The Talisman

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘What have you done with the blonde?’

  ‘Ah, she’s in the filing cabinet. Now are you going to come here, or do I have to drag you?’

  Edward pulled her to stand directly in front of him. He instructed her to close her eyes. She shut her eyes, and waited. She felt the warmth of his hands at her neck, and then something icy cold being draped around her. ‘This is an anniversary present, and it comes with my love . . . I love you, Harry . . . I love you.’

  He held up a mirror in front of her so she could see the spectacular diamond necklace. His face was concerned, wanting her approval . . . The outrageous necklace was tasteless and meant nothing to her. The words ‘I love you, Harry’ made her feel as if he had given her the world. She lifted her hand and with the tips of her fingers traced his mouth. An electric shock ran through his body, he wanted to draw her close, but he couldn’t. He was held by the expression in her eyes. There was such pain, such fragility . . . so much love. Her soft, barely audible ‘thank you’ made him want to break the moment, as he could see her as she had been all those years before standing in the broken chapel with the tiny gold bracelet. He pulled her roughly into his arms, too shy, too afraid she would see such vulnerability in him. ‘Oh, my Harry, I’m so bloody proud of you, you are the best-looking woman out there, do you know that?’ He sniffed, not allowing himself to cry, and he joked. ‘Well, you were, what the hell have you done to your hair?’

  ‘I gave it to Daisy Millingford.’

  He laughed, and he was back in control of his emotions again. He stood back to admire his necklace. He bowed to the door. ‘Your public awaits you, princess.’

  Alex watched them enter the main club room, their arms entwined around each other. Jodie’s voice made him start. She stood quietly at his side. ‘Eighty-five thousand pounds around her neck, each stone is perfect, he picked each one himself . . . he’s opened the box so many times it’s already worn . . . I think it’s rather old-fashioned . . . what do you think, Mr Barkley?’

  Alex said nothing. He had already said enough when Edward had shown him the necklace. It was similar to the one treasured by their mother only, instead of pearls, Edward had chosen diamonds. Alex touched the gold chain round his neck, and his mouth tightened. Edward had shown off the necklace with such pride, but Alex had been furious without really knowing why. He had even asked what had happened to the pearls; he knew where the gold was, round their necks, but the pearls? He had been stunned when Edward had told him they were buried with her, buried with their mother, and if he didn’t believe him, he suggested Alex should dig up the grave.

  Harriet became the centre of attention. Everyone admired the necklace, just as Edward confided to everyone exactly how much he had paid for it.

  Harriet danced over to Alex, with a glass of champagne. She made a camp, theatrical gesture with her hand indicating the necklace, then she giggled.

  ‘Rather makes me look like some ancient grand duchess, don’t you think?’ She hooked her arm through his, and snuggled close. ‘You know, I remember a poem I read once. It said something about painting a picture of the world, a big, big picture, and everything was painted on this picture, you know, everything that was beautiful, and then . . . then it was rolled up into a big ball . . .’

  Alex listened with only half an ear. He was tired, he wanted to leave. It was after twelve. Suddenly, she lifted her arms and spoke loudly, making everyone around them stop and stare. ‘I painted a picture of the world for you, and I rolled it into a ball, and let it roll to your feet. You picked it up in your arms, and threw it back.’

  Edward gave her a small frown of disapproval and she whispered to Alex. ‘He must have thought I was playing.’

  Alex excused himself. He asked Harriet to tell Edward he was leaving. She gave him a kiss, and made him promise to call her the following morning.

  Alex had always been aware of her strange energy, from the moment they had first met. Now he found it disturbing. When she was excited, she drew people around her, he could see it even now. The delighted faces of people listening to her, telling them stories, making them laugh. But it was all for Edward, her energy was fuelled by him; it was as if he, and he alone, could control it . . . just as she had said, if she could give him the world, wrap it up for him, hand it to him he would kick it back, thinking it was a game. She knows, he thought to himself, that crazy little lady knows. ‘Oh be warned, Alex,’ he told himself. ‘Never get to be the one in the middle; best stay well clear, get off their roller coaster or she could take you down with her.’

  Alex returned to the office to get his coat. He picked up the empty diamond case . . . the lid snapped shut. It was like an omen, and from that moment Alex made the decision to distance himself from Harriet.

  Harriet did call Alex a number of times to invite him for supper, even to meet him in town for lunch as she wanted his opinion on two trouser suits. Alex had refused, very politely. She detected the coldness immediately. She never called him again, never even mentioned it to Edward. She was saddened that he, Alex, could not have talked it over with her, but she understood. She had looked upon Alex as a friend, and was intelligent enough to be aware that perhaps it was not the wisest relationship. She missed him, she had liked him and she had very few friends. She made no attempt to contact Daisy whose forthcoming baby would remind her too much of her own dead son. She made a conscious effort not to allow old emotions to creep back. She was loved, and she was happy, she was safe in Edward’s love, and she stopped taking her pills.

  ‘Banks’ became established overnight, and the brothers watched the money roll in. Aware that the major part rolled straight into his brother’s pocket, Alex had mixed feelings, but he also watched it roll straight out again as they poured more and more money into legitimate businesses.

  The Panamanian company, sitting unused and unwanted, was turned into an insurance company. Edward flew out to install a manager, and when he returned, the company had one desk, one chair and one employee. The Barkley Company had yet another string to its bow, offering high-risk policies to all the major insurance companies. Edward was about to contact certain ‘friends’ employed by the massive Lloyd’s of London when Alex appeared, and he put the phone down. He didn’t want Alex to overhear his conversation.

  ‘Something up?’

  Alex asked if it would be all right to take a week off.

  ‘What for?’

  Alex told him about the American collector of seventeenth-century furniture who had died, and the auction was to be in Texas. He mentioned the possibility that something he was interested in would come on to the market.

  ‘Can’t you send someone over there for you?’

  ‘Not really – you see, if the rumours are correct, there will be a lot of dealers after it. I’d like to get in first, before them, and . . . Well, I don’t know who I could trust to authenticate it.’

  ‘What the hell is it?’

  ‘Well, it might be a bed – there’s never been a record of one on the market. It would be an investment. On the other hand . . .’

  ‘Bed? What the hell are you talking about? For Chrissake, send someone over from Christie’s or Sotheby’s; you don’t have to go yourself, do you?’

  About to reply, Alex was interrupted by Edward’s telephone. ‘Who? Oh, yeah, yeah . . . put him through in two seconds.’ Covering the phone with his hand, Edward said irritably that if Alex really felt he had to go, then go he should. Alex was dismissed, and Edward swivelled round in his chair, flicking the intercom switch. Alex had wanted to discuss other matters, but, faced with the back of the leather chair, he gave up and walked out. He paused briefly at the door, however, and overheard a little of Edward’s conversation.

  ‘Walter . . . Well, a voice from the past. Better not talk on the phone, why don’t we meet?’ Edward swivelled round again to make sure Alex had gone, then satisfied that he was alone he leaned his elbows on the table. ‘Best if we were to discuss it in private, Walter . . . No, no, it’s personal
. . . are you free this evening? No? Well, you name the day.’

  When he replaced the phone, he gave it a little pat of pleasure. Walter was now in a very high position in the Government, a position that would be useful to Edward, and the more he thought about it the better it seemed that Alex would be out of the country. He was going to ask his old friend Walter a small favour, one he knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse. He was sure a man in Walter’s position would not like a whisper getting out about a certain boating accident in Cambridge.

  Alex arrived in New York and went straight to Ming’s apartment. She did not return until evening, and even then she had to make four or five business calls before she could sit and relax over dinner. Unable to divert her mind from work, she consistently questioned him about the business, about the club. Had they had good press coverage on the decor, had he brought any of the press cuttings with him? Alex took her hand, pulled her to him. ‘I’ve come here to get away from the club, away from business.’

  Ming smiled, kissed him. ‘I’m sorry, but I have been with my accountants all day – it just gets to me sometimes, all the money I have to carve up and hand over to Edward – and for what? He doesn’t do a damned thing.’

  Alex didn’t want to get into an argument with her, but he still made his own feelings quite plain. ‘Not quite that, Ming. He did front your business, and without him you might still be in the south of France.’

  ‘You know that is not true. I would have made it. Maybe not quite so fast, but I would, on my own – without Edward. You can tell him that, and you can also tell him I am about ready to buy him out of his share in the company as he agreed I could, if the time came.’

  Alex released her hand and ran his mind back over Ming’s accounts. She must have been making a lot more money than she accounted for, because Alex knew precisely how much she was declaring.

  Ming sensed his withdrawal, and she slipped on to his lap, kissing his neck. ‘You know, you should be my partner – is there any way you could get Edward to give you his contract, make it over to you? Don’t tell him it would be me buying him out, you do it, and then . . .’

  Alex buried his face in her neck, kissing her softly, but his mind was racing. Could Edward have been right about her, was she out for all she could get? Did she really care for him? ‘Have you given any thought to getting married? We will have to tell Edward sooner or later . . . and then, well, I would like a son . . .’

  He felt her tense in his arms, although she still held him, still stroked his cheek. ‘We’re just fine as we are, and, well, I don’t think I am really the maternal type . . . Did I tell you I have arranged for us to fly to Dallas? I’ve already made some drawings for Mrs Hunter Hardyman, and Alex . . . all I need is one good contact, she is like royalty out there, and rich.’

  She slid off his knee, glowing as she told Alex that every time Barbara Hunter Hardyman drew breath she made a million. ‘I just need one intro, just one, then I can take it from there . . .’

  Suddenly Alex felt tired, his head throbbed. He excused himself, saying he would just lie down for a while, it must be jet lag. Ming was very attentive, bringing him iced water and aspirin. She laid a cool cloth on his head, and he closed his eyes. She sat next to him, looking down into his handsome face as she spoke. Her voice was soft, distant. ‘Alex, I can’t have children, I’m sorry, I should have told you.’

  He lay still with his eyes closed and said nothing. Eventually he felt her move from the bed and leave the room. He got up, opened his briefcase, took out his calculator and began to go over Ming’s accounts. If there were discrepancies, she had covered them, but still he felt uneasy, in some way betrayed. Edward’s voice echoed in his brain: ‘She’s old, she’ll never give you a family . . . she’s out for all she can get. You’re her meal-ticket, only you’re too dumb to realize it . . .’

  Unconsciously Alex began to twist the gold medallion; it had become a habit when he was disturbed. He also thought that perhaps Ed had been right, just as he was right about so many things, almost as if he had second sight.

  At breakfast the following morning Ming was as sweet as ever, teasing him that he had been in such a deep sleep that she had not liked to disturb him. She was dressed in a neat black suit over a white blouse with an Eton collar. She was ready to travel. Together they caught the flight to Dallas.

  Ming had brought all the brochures for the auction, and she showed Alex the details of what they hoped was a bed. It was described as, ‘Various Kang table legs, made from Huang-Hua-Li wood, apron carved with dragon design’. There were also a number of other pieces from the same period, as the old billionaire had been a renowned collector. Alex was fascinated, and at last he began to relax, asking Ming what she knew of the Hunter Hardyman family. She told him they were oil barons, and what she had gleaned from the society columns. Then, as businesslike as ever, went on to say she had cabled the ranch, they were expecting him, and she had booked them into a hotel, in adjoining rooms. She laughed. ‘We may be in luck, we are three weeks ahead of the auction and the valuation officers are still there. They have been sent from both Sotheby’s and Christie’s, but I am sure if you offer the right price you will get the pieces, everything, everyone, has a price . . .’

  Alex looked at her, then turned to stare out of the plane window. He wondered if Ming, too, had her price.

  On their arrival in Dallas, they booked into the exclusive Del-a-Mare Hotel, then hired a helicopter to take them on to the Hunter Hardyman ranch. Ming handed Alex a local newspaper with an article marked for him to read.

  Already there had been some press coverage of Alex’s visit, and he knew Ming must have organized it as the article said that Alex Barkley, the previous owner of one of the most magnificent châteaux in France, was in New York to discuss further projects with Ming, the successful and most sought-after designer, and to talk about possible residence in Texas. He had to hand it to Ming, she wasted no time, and already the hotel desk clerk was passing him numerous invitations from Texan high society, requesting his presence at charity balls.

  ‘Well, you have been a busy girl . . .’ He couldn’t help feeling irritated, and his mood worsened when she took the invitations and sifted through them.

  ‘Good, this is good. I will make sure my secretary sends them my own brochures, there is a property boom over here, perhaps you should think about buying some land.’

  Again Alex had that niggling feeling at the pit of his stomach, but he said nothing.

  They had been travelling for over three-quarters of an hour when Alex asked the pilot, Jeff, how far it was to the Hunter Hardyman ranch. He shouted back over his shoulder. ‘We’ve been over their land for the past ten minutes. Far as the eye can see, everything from now on belonged to the old man . . . He was one helluva guy, take a look below and you’ll see what I mean.’

  Alex was stunned. There were hundreds of square miles of land from which rose oil wells and refineries, buildings with bright-red letters twenty or thirty feet high saying, ‘Hunter Hardyman’. They flew over what looked like silver-topped warehouses, but were actually aeroplane hangars. Alex shouted to the pilot, ‘Those hangars filled with private planes, Jeff?’

  ‘Hell, no, they’re filled to the rafters with stuffed animals. The old guy was the last of the great white hunters, crammed the place with all his trophies. There are more stuffed tigers in there than they got left in the goddamn jungles . . . They say he was after the white buffalo, an’ shot everything in sight hopin’ it’d be the poor bastard . . . Okay, now you’re hittin’ their cattle land, look, far as the eye can see, and it’s still Hardyman land. And off to the right, that’s the biggest tile factory in the United States, ships them all over the world . . . More cattle coming up on your left . . . An’ up ahead you see the herd of horses, thoroughbreds all of ’em – you ever seen a herd like it?’

  As they flew on and on, the overpowering wealth of Hunter Hardyman began to dawn on Alex. He had thought himself rich – now he was seeing wealth b
eyond his wildest dreams.

  ‘You can see the oil wells, the fields stretch for two hundred miles east, see the pylons?’

  Coming into view in the distance, rising out of the heat haze, was a sprawling ranch house, four storeys high with eight white pillars before an arched entrance. Miles of velvety lawns were sprayed constantly with water to keep them lush and green. A vast swimming pool at the side of the house was surrounded by changing rooms, a barbecue and a tiled patio. Sunbeds with brightly coloured canopies littered the poolside. Alex’s stomach lurched as the ’copter began its descent. Now he could make out the guards patrolling the white perimeter fence.

  ‘Are those guards armed, Jeff?’

  ‘Yep, sure thing, sir. They got a hundred of ’em, the old boy was paranoid about kidnapping . . . Okay, here we go, buckle up and sit tight.’

  Way below them by the Olympic-size swimming pool, two figures lay sunbathing. Ming stared down at them through a pair of binoculars, then turned to Alex. ‘I think they must be her daughters, she has two. She’s divorced now . . . she must be older than I thought, they look quite old. Here, do you want to see?’ She offered him the binoculars, but he refused, and she began to survey the ranch.

  ‘Oh, by the way, she’s called Mrs Taverner, Barbara Taverner.’

  The entrance hall was so vast it could have been a ballroom, with a tiled floor and marble in such profusion it dazzled the eye. Alex found the hall cool, almost cold, the chill of the marble adding to the effect of the air conditioning. No servant appeared to greet them. She looked at Alex and shrugged. The crystal chandelier, out of place in the ranch house, tinkled in the cool air.

  Three men wearing light suits and open-necked shirts, with their ties pulled loose, appeared through double doors from a room off the hall. Alex introduced himself, but the men seemed none too interested. Alex was not prepared to turn round and go back after coming all this way. The men were about to move on. Firmly, Ming took charge. ‘Mr Barkley cabled from New York that we would be here, surely there must be a secretary, someone we could speak to?’