Bored by her uncle’s conversation, Harriet concentrated on stuffing herself with trifle. Edward asked BB if the Wall Street Crash had affected him. The big man put his napkin down and turned to Edward, although he threw his voice to the whole table. He thumped the table, making the pudding spoons jump, and said he had got out in time. ‘I wish I could say the same for many of my friends – good friends that were bled dry, men who had to face creditors and so gambled on the markets that had already crumbled beneath them.’ He swept the dining table with a theatrical gesture, forcing everyone to listen as he described the fate of many of his colleagues in New York. Mrs Simpson raised her eyes heavenward, having heard this story, like everyone else, many times before.
‘There were men appealing for time, many became foolish, taking risks they would never have attempted before the crash . . . One close associate who shall remain nameless, but a true, dear friend of mine and my dear wife’s, tried to recoup his losses, based on the old Roman maxim, caveat emptor – buyer beware!’
Richard Van der Burge looked at his mother and yawned, but his father held forth and fixed his son with such an icy stare that the boy pursed his lips and looked down at his plate instead. BB continued, ‘In 1933 the Securities Act effectively made it mandatory in all stock dealings for the seller to beware. It was a tough new legislation, and I was lucky to get out without undue losses. Men were up to their necks in lawsuits, all resulting from disputed market dealings and loans. Bankruptcy is a terrible thing, and a friend of mine who fell foul of the hungry vultures wrote on a notepad over and over again, “My life is worthless, worthless, worthless, I am a failure.” Then he shot himself in a New York cocktail bar. That man’s life had been a veritable victory, rising from nowhere, nothing, to dominate the banking world for ten years.’
BB was finally silenced by Allard waving his spoon in the air and loftily asking if anyone knew what Beau Brummel’s last words were?
‘As they carried the dying Brummel from his impoverished room in Paris, he was heard to say, “I owe no one.”’
When dinner was over, Mrs Simpson stood up, saying she, Sylvia and Harriet would take coffee in the library. Allard and Richard sprang up and both rushed to the doors, giggling. The Judge only lasted until he had drained his brandy glass, then departed to his bedroom, complaining of wind. Edward was thankful they had left him alone with BB, and began to question him in a roundabout, flattering way. BB was a sharp man. He smiled, poured himself a glass of port and held it to the light, murmuring that he hoped it would not be of the same poor quality as the rest of the meal. ‘I am a self-made man, Edward lad, and I am proud of it, proud. I began in South Africa, I went over there with one hundred pounds in my pocket, and eight years later I was a multi-millionaire. Ever heard of the great Kimberley mine, son? Look at this, see, this was the first diamond I mined with my own hands, look at the colours, beautiful, isn’t it?’ He held his tie-pin up to the light, then placed it in Edward’s hand. Edward held it and turned it over, then returned it to BB’s big, open palm.
‘The gold pin was made from my first gold nugget. I struck it rich, my boy; my quarry returned five thousand ounces of gold from thirteen tons of ore, my shares rose from one pound to one hundred and fifty. Those were the days, these hands raking the ground hour after hour, but my God, when you strike, there’s no better feeling on this earth – better than sex, lemme tell you. No woman on earth can give you a climax like the one you get when you strike it rich. I’ve seen a gold nugget the size of that decanter, weighing in at twelve pounds – the Peacock nugget – Jesus God, my friend, I seen men weeping just looking . . . and I was there, right at the beginning. Gold, it can’t clothe a man like wool, can’t even arm them like iron, warm them like coal, feed them like corn, but – and pay close attention to this, lad – gold can buy all the others, and that’s what it’s all about.’
It was two hours later when Edward and BB joined the rest of the party, BB having consumed an entire decanter of port. His face was flushed and his small eyes glinted, and he strolled into the lounge with his arm around his new friend’s shoulders. The others were playing charades, and BB shattered the relaxed, informal atmosphere as he strode into the centre of the room and declared that he wished his own son had the intellect of his new-found friend. ‘There’s a job waiting for this lad when he gets out of university, and you’re all my witnesses. This lad is going places, I know, I can tell, which is more than I can say for everyone else gathered here. Finance is what rules the world, and I say there would be no war on right now – no bastard Germans herding Jews into the concentration camps – there wouldn’t be a war if there had been no Wall Street Crash.’
Embarrassed by his father, as everyone else also appeared to be by now, Richard tried to hand him a cup of coffee, but BB stood in the centre of the room, legs apart. ‘You young people don’t understand finances. Take the Messerschmidt – now then, when the crash came, where was Willy Messerschmidt, tell me that? I’ll tell you – in Germany, waiting to see if the Eastern Aircraft Corporation at Pawtucket, Rhode Island, had crashed, and when he discovered it was in trouble his hopes of building a secret air force to prepare Germany for another war were dashed, but had they? No! The bastard facing financial ruin was kept going by Hitler himself. It was Hitler who knew the man was a genius, and financed him, and, by Christ, look what havoc those planes are creating. There would be no war – no war – if the Wall Street Crash hadn’t happened. It caused Germany’s growing economic crisis to escalate, just as it improved Hitler’s chance of gaining office. The Reich was tied to the American economy more closely and – not many people know this – massive loans from Wall Street helped finance the German reparation payments and the post-war reconstruction projects. That’s how that man got into power, the Wall Street Crash should never have been allowed to happen . . .’ BB swayed, still standing in the centre of the room.
Harriet, bored, curled up on the sofa with a copy of Horse and Hound. Allard kept taking sneaky looks at his watch, and twice he tried to exchange amused glances with Edward, but received no reaction, so he turned back to Richard. Unlike his father, Richard had no South African accent. He had been educated at Eton and was, so Edward had overheard, going into his father’s business. They were at present negotiating with two renowned dealers in Hatton Garden.
As they prepared for bed that night, BB commented to his wife, ‘Good chap, that young fella, Edward. Liked him – reminded me of myself at that age.’
The next evening Edward again spent most of dinner talking to BB. The man knew everything there was to know about mining, and Edward was so involved that he didn’t look at Harriet once throughout the meal. She was hurt by his ignoring her and reverted to childish behaviour, squabbling with Allard and Richard. As usual, the Judge and his wife discussed hunting and the details of preparing the horses.
‘How’s the chap doing, Harriet? Can’t have one of us letting the side down – have to go over and have a word with the master of the hunt as it is. What do you say, Harriet, he make it, you think?’
Edward heard Harriet say that he would be able to hold his own, he could more than likely outride Richard already. Richard laughed, looked at Edward and said that he had tamed the wildcat, Harry was actually being nice to someone. Allard joined in the teasing, shouting across to Edward that Harriet was love-struck. She blushed, and threw a tantrum, hurling a bread roll so hard it bounced off the table and hit the Judge.
‘That’s enough, Harriet, now go to bed. Now! We’ve had enough of your antics. Out – I mean it – out!’
Harriet stormed out, slamming the door. They finished their dinner without further interruption. Later, Edward played draughts with BB, who would not stop until he had won three sets. He sat opposite Edward, chewing on his cigar, slamming his fist down on the board when Edward beat him.
‘Right, my friend, one more set, and this time I’ll get you on the hop.’
It was after twelve when the evening broke up and everyone drifte
d off to bed. The plumbing creaked from the extra usage. His teeth chattering, Edward went to his room and dived between the chilly sheets. He could still hear the distant murmur of voices, but eventually all was quiet. He was just dropping off to sleep when the bedroom door creaked open.
Harriet, her face tear-stained and glum, stood there in her thin cotton nightie. ‘Why were you so nasty to me at dinner, you totally ignored me. What have I done?’
Edward sat up and told her to go back to her room immediately, she hadn’t done anything, far from it.
‘What do you mean? You didn’t look at me once.’ She crept to the bed and sat down, her bare feet blue with cold.
‘Harry, you are fourteen years old, and it’s not done to come to a fellow’s bedroom at this time of night.’ In a whisper as loud as most people’s normal speaking voice, Harriet asked why?
‘You know why, it’s not on, what if anyone were to see you here? Now be a good girl and go back to bed.’
Stubbornly, she remained sitting, rubbing her chilled feet against each other.
‘Harry, I’ll see you in the morning as usual, now go back to bed.’
She slunk off the bed, pouting moodily, padded to the door and glared back at him. Then her eyes filled with tears and she turned to walk out.
‘Harry, don’t get upset with me, I didn’t mean to ignore you, I give you my word, it’s just that . . .’
She cocked her head to one side, her long hair tumbling around her shoulders. ‘Just what?’
Edward held out his hand and she crept back to hold it tightly.
‘Just nothing, I’ll see you in the morning, goodnight.’
She flung herself in his arms and hugged him. He could smell Pears soap. Then she bounced off the bed again, happy, gave him a cheeky grin and banged out.
Edward closed his eyes. She was so noisy, he thought, she would wake the whole house. He listened, but all was silent. He knew he would have to tread very carefully with Harry, she was as frisky as a puppy. He pulled the bedclothes around him and could smell the Pears soap, feel her warm, lovely body. Christ almighty, he had a hard-on again, he knew he would have to get himself laid soon, the sooner the better.
One night, after his draughts session with Edward, BB appeared, puffing, on the top landing. ‘Look, old fella, been going through my wardrobe. Put on a lot of weight, doubt if I’ll make the hunt – gout, you know – but it’s a pity to waste all this gear . . . Now then, you’re a big chap, what do you think?’ He held out an armful of hunting togs, jackets, boots, a polished black topper. Edward knew why he had come up, and he invited BB into the cold bedroom. BB had a look at all the books laid out on the desk, then sat down.
‘See you’re still hard at it, jolly good, interesting.’
Edward showed BB his work, and they discussed mining. BB rubbed his hands complaining of the cold, and disappeared briefly to return with two glasses and a bottle of brandy.
‘I hear you’ve no family, son. That right?’
Edward told him it was, and that he was having difficulty making ends meet, but he was determined to finish his studies at Cambridge.
‘Short of cash are you, lad? Well, we’ll see to it that you make ends meet. In return, I want you out on the first seaplane to South Africa when you’ve finished at university. What do you say? It’ll be the chance of a lifetime, and you’ll have more than opportunity – you’ll have me, and any introduction I can give you. It’s wide open there for the likes of you, prepared to work hard for their chance.’
Fortified by the Judge’s excellent brandy, BB found himself talking more like a father to Edward than his own son. ‘I had two good boys, you know about them? They were like me, you know, eager to go into the business, good, hard-working lads, and I’ve always maintained that if you want to go into a business you start from the bottom, work your way up, whether you’re the boss’s son or not. If you don’t know what the workers do, you don’t understand them . . . My father was a penniless immigrant in the East End. He slaved to get me my stake, never saw me strike it rich, but I owe him a debt . . . never forget your debts, son, that’s another important lesson.’
Edward was taken aback when the big man suddenly sat on the bed and took out his silk handkerchief. ‘They died along with twenty-five kaffirs. When they dug them up, the eldest boy had tried to save two of the workers, his body lying over theirs . . . It took them five days to dig out the youngest lad.’
Edward poured another measure of brandy and handed it to the big man.
‘I’m not a chap to show my emotions, got to keep up a front for the wife. Marry a strong woman, Eddie, one who’ll stand by you through thick and thin, or never get yaself hitched. There’s women the world over that’ll give you any satisfaction you need below the belt – have that rather than tie yaself down . . . not worth the heartache.’
The intimacy of their friendship in that huge, cold bedroom was never shown to the rest of the family. BB would revert to his usual blustering self with the others, arguing with the Judge on politics, war, anything that took his fancy. The other side of this complex man was reserved for his private drinking sessions with his new pal Edward. But occasionally the big, robust man could not help but give an affectionate pat to Edward’s shoulder, the fondness glowing in his flinty eyes. These familiar, almost loving, gestures did not go unnoticed by the rest of the household.
Allard couldn’t resist making snide remarks to Richard. ‘Watch out, old chap, that’s a very ingratiating fella – even got Harriet eating out of his hands like one of her nags . . . Appears he’s done the same with your father.’
Richard did take note, and had a quiet talk with his mother. She assured her son that his father was just being friendly. He missed his friends back in South Africa and appeared to have a lot in common with Edward.
‘Just so long as it’s not Pa’s money, that’s fine, keeps him out of my hair.’
The morning of the first meet was clear, and the whole household gathered in the hall. Mrs Simpson looked almost attractive in her black habit, black topper, lace veil and immaculate, gleaming boots. Allard, the Judge and Richard, all equally smart, checked their appearance in the hall mirror. They were joined by Edward, who felt uncomfortable in BB’s riding kit, and even more by their scrutiny, concerned he might let the side down. Seeing him so well kitted out, however, they accepted him and the Judge even fixed Edward’s cravat for him. He gave him so many instructions about what to do and say when he met the Master of the Hounds that Edward’s head reeled. He began to understand why the Judge kept quiet about being only a clergyman’s son, why they were so delighted with the invitation with the gold crest . . . they really were as much social climbers as himself, and it amused him because they were taking him right along with them. Their obsession with the correct procedures for the hunt arose from the fact that they were not original members of the local social set, and now they were about to move up a notch. As they walked out to the stables, Edward was feeling as buoyant as they so obviously did.
Harriet moved to Edward’s side. She looked quite beautiful under the black lace veil, her red hair braided as if to match her horse’s tail. ‘Remember everything I’ve told you. Keep well to the back, don’t try and be clever, just hold him in and don’t let him take the lead. Control him – he’ll want to join the leaders. Keep him reined in – he’s very powerful, but you’d not be able to keep up with the Master, so let him know who’s boss. As soon as you see riders breaking away, you can leave without disgrace . . . If you fall, remount, ride on, don’t let the hounds worry you.’
His head was teeming with instructions, and it didn’t help that BB’s hat was a trifle too tight.
Along the way the farm workers stopped in the fields and waved to them, and the Judge, leading the group, touched his crop to his topper. Long before they reached the village they could hear the hounds, and as they turned into the square the noise became ear-splitting. The loose hounds ran back and forth, baying excitedly, and the eight p
airs held by the handler on long leads barked hysterically. Edward was surprised to see how many riders there were – on beautifully groomed mounts with braided manes and tails. The horses were frisky, some rearing and trotting sideways, others jerking their heads up and down. Above the noise of the hounds and the restless horses could be heard the high-pitched voices of the riders.
A large silver tray of punch was being offered around, and the public house, The Feathers, was overflowing with farm workers and valets. Six of the mounted men wore hunting pink, and three more stood on the cobbles, horns at the ready. Edward stayed on the edge of the circle, and nearly lost his topper when he leaned down to take a small silver cup of punch.
A palomino, its tail braided with black ribbons, began to sidestep as if dancing. His woman rider bent forward and patted his neck, and he kicked out again. She trotted on, wheeling him round to calm him. She sat side-saddle, wearing a long, black skirt, a black jacket tight at the waist and flared over the hips. Her cravat was white, and her flat topper was veiled with black, a long swirl of black net trailing behind her. ‘Walk on, thatta boy, walk on, good boy.’
She was stunning, her arrogant head held high, her black leather-clad hands holding the matching crop, and Edward stared. Suddenly she turned the horse and trotted towards him. As she approached, he realized it was Lady Summercorn. She brought her horse to a stop and gave him a tiny smile. ‘We’ve missed you. You promised to come over and see us. Perhaps later on today, unless you have a prior engagement?’
Edward touched his topper, flashed a smile. ‘I would like that, thank you.’
The Master commanded the hunt to ‘walk on’, and the riders began leading their horses out of the village square. Edward stayed at the back of the pack, as instructed, and Lady Summercorn rode beside him. The pace was easy and slow as they manoeuvred their mounts through the narrow village lanes.
The Talisman Page 21