Lynda Plante - The Talisman

‘Yes, modom?’

‘Could you switch the thing off? It’s that plug on the wall, the pedal’s stuck or something.’

Dewint caught a speck of clay in his eye, wiped it and pulled out the plug. Harriet puffed with relief, then apologized profusely for the mess. Dewint wiped his face, gave a polite cough, and suggested that if modom was in agreement, he’d stock up the larder.

‘Yes, modom is — and you can call me Harry... and don’t worry about me interfering, you will be a godsend. Come here.’ Dewint moved closer, and she whispered to him, ‘Do you think we can give Agnes the heave-ho? I can’t stand her.’

Dewint’s eyes twinkled. ‘I must hadmit, mod... Harry, I’m not exactly enamoured myself. Would you prefer hit if I settled the matter?’

‘Oh, yes. Now then, tell me, what do you think of this pot? I know the rim’s a trifle thick, but do you like it?’

‘Oh, yes, it’s a splendid piece.’

‘It’s yours... Right, off you go, I’m going to try and fix my wheel.’

Carrying his strange gift, Dewint returned to the kitchen. Agnes snorted, ‘Gawd almighty, night classes, workin’ all hours up there an’ that’s what she’s finished up with... What the hell is it? The lift don’t stop at the top floor with that one, I know it, I can tell.’

‘It’s a large-lipped pot, and, oh, by the way, you are fired.’

Dewint opened accounts with the wine merchants, grocers and butchers, and simply handed the bills over at the end of each month. Edward came to entrust him with more and more of the basic running of the house, and his salary rose along with Edward’s trust. He seemed to know instinctively when to remain with Edward for a nightcap and when to leave, and he turned a blind eye to any ‘goings-on’. He adored the outrageous dinners, never knowing who would be there. He recognized many of the faces from the television.

Dewint had become a part of their lives, and he felt it particularly keenly one evening when he was laying out Edward’s evening clothes. He felt Edward’s hand on his shoulder.

‘Has Alex, my brother, called at all while I’ve been out?’

‘I have not heard from Mr Alex, sah...’

Edward appeared disappointed. ‘It’s my birthday — the years start moving faster once you pass thirty, don’t they?’

‘Oh, yes, sah, they do, and may I wish you a very happy birthday.’

Edward checked his appearance in the wardrobe mirror, and Dewint bowed himself out. Edward picked up his white silk scarf and headed downstairs. As he passed the doors to the dining hall, Harriet flung them open, revealing a big birthday cake with candles. On the cake, in bright pink icing, was written, ‘Happy Birthday, Edward — 35 Today.’ Harriet was dressed in one of her Paris creations, singing, ‘Happy Birthday to you... Happy Birthday to you — ‘at the top of her voice. It took him completely by surprise — he couldn’t recall ever telling her when his birthday was — and she dragged him into the room to blow out all the candles. There were gifts, neatly wrapped and tied with bows, and Dewint stood by to open the champagne. Edward looked at his watch, and Harriet picked up the tiny gesture immediately, trying to hide her disappointment. ‘Do you have to go wherever it is? Can’t you put it off? I thought we’d go out for dinner.’

‘Sweetheart, I can’t — but I promise not to be late. We can save the presents until I get home, okay?’

She kissed him, and she and Dewint drank his health. It was Dewint’s turn to feel sorry for her, she looked so deflated. She had been working for days on the surprise, hiding the gifts, ordering the cake. ‘So much for the surprise... Ah well, cheers... cheers...’

Dewint watched her walk slowly upstairs. He knew it wasn’t his place, but he couldn’t stop himself. ‘As you won’t be dining out, I’ve prepared a small chicken, perhaps you would like...’

She didn’t let him finish his invitation, didn’t even turn to face him. ‘No thanks, I’m not very hungry...’

Edward had finally made contact with Walter, and they had arranged to meet at Banks. Walter had been very dubious about the meeting, and had cancelled twice, but in the end he went along.

He was very impressed by the club. Edward had reminded him that he was no longer called Stubbs, and not to mention that name. So Barkley was the name Walter asked for at the door, and it certainly made everyone jump.

Walter had changed a lot since university days. He was balding, and his spots had left pockmarks on his face. He still had to wear thick glasses. He nibbled nuts from the dish on the table, checked his watch. Edward was late. A waiter asked him if he had changed his mind, if he would care for a drink, but he refused and asked where the telephone was. The waiter promptly brought one to his table, and he called his wife.

As Edward entered the club and looked over at his table, he had an opportunity to view Walter without his knowing. Edward’s usual bottle of Dom Perignon was brought over as he greeted Walter, towering above him.

‘Well, well, it’s been a long time... No, don’t get up, Walter.’

Having come straight from the office, Walter was still in his dark navy pinstripe, and he blushed. Edward looked elegant, his suit beautifully tailored, and he was even more handsome than Walter remembered. ‘Strange thing, you know, saw some photographs of you once, and I remember thinking how like you this Barkley fellow was. Must congratulate you, place is very chic.’ He pronounced it ‘chick’.

Edward noticed immediately that the northern accent had gone, along with the spots and the National Health spectacles. Walter now sported a pair of fashionable rimless glasses, which magnified his eyes as his old pair had done, but also made him look affluent. Walter was no longer nervy, he seemed confident and his manner was relaxed.

‘I should congratulate you, Foreign Office, eh? You’re up for the Minister’s replacement, I hear? Aren’t you going to join me?’

Again Walter refused a drink, and said he didn’t, only mineral water. A glass of iced water was brought, and Edward asked if his table for dinner was ready, they would eat. Walter murmured that he had really only a few moments as his wife was expecting him home for dinner.

‘Nonsense, you’ll eat with me — use the phone, call her, say you’re with an old friend from Cambridge.’

So Walter called his wife again and told her to cancel dinner, while Edward looked over the evening’s menu.

The table in the restaurant was also always reserved for Edward. Walter was impressed again, this time by the standard of the cuisine. He was no fool, and kept asking himself why, after all these years, Edward had suddenly made himself known again. He found out soon enough, and flushed.

‘I want the building contracts for all the areas I’ve mentioned, and I know that with a word and a helpful nod from you I can bypass any other companies, and it goes without saying that you would benefit from the deal.’

Walter couldn’t eat another mouthful. He pushed his plate away and said Edward must understand that at this stage in his career he could not afford any scandal to be so much as whispered. ‘If I get you in on any other level than a totally viable...’

‘Bullshit, Walter, that is exactly why we’re having this little tete-a-tete, because that is precisely what I want and I know you can do it... Now then, you look as if you really need a drink.’

Gulping down the brandy, Walter began to sweat. He knew what would come next.

‘At this stage in your career you can’t afford any rumours about a young woman student who drowned in a boating accident on the Cam.’

Walter wiped his mouth with his napkin, sweating even more. ‘You wouldn’t bring that up?’ But he knew Edward would, and his heart sank. All the years of hard work, and he could see everything suddenly slipping out of his grasp. ‘I’m sorry, it’s out of the question.’