Lynda Plante - The Talisman

Alex looked nonplussed, and she laughed. ‘Please accept them as a gift, on condition that you stay for dinner, and give me just two days of your time to show you the sights.’

Alex murmured his thanks and said that he really could not accept her invitation as he had to return to New York with Ming.

‘Oh, I simply won’t take no for an answer — I have my own plane, why don’t you let Miss Takeda go and I’ll arrange for your luggage to be brought back here? You simply can’t refuse.’

Alex looked at Ming for help, but she insisted on returning alone. Alex walked her to the helicopter, and she laughed at his confusion. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alex, stay. You’ll enjoy yourself and you said you needed a holiday. Besides, with all this extra work I won’t have much time to spare. I’ll see you when you return to New York.’

Alex gave way, and watched the helicopter as it took off. Ming waved once, then turned to talk to the pilot.

Alex was like putty in Barbara Taverner’s hands, and she swept him along in her wake. He was flattered by her attentions, and she never ceased to amaze him. Flying her own plane she managed, in the two days, to take Alex to cocktail parties, lunches, teas, and a charity ball.

There were envious looks from the Texan society ladies as Barbara led the elegant and charming Englishman around on her arm like a champion. To Alex’s blushing embarrassment she never failed to bring up the fact that he knew the Duke and Duchess of Windsor intimately... However, Alex began to enjoy his ‘star status’, the flattery and the fawning, and Barbara was a stunning-looking woman. Alex was falling in love, and it took little persuasion for him to agree to stay another week.

Edward arrived home from the office even later than usual. He was greeted by his rather frazzled cook-housekeeper, who told him that there was a Mr Dewint waiting to see him, he had been waiting for two hours.

‘Who? Dewint? Never heard of him... and Agnes, would you get something fancy for tomorrow evening, dinner for six — but it could be eight. De what, did you say?’

Agnes disappeared into the hall and returned to say that Dewint had been sent by the Kensington Staff Agency. She passed Edward a small, strange, handwritten card. ‘ “Norman Dewint, butler”... ingenious chap, it appears! Show him in. Oh, Agnes, is my wife about?’

‘Well, she was, sir, but then she said something about going to her pottery classes. She’s left a shocking mess in the upstairs bathroom, sir.’

‘Thank you, Agnes... show De what’s-his-name in, will you?’

‘Sit down, Norman, help yourself to a drink.’

Dewint sat at the far end of the eighteen-foot refectory table and thanked Mr Barkley, but he did not partake of alcoholic beverages.

‘Right then, Norman, tell me about yourself.’

Dewint coughed, straightened the razor-sharp creases in his black and grey striped butler’s trousers, and in his rather high-pitched voice, paying close attention to his aitches, began to detail his past employments. ‘I ‘ave, sah, worked in the Queen Mother’s establishment at Balmoral. Hi think you will find, sah, that they was, if I may say so, pleased with my services. I have detailed hall the ‘ouses I have subsequently had the honour to be in service with, and I am a qualified valet stroke butler.’

His plummy, high-pitched voice with its strange aitches and his small pale face made Edward laugh. Dewint was like a pixie — pointed nose, pointed chin — and he had large, pointed ears. His flat, Brylcreemed hair shone, as highly polished as his shoes.

Edward sent the neatly stapled references spinning back down the table. ‘Thing is, Dewint, I am not a man of, shall we say, habit, or consistent movements. My wife is not domesticated, quite the reverse, but we do entertain a lot. When I am away, I like the house to be kept running in some sort of order — won’t be easy, not with my wife and her hobbies...’

Dewint launched into an involved history of the time he worked for Churchill, but Edward cut him short. ‘Can you start first thing in the morning?’

Dewint beamed, his pixie ears twitched. ‘Hi can, sah, and may I say it will be a pleasure, sah. I’ve read about you in the society columns, I like to keep abreast of things.’

Dewint gave a hop and a skip as he departed down the drive. He had been desperate, and he knew he would be able to get along with Mr Barkley. He had seen the house could do with a thorough clean, and he would be ready, with his green pinny on, first thing tomorrow. He checked out of the hostel and was back at the manor by seven-thirty the next morning.

He woke Edward with an elaborate breakfast tray. Harriet’s tousled head peered over the blankets. ‘Oh, scrummy, I’m starving.’

‘I shall bring more toast immediately, sah... modom, may I say how very pleased I ham to meet you.’

Harriet was already tucking in to her breakfast. She waved her fork and Dewint bowed out. She spoke with her mouth full, ‘He’s just divine, how on earth did you find him? He looks like Noddy — you know, Noddy and Big Ears... Pass the tomato sauce... ta.’

Edward ate as hungrily as his wife, and said that someone had to get the house organized. Harriet hopped out of bed with marmalade all over her cheek, and opened the bathroom door. ‘An artist of my calibre cannot be bothered with the mundane, boring, day-to-day running of this tip... Look, I made this in class.’ She held up a strange-looking pot with a very thick rim.

‘What’s that?’

‘Well, it’s supposed to be a sugar bowl, but I didn’t quite get the wheel going right — what do you think?’

Edward didn’t even look, but opened the Financial Times , then laughed, ‘Bloody hell, he’s ironed it! Look!’

The bathroom door slammed shut.

Down in the kitchens Agnes and Dewint were at loggerheads. He was giving his critical assessment of the very tarnished silver. Agnes slapped her dishcloth down on the table. ‘Listen, by the time you’ve cleaned up after that Mrs Barkley, you’ll have no time for cleaning ruddy silver. She had a pigeon in here yesterday, ruddy pigeon she’d found in the garden.’

‘I’d be grateful if you did not speak of my hemployers in derogatory terms. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take the ‘ot toast up, and in future, wrap it in a napkin, hit keeps it warm.’

Edward came out of the bathroom and found that Dewint had already stripped the bed. Over a chair hung a clean shirt and trousers.

‘I ‘ave not has yet ‘ad time to familiarize myself with your wardrobe, sah. But given time I will know exactly what your preference is... I believe you are going to the office this morning, so I have laid out what I think is suitable, sah.’

Edward smiled and thanked Dewint, who walked out with a bundle of sheets. By the time Edward was dressed and ready to leave, Dewint was on his hands and knees on the stairs with a dustpan and brush. Edward gave him a small pat on the head as he passed, and went on down the stairs.

‘Might I ‘ave a quick word, sah? The wine cellar is rather depleted, and I wondered if you would like me to order for you... St James’ is a good company, and very reliable.’

Edward looked up, leaning against the banisters. ‘I’ll leave it to you. If need be, open an account with them. And check the larder. In fact, check everything and make some kind of an inventory. Looks like you and I are going to get along fine.’

Dewint had just reached the bottom stair when Harriet called out — or rather, shrieked — from the studio, ‘Deeeewint!’

He blinked slightly at the brilliant yellow walls. Harriet was covered in wet clay, her pottery wheel spinning wildly out of control. A strange, malformed blob sprayed the daffodil-yellow walls with specks of brown.