self-assured. His voice had a resonant, plummy tone learned at Harrow. He had gained little, as far as Barbara and Alex could see, from his vastly expensive education apart from his nonchalant way of speaking. Academically he was either close to or bottom of the class. Only in sports did he excel. However, even his sports reports had begun to include the word ‘lazy’, and ‘unsporting conduct’ had been mentioned in two memos from his housemaster. Alex had hoped he could get to Cambridge on his prowess in the game of rugby, but of late even that had fallen below par.

He had grown very tall for his age. Although facially more like Edward than Barbara or Alex ever cared to mention, he had inherited his mother’s slenderness and would never be as tall or as big-boned as his father.

Alex was not at his office – he was at Harrow, desperately trying to salvage his son’s education, hoping to get the expulsion reduced to suspension. Evelyn had made no attempt to cover for his two friends, and they had been expelled along with him. Alex did not expect such sweeping and immediate action for what he deemed a small misdemeanour. All boys got a little drunk, didn’t they?

Evelyn’s housemaster was well aware of the donations Mr Barkley had made to the school, and it was his unfortunate task to tell him about his son. ‘I’m afraid it is a little more than simply getting drunk. Of course boys will be boys, but, Mr Barkley, I think perhaps for Evelyn’s benefit you should know the whole truth – and the truth is never pleasant.’

Alex accepted a cup of milky tea and waited.

‘We have, as you know, had a little trouble with Evelyn virtually from the word “go”. He does not conform, perhaps “will not” would be a better choice of words. To be frank, your son flatly refused to become an integral part of the school. Perhaps we could cope with that in time, many of our pupils come round to our ways of their own accord in the end. However, as I have said, Evelyn has been difficult. You must be aware of his indiscretions, the problems we have had with him. I am afraid, Mr Barkley, your son is a known cheat, verging on the pathological. He seems incapable of telling the truth. Again, we have to deal with all sorts of boys with problems caused by being removed from their own environment – but your son, Mr Barkley, is also a thief . . .’

Alex listened to the list of Evelyn’s offences, and the canings that had had no effect. He also heard about numerous letters sent to him by the school that had gone unanswered. The housemaster ate biscuits throughout the entire meeting, finally wiping his mouth with a greyish handkerchief. Alex suggested rather haughtily that perhaps he should not be talking to Evelyn’s housemaster but should take the matter to the head himself.

‘I am sorry, and I’m speaking on behalf of the Board of Governors when I say this, it is totally unacceptable for Evelyn to return even to finish this term . . .’

Alex found his wayward son at the office, pestering Miss Henderson. With a cold stare, he pointed in the direction of his own room. Evelyn wandered in and sat on Alex’s swivel chair.

‘Get out, that’s my chair . . . Get out, you stupid bastard.’

Evelyn sprang up fast. Alex slammed the door and threw his briefcase down, his face red with rage. He spat out his words, his eyes like knives. ‘You’re a thief, a liar, a cheat . . . and that’s just for starters. You get drunk, vomit all over the tennis courts and are foolish enough to pass out there so the housemaster can’t help but find you . . . If I were you, I’d wipe that fucking smile off your stupid, smug face. I paid good money, big money, to swing a place for you at Harrow . . . You had the opportunity of a lifetime, not just the education but for contacts later in life, when you left . . . and what did you do? You chucked it away for a lousy Rolling Stones’ record. Well? You got anything to say? You got something to say about it?’

‘Well it was actually a Jimi Hendrix album, his first . . .’