Lynda Plante - The Talisman

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 chateaux 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 beyond 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.