Lynda Plante - The Talisman

‘Well I felt a bit out of my depth, the white-gloved treatment is a bit over the top.’

He drove up the manor house drive. ‘Maybe, but sometimes it’s good for business.’

Harriet lay awake most of the night. She made elaborate plans to begin working with Dewint. To redecorate the manor, and get lots of white gloves... suddenly she could hear the Judge, his booming voice bellowing through the old Hall... ‘For God’s sake, Edna, that fella looks as if he’s in a black and white minstrel show, the Duke’s comin’ for a bite to eat, not a ruddy cabaret.’ She slipped out of the bed and crept to the window. She loved to look out of this particular window, down to the big oak tree.

His approaching death had frightened her father, his bluster had gone, and when she had sat with him, he had cried... held on to her hand. ‘How’s my country gel then, eh? Good of you ta come up and see us, place always quiet without you... this is where you belong, not in that filthy city.’

The Judge’s request to be buried with his favourite hunter was dismissed as senile ramblings. After his funeral Harriet found the old horse’s grave. The horse her pa had refused point-blank to send to the glue factory. He had dug the grave himself. She laid a bunch of wild flowers and a small card... ‘From Your Country Girl’.

As the train arrived back in London, her heart had already begun to ache for the fields, for the fresh clean air, but Edward wasn’t there, and where he was, she had to be.

Alex was preparing for the takeover of Buchanan House, a twenty-three-million-pound deal. The news hit the City, and Mr Alex Barkley’s face began to appear in the Financial Times columns. He was referred to as a new breed of tycoon. He began to relax. Maybe his brother was right, he should let Edward get on with his side of the business. He negotiated the renaming of Buchanan House, listing all the subsidiary companies they could combine. He thought about going public, so he had many meetings with brokers and financiers, closeted in his office or in the boardroom for hours on end. The poised, whirring cameras were soon forgotten, became part of the walls. But Alex was unaware of just what a tight security system his ‘dear’ brother had had installed. Although Edward’s office appeared as it always had, the mammoth desk had been modified, as had the walls. Behind five oak panels were monitor screens, and his desk was computerized, the sides opening up to reveal the controls. Without moving out of his office, Edward Barkley could tape and record every meeting that took place in the building. Every single negotiation, every single phone call that went in or out of the Barkley Company, he recorded. By this method, Edward felt free to roam, leave London whenever he wanted, assured that his office was ticking away all by itself.

Edward had decided that a meeting with Ming was called for. It was not particularly urgent, he just wanted to get away from London, from Harriet — she was heading for one of her depressive bouts. He knew it was wrong, that he should tell her what he was doing, but he did his usual disappearing act anyway.

Dewint had the unfortunate task of telling her, one that often landed on his frail shoulders. Her play was about to open, and Dewint knew how important it was for her to have Edward there on her first night — she needed his approval. She had worked so hard, and at long last she had her Equity card. But she took it very well, shrugging her shoulders and saying it was only to be expected. Dewint tried to make up for Edward’s absence, telling her that by the time he returned from New York the play would have had a chance to ‘run in’, and her performance would no doubt be better for the experience.

This was her first professional engagement, one she had worked hard to get. She had joined the Bush Theatre at Shepherd’s Bush as an assistant to the stage manager. She was an obvious choice for the part of Christina in their production of The Soul of a Whore , and so far the rehearsals had gone without a single hitch. As the opening night approached, Harriet’s nerves were in shreds. This was no passing whim, as Edward had believed at first, but a serious stab at making a career for herself. She had made considerable donations towards the running of the theatre, and although no one liked to admit it, this had swayed the company into not only staging the production but also offering her the role. They were touched when she insisted she auditioned like anyone else, even though she was the ‘angel’. She didn’t want to destroy the play’s chances of success. Harriet had won the role fair and square, and her position in the company was confirmed.

She rarely, if ever, mentioned her husband, and used the stage name of Harriet Simpson. It had become very important to her that she prove herself, without any influence from Edward.

Dewint watched over her, fussing around, almost as nervous as she was. Alex had been asked to attend, but he had declined due to a prior engagement. Allard, however, was bringing a crowd of his friends to support her.

The small theatre at the top of the pub was crammed. The young author sat biting his nails as the critics squeezed into the rows of benches.

Dewint’s nervousness evaporated within the first ten minutes. Harriet’s performance was astonishing — she seemed perfectly at home on the stage, and her performance had depth and great humour. She had a rare quality that riveted the audience. She walked a dangerous edge, switching a laugh line into a violent tirade against the men she picked up in her character of a whore. She dominated the stage, and at the end the small theatre gave her a standing ovation.

Dewint waited outside the pub’s ‘stage door’ until Harriet appeared with Allard and his crowd of friends, who were absolutely overwhelmed by her talent. They went off to celebrate, and Dewint caught the bus home. He sat up until four in the morning, when she arrived, exhausted but jubilant. She had done it — she didn’t need anyone to tell her, she had felt it from the stage. She handed Dewint a newspaper with the only review so far.

‘I’m a star, Norman... twinkle, twinkle.’

‘Oh, Mrs Barkley, you are, and I’ll be there every night.’

‘I’d like that, Norman, I’d like that... Don’t wake me until late. Goodnight...’

The following morning as Dewint cleared Harriet’s breakfast tray from her bedroom, he noticed all the bread had been rolled into tiny pellets. He checked the pill bottle in her bedside table and found it open.

Ming was reading the morning papers, including the English ones, from cover to cover. There was yet another article about the Barkley empire in the financial section, plus an announcement in the social columns — Alex’s second stepdaughter, Annabelle, was to marry Lord Henry Blackwell. But there was little or nothing about Edward Barkley.

It was chilling that, at that precise moment, her houseboy informed her that she had a visitor... a Mr Edward Barkley.

Ming kept Edward waiting until she had changed, made up her face, and felt ready to meet him. He was waiting in the lounge, spreadeagled across the sofa reading one of her magazines. She had a moment to take in his dishevelled appearance, his long hair, the denims.

‘Well, I see we are very much into the swinging style, would you care for coffee?’

Edward beamed at her and swung his cowboy boots down from the sofa. ‘You look good... in fact, you’ve not changed at all.’

Primly she sat down, as far away from him as possible.

‘You know, Ming, when I heard that Alex was married, I thought it was you — I knew the pair of you were carrying on your little affair — but I was wrong.’

‘Yes, you were. Well what do you want?’