The Talisman

by Lynda La Plante

  Lady Primrose entered, wearing a long, dark rose-coloured evening dress with padded shoulders that accentuated her slimness. She looked very elegant. ‘My, Charlie, your friend does look smart. Turn around, Edward, yes, frightfully good, sleeves a trifle on the short side, but . . . oh, let me see . . . cufflinks, Charlie, go and get a pair of . . . there must be lots of cufflinks upstairs.’

  Charlie moaned but departed, and as Lady Primrose helped herself to a cocktail she turned to Edward and gestured with her hand, a small fluttering motion.

  ‘I like a gin and it before dinner, just so you know, this much gin and this much . . . it . . . and no ice, but I do like a cherry.’

  She giggled, and Edward stood like a sentry as she moved closer. Her perfume swamped him, ‘Tea Rose’, a bitter-sweet tea rose. She had to look up into his face, he was so tall. ‘Where do you come from? Foreign blood in you, I can see it. You are very dark, and my goodness, what long eyelashes you have, well, where are you from?’

  Edward looked down at her, she was standing too close for comfort, but he didn’t like to back off in case it was rude. But she was very close, so close he could see the fine wrinkles around her eyes, and tiny, tell-tale lines around her mouth.

  ‘I’m from London, the East End.’

  ‘Ho, the East End? Well, well! Oi, Charlie, yer should ’ave told me he is from da East End, lord love yer! Now then, Charlie Collins, don’t you splash the drinks around, it is rationed, yer know! Oi, is dat their car?’

  She enjoyed herself with her appalling impression of an East End accent. Charlie gave her a stern look and winked at Edward, then poured himself a very large gin. He inched the blackout curtains up a fraction. ‘Yep, they’ve arrived . . . all four of them. Can’t you hear the gravel crunching under their delicate feet?’ He slipped over to Edward’s side and nudged him. ‘Come on, she was only joking. Lighten up, old man. Here’s Clarry’s best cufflinks – all yours. Oh, God, here they come.’

  Lady Primrose laughed as Lord Freddy entered the drawing room unannounced. He strode across the room, beaming, hand outstretched. ‘Charlie, Charlie, good to see you . . . looking handsome as ever, Primmy, how are you, darling one?’

  Lord Carlton kissed Lady Primrose’s hand. She giggled girlishly, and introduced Edward as a friend of Charlie’s staying for the vacation. Lord Freddy hardly gave him a look, he was already pouring himself a drink, completely at home in the castle.

  ‘Where are the girls, darling?’

  As if on cue, and with a shuddering of the floor, Lord Carlton’s wife appeared. Lady Heather was a thickset woman, her short, stocky legs set rather wide apart to support her weight. She wore a terrible, moth-eaten silver fox cape, the head of the fox jumping up and down on her ample bosom.

  She wore her greying hair in an unflattering wartime style, rolled around her head. ‘Charlie, you’re home, jolly good . . . How are you, Primrose? Good God, you’ve got a fire at this time of year? Aren’t you hot? It’s frightfully hot in here, isn’t it?’

  No one introduced Edward, and Lady Carlton showed no interest in him. Her husband handed her a large gin and tonic as their daughters appeared, standing shyly at the door. ‘Now, gels, let me introduce you to a lovely, eligible young man, bound to need partners for all the summer dances, this is Edward . . . Charlie you both know, of course, and . . . oh, one martini, Edward, and one gin and it.’

  Edward had not said a single word. Charlie, in fine form, had already taken Lady Carlton’s fox fur, and was doing impressions with his hand inside the fox’s mouth. Humphrey announced dinner, and the next moment Charlie leapt on the two girls with the fox.

  ‘Charlie, that will do, don’t have any more to drink. Edward, make sure he doesn’t drink too much, he gets out of control.’

  The dining room was even more medieval in style than the sitting room, with a long refectory table and heavy, carved chairs, a throne covered in worn red velvet at one end. The walls were decorated with shields and ancient guns, and deer heads leered down at them. On the far wall was what looked like an African shield with two spears. The main source of light was an iron chandelier, with more candles scattered along the table. Lady Primrose told everyone to sit where they liked, and she herself sat to the right of the throne with Lord Freddy opposite and his wife at his side. The party did not fill the table and Edward noticed that the far end of it was unoccupied and rather dusty.

  ‘I’m afraid the dinner will be the usual hotch-potch . . . Oh, darling! There you are!’

  Captain Collins, wearing an immaculate dinner jacket with a rose in the buttonhole, walked slowly down the room, using his silver-topped cane. He didn’t even acknowledge his guests, but seated himself on the throne, which Humphrey moved closer to the table. Out came a clean silk handkerchief, and he carefully picked up each piece of cutlery at his place and cleaned it. Each prong of the fork was treated to a careful inspection as he slid the handkerchief between them. That done, he wiped the table carefully around where he sat – fussy, tidy movements, without saying a single word. No one paid him any attention, apart from Edward, who watched, fascinated, until he got a nudge from Charlie, who twiddled his finger at his head to show that his father was ‘up the wall’.

  The first course was a thin, gravy-like soup, and it wasn’t very warm, but no one seemed to mind. The clatter of spoons as they ate covered any embarrassment.

  ‘Eddie, old chap, I think you’ve just eaten my bread roll.’

  Edward had forgotten his side plate was to his left, and he had indeed eaten Charlie’s roll. He offered Charlie the other one, apologetically.

  ‘Well, I don’t want it now you’ve had your sticky fingers all over it, chuck it away . . . here, give it to me.’

  Charlie hurled the bread roll down the table. It hit Captain Collins and bounced off. He appeared not to notice. The conversation continued.

  After that, Edward did not eat anything until he had seen which plates and cutlery everyone else used. He sat quietly, listening. Charlie started a general conversation when he denounced Somerset Maugham as a futile, irrelevant writer, and gradually they all joined in. Lord Freddy disagreed, and his wife nodded her head in agreement with him. Lady Primrose told Charlie he was being ridiculous.

  ‘I say he’s very competent, I give him that, and don’t suppose I am actually criticizing him. Ma, good God, I am far too conscious of the difficulty of constructing even the most simple paragraph myself . . . I simply said that I do not think he is a writer of great importance because he doesn’t have anything of importance to say.’

  Lady Primrose laughed and said that now he was backtracking, and they began to discuss authors they liked and disliked. Lord Carlton pounded the table as he talked about Lockhart’s Life of Scott; he had found it invigorating. Lady Carlton turned to Charlie and asked if he enjoyed Byron, and this was greeted with a typical Charlie-type yawning howl. ‘Enjoy? Enjoy? The cumulative effect of that cripple’s style is stupefying.’

  Lady Carlton turned to Edward. ‘Are you reading the same subjects as Charlie?’

  Edward’s mouth was full and so Charlie answered, saying that he was a brilliant scholar. The girls tried to continue the literary conversation, asking if Edward had read Amurath to Amurath by Gertrude Bell. It was exceedingly interesting, about travel and archaeology in Asiatic Turkey.

  ‘Sounds utterly boring to me, what on earth are you reading garbage like that for, dear gel?’ asked Charlie. ‘You should be buried in Virginia Woolf, much more your type, and such a life! Did I tell you she was a lesbian?’

  Lady Primrose threw her bread roll at Charlie, and he thanked her because Edward had eaten his.

  Throughout the meal David Collins ate like a bird, chewing each mouthful carefully, wiping his mouth after every swallow. He sipped a watery, milky-coloured drink that Humphrey topped up from a decanter kept separate from the other bottles. He seemed unconcerned with anything at the table, and paid no one the slightest attention, keeping his eyes on his plate.

&n
bsp; Charlie launched into another anecdote. ‘Did I tell you, Ma, the bomber pilot brought down near Cambridge is supposed to have been a German ex-undergraduate, jolly good example of those bastards’ thoroughness.’

  Lady Primrose looked puzzled and turned to Lord Freddy for assistance.

  ‘Mother, you really are unbelievable. No need for sir to deliberate, bugger tried to pass himself off as one of us.’

  Suddenly the whole table went quiet as David Collins spoke. ‘I hate the place, caught a devastating cold there.’

  Charlie had to put his hand over his mouth to stop himself bursting into a fit of giggles, and Edward noticed his mother doing the same.

  ‘Are you referring to Germany or Cambridge, old chap?’

  David looked blankly along the table as if he hadn’t spoken and sipped his cloudy drink.

  They were about to leave the dining room when David did it again. His voice was clear as a bell, but this time he was pointing at Edward. ‘Why is that fellow wearing Clarence’s cufflinks?’

  Everyone turned to Edward and then back to David. He seemed very lucid, and his pale blue eyes were staring hard at Edward. He pointed again, and his face was tight and angry.

  ‘You must be mistaken, darling, now come along, we are all going into the drawing room, and it’s time you went to bed, come along everyone, Edward, Charlie.’

  They trooped out, leaving David sitting at the table. Lady Primrose was the last to leave, and she turned when she reached the door. ‘Go to bed, David, you’re tired.’

  As the party crossed the hall they couldn’t help but overhear the high-pitched, bell-like voice rising in anger. ‘That chap’s got Clarence’s cufflinks on, I bought them for his twenty-first, I would know them anywhere. He’s a ruddy thief, I want the police called. Primmy, please don’t walk away when I’m talking to you. Who is that fella, and where is Clarence? He won’t like it, I am going to do something about this.’

  Charlie closed the sitting-room door with a wink to Edward and began to pour port and brandy, spilling it as he was already rather drunk. The raised voices continued out in the hall, and Charlie grabbed hold of Edward’s cuffs, swearing and trying to take out the cufflinks.

  ‘Better get ’em off, old chap, he’s liable to get into such a state. Here, give them over.’

  Lord Carlton looked on and the girls sat eagle-eyed on the settee as Charlie ran from the room. He left the door ajar, and they could all see the irate David standing with his cane in the hall.

  ‘Here, Father, take them, put them away safely so no one can take them, here, these are what you want, aren’t they?’

  Lady Primrose hovered at the door and gave Edward an apologetic shrug of the shoulders. The high-pitched voice continued, and now Humphrey could be seen trying to cajole David up the stairs, holding a cloudy drink out for him like a carrot to a donkey.

  ‘All I’m saying is, that chap has no right to be wearing Clarry’s cufflinks. When he comes back he’ll play hell, don’t like this sort of carry-on at all, not nice, throw the beggar out on his ear.’

  At last the door was shut, and everyone tried to cover up their embarrassment by talking at once. Edward sat with his sleeves flapping and his feet, in Clarence’s patent-leather shoes, hurting. At the first opportunity he excused himself, pleading a headache.

  He stood outside the door and knew they were talking about him. He hated the feelings churning inside him, hated being laughed at, but more than that he hated being the outsider. Edward had only just undone his tie and hung it on the doorknob when Charlie knocked and walked into the bedroom.

  ‘Look, sorry about all the carry-on down there, but the old man is out of it, been that way as long as I can remember.’

  ‘Just so long as he doesn’t undress me next time. You want Clarry’s suit back? Tie? Shirt?’

  Charlie thumped him on the shoulder and then sprawled on the bed. ‘You know Freddy was engaged to my mother when they were young, and then she ditched him for old loonydrawers . . . Apparently Freddy is still getting the old leg over her, and I can’t really say I blame him – or her, for that matter. Neither of them have what one could describe as perfect partners. Lord Freddy was married for his title – the little hairy woman is très riche, but poor Ma married for love.’

  Edward was unbuttoning his shirt. ‘What happened to your father?’

  ‘Well, it’s all cloaked in mystery, something like shell-shock. He was getting better for a while, then this scandal blew up . . . Well, that’s what Ma says put the lid on him.’

  Edward sat next to Charlie, cocking his head to one side. ‘Well, don’t stop there, you’ve got me hooked now . . .’

  Charlie’s face puckered, and then he stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘I don’t know all the facts, but I had an uncle – he was a boxing promoter. You know the kind – “Gentleman Jim” – with more money than he knew what to do with. Well, Pop took some tart to a boxing match – you know, bare-knuckle job. What the hell he was doing there I don’t know. But then he was a bit of a social climber, ya know, maybe thought it was infra dig. But he dragged poor old Freddy with him, and a bunch of debs too – not, I hasten to add, my dear mother, she’d never have been seen dead at a boxing match.’

  Edward could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickling again, and he started to feel cold, icy cold.

  ‘Well, go on,’ he said.

  Charlie continued, ‘Well, it all got out of hand and some blokes raped a gypsy girl. Then this tart tried to make Pa take her home. Well, he paid her off, and all of a sudden these horrific murders started, they called them the revenge murders . . . the gypsy revenge murders. Seems the lads who raped the girl were found bound and gagged, throats slit. Oh, yes . . . and some weird markings on their forehead, or so the story goes.’

  Edward stared at his tie. It was hanging down the door like a noose, a hangman’s noose.

  Charlie yawned and sat up, rubbing his head. ‘Next thing, this whore reappears, saying she’s going to stand as a defence witness for this gyppo, who was charged with the murders, and she wants Pa and Freddy to act as witnesses because they were at the fight. I think she wanted them as character witnesses, not for the gyppo but for herself, so you can imagine what a scandal that would start up . . . so they refused. Then Gentleman Jim, Uncle Charlie, swashbuckles his way into town. He wants this gyppo for his boxing stable, so he organizes all the legal buffs, and gets poor old Pa into such a state that he agrees to appear. He also gets Lord Freddy to stand up for this dreadful woman.’

  ‘What was she called?’

  ‘Dear God, I haven’t the slightest. You’ve no idea how tough it was trying to get that much out of Freddy, and he was pretty tight so I’ve no idea how much of that was true. Ma won’t even discuss it, says that if that tart hadn’t made such a fuss, Pa would never have had a relapse.’

  ‘What happened to the fighter?’

  ‘No idea. I was just getting to the nitty gritty when Freddy got all tearful . . . Apparently, this old bastard uncle, the gent I owe my name to . . . well, apparently he was a tough negotiator, blackmailed Freddy and Pa . . .’

  Edward interrupted. ‘How? What did he have on them?’

  Charlie stared at Edward, finding his interest a little distasteful. ‘Freddy never said what made them step forward, but . . . Look, what’s it to you?’

  ‘But what?’

  Charlie’s face tightened, then he shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s just deserts.’

  ‘I don’t follow?’

  ‘I didn’t really intend you to, old boy . . . It’s not something one likes to broadcast, but Clarry knew. Maybe that was why he couldn’t wait to get to the front, get himself shot in a decent hero’s death.’ He ran his hand along the name scratched on the bedpost, tracing the childish letters over and over with his fingers. Then he stuffed his hands back into his pockets, no longer joking; Edward felt that he was ashamed.

  ‘The old man, Edward, turned custard yellow and fled. He left his entire regiment to be
hacked to death, that’s why he’s loony. He can’t face the past, can’t face the truth . . . C’est la vie, huh?’

  Edward knew who the fighter was, knew the woman Charlie had referred to as a ‘tart’ was his mother, but he showed no sign that anything Charlie had said had affected him personally. He spoke flippantly, hoping to get more information. ‘So what happened to the tart and the fighter?’ he asked.

  Bored by the subject now, Charlie picked his nose, then lurched to his feet, dismissively. ‘God only knows. No doubt they lived happily ever after – luck of the gyppos, I suppose. And I’ve said too much, always do when I’ve been on the gin. Well, g’night, I’m falling asleep on my feet. See you on the morrow, old chum.’

  He sauntered out, and Edward relaxed, stretching his hands, his fingers . . . Then he undressed and lay, naked, on the small bed. He was sure Charlie had no inkling of his background, it had been sheer coincidence. Freedom Stubbs and Edward were too far apart, worlds apart now, and no one could link him with the gypsy and the ‘whore’, as Charlie had called her. He turned to lie on his belly. He would make sure no one else would make the connection.

  Softly, he practised his speech over and over again, listening to his voice, modulating the accent Lady Primrose had mimicked so poorly, flushing as he remembered. He knew she would have been horrendous to his mother, and he would have liked to shove the cufflinks down the old fool’s throat. He found himself wondering if his mother had been David Collins’ girlfriend, and why a man as well connected as the captain would have been involved with a girl like her. He would have liked to get up and leave there and then, but he was stuck without enough cash to walk away. Anyway, something held him here, held him to this dead boy’s room, to these half-dead people. Somehow he knew that by the end of the summer he would change.