Lynda Plante - The Talisman

‘Where the hell are you, Eddie; where?’ He was shocked at the desperation in his voice. He wanted to smash the mirror with his fist. He pressed his head against the cold glass, calming himself, but it seemed that every way he turned there was a wall, closing in on him, pushing him under, as if he were drowning. He breathed deeply, he had not felt this violent, so physically angry, since he had been in prison. As it was then, his fury was directed at his brother, at Edward, but it was impotent fury, because he could not discover where Edward had run to... unless... South Africa.

George Windsor was half asleep. It was six o’clock in the morning, and the last person he expected to call him was Alex Barkley.

‘George? It’s Alex. Sorry to get you up so early, but... I want to work out, the way we used to... get yourself over to the RAC Club in St James’s...’

George was overawed by the ‘gentlemen’s club’ with the marble swimming pool. But he had little time to take it all in as Alex was already dressed in a tracksuit waiting impatiently. ‘Right, put me through it, just the way you used to. I need to be fit, George... so let’s get cracking. We do this every morning, same time, okay?’

George set Alex a tough programme. The good life had put a lot of extra pounds on Alex, but he never said a word, pushing himself until it was George who had to tell him to take it easy or he’d give himself a heart attack. Alex laughed, he felt good, and George began to give him a massage just the way he used to, pummelling his body, his big strong hands oiling, rubbing him down. George looked into Alex’s face — it was an eerie feeling, so many years had passed. It was as though Alex knew what George was thinking. He opened his eyes, and his voice was soft. ‘I need a friend, George, don’t let me down.’

George turned him over and began to massage his shoulders. ‘Whenever you need me, I’ll be there, you can depend on me, son.’

Alex smiled, and the two old friends shook hands; then Alex pulled George close and held him for a moment.

Fifteen minutes later, Alex emerged from the changing room in an immaculate pin-striped suit, carrying his briefcase. He looked at his gold Rolex, and his voice was sharp. ‘Right, bring the car round, I can make a couple of calls here while I’m waiting.’

George watched Alex stride to the reception desk. He seemed a different person, but it took only a moment for George to size up the situation. Alone, they were friends, but in public George was no more than an employee... So be it, if that was what Alex wanted, that was the way George would play it, just as long as he was paid enough.

Harriet stood in the hall of the manor, her suitcase packed. Dewint gave her a small gift and she accepted it graciously.

‘Where will you go, Mrs Barkley?’

‘Oh, my brother Allard’s got to sell up the old Hall, so I shall be there for a while, you know, sorting through family things. Then perhaps I’ll buy a cottage up there. You must come and stay.’

‘Oh, I would like that immensely.’

‘Where is he? Do you know?’

Dewint couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘I’m afraid I don’t, I got a card from Mexico, and India, he travels... you know the way he is.’

She patted his arm. ‘Yes, yes I know... Well this is goodbye. Thank you for being here, for all the times you were so very kind to me. Oh, how are my lettuces?’

Dewint walked with her to the door, said it was the wrong time of year for lettuce but her garden was coming along fine. The cab driver took her case, and she gave a small, sad wave of her hand as Dewint shut the door. ‘Now don’t you cry, you silly old man, we’ll see each other again, go back in, you’ll catch cold.’

The cab went off down the overgrown driveway, and he stood on the stone steps until there was no possibility of catching another glimpse. She had not stayed long, and not taken very much, only a few clothes and a couple of ornaments she had made. Most of her time she had spent in the main bedroom, and he had not interrupted her. There had been no divorce — the papers were left unsigned, but it was very obvious there was no chance of a reconciliation. Edward had not been to see her once during her recovery — he had sent flowers, but they really came from Miss Henderson, and Harriet knew it.

Dewint made himself a cup of tea, and then took out his clean, well-pressed handkerchief and cried. The house was dying, neglected, unloved and silent. It broke his heart.

Harriet sat well back in the taxi, resting her head against the leather upholstery. She was fifty-four years old, her hair completely grey, and she had taken the scissors to it herself. She had gained more weight and was now almost rotund. But her eyes were bright as a child’s, sparkling when she passed familiar areas. She bought a ham and tomato sandwich at the railway station, munching as she wandered along to her compartment, looking for all the world like an ageing hippy.

Allard met her at the station, very disgruntled as the house sale was taking a very long time to arrange. He was as grey-haired as his sister, and wore a flamboyant bright silk scarf with a rose in his buttonhole. The rest of his garb was as crumpled and disarranged as usual.

Harriet looked him up and down. ‘You know, for a poof, you are quite the worst dresser I’ve ever come across... Aren’t you supposed to be dapper?’

‘Good God, look who’s talking! You’re not exactly straight off the cover of Vogue yourself, are you? And what on earth have you got all those rows of beads round your neck for?’

‘I made them, that’s why. We did it in therapy, and I might go into business, you know, a cottage industry sort of thing. See, each one is painted, hand painted.’

‘I think they’re ghastly. Oh Christ this fucking hill, the car’s only just going to make it.’

They chugged up the hill in Allard’s rotting MG and eventually made it to Haverley Hall. The place was as draughty and as cold as ever, and even more dusty than the manor house. Harriet looked up at the crumbling pile and sighed. ‘Ah well — home, sweet home.’

‘Not for long, the sooner we get shot of this place the better. Have you got any idea how much stuff we have got to sort through and sell? Where are you going? Aren’t you going to make us tea? Harry?’

‘I’ll just go to my room and unpack first...’

Harriet put her suitcase on the small familiar bed. Even though it was cold, she opened her window and stared out towards the old stables, then across the fields to the woods.

‘I’m going for a walk.’

Allard stood at the bottom of the stairs hands on his hips. ‘But you’ve only just got here. I’ve not stopped for a minute, I’ve not had time to go for a walk.’

‘Oh shut up, you look like a demented lurcher.’

‘What?’

She marched to the front door. ‘It’s a cross between a greyhound and a wolfhound, very skinny, usually rather bald and with a very snipey nose.’

‘I know what a lurcher is, and it’s a damned sight preferable to a baby elephant.’

She went out wagging her finger. ‘I won’t forget that, Allard.’

She walked for miles along small winding lanes, the sounds of the crows screeching above her head. Three young girls on their ponies trotted by with their smart jodhpurs and black riding hats... memories of her childhood swept over her. The riders entered a field and began to canter; she closed her eyes to the sound of their hooves. Babba boom... babboom... she belonged here, her father had been right. As she made her way back to the Hall swishing a stick against the hedgerows, she wondered what her life would have been like if she had never met Edward, if he had never taken her away.