Lynda Plante - The Talisman

Alex had no knowledge of any business transactions between Walter and Edward, but Walter made the mistake of taking Alex’s silence for confirmation that he did know. ‘I’ve tried to contact Duval in Africa for three months, the PM’s somehow got wind of the hospital complex, I cannot afford at this stage... You know I regained my seat this election?’

Alex was trying to fathom what the hell Walter was talking about, but he couldn’t make head nor tail of it. All he could say for sure was that the man was exceptionally nervous.

‘Yes, yes, but that was a foregone conclusion.’

Walter paced the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. ‘Part of my campaign was that I would begin building a whole new leisure centre. Costs have jumped — escalated — to a ridiculous level, and I need Edward. He agreed to finance the project, but I have not seen a penny as yet. Now it’s up before a committee for review and if it seems like I’m going to break my word, it won’t look good... You have the hospital, everything’s gone through, but he’s let me down. I need to speak with him, and within the week.’ He lit yet another cigarette and began a hacking, chesty cough.

‘How much? I’ll see if I can release funds to you immediately.’

Walter eased up, sat down and sighed with relief. ‘Jesus, if you could it would save my skin, the election was by no means the foregone conclusion everyone thought... Well, Edward must have told you... Thirty-five thousand, as agreed.’

Alex nearly choked on his cigar, but covered by saying they should both give up smoking for their health.

Walter stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette and gave Alex a strange, sly look. ‘With you two bastards I’m amazed I’ve kept my sanity this long... I’ll call the office first thing in the morning, all right?’ He straightened his tie, wiped his sweating face and gave a small bow. ‘Perhaps we should join the party?’

First thing in the morning, Alex called Miss Henderson and asked her if he had all the documents on the building works. She replied that he had all she had ever been given to file. Alex sent a memo down to personnel to check out Skye Duval.

Evelyn was being driven to Heathrow, by Scargill. No one had even said goodbye to him, but he was used to that. He had his precious record collection and his guitar, he cared about little else. He wondered what France would hold for him. The place sounded gruesome, if not monastic. The school was run by friars, and it was apparent even to Evelyn that his father had really scraped the bottom of the barrel.

Scargill did not take Evelyn’s cases into the terminal. He pulled up outside and waited until he saw Evelyn give the thumbs up sign at his ticket collection desk then he returned to London. The school was St Martin at Pontoise, about thirty-two kilometres north-west of Paris. Evelyn had drunk his fill of free champagne in first-class during the flight. Now the taxi made his head ache, and he felt sick. As they turned a corner, he saw stretching before him what looked like a fortress. He leaned forward. ‘Holy shit, this can’t be it, it’s like a fucking prison.’

Alex had called a security company hire-car as Barbara was using the Rolls-Royce. The navy blue Mercedes was waiting for him outside the Barkley Company. The uniformed security guards locked up after him. The Mercedes’ door was held open by the chauffeur, who greeted him with, ‘Good evening, Mr Barkley.’ He replaced his peaked cap and hurried round to the driving seat. Alex gave the man a cursory glance, snapped open his briefcase, and began to look over contracts, unaware of the driver’s scrutiny as he began making notes with a gold pen in the margin. On every housing development contract he had come across, the same government stamp had been signed by Walter...

Looking in the driver’s mirror George Windsor was sure now, one hundred per cent sure, that the man in the back of his hire-car was without question Alex Stubbs. They drew up outside Alex’s house.

‘How much?’

George turned. ‘Have this one on me, Alex, for old times’ sake.’

Puzzled, Alex looked at him, frowning in annoyance at the driver’s familiarity... Then he felt as if he had been punched in the gut. Somehow he found the control to take out his wallet, extract a ten-pound note. ‘Keep the change.’

George gripped his wrist. ‘You can’t fool me, Alex, this is George, remember? You share a cell wiv someone else as long as what I did, yer get to remember.’ He released Alex’s wrist and there was a long silence. Alex stared out of the window at his house. Barbara was entertaining yet again, he could see all the lights on, the cars in the drive. After a long pause, thirty years of pause, Alex spoke again. ‘How much do you want?’

‘Ahhh, don’t make me ‘it yer! You think I’d try that one? I was your friend, remember me, George? We shared a cell, a flat, an’ yer say that to me... What yer take me for, some kind of fuckin’ bum?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I fuckin’ buried yer, mate, stood over yer friggin’ grave, mate. Sorry!’ George turned back to gaze through the windscreen, gripped the wheel tight.

Alex sighed a deep sigh that made his body shudder. This was the nightmare, the moment he had dreaded, when a ghost would rear its head and bring back the past.

‘You know, Alex, I loved yer, the best friend I ever had. I loved yer, and I looked up to yer, and I thought you cared about me. I must have been crazy. Why d’yer do that to me, why?’

Alex asked him to drive around, keep on driving. The car moved off slowly, and it began to rain, heavy drops at first. They sounded loud, like Alex’s heart.

‘Too much happened, George, to even begin to tell you, but believe me, it was not in my control.’ The words sounded hollow. ‘Look, I had a chance to get out and I took it, grabbed it with both hands. My brother engineered everything and I went along with it until it was too late, too complicated to get out of.’

Windsor looked at Alex in the mirror. ‘Don’t have ter make excuses to me, Alex. You done all right, more than all right, just hurt that yer couldn’t tell me. But then maybe if I’d hadda chance, I’d have done the same.’

Alex laughed, a soft, mirthless laugh; he would never, could never even begin to tell George part of it. He rested his arm along the back of the driving seat. ‘George, I’ve never had such a good friend, not ever. In fact, I don’t have a single one now.’

The two of them drove around for over an hour, and at last the car pulled up at Alex’s house again.

‘I need a friend, George, someone I can trust, trust with my secrets, my life...’

Windsor said he was not after a bribe, not even after money, but he would be just as good a friend, any time Alex needed him.

‘Then work for me, be my driver.’ Windsor said he would report for duty the following morning. He promised never to say a word about Alex. As Alex began to climb out of the car, he stopped and held Windsor’s shoulder for a moment in a tight grip, and Windsor touched his hand.

The cab stood at the kerb until the front door closed, then moved slowly off. Windsor whistled, he had played that very well. He would be all right now. Things would be all right from now on.

Alex couldn’t face the roomful of talking, laughing people so he gave Scargill the wink and went upstairs to his rooms. As he undressed, he wondered just how far he could really trust George. He soaped his body, he would have to tie George to him strongly, make sure he was well paid but knew his place.

He began to towel himself dry, and caught his reflection in the steamed-up bathroom mirror. He stared, then wiped it clear, looked at himself. His eyes were red-rimmed, he was exhausted. How many more ghosts from the past could rear up and threaten him? No sooner did he make some headway than something or someone dragged him back. Holding the reins of the vast company was a mammoth task in itself, to be working day and night on trying to piece together Edward’s transactions was impossible, he covered his tracks so well... He still had no idea where his brother was.