Evelyn switched it off, scratching the record in his haste. The room was stuffy, and he pushed open the french windows looking over the river. He breathed in the cold night air, then noticed something was written in the dust on the window. He deciphered the scrawl: ‘Evelyn . . . Evelyn . . . Evelyn MY SON . . . MY SON . . . MINE.’
Dewint tried to persuade Evelyn to contact his parents, but he refused. He remained in the manor house until the morning the will was due to be read.
Alex could not believe his eyes when Evelyn opened the door to him. ‘When did you get here?’
‘Just arrived, lawyers told me the will was to be read at the manor, so I came straight over.’
‘I see – well, you could at least have called me. You all right?’
‘Yes, yes – and you?’
‘Well, I’m fine, but I could do without all this business. Still, it’s typical. They’ll all be arriving, so I came early to get the old fella sorted out. Few bottles in the car need putting on ice, want to give me a hand? Jesus, this place gives me the creeps, and it’s not been dusted for months . . . It stinks! Dewint?’
Evelyn gestured for Alex to go into the kitchen ahead of him. Together they washed glasses and put three bottles of champagne on ice.
Some of the family arrived, and Alex bustled around giving orders for curtains to be drawn and windows opened to air the place. Barbara promptly followed him saying they should be closed as it was freezing. Evelyn hung back shyly, but Barbara swept him into her perfumed arms and said she was pleased to have him home. It almost made him laugh – like an outsider, he watched her daughters arriving with their husbands, saw the same sweeping gesture, heard the long drawn-out, ‘Daaaahhhling . . .’
They all appeared more as if they were arriving for a party than the reading of a will. Evelyn noticed that his father took the throne-like chair at the head of the dining table. He looked very elegant, and smoked a cigar similar to those Edward always used to have clenched in his teeth.
Three lawyers arrived, carrying bulging briefcases. Someone remarked that they hoped luncheon had been ordered as it looked as though it was going to be a long day.
Evelyn found it difficult to answer his cousins’ and aunts’ questions. He avoided them as much as possible, growing quieter and quieter as the family grew louder. In the midst of laughter and funny stories, no one, not one of them, referred to the reason they were all there. Edward’s name was not even mentioned.
Jinks had not yet arrived, and Evelyn kept one eye on the doors. Everyone else was there, and Alex began to get tetchy, checking his watch every minute or so. He asked the lawyers if they could begin as there was obviously a lot of paper to be got through.
Evelyn surveyed the members of his family. There was not a shred of feeling for Edward between the lot of them. Another dreadful portrait of him hung above Alex’s head. It must have been painted when Edward was in his thirties, with coal-black hair. He positively glared into the room. Although it was not a good painting, it was so powerful it dominated the sitter in the throne before it. But Alex was unconscious of it, he was more interested in getting the business over and done with. Evelyn couldn’t help but smile at the face in the painting, it was as though Edward knew exactly what was going on.
Just as the lawyers had agreed to begin, Dewint tapped on the door. ‘Excuse me, sah, Miss Juliana has just driven up.’
Barbara muttered, ‘About time too,’ and like the rest of the family she turned to face the double doors. Dewint was holding one open, and swung the other wide. Both doors stood open, but the marble hall was empty.
Jinks had waited for this moment. She had been parked across the street, watching them all arrive, and had timed it to perfection. The looks on their faces made every second of the wait worthwhile.
No film star, no top model, could have made a better entrance. She was swathed in a mink coat that Barbara could tell with one glance had set her back at least twenty thousand pounds. Her slightly wavy, long hair was gleaming, and as she tossed her head it swung back from her face. A beautiful face, finely sculptured, with little or no trace of make-up. She took her time walking the entire length of the room, and offered her cheek for Alex to kiss.
‘Uncle Alex.’
Alex rose to his feet – she was as tall as he was. She moved on to Barbara, bent and gave her the same non-committal cheek. She gave a languid handshake to the lawyers, two of whom bowed and scraped their chairs back, offering her their seats. One took her coat, the other seated her. At the same time she gave each of her cousins a soft, humourless smile. She said their names in turn – Annabelle, Selina, Lord Henry, Charles, James . . . her eyes lingering for a fraction of a second on each face. She paused a moment longer when she looked at Lady Annabelle’s daughters. The two teenage girls were open-mouthed with awe at their cousin. She hesitated over their names, not embarrassed, but amused by their gaping mouths . . . Her eyes slowly roamed around the table until they rested on his face – the one person she had not seen arrive, the one she had been waiting for and wanting to see.
‘Ahhh, Evelyn, how fortunate you were, being released from prison for this occasion. Well, isn’t it something, I think maybe I am wrong, but isn’t this the first time we have all been brought together? Oh, I am sorry, Uncle Alex – please, please don’t let me delay the proceedings any longer. I am sure you were just about to begin.’
Alex nodded to the lawyers to begin and they started by naming all the beneficiaries. Edward had forgotten no one. Dewint had been left more than five hundred thousand pounds. There were names no one had ever heard of: Jodie, Sylvia, and all the girls from Notting Hill Gate had been left five or ten thousand pounds. Many employees, including Miss Henderson, were generously remembered, of course . . . the list was endless.
Evelyn wanted it to go on, and on, and on – it gave him time to look at his cousin Jinks. He could not believe that this was the gawky, nervous girl from France. He continued to stare at her until she turned and gave him a look of total contempt. She pointed to a glass, and he filled it with champagne, passed it along to her.
At long last the lawyers turned to their last file. Alex puffed on his cigar. He couldn’t help wondering what Edward had left to his now exceptionally glamorous niece.
The lawyer coughed and someone passed him a glass of water, which he sipped, then he licked his lips. ‘We come now to the final section of the late Edward Barkley’s will . . .’
Alex leaned forward slightly, looking at the date on the will. He could see it quite clearly – 15 March 1987, shortly before Edward’s death. This meant it could not possibly be the same document Alex had passed to the lawyers. He made an involuntary move towards the document, and the lawyer hesitated. He coughed again, pulled the will closer, and began to read . . .
‘To my daughter, Juliana Harriet Barkley, I leave three million pounds, to be signed over immediately. On her twenty-first birthday, a further one million . . .’
The colour drained from her face. She waited for them to continue, her heart thudding . . . The lawyer looked at Alex, and got as far as saying that Alex would retain his half-share in the Barkley Company and would receive a further two million when Alex snatched the will and read for himself what was written.
Edward Barkley had left to Evelyn, on condition that he publicly announced he was Edward’s son, his entire fortune, plus all his shares in the Barkley Company. In other words, Evelyn was now Alex’s partner. No cheque, not a single document, could be sent out from the Barkley Company without a double signature. The power, only just tasted, held for so short a time, slipped out of Alex’s hands.
His initial shock subsided into a calm, deep rage. Edward had cheated him, even in death. With every ounce of control he possessed, Alex stood up and walked out of the room. He passed his son, Edward’s son, with nothing more than a cursory glance. Evelyn lifted his hand as if to stop him, but Alex brushed past him. He was quickly followed by Barbara, who almost snapped her fingers to her daughters and their
husbands to leave with her.
Evelyn was confused – they were looking at him with such hatred, such open loathing . . . He banged the table suddenly. ‘What the hell is going on? What does he mean? What does this mean?’
Evelyn held up the will, and Barbara snatched it from him, threw it back to the lawyers. ‘He wants you to announce that you are his bastard, don’t you understand plain English? All your life he wanted you, tried to get you, but he couldn’t . . . Now he’s grabbed at you, making fools of us all, from his grave. Well, damn him, and damn you . . .’
Her family gathered around as she burst into tears. They left in a pack, and the roar of their powerful cars sounded like the start of a race . . .
Jinks turned to the lawyers, showing no emotion, showing nothing of what she was feeling. Quietly, she told them they could leave.
Evelyn, sitting with the will in his hands, offered it back to the lawyer, who nervously suggested he keep it, as it was only a copy.
Jinks remained in her seat, waiting until she heard the front door close behind them. She then turned to Evelyn as she picked up her fine, black kid gloves. She eased one on, pulling the fingers until they fitted snugly . . .
Evelyn moved closer, close enough to touch her. ‘I don’t want it, I don’t want any of it.’
She brought her hand back and slapped him across the face. The leather hurt more than flesh . . . The slap was masculine, with so much force behind it that his neck cracked, and he gasped in shock. She then picked up her other glove.
Her voice was still low, husky, the same throaty sound he had teased her about as a little girl. She leaned close, and he could see the perfection of her skin.
‘You will not get it, not a penny, it’s mine . . .’
Alex paced his office like a wild animal. He walked into his brother’s office, wanting to take a knife to the painting, slash Edward’s face. But he didn’t – he looked up at the portrait and laughed. He must have been out of his mind – the stupidity of his rage, his ridiculous behaviour . . . He could manipulate Evelyn, use him – he had brought him up, so what the hell did it matter if he announced he was Edward’s son? Whoever he was, Alex would still be the controller. Evelyn knew nothing about banking, about the company, and Alex was his legal guardian. The Barkley empire had feet of clay, it was rotten to the core. This boy, this fool he had fought so hard for, was totally dependent on him, and now he would fight to bind Evelyn to him until he could make no move alone . . .
‘You mind if I come in – Uncle?’
Alex had not heard her soft steps, and he turned, startled at her voice. ‘No, no, Jinks, come in . . . I was just ticking myself off for my rather stupid show of temper this afternoon. Can I get you a drink?’
‘No . . . I was here earlier, actually. Hennie – Miss Henderson – and I are old friends. I think I had better come clean . . . You see, I was just as, shall we say upset, as you were this afternoon. I am the legal heir, Alex, and I want my fair share. Now, I am sure whatever Evelyn wants or doesn’t want will, as far as you are concerned, be of little importance – either way, you win – am I right?’
Alex side-stepped sharply. She had her finger right on the pulse. She was Edward’s daughter, all right, and he shrugged, giving her a dazzling smile. ‘Well, I suppose that would be Evelyn’s decision, he is Edward’s son . . . I’ve known about it for years, and now I suppose everyone else will. I’ll just have to accept it.’
‘But I am his daughter. I am his legitimate daughter – I could bind this company up in legal wrangles for years. You know I could fight that will – my father’s drinking, and his mental state at the end of his life was rather . . . unsavoury, wasn’t it? You and I know that. So don’t let’s play games. If I were to freeze this company’s assets there would be years of litigation . . . I want to be your partner, Alex.’
‘Well, sweetheart, what you want and what is legally left to you are two different things . . .’
‘Whoever’s son he is, it doesn’t make him anything but a fool. You and I know what he is, and we can cut him out like that.’ She snapped her fingers.
He stared at her, his eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want? You have more than enough money, what do you want?’
She leaned against the desk, smiling. ‘Well, I want what you thought had slipped right out of your hands when you heard your little boy had got the lion’s share – I want this company.’
He smiled, believing she was joking. But her face was deadly serious. ‘I sold Ming’s – Miss Takeda’s – shares back to her, for a very good price, but for less than they would have reached on the open market. In return she has given me information, Mr Stubbs. Make me your partner, or you will end up back in prison. I will make them open the grave of Alex Stubbs, East End gangster, club owner found dead in – I think it was a 1962 Jaguar, white, registration number 243 HJL. I will take over this office tomorrow morning. Perhaps you would like to know exactly what is on my father’s computer? You made a mistake there, Alex, you should have got to it first . . . Miss Henderson and I are just like that.’
Juliana ‘Jinks’ Barkley held up her crossed fingers. She gave Alex a small bow and walked out with a smile on her face, a smile so like Edward’s that Alex’s breath caught in his throat and left him speechless.
He sat down, incapable of coherent thought. After a long time he took off his tie and began to loosen his stiff white collar. His fingers touched the gold medallion. ‘Game, set and match, Eddie, and by your own daughter.’ Alex started to laugh, shaking his head at her audacity, and he let his laugh grow until he rocked back in the chair. His voice boomed out, roared with laughter. It had been years since he had laughed, actually laughed out loud. The brothers had fought for their son and, unnoticed, right under their noses, she had grown up. He knew she would be as ruthless as Edward and, just maybe, as mad as her mother. The game wasn’t over, not yet, not by any means . . . Only now, he was going to enjoy every minute.
The telephone rang, and he was given the tip-off that he was to be honoured, from now on he would be Sir Alexander Barkley. He laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. At last someone, somewhere, had beaten Edward, and it was fate, fate in the shape of his own daughter. And she was his daughter all right, no question about it. She was like an Amazon, a beautiful, red-haired Amazon.
The following morning, Alex discovered his Amazon had not stopped after her visit to him in his office. Among the mail left for his attention was a legal document requiring his signature for the transfer of all Evelyn Barkley’s shares in the Barkley Company – transferring them to none other than Juliana Barkley. He now had a fight on his hands for his own survival. Juliana, he suspected, wanted more than a partnership.
Evelyn watched his father flip through the documents, spreading them out in his hand like a fan. He then threw them in Evelyn’s face in fury.
‘Why? Just tell me why?’
‘You’re better off without me, if you’re honest you’d say it yourself.’
‘Too damned right I’d be better off without you, so why didn’t you sign them over to me? Why give your share to her – I sign this and you’re out, you relinquish everything.’
‘It makes you equal partners, that is what she wanted. It won’t quite be everything, I still have a considerable amount to live on.’
Alex interrupted him, shouting, ‘You said it, that little bitch wants the entire company! She’s already got access to Edward’s own transactions – she doesn’t want a partnership, you idiot, she’ll have the major share, don’t you even understand what that means?’
Sighing, Evelyn stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared out across the river. It seemed he could never do anything to please his father.
‘Maybe, maybe I did it for you. I don’t want to fight, I don’t want to be dragged through the law courts, I don’t want to stand up publicly and make you a laughing stock. I give her what she wants, I don’t have to make a statement, a public statement that Edward Barkley, your brother, was my
father . . .’
Alex closed his eyes and seemed to deflate completely.
Juliana applauded, leaning on the jamb of the open sitting-room door. ‘Well, isn’t this cosy? Believe me, Alex, all I want is my inheritance, my share, my partnership, nothing more. It will save a lot of time if you sign here and now. I have no intention of taking over, we will continue the double signature, we will both run the Barkley Company.’
Alex spun round, loathing her smirking, beautiful face, but he was already unscrewing the top of his solid gold fountain pen. He snapped, ‘You learn very fast.’
‘I don’t let the carpet get worn out under my feet, as my father would say.’
Evelyn watched Alex as he began signing the documents. Juliana, standing at his side, slowly eased off her soft leather gloves. She then signed alongside each one.
That done, she carefully replaced the cap on the pen and handed it to Alex. ‘Well, partner, will you have lunch with me? I have a reservation at Le Caprice for one-thirty, and I’d like to discuss the data on Father’s computer, it makes very interesting reading . . . in particular the South African companies. If you agree, I’d like to call a halt to the cloak-and-dagger tactics of my father, bring it all out in the open.’
Alex had to hand it to her, even though he would have liked to wring her neck. He stood back in admiration. ‘I’ll be there, one-thirty.’
She bent and kissed his cheek, taking him right off-guard. She seemed quiet and sincere, meeting his eyes with a warmth he had never seen before. She touched his cheek affectionately. ‘I won’t let you down, I’ll make you see that this was the right, the only, decision to be made.’ As she passed Evelyn on the way out, she gave him not one word of thanks, didn’t even look in his direction.
Neither man spoke a word until they heard her car going away down the drive, then Alex sighed. He felt strangely awkward, even trying to make light of the situation.
‘Well, that’s that. I suppose I should thank you. If any scandal had broken I doubt I’d get my title . . . Did I tell you I made the Honours List?’
The Talisman Page 73