Lynda Plante - The Talisman

Alex hugged her tight and said over and over again that he loved her too. He had never spoken those words to anyone in his life before, and it was as if she had opened a floodgate inside him. Taking her by the hand he dragged her into the bedroom, opened a bottle of champagne and poured them each a glass. ‘Will you be my wife?’

She wept, flinging her arms around him, shouting over and over, ‘Yes! Yes! Yessss...’

Skye Duval discovered just what Edward wanted him to do. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t back out.

‘See, old chap, I need someone here I can trust, someone who will keep their mouth shut and run the business this side. You’ll have a lot of money passing through your hands, and as I said, I need someone I can trust.’

Skye shrugged. ‘I don’t have much choice, do I? Hey, listen, I’m not arguing, I need the bread... but there’s got to be something more in it for me than cash, I want my papers back.’

Edward gave his word, he would return them, even if Skye didn’t agree to do the business. Skye laughed, he had to hand it to his old buddy boy, he could still lie better than anyone he had ever known. Skye knew he was caught in Edward’s web, Edward could eat him alive if he wanted to. ‘Okay, you’re on... make me a rich man again, eh?’

Edward held Skye’s shoulders. ‘Yes, but keep off the booze. You foul it up and I’ll kill you.’

Skye laughed again and told Edward he would have a hard time — he had been dead for years. Edward then took him completely off guard, held him in his arms, like a caress. ‘I need you, buddy boy, don’t let me down.’

Skye’s voice was barely audible as he gazed up into the strange, dark eyes. ‘You know I won’t, you’re all I’ve got, even though you’re an incorrigible bastard.’

Edward began to tell Skye of his plans for buying up vast areas of land for mining perlite.

When Edward returned to London, he was angry that Alex had still not returned. He responded to Alex’s many telexes by telling him to ‘get his arse back to London’.

Dewint noticed how unkempt Edward looked, and he was drinking more heavily than ever. He did not ask after Harriet, and made no effort to visit her. He prowled moodily around the manor, eventually giving Dewint instructions to have the studio repainted. Looking at the bright-yellow walls, he said, ‘It’s enough to drive anyone nuts. Get it cleaned up.’

‘Yes, sir... do you have any particular colour in mind, or will you be asking Mrs Barkley when you see her?’

Without replying, Edward walked out. Dewint watched him drive off far too fast, clipping the gatepost. He decided to paint the studio a pale lemon, he was sure Harriet would like that.

Edward tried hard not to think about Harriet’s eventual return. He felt guilty about the thoughts that kept creeping into his mind. He wanted an heir, a son, and it was obvious to him now that Harriet would never have a child. Harriet’s love had always made him feel good — her almost innocent attitude to sex meant that it was always he who made the first move. It was this innocence that had always attracted him to her. Having had a surfeit of sexual experience in his youth, he had not given it a great deal of importance in later years. But now, the girls in the Notting Hill Gate house had whetted his appetite, brought desire to the surface again. Now he made up for lost time. Harriet seemed like a ghost from the past, and one he was seriously considering consigning to the past. He was not sure how he should go about it given her precarious mental state.

The last person in the world Edward wanted to see was Richard Van der Burge. One of the staff informed him that Richard was trying to get into the club, and had mentioned Edward’s name. Edward excused himself from his table, leaving the attractive Brigitte Bardot look-alike pouting. He strolled out to meet Richard.

Richard looked terrible, down-at-heel and as scruffy as Skye. He was shaking, and his fingers were badly stained with nicotine.

‘So, Richard, how’s life?’

Richard shrugged and smiled nervously, and lit yet another cigarette.

‘You still work for De Veer’s?’

After inhaling deeply on his cigarette, Richard replied, ‘No, no I don’t... Not working at present. Had a bit of trouble, you know, chaps kept getting promoted over my head. Got difficult, so I walked.’

‘You all right for cash? You know, if you need tiding over while you’re out of work?’

Richard asked for ten thousand and, without batting an eyelid, Edward wrote out a cheque. Then he offered Richard a job in the insurance office. He suggested quite a high salary, more than he had intended. ‘It’ll be old pals’ time — you see, you’ll be working with Allard Simpson.’

‘Oh, that’s fantastic...’

‘Yes, that’s the good part... the bad part is that you’ll be in South Africa.’

Richard agreed, and with a hesitant look in the direction of the gaming rooms he left to pack his bags. He didn’t thank Edward for the cheque, believing that he was owed more than a meagre ten thousand, much more — and he intended to get it.

Edward drank heavily for the rest of the evening, embarrassing his beautiful escort so much she left the club in floods of tears. Too drunk to drive himself home, he took a taxi.

Dewint wondered what Harriet was up to. He had been surprised to see her home, and knew Edward was not expecting her. He gave a silent prayer he would not return with a woman. His initial nervousness was dispelled within moments of her arrival. She kept him in such a state of laughter as she mimicked the doctors and patients, he was exhausted. She firmly instructed him to retire to his pigeon loft and she would wait up for Edward.

As the hours ticked away and Edward did not return she grew more nervous. She rehearsed what she would say to him, holding his photograph in front of her and altering her script as often as she changed her clothes. She eventually got into bed, curling up in her thick nightdress. He wasn’t going to come home and she couldn’t really blame him.

Edward managed to open the door. The hall was in darkness and he bellowed for Dewint. She peered at him through the banisters. ‘It’s his night off, will I do?’

Edward stumbled to the stairs, then patted the wall searching for the light switch. He muttered drunkenly about his intentions to visit her. He couldn’t look her in the face, but tried to apologize for his lateness.

‘It’s all right, I understand — business... you want a hand?’

Even though he leaned against her as she helped him up the stairs, he could not look into her face. He fell across the bed face down.

‘Right, I’ll start with the shoes and work upwards...’ She tossed each shoe into a corner of the room, happy to have something to do for him. He rolled over and leaned on his elbow. His face was flushed. Their eyes met and he looked away embarrassed not knowing what to say to her. There was an awful silence, a helplessness to them both. He loosened his tie. ‘You look good, is that a suntan? Where’ve you been then?’

‘I’ve been using a sun lamp, and I’ve put on weight, lean forward and I’ll get your shirt off.’

She began to undo the buttons, slowly moving closer, touching him. Her hands were shaking. He wrapped his arms around her waist burying his head against her. His voice was muffled, ‘You all right?’

She stroked his head. ‘Yes, I’m all right, my love.’

His grip tightened around her. ‘I’ve missed you, missed this bloody flannelette nightgown... Oh God, Harry, Harry, I’ve missed you, this place is a morgue without you.’ Slowly he lifted his head, and looked into her eyes. He was drunk enough to be honest, to be open about the way he felt and his vulnerability touched her. ‘Christ I’ll take care of you, you’re never going away again...’