Lynda Plante - The Talisman

With his new family, Alex returned to England a week before Kennedy was assassinated. Their arrival went unnoticed except for a small paragraph in one of the gossip columns stating that Alex Barkley and Texan billionairess Barbara Taverner of the Hunter Hardyman fortune had married.

Alex breezed into the office, was congratulated on his marriage by all the staff, and walked straight into Edward’s office. The door was closed, and Alex tried to open it, infuriated that it was always kept locked. Miss Henderson appeared.

‘My brother not in today?’

‘I’m sorry sir, he left two days ago.’

‘Do you know where he’s gone?’

‘I’m sorry, sir... shall I bring the mail into your office now?’

Alex’s initial good spirits deflated, and he gave her a brief nod. He had expected Edward to have left at least a note, perhaps even shown some interest in his marriage, his wife, but there was nothing. He sat down and began to sift through the backlog of work that had piled up in his absence. Everything seemed in reasonable order. He began to flick through the night-club accounts, then sat back and let out a long, hissing breath. As Edward had predicted, it was a gold mine, money was pouring in, and Alex knew he would have his work cut out moving it around. He would have to work fast before they were crippled by taxes.

Edward had indeed cut and run, after an emergency call from Skye Duval. Richard Van der Burge was causing trouble and needed to be removed from South Africa. He was bad-mouthing Edward, and the last thing Skye wanted was the slightest whisper getting out about the nasty situation he and Edward had been involved in with Julia. Edward had literally dropped everything and caught the next flight out. Miss Henderson rang Harriet and told her not to expect Edward home for a few days.

Harriet had given Dewint the night off, as she and Edward had planned to go to the theatre. She had been to the hairdressers and the beauty parlour, and her new evening gown had cost a fortune. She was about to take the dress off again, thinking of the waste of the two tickets, when she remembered Dewint. She climbed the stairs to the attic where he had his room and opened the door.

Dewint was sitting at his small dressing table in full make-up, looking rather like Joan Crawford. He was wearing a darkred satin dress, high heels and long sleeves. He froze, clenched his gloved hands, and his body shook with nerves at being caught out. Harriet took in the bizarre situation in a moment. She tilted her head to one side, saying, ‘Sorry, I should have knocked.’

Dewint stuttered apologies. His terrible shame was pitiful, he was close to tears. ‘I only ever do this in my time off, really... I cannot say how sorry I am... Oh, God.’ The pixie face crumpled, and he wept into his gloved hands.

Harriet stood close behind him and patted his powdered shoulder. ‘This is your domain, Norman, you can do what the hell you like.’

She was gone before Dewint could say another word. Picking up a large pot of Pond’s Cold Cream, he began to smother his face, then he realized he’d not taken off his gloves and burst into tears.

Harriet decided to watch TV. She sat in full evening dress and tuned in to Dr Kildare . The show had her groping for a tissue as it was all about a poor crippled girl who wanted a famous movie star’s autograph. The young girl was dying, but the movie star refused point-blank even to see her, being too involved in her own drama... Harriet gasped, it was Joan Crawford... she ran to the stairs and shouted at the top of her voice for Dewint.

‘Oh, quick, quick, she’s on TV. Joan, your idol... hurry or you’ll miss it.’ Dewint scurried down the stairs. As he entered the lounge, the programme had been interrupted by the announcement that President Kennedy had been assassinated. They stood side by side in stunned silence. They spent the evening together waiting for the news flashes... eventually the ‘National Anthem’ played and she turned off the television with a sigh. Dewint blew his nose for the umpteenth time. ‘Oh Mrs Barkley, what a shockin’ thing, what a shockin’ thing to have happened. A man like that cut down in his prime...’

She continued to stare at the blank TV screen. Her face was concentrating, frowning. After a moment, she said to him, ‘You and I have just witnessed a modern-day tragedy... but it’s strange, when you turn that little square box off, it sucks it all back in. As if it weren’t real. Tragedy is personal, it clings, holds on to you, stays inside you and you can’t turn it off... it won’t go away. I wish I had a small switch at the side of my head. I think I’ll take myself off to bed now, goodnight Norman.’

Dewint locked up the house. As he passed the master bedroom, he heard her crying... the sound was eerie, and he hoped Edward would come home soon.

Edward found Richard Van der Burge in his bungalow. He was sitting staring at the wall. His suit was sweat-stained and his shirt grimy. The room stank of his body odour, dirty socks and discarded clothes. Edward closed the door quietly and chucked the key on the dressing table. ‘I thought Skye Duval was a bum, but you — look at you! What are you trying to prove, that you can drink this place dry?’

‘Ahhhh, so fucking what? Way I hear it, you’ve been trying hard enough... Well, join the AA, Eddie, that’s the “All-time Arseholes”. Trouble is, we’re not too anonymous, haw, haw, haw. Christ, what did you make me come back to this place for, man? That bloody fairy you’ve got working for you is a fucking nutcase, plays ruddy music all day, all night. He tell you I flew out to Pretoria? Yesss, bastard spat at me. That’s what you did, Eddie, you did that!’

‘Here’s five grand — take it and get the hell out of here.’

‘Fuck your five grand, Stubbs... You brought me out here, an’ now you’d better cough up if you want me swept under the carpet. Maybe you’d like to blow me up in one of Dad’s defunct mines... You’re not just a thief, oh no — I’ve been checking up on you and that poofter.’

Edward knew they had to get rid of Richard fast. He walked out to the waiting car and sat with Skye.

As he drove, Skye kept an eye on Edward. His hair had grown longer and he was fatter, but he was still the most handsome man Skye had ever known.

Edward was miles away. He remembered now, the mine where BB’s sons had died... He also recalled Sylvia and BB sitting puffing on a Havana, telling Edward to be sure and marry a strong woman. God, what a joke! The Sylvia syndrome had come full circle.

Skye was still talking. ‘Dickie’s been ostracized, they won’t allow him into any of the clubs. Memories out here are long. He’s pretty objectionable anyway, a real prat.’

Edward leaned back and closed his eyes. ‘We’ve got to get him off our backs, Skye. He said he’d been doing some checking up, don’t want him to get wind of that little incident with Julia, could be very nasty.’ He sucked in his breath.

Skye leaned casually across Edward and opened the glove compartment as they sped along. He was still a showman, and made no attempt to remove the.38. He knew Edward could see it. He snapped the compartment closed.

‘No, Skye, it’s got to be more subtle, and we mustn’t be involved. Can’t you set him up? Right now I don’t want anything to interfere in our business stakes, things are just coming together. Perhaps... if it were known he had some cash on him, known to a few of your friends, they might do the job for us — you with me?’

‘Loud and clear, brother — loud and clear.’

Alex led Barbara up the steps of the manor house and rang the bell, shading his eyes to look through the glass panels of the door. Barbara was dressed in a white Courreges outfit with matching white boots. She was still tanned, and her blonde hair fell in a straight, silky sheet to her shoulders. Alex stepped back and looked up at the windows.