Lynda Plante - The Talisman

‘I doubt if that one will interest you, it’s accountancy.’

‘That what you are then? An accountant?’

‘Was, I was... and I doubt if I’ll be allowed to practise when I get out.’

‘I’ll make a deal wiv you. You could get a lot of aggro — I’ll see the blokes leave you alone. In return, I want you to teach me everyfing you know...’

This was the last thing Brian expected. He was so relieved he would have promised anything to have Alex on his side — he had been terrified while being held on remand. But he did not anticipate Alex’s almost obsessive desire to study — the moment he woke up he reached for a book. Every moment he didn’t spend in the gym he spent with Brian, ploughing through everything they could get from the library. Brian was a good teacher, and had worked for the Inland Revenue. As a fledgeling tax inspector, he was able to guide Alex through the complex taxation system.

Brian had become involved with a man who had manipulated him into a banking and taxation fraud. He had been used, but in the course of the scam he had travelled extensively, and organized tax havens for his friend in Jersey and Switzerland.

Alex was fascinated, and questioned him on everything, often until the early hours of the morning... and the relationship deepened. Alex, not Brian, made the first move. He had already had a number of homosexual so-called affairs, but Brian was different. Alex actually cared for him, and the feelings were reciprocated and eventually consummated. Alex learnt a great deal more than accountancy from his lover, who now corrected his grammar and picked him up on his dropped ‘aitches’. At first Alex had been temperamental about being constantly corrected, but he soon realized it was done out of affection. In the end he worked just as hard on speech defects as on his other studies. Being with Brian gave Alex a new confidence in himself. He was less aggressive, more quietly assertive than he had ever been.

Brian was broken-hearted when Alex left. They promised to write, and Alex gave his word that as soon as he had a place to stay he would send Brian his address. But he had no intention of ever seeing him again, the relationship was over. For Alex, like most prisoners, homosexual practices until Brian had been a pure necessity... but there would be no more Brians, he had served his purpose. He would have one label, ‘ex-con’, and he didn’t want another.

Alex set his sights on climbing back to the top of the mountain, to breathe that clean, fresh air once more. He vowed to himself that he would never see the inside of a prison again.

True to his promise, George Windsor was waiting for Alex outside the gates of the prison. He had rented a small flat in Dulwich. The next day they bought a second-hand suit for Alex. Being ‘outside’ was not easy at first, and he had to hide his shyness at talking to strangers. The next step was to find a job, but with hundreds of soldiers back from the war, work was hard to come by. Alex began a depressing round of job interviews, arranged by his probation officer.

Edward walked out of the examination room, exhausted. His head ached from concentrating and his shoulders were stiff from hunching over the exam papers. He breathed in the lovely, fresh spring air as he walked across the quad. He had done well, he knew it. Not one question had beaten him. It had been his last exam in two weeks of finals, and now all that was left were the results and freedom. He felt almost light-headed as he walked along the river bank.

The May Ball signified the end of term, and everyone was excitedly looking forward to it. But Edward decided he would give it a miss and await his results in London.

Edward’s bedmaker was just finishing his room, and told him a letter had just arrived — it was on his desk. ‘You do well, you think, sir? In the exams, sir? I hope so, you’ve certainly worked for it if I may say so. Very dedicated student if I may say so, pleasure to bedmake for you, sir.’

Edward smiled, he knew the man had hardly given him a moment’s thought, but it was now coming up to the time for tipping, and he wanted to ingratiate himself.

‘Well, I’ll be off, sir, all shipshape, thank you very much, sir.’

Edward didn’t even turn his head to thank the man. The door closed and shut out the sound of his muttering. He opened the letter. It was from Harriet, and the energetic loops and coils of her handwriting reminded him of her. It was misspelt and full of underlinings and double underlinings for emphasis:

I am coming to the May Ball as Allard’s partner. Will you be there, will I see you? can I see you. It is imperatife...

Love, Harry.

PS You have not written once. I have been incarserated at boarding school, then diabolickly removed from boarding school, and threatened with being sent to Switzerland to finishing school.

PPS Please reply to this, I am esconced at London address.

PPPS you forgot my birthday AGAIN.

Edward thought about replying to Harriet’s letter. He had not spoken to Allard for months; they passed each other without any acknowledgement. As he had made up his mind to take up BB’s offer of work, Edward booked a passage on the seaplane to South Africa. This made a considerable dent in his mother’s legacy, but he still had the gold cigarette case and lighter.

The pieces of furniture and the paintings from Charlie’s attic that Edward wanted to keep were crated to be put into storage. He packed his personal belongings into his trunk, discarding a few articles that were very worn.

All around him the students were hell-bent on preparing for the ball. Hotels were booked, girlfriends and fiancees began to arrive by the train load to be ready for the big night. Edward kept himself busy completing his packing. He would be in Southampton the night of the ball and, even if he had contemplated staying for it, forking out the one pound and ten shillings for the tickets was, he felt, a waste of his cash.

‘You leaving before the big bash, sir? Well, that is a rum thing.’

The gatekeeper inspected Edward’s list of instructions for the things that were to be picked up. His trunk he would take with him.

‘Going somewhere nice, sir?’

Edward smiled, and said airily that he was going to see friends in South Africa.

He walked one last time along the river. He had to see Emmott and a few other tutors before he left, but basically it was over, and he wanted one long, last walk.

‘Edwaaaaard! Edwaaaaaard!’ It was Harriet, wobbling alarmingly on a bicycle. He knew it was her not just by the bellowing, but the long red hair that streamed out behind her. She was wearing a printed summer dress, and had tucked the skirt into the leg of her knickers so it wouldn’t catch in the spokes. Her skin was lightly tanned, her long legs bare, and she was wearing brown leather sandals. She careered up to him and he caught the handlebars to stop her.

‘Gateman said you were walking this way so I borrowed this, no idea whose it is, but he must be a very tall chap, I can hardly reach the seat.’ She had grown taller herself, and must have been at least five foot eight in her flat sandals. But it was as if there had been no time since their last meeting, she was as familiar with him as if they had parted only yesterday.

‘Said you were about to leave, thank you very much, not even a word to me... My, you are even taller than I remembered.’

He tucked her hand under his arm, he could say the same for her, she was almost as tall as her brother.

‘What’s gone on between you two? I mentioned your name and I thought he would throw up... Oh, look, a mallard!’

She dropped to her knees on the river bank and stared at the duck. ‘You two have a falling-out, did you?’

‘No, not a falling-out, more just sort of going our separate ways.’