Lynda Plante - The Talisman

‘I’d rather hoped the duchess would be here so I could hit her for some cash. She coughs up fast when I look like this, especially if she’s got company... you wanna smoke?’

Evelyn drew a rather squashed joint from his pocket, lit it, and inhaled the smoke deeply. Jinks continued to sip her wine, leaving her food untouched.

‘So you’ve left college?’

He nodded, then offered her the joint. She hesitated a moment, then walked over to take it. He pulled her down to sit next to him.

‘So how’s life, willow-legs? You look very affluent, what do you do? You work, do you?’

Jinks puffed tentatively at the joint, but the end was soggy so she handed it back. He took a deep drag, then stared at her.

‘What does a little rich girl do in Paris, huh?’

‘I’m going to college in America.’

‘Oh, are we? Isn’t that exciting...’

‘If you are no longer at St Martin’s, what do you do?’

‘I live in a commune. My friends and I fight against the stinking capitalist shits who run this country.’

He watched her closely for a reaction, but receiving none either way he continued, growing serious about his political beliefs. He spoke in glowing terms of the Baader-Meinhof gang, and spouted the Red Army jargon. Looking at her, he gestured to her silk robe.

‘Sitting in the lap of luxury I doubt if you could understand, could feel any compassion for the injustices...’

Jinks had heard enough. His childish and irritating arrogance annoyed her. ‘On the contrary, I am more than aware of the injustice in the world, but I doubt if joining some tin-pot terrorist organization can put it to rights. You are a typical recruit. It’s a fact that most terrorist organizations draw the offspring of wealthy parents like magnets. Although, as far as I have discovered, there is usually an element of their own failure that surpasses their hatred of their so-called capitalist parents’ wealth. I’m not saying that all the offshoots, all terrorist organizations, are made up of rich kids, but they are essentially useful — if for nothing else but finances. You had every opportunity to make something of yourself but you blew it. If you want my opinion you’d be better off going back to college, or better still, if you don’t want to use the money that I presume is still being paid out for your education and is consequently being wasted, give it to some kid who wouldn’t have the chance...’

He jumped to his feet in a fury, shouting at her, ‘If I wanted a fucking lecture I’d go to my father, you mind your own damned business!’

‘Fine! You started it, I didn’t ask you to come in here spouting political dogma. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you left, you stink — doesn’t this commune of yours possess a bath, or is it not the thing to do?’

They glared at each other, then suddenly he roared with laughter. ‘Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind a bath, thanks... You know, I preferred you with your hair in pigtails and those weird glasses you used to wear. How’s Aunt Harriet?’

Jinks had to turn away from him. ‘She died, nearly nine months ago...’

Evelyn hesitated, and he suddenly dropped his act, became real, even appeared vulnerable. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know. She was nice... You sure it’s okay for me to have a bath?’

Jinks turned to him, and they were totally at ease with each other. She nodded her head. For a moment he looked just like he had done at school, a cheeky grin flashed on his handsome face, then he disappeared into her bedroom.

She could hear him moving around, and then the sound of the bath running. After a moment he called out for her to come and talk to him. She hesitated... and opened the door.

He was stripping off his clothes in preparation for his bath, tipping bath salts and perfume into the steaming tub. She remained hovering in the doorway, and he looked over, laughing, as she flushed crimson and returned to the lounge. She rang for room service to clear dinner, and waited for fifteen minutes, listening to him singing and splashing in the bathroom.

Room service cleared the trolley and delivered fresh coffee. She had just poured herself a cup when he reappeared, wrapped in bath towels. While she poured him the coffee he asked for, he stood very close to her, too close, and she was aware of his body. His hair, washed and drawn back from his face, dripped water down his naked back. In a genuinely friendly gesture he slipped an arm around her.

‘Clean enough, Miss Juliana? Little Four-eyes?’

‘Not any more. I don’t even wear glasses, and your dear mother is showing me the ropes... apparently I inherited my mother’s appalling dress sense. How do you think I look?’

He stood back and looked her up and down. ‘You look okay... yeah, you look okay. Did Mother say when she would be back?’

‘I don’t know, she went to a dinner party.’

‘Oh, so that’s what she calls it nowadays? She screwin’ anyone I would know of?’

‘I’m sure I wouldn’t know...’

‘How’s your father? How’s the Big Bad Wolf?’

‘Apparently bigger and badder, you know the way he is.’

‘I like him. You remember that Christmas I came over — best Christmas I ever had. I got this great car, a police car with sirens.’

They sat drinking their coffee. He seemed miles away, deep in thought. Jinks felt herself constantly wanting to look at him, his eyes, his hair, his delicate bone structure. He had always been a good-looking boy; now he was really exceptionally handsome. His eyes were as dark as her father’s, but his lashes were thick and long as a girl’s. As if he were reading her mind, he looked up to meet her gaze... and he smiled, the sweetest of smiles.

‘I couldn’t hit you for a couple of hundred, could I? It’s just I’m a bit desperate, you know the old man keeps me short, in the hope I’ll behave, ha, ha, ha. I’ll pay you back.’

As Jinks reached for her handbag, he leaned close and cupped her chin in his hand. She stared into his face, and it was over in a second... he simply bent his head and kissed her lips. It was a gentle kiss, a simple ‘thank you’. She blushed, and he touched her cheek with his hand, then watched as she counted out the notes. He kissed them as she held them out, then he walked into the bedroom, dropping the towel and reaching for his trousers just as Barbara walked in. She was a little tipsy, carrying a large bouquet of flowers and a magnum of champagne, calling out as she entered, ‘Jinks, we have been invited by Count Emilio de...’

Barbara stared at her half-naked son, hopping into his trousers, then at Jinks. There was a moment when none of them said a word. The flowers were thrown aside, and Barbara snapped, ‘What the hell has been going on here?’

Evelyn sauntered in from the bedroom. ‘Just came round to see you. You weren’t in, so we decided to have a fuck, so that’s what’s been going on, okay? No harm done, Mother.’

Evelyn ducked as Barbara went for him, grabbed him by the hair and slapped his face. She was screaming incoherently, and received in return a slap that sent her reeling across the room. He picked up his boots and jacket, backing away from his mother.

‘You’re sick, you know that? I need some cash, that’s all I came for, the only reason I ever come to see you. So where’s your bag?’

Jinks tried to intervene, but he pushed past her, picked up his mother’s evening bag, tipped out the contents and took what money she had, stuffing it into his pocket. Jinks went and helped Barbara to her feet — she was shaking badly, and her cheek was inflamed where he had slapped her.

Evelyn finished dressing, stamping his feet into his boots, and Barbara never said a word. As if his mother weren’t in the room, he smiled at Jinks, thanked her for a pleasant evening, and walked out.