The Talisman

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘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.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Evelyn 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 . . .’

  Alex backhanded him so hard he fell against the desk. Evelyn picked himself up, rubbing his cheek, which was already swelling. He smiled . . . ‘Did you know when you sent me there, Pater, that if a woman is caught in a chap’s room one is expelled immediately, but if it’s another bloke you just get suspended for two weeks?’

  Evelyn took Alex’s breath away. Nothing anyone ever said or did to him had the slightest effect. He found himself almost smiling at Evelyn’s audacity, his barbed humour. He slumped into his chair, shaking his head. When he looked up Evelyn was smiling, a smile that mirrored Edward’s. Alex stared hard at his son until the smile was wiped away. The eyes that met his were identical to Edward’s, dark and unfathomable. It was Alex who looked away.

  He tried to ease up. ‘I’m sorry . . . okay, I shouldn’t have hit you, but things are getting on top of me here. I have no idea where your uncle is, and I have more than enough to cope with. I don’t need you causing problems, and you are one, you know that?’

  ‘Yes sir, I’m aware of being a bit of a pest. I can get a job if you like, sweeping the office.’

  ‘Add to it cocky, lazy but above all dumb . . . You are dumb, and I don’t mean academically . . . You’ve just blown your chances of getting a place in any other school . . . Wherever you go, you’ll be branded a thief, liar, cheat – like it? There is a possibility that I can get you a place in France, it would get you out of my hair . . . Will you look at me when I’m talking to you! Would you try it? Any other
school will turn you down after one look at your history. Sometimes money can’t buy you what you want . . .’

  ‘Does Mother know that? Seems to me she does very well for a woman who thought Gertrude Stein was a singing nun.’

  ‘Okay, go on, keep it up, you think it’s witty?’

  ‘I’d like to go to France, and I’m ready whenever you say.’

  Alex’s intercom buzzed and Miss Henderson said that he was already late for his meeting. Evelyn was half out of the door, but stopped as Alex called to him, ‘Hang on . . . don’t go, I’m not completely through. Thank you Miss Henderson, I’ll be right there.’

  Alex walked across to Evelyn and put an arm around his shoulder. ‘You know, all this bravado is one thing, but I want your word on something and I want you to promise me you’ll keep it.’

  ‘Sure, whatever you say.’

  ‘I’m serious . . . They mentioned you’d been smoking this marijuana stuff, well I want you to give me your word you won’t mess around with it. Do I make myself clear? You will be in a foreign country, they have their own laws . . . You get copped with drugs on you and you’re on your own . . . Do I have your word on it?’

  Alex gave his son’s shoulder a squeeze, murmured that he would try to make it home before nine, then walked down the corridor into the boardroom.

  Evelyn stood for a while, his shoes half buried in the thick carpet. Along the corridor he could see his uncle’s office door, closed firmly. As Miss Henderson came back to her desk he asked if anyone had any news of his Uncle Edward.

  ‘No Evelyn, we’ve not heard for quite a while. I’m told that Jinks is doing very well, did you know? Heading for Cambridge like her father. Are you all right, dear?’

  Miss Henderson watched him as he gave a slight smile, the way he inclined his head reminded her of Edward.

  ‘Er . . . Is there a gents’ I can use on this floor?’

  ‘Oh well, there’s your father’s private one, or there’s another cloakroom just at the end, first left.’

  ‘Thank you. If you see my uncle, say I asked after him, would you? Nice to see you again.’ He smiled, then turned and shambled off.

  Miss Henderson set about clearing her desk. She had heard most of what went on in Alex’s office, and she wondered what trouble Evelyn had got himself into this week. He was nothing but trouble that one, it was written all over him. She sealed the envelopes for all the cheques Edward had instructed her to send. One to the nursing home where Harriet was, then their daughter’s school fees – she even sent off the birthday cards now. She began to think she knew Jinks Barkley better than her own father did. Her school reports came directly to the office, and it was Miss Henderson who read them with pleasure, and sent Jinks her regular allowance. The girl always wrote neat ‘thank you’ letters back. She was going to be no problem, it was obvious Jinks had a very bright future.

  Evelyn locked the toilet door, put the seat down and sat on it. He then opened a small silver box, took out a packet of skins and rolled a joint. He sat smoking it, sitting in the Barkley Empire’s john . . . It amused him, only he didn’t laugh. He felt ashamed. Not for smoking the joint, but for the shame he had seen in his father’s face . . . ‘Liar, cheat, thief . . .’

  Evelyn drew heavily on the joint and let the smoke drift out slowly. He felt his bruised cheek where his father had slapped him . . . He stood up, tossed the end of the roach into the bowl and pulled the chain. Maybe he would like France . . .

  Alex had seen Ming only a few times since their last meeting that Christmas. Now that he had access to the accounts, in particular those in Mexico, Alex had discovered just why Edward had been against selling back her shares to Ming. The company had channelled thousands of dollars through her outlets and it had proved a good method of laundering money. Ming had taken a percentage of the vast sums. As Edward had done, Alex picked up on the discrepancies in her accounts. Ming might love him, but she had certainly made sure she had lined her own pockets. Alex felt betrayed but realized once more how Edward had covered for him, and just how shrewd he was at business. He had begun to think of Edward more of late, wondering where he was . . . and what he was doing. His silence, at first welcome, had become rather ominous.

  Alex had been so immersed in the old accounts he had forgotten the time. He knew they were entertaining, yet again, and hurried to the bedroom door, mumbling that he had been held up and was he supposed to dress. ‘Barbara, is it black tie tonight or not?’

  Barbara raised her eyebrows to her hairdresser and sighed. ‘Daaarling, I phoned the office . . . It’s very casual, but smart casual. It’s Walter, his wife and Lord Harmsworth, then the . . .’

  Alex had already departed to his own rooms.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind, part it down the middle, Timmy.’

  Alex made polite conversation throughout the meal. He was tired, and he stifled yawn after yawn. Barbara’s charity affairs were always like this, the people all looked the same, they just switched clothes. As they withdrew into the lounge for coffee, Walter, who had been to the far end of the table, asked for a private word with Alex. The two men waited while Scargill poured them brandy, and Alex clipped his cigar.

  ‘I need to talk to Edward, I’ve called numerous times and I am told he’s abroad or not available.’

  Alex lit the cigar and puffed slowly, trying to size Walter up. They had met on a number of occasions similar to this evening, but they had never had an in-depth conversation.

  ‘It’s rather a delicate situation, but it is imperative I speak to him within the week. Do you know where he is?’

  Alex could see the man was sweating. His pockmarked face glistened, and his eyes behind the thick glasses were shifty, drifting away from Alex’s gaze.

  ‘Anything I can do to help? You see, I actually don’t have the slightest idea where he is – and believe me, I need to contact him too.’

  Walter stubbed out his cigarette, immediately lit another, and pulled his chair closer. ‘Have you discussed my business with him at all?’

  Alex had no knowledge of any business transactions between Walter and Edward, but Walter made the mistake of taking Alex’s silence for confirmation that he did know. ‘I’ve tried to contact Duval in Africa for three months, the PM’s somehow got wind of the hospital complex, I cannot afford at this stage . . . You know I regained my seat this election?’

  Alex was trying to fathom what the hell Walter was talking about, but he couldn’t make head nor tail of it. All he could say for sure was that the man was exceptionally nervous.

  ‘Yes, yes, but that was a foregone conclusion.’

  Walter paced the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. ‘Part of my campaign was that I would begin building a whole new leisure centre. Costs have jumped – escalated – to a ridiculous level, and I need Edward. He agreed to finance the project, but I have not seen a penny as yet. Now it’s up before a committee for review and if it seems like I’m going to break my word, it won’t look good . . . You have the hospital, everything’s gone through, but he’s let me down. I need to speak with him, and within the week.’ He lit yet another cigarette and began a hacking, chesty cough.

  ‘How much? I’ll see if I can release funds to you immediately.’

  Walter eased up, sat down and sighed with relief. ‘Jesus, if you could it would save my skin, the election was by no means the foregone conclusion everyone thought . . . Well, Edward must have told you . . . Thirty-five thousand, as agreed.’

  Alex nearly choked on his cigar, but covered by saying they should both give up smoking for their health.

  Walter stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette and gave Alex a strange, sly look. ‘With you two bastards I’m amazed I’ve kept my sanity this long . . . I’ll call the office first thing in the morning, all right?’ He straightened his tie, wiped his sweating face and gave a small bow. ‘Perhaps we should join the party?’

  First thing in the morning, Alex called Miss Henderson and asked her if he had all the documents on th
e building works. She replied that he had all she had ever been given to file. Alex sent a memo down to personnel to check out Skye Duval.

  Evelyn was being driven to Heathrow, by Scargill. No one had even said goodbye to him, but he was used to that. He had his precious record collection and his guitar, he cared about little else. He wondered what France would hold for him. The place sounded gruesome, if not monastic. The school was run by friars, and it was apparent even to Evelyn that his father had really scraped the bottom of the barrel.

  Scargill did not take Evelyn’s cases into the terminal. He pulled up outside and waited until he saw Evelyn give the thumbs up sign at his ticket collection desk then he returned to London. The school was St Martin at Pontoise, about thirty-two kilometres north-west of Paris. Evelyn had drunk his fill of free champagne in first-class during the flight. Now the taxi made his head ache, and he felt sick. As they turned a corner, he saw stretching before him what looked like a fortress. He leaned forward. ‘Holy shit, this can’t be it, it’s like a fucking prison.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Alex had called a security company hire-car as Barbara was using the Rolls-Royce. The navy blue Mercedes was waiting for him outside the Barkley Company. The uniformed security guards locked up after him. The Mercedes’ door was held open by the chauffeur, who greeted him with, ‘Good evening, Mr Barkley.’ He replaced his peaked cap and hurried round to the driving seat. Alex gave the man a cursory glance, snapped open his briefcase, and began to look over contracts, unaware of the driver’s scrutiny as he began making notes with a gold pen in the margin. On every housing development contract he had come across, the same government stamp had been signed by Walter . . .

  Looking in the driver’s mirror George Windsor was sure now, one hundred per cent sure, that the man in the back of his hire-car was without question Alex Stubbs. They drew up outside Alex’s house.

  ‘How much?’

  George turned. ‘Have this one on me, Alex, for old times’ sake.’