Lynda Plante - The Talisman

Later, as she got ready for bed, she overheard them talking in Barbara’s bedroom. When she realized they were discussing her father, she listened intentionally. Alex had been quiet at dinner, but obviously agitated. Jinks could hear Barbara asking him if Jinks’ presence in the house upset him. Alex replied that he really couldn’t care less.

Jinks pressed her face against her door, eager not to miss a word of what was being said. Alex’s voice rose in anger as he described Edward’s total disregard for the company, for the amount of work Alex was doing... Jinks could hardly believe what she was hearing.

‘That bastard will drag me down with him unless I do something drastic. This time I’m not taking it, this time I’ve had enough. At this afternoon’s board meeting it was carried unanimously. I am taking over the company...’

‘It’s about time. I’m surprised you waited this long. If it’s not drugs, it’s drink; you should get him certified...’

‘That is just what I am doing.’

Alex’s laugh sounded hollow, humourless. The next moment, Jinks had to hurry across to her bed as she heard him in the corridor. Her door inched open, and he popped his head round.

‘Jinks? You asleep? If I don’t see you in the morning, have a good trip. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Uncle Alex, and thank you for letting me stay.’

‘You’re welcome any time, good night.’

He closed the door and went to his own room, leaving Jinks unable to sleep for hours, repeating over and over in her mind every word she had heard her uncle say. She wondered if it was really possible for Alex to take over the Barkley empire and, if so, where would that leave her?

Jinks had been a lonely child, often having to take care of her mother. Now the realization that she also had to take great care of her own future, that nothing could be depended upon, made her aware of just how valuable Barbara Barkley could be.

Jinks began to practise a subtle manipulation of her aunt. She wanted to cut corners, and she knew Barbara could show her exactly how; after all, as her father had said, ‘You don’t have to like the woman, just use her.’ She began to see just what he had meant. The first-class travel was easily bought by anyone, but the extras that a VIP like Barbara Barkley could command were a revelation. She did indeed know everyone, and they moved their suites at the Hotel St George twice before Barbara was satisfied.

‘Honey, you never accept the first room they offer. You want the best, you can pay for the best, you make damn sure you get it...’

Barbara swept through Paris. The season was in full swing, and before they had unpacked the telephone was ringing every two minutes. Invitations poured in, and Barbara acquired a personal maid, a chauffeur-driven stretch limo and a secretary, plus a PR agent to announce where Barbara Barkley would be and at what time. Jinks stood back and admired her, flattered her, and paid close attention to every detail. Barbara obviously loved it all, exuding energy and a zest for life that women half her age would covet. She delighted in having Jinks close at hand to whisper and giggle with, and often said the most outrageous things. She appeared to know who had had what lifted and by whom, and when Jinks asked how she knew so much she roared with laughter.

‘Because, sweet thing, I have used their doctors myself. You don’t remain thirty-eight for long without paying for it, and when it’s in such good condition and all in working order, you bet your sweet arse I know who else has been having the same tucks...’

Together they moved with the elite, surrounded by film stars and Parisian society. Jinks soaked up everything she saw like a sponge. Barbara never let her down, and whisked her to one designer after another. She also took her protegee’s wardrobe very seriously and introduced her to many young designers she thought more suitable than the named houses she herself preferred. After one show she insisted on taking Jinks backstage to meet Jerry Hall, a model as tall, and with feet as big as Jinks’, to give her a good look at what she could do with herself if she tried.

Barbara received so many invitations that did not include Jinks that occasionally she would depart for luncheons or dinners without her. On one of these evenings Jinks was sitting alone, brushing her hair and trying on some of her new clothes. She had ordered room service, so when there was a knock on the door she called for them to come in to set up her dinner. But there were no sounds of a trolley or clinking of cutlery, so she walked through to the lounge.

Evelyn Barkley leaned against the door frame. For a moment she was afraid, not recognizing him, then he tilted his head and smiled at her.

‘Well, hello, cousin, surprise, surprise! Expected Mother, where is she?’

Jinks felt herself flushing, and stammered that Barbara was out for the evening.

‘Oh, she must have forgotten. Still, not to worry.’

There was a knock on the door and he opened it, standing aside for room service to enter. Jinks excused herself and returned to her bedroom to dress. By the time she came out, he was sitting down, pouring a glass of wine.

He was wearing the filthiest pair of leather trousers and an old leather jacket, a scarf knotted at his throat. His motorbike boots had so many straps and buckles he looked like a Hell’s Angel, but he was perfectly at ease. Smiling, he told her he had ordered a steak for himself.

She could not meet his black, slanting eyes. His delicate bone structure was reminiscent of Barbara’s finely chiselled features; and he was an exceptionally handsome boy, but his face, like his hands, was filthy. His hair was lank and greasy, and he wore an elaborate silver skull-and-crossbones earring. She accepted the glass of wine, and before she could offer a toast he had downed his full glass and was pouring another.

‘So what’s with you? What are you doing here with the duchess?’

‘I’m here for the collections.’

He looked at her and laughed. ‘Oh, we’re here for the collections, are we? Christ, how tall are you? You must be nearly six feet.’

Jinks flushed bright pink and sat down quickly, picking up her napkin to cover her embarrassment. He leaned over and tugged her hair. ‘You look better than you did last time. Christ, you used to wear those specs, and those pigtails...’

Jinks could not think of anything to say, so she sipped her wine while he made himself at home, forking salad out of the bowl and then eating it with his fingers, filthy fingernails prodding at the tomatoes and then dipping them into the salad dressing.

‘How’s college, aren’t you at college here?’ Jinks finally managed.

Evelyn snorted. With his mouth full, he told her about his time at St Martin’s of Pontoise. ‘Place is, rather was, run by friggin’ monks. We hadda call them Brother or Frere. Place was like a concentration camp — mass every day, bloody dormitories, fucking ice-cold showers... Jesus, it was a shit-hole. I got out after my first term, not that the old lady knows, or the old man. They wouldn’t know if I died of the clap over here, but they keep on sending the allowance, so who gives a fuck. Know what I mean?’

His steak arrived, and he sauntered to the door to let the waiter in, then kicked it shut. He proceeded to eat the steak with his hands, waving it around the room as he talked. Suddenly Jinks started to laugh. He was trying so hard to impress her or disgust her, she couldn’t tell which, but it was just so ridiculous, and it was all the funnier to think that he was Barbara’s son.

‘Has your mother seen you in this get-up? Or have you bought it especially for tonight?’

He looked at her and licked his filthy fingers. Then, with an open-handed gesture, he enquired what was wrong with his gear... but he was smiling, and his eyes were like a naughty boy’s, wonderful, twinkling eyes with thick, long eyelashes. He threw himself on to the sofa, propped his boots on the satin cushions and unzipped one of his many pockets.