Excited, Edward clapped his hands, thumped Alex on the back. He was making phone calls before Alex had finished.
The brass plate outside the club said simply, ‘Banks’. The closed membership had given rise to many people fighting to join. The gaming rooms contained American roulette (with double zero giving advantage to the house), blackjack, punto banco, French roulette, craps, and baccarat, and there were two rooms for private high-stakes poker games.
On the ground floor was an exclusive restaurant, with a larger room leading off containing a small dance floor and a cabaret stage. The interior, so elegant and ornate, drew people like magnets. High-class American acts were hired, and a six-piece band. The staff wore uniform, the hostesses dressed in fashionable evening gowns. All the girls had been hand-picked for looks by Edward himself.
It was made clear to the girls from the word go that he wanted no tricks being turned, no girls earning extras on the side. They were there only for decoration and to be pleasant to the customers, without behaving like hookers.
Six young chorus girls were hired. Their costumes were showy, glitzy and sexy, their routines provocative. They were to open the two sessions of the cabaret, at nine o’clock and midnight. There was just enough room for their routine on the small floor.
Tirelessly, Edward supervised every item in the club, double-checking with Alex, vetting the first night’s guest list for class, contacts and, above all, wallets. ‘No good getting in a crowd that don’t have a cent to their names, so make sure we mix and match.’
Alex was kept on the go, organizing the cashiers, checking croupiers, barmen, doormen. They had to have exemplary credentials, otherwise they were dismissed without wasting a second. The brothers had to watch their backs, knowing how much could be siphoned off.
At last everything was set, and Edward called all the male staff into the restaurant – the chefs, waiters, doormen, croupiers and cashiers. As always, Alex remained in the background, watching from the office door as Edward called them to order. The whole room hushed as Edward waved his hand for silence, standing taller than any of them, wearing a white dinner jacket, a cigar clamped between his teeth. His speech was short and to the point, telling them simply that they had been hand-picked, they were special. He stressed to them that if the club did well they could all expect a bonus. ‘There will also be a large bonus for any member of staff discovering any in-house fiddling, backhanders, from the roulette tables down to the ladies’ powder-room tips. If any member of staff even suspects something is going on, they must come to me in confidence, and they will be rewarded for their loyalty . . . I don’t have to tell you what will happen to anyone caught with their fingers in the till. The reason I have called you all here, from the head waiter to the washers-up, is that this is a family, one big family, and anyone stepping outside the family circle must be dealt with. The success of the club depends on you all, and I assure you, the more successful we are the higher will be your financial rewards . . . Thank you.’
Alex watched them file out. They were cocky, self-assured, proud. Edward had such a manner that even the lowliest of the kitchen staff behaved as if they had a share in the club.
Alex and Edward sat together in the private office and Edward, expansive as ever, opened a bottle of champagne. ‘Christ, what a night it’s going to be, this place’ll be a gold mine, bloody gold mine! I’ll have punters fighting for membership – that’s the trick, don’t let ’em in easy and they come knocking at your door . . . here’s to us, to Banks.’
Alex raised his glass and toasted the club. The intercom on the desk buzzed, and he flicked it on, then picked up the phone, covered the mouthpiece. ‘Just give everything the once-over for me, would you?’
Dismissed, Alex gave a mock bow. ‘Anything you say.’
As soon as the door closed behind Alex, Edward spoke into the phone. ‘Send her in . . .’ He picked up Alex’s untouched glass and held it out to Jodie as she entered.
Chosen for her background and experience in three other clubs, Jodie was the head girl. Tall, with elegant shoulders, she wore a long, skin-tight, sequinned dress that flared from the knee into layers of net. Her hair was dressed in a neat coil at the back, swept up to show off her perfect neck and high cheekbones. She closed the door and leaned against it, smiled and arched one of her carefully pencilled eyebrows. ‘I’ve contacted everyone, they know the score. And I put the list in the top drawer of the safe.’
She took the glass of champagne Edward offered her, her long red nails brushing his hand. ‘Cheers . . . Let’s hope it goes off well.’
‘There’s no hoping, sweetheart – it’s imperative, and I’ve left nothing to chance – nothing.’
More than anyone else Jodie knew just how careful Edward had been, and why he had chosen her above all the other girls. She was on a big salary, double that of most of the others, and she had a dual job. She was to oversee the girls employed in the club, but she was also to make sure that certain clients were taken care of. Using Dora’s stash of films and list of clients, Jodie’s job was to make them aware that their little foibles could be well taken care of. Not at the club, but Jodie would be their contact. Edward had kept Dora’s information to himself – Alex had not the slightest idea it existed.
Jodie sipped the champagne and smiled over the rim of the glass. ‘Club’s name’s good, Banks . . . “in” joke, is it? Barkley’s Bank?’
Edward laughed, then got down to business, following Dora’s initiative. He had bought a large house in Notting Hill Gate, in a very exclusive area. From the outside it looked eminently respectable, but all its bedrooms had been carefully decorated to suit certain clients’ ‘tastes’. Jodie’s hand-picked girls would be under her direct supervision. It was another, very exclusive, part of Banks.
‘Just make sure, Jodie, that my name is never, never mentioned. There must be no connection whatever between me and the house. One word leaks out and you’ll be out of a job along with the girls, so make sure they don’t even know my name.’
She hitched up her dress, adjusted her stocking seam and told him it was all taken care of. She gave Edward a small salute and swanned out.
Watching her leave, Edward thought, ‘what a waste’. She was a very beautiful woman, but then so was her girlfriend. The reason Jodie was in control was because she hated men, and Edward had gone to great pains to find her. He laughed – that old slag Dora had certainly known her business.
Harriet wore a stunning pearl-encrusted white gown. Her hair was coiled into a thick long braid of false hair, threaded with pearls. Edward introduced her to everyone, and they all were impressed with the very glamorous Mrs Barkley. Harriet appeared to know already a lot of the society people, and took Alex by surprise. She gave no outward show of nervousness. Her familiarity with the upper echelons of the English aristocracy was obvious. Her class reared its head, and she made many introductions, never putting a foot wrong. She was very calm and serene; the tomboy quality had been replaced by a new sophistication.
Alex stood to one side, he remembered Dora, the small Masks club. He smiled to himself thinking how she would have loved to swan around tonight. It was all going very well, in fact better than he had dared to hope and he turned to search the room for his brother. Edward was always easy to find, head and shoulders above everyone else. Like Harriet, he had the same ability to appear attentive, always giving the other person the impression that whatever he or she was saying was of the utmost importance, but somehow Edward had perfected the act and could actually note everything else that was going on around him while he was listening. He didn’t miss a trick. They make a good pair thought Alex as he turned from Harriet back to Edward. Alex saw the flash of pride in his brother’s face as he edged further into the shadows, unnoticed, and able to watch as his brother passed behind her. He saw him rest his hand on her neck. The caress was somehow showing her off as his property and that touch made her stop in mid-sentence and rub her cheek against Edward’s hand. She turned to follo
w his progress through the milling guests. Alex was fascinated, her eyes were bright, like a child’s, and then her smile froze and he could almost feel her panic. Alex had to crane his neck to see who Edward had joined.
He was speaking to Jodie, his head close, and he was whispering something. Jodie then stood on tiptoe and cupped her hand over her mouth to hide what she was saying. They appeared intimate, close, and Alex’s heart sank. If he had seen it and felt something was going on, then he knew Harriet must be aware of it too. He moved quickly to her side. ‘Everything all right?’ he asked.
‘Everything is fine,’ she retorted, ‘who’s that blonde woman with Edward?’
Alex shrugged, said she was just one of the girls. They both saw the secretive pair enter the door marked ‘Private’. Alex reached for Harriet’s hand, and gave it a squeeze. He looked at her eyes closely, her pupils were enlarged. ‘What are you staring at?’
‘Nothing . . . nothing, I was just thinking what a lucky man my brother is.’ She had obviously seen Edward’s interaction with Jodie. Her whole body was tense with jealousy. Before Alex could calm her down he heard someone screech. ‘Harryyyy.’
Moving towards them with a lot of waving and floating panels of chiffon came a heavily pregnant Daisy Millingford. She was flushed, and dragging a chinless, equally sweating husband. ‘Gosh Harry, I was hoping I’d see you, this is Charlie, you remember Charlie?’
Harriet turned with any icy expression. ‘No, and you are?’
Daisy was taken aback. ‘Oh Harry, don’t be so beastly, it’s Daisy. I’m married. I sent you an invitation, don’t you remember? Charlie Lambert, this is Harriet Simpson, or I should say Barkley.’
Poor Daisy was met with such a disdainful look she turned nervously to her Charlie. ‘Oh sweetheart, I’m in dire need of a fizzy drink, would you mind?’ He jumped to attention hurrying after a waiter. Daisy tried to cover the embarrassing moment holding out her hand to Alex. Harriet made no effort to introduce him. ‘Hello, I actually met you at your wonderful château in France, but I’m sure you won’t remember me.’
Alex murmured that he was delighted to renew their acquaintance. He insisted they move to a table. When they were seated, Alex leaned close to Harriet, who stared with a fixed glower towards the still closed office door. He whispered that he would bring Edward to meet Daisy.
The two girls sat opposite each other. Daisy began talking non-stop. ‘I’m preggers, due in two months . . . we’ve bought a sweet little mews house in Maida Vale. It was in a dreadful state, but then Charlie isn’t qualified yet, he’s a law student.’
Harriet was staring into space and quite obviously not listening. Daisy battled on, her high-pitched voice getting slightly hysterical. ‘I say, have you seen anything of that Froggy chap you were engaged to? What was his name? You know that barn is still there. Oh, someone bought it and did it up, resold it for a fortune . . . do you live in town?’
Still Daisy got no response from Harriet. She couldn’t believe Harriet could be so rude. She gave a nervous laugh, patting her hair into place. ‘I’ll just go to the powder room. If Charlie comes, tell him I won’t be a moment.’
Daisy had to ease herself up, and pull down her dreadful dress. Suddenly, she turned angrily to Harriet. ‘I don’t know what I have ever done to you, Harry, but I was your friend, I’ve thought of you so often, even wished I could see you. You’ve changed, and if you don’t mind me saying, I think you are fucking rude . . .’ Daisy pushed her way to the ladies’ cloakroom.
Charlie brought Daisy’s drink to the table, hesitantly brushing his hair back with the palm of his hand. ‘Sorry I took so long but it’s freshly squeezed orange. She’s all right, isn’t she? Er . . . is it all right if I sit down? . . .’ He sat, and almost pulled the cloth off the table as he inched himself round on the velvet booth’s seat. ‘Whoops sorry . . .’
‘Are you happy, Charlie?’ Harriet asked him.
He appeared a trifle thrown by her question, then nodded his head. Harriet ordered a bottle of champagne and said she would go and look for Daisy.
She found her sitting in floods of tears on one of the small stools in the ladies’ powder room. ‘Oh, Daisy, Daisy, I am sorry, so sorry.’ Harriet sat next to her friend and hugged her close.
Daisy sniffed, and gulped back tears. ‘I’m being stupid, it’s just you look so beautiful, and I feel such a fat, dumpy idiot.’
Harriet wiped Daisy’s face with a paper tissue. ‘Daisy, you look lovely, you know a pregnant woman always looks radiant, didn’t you know that? You are lovely, with your little round tum . . .’
Daisy looked into her friend’s face. She knew instinctively something was very wrong. ‘What is it, Harry? Have you had that old trouble again? Have you been ill again?’
Harriet bit her lip, and her eyes filled with tears, she swallowed, and then pulled a tissue from the box and blew her nose. Daisy remained quiet, simply sitting close. Harriet reached for her friend’s hand and held it tight. She was like a schoolgirl again, and once she’d started she couldn’t stop. ‘Oh Daisy, sometimes I just don’t know what to do. I love him so much, and I try so hard to be what he wants. You know, I have spent hours at the beauty parlour today, the hairdresser, this bloody false hair, even my nails are false . . . I’m on these pills to keep me calm, and it’s like I’m wrapped in a cocoon, but I’m scared to stop taking them in case I have one of my turns . . . you see I’m not what he wants, not really . . .’
‘Oh rubbish, what do you mean not what he wants, even Charlie’s eyes were out on stalks when he saw you . . .’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘Well, why don’t you try me?’
Harriet began to pace up and down. She turned and stared at herself. ‘I never was one for all this kind of thing you know. I mean, I try, of course I do . . . but, right now he’s in his office and he’s with another woman, and I don’t know what to do about it . . . Daisy, tell me what to do.’
Daisy snapped her little gold evening bag closed. She wagged her finger. ‘Well for a start, Harriet Simpson, you’ve got to stop thinking like this . . . you just remember how that man hounded after you in France. He didn’t marry one of those bleached blondes out there with dangling earrings, he married you . . . now just you get back to being Harry. If he’s bonking some bloody woman . . .’
‘What? . . . bonking?’
‘Yes, it’s the latest slang for getting the old leg over . . . if he’s having a bit on the side, give him a wallop and get off those bloody pills, do you have to take them?’
Harry gripped Daisy’s hand tightly, desperately. ‘Oh God, you won’t tell him, will you? He doesn’t know about me.’
‘Oh don’t be stupid, I don’t even see you any more . . . you want my advice? You go out there and make sure that dish you hooked toes the line. If he won’t, give him that left upper cut you’ve got . . .’
Daisy was now well into the role of maternal know-all. Harriet laughed, and hugged her friend with such force she almost toppled off the stool. Daisy grabbed the dressing table. ‘And I thought you’d changed, you’re still as clumsy as ever, you know the only time I’ve ever seen you co-ordinated was when you were sitting on a horse. You remember that time you rode on to Daddy’s lawn and he chased you round with the hose? . . .’
Harriet shrieked, her hand over her mouth remembering the occasion. Daisy began pulling more tissues from the box to wipe away tears of laughter, recalling how her father had soaked everyone with the garden hose, he had been in such a rage . . . Harriet went quiet, her lips trembled as if she were going to cry. Instead, she gently touched Daisy’s big swollen stomach. ‘I don’t ride . . . not any more. Take care of your baby, take care of him . . .’
Daisy cupped Harriet’s chin in her hands. Her puffy face was serious with concern. ‘You know sometimes, Harry, it’s best to turn a blind eye; not all the time, but you know what I mean . . . your old man will have a lot of temptations with this place, but you’re his wife . . . he chose
you. You love him, don’t you?’
Daisy felt as if she were talking to a child. There was a helplessness about her friend, a vulnerability that made her so touching . . . even more so when a single tear trickled down her face as she whispered, ‘I love him so, Daisy, I hurt inside, hurt so much sometimes I wish he’d never come back into my life. Do you feel that way about Charlie?’
Daisy laughed, ‘Good God, no . . . I just grabbed what I could get, and you should get out there before someone grabs what you’ve got . . .’
In five seconds Harriet was a different person. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, sniffed, and then did a comic Groucho Marx walk to the door. Daisy asked if she could have the name of her hairdresser as she rather fancied a similar false braid down her back. The next moment Harriet pulled off the hair switch and threw it across the room. Harriet winked, gave a small salute, and was gone.
Daisy picked up the hairpiece. The colour reminded her of Harriet’s chestnut mare, she wondered why Harry didn’t ride any more. The baby inside her kicked, and Daisy dropped the hairpiece into the bin, it was the wrong colour for her anyway.
Alex collided with Harriet as he came out of the office. Her hair was standing up on end, and he thought she was drunk. She gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Is he bonking that blonde in there?’ Without waiting for an answer, she entered the office. ‘Just what have you been up to, Mr Barkley?’ she said, her hands on her hips like Calamity Jane.
Edward walked round from his desk, and cocked his head to one side. ‘Well, Mrs Barkley, I could ask the same of you, you look as if you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards . . . come here, menace, right here and close your eyes.’
The Talisman Page 42