Lynda Plante - The Talisman

They were together every day, but at about ten o’clock in the evening she would always excuse herself and return to her own apartment if they were in Cannes, or to her hotel room if they were on the road. Alex was like a teenager, not knowing exactly how to take the first step towards changing their working relationship into a more personal one. The completion of the chateau drew closer day by day, and Alex was unable to sleep at night for thinking of ways he could keep Ming near him, close to him. The chateau was obviously her pride and joy, and she took such delight in finding each special piece of furniture, never making too much of the decor, allowing the majestic rooms to speak for themselves. He ached to kiss her, to hold her, but he was tongue-tied in her presence, flustered. If she was aware of his infatuation, she gave him no hint.

Ming and Alex stood together in the entrance hall of the chateau, surrounded by the smell of fresh paint, of polish, while the bright sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows.

‘Well, Alex, I think we have finished. Are you happy? Are you pleased?’

He adored the lilting sound of her voice, her accent when she spoke French. He made up his mind, it was now or never. ‘Ming, I have to talk with you, not about the house, something personal...’

He towered above her, and she raised her almond-shaped eyes to his, then lowered them. She bit her lip until it hurt. She had been unable to make him out; at first she had thought him clumsy, because of his desperate shyness, but then slowly she had realized that it was due to his schoolboy French. Then she had wondered if he was homosexual — they had stayed in hotels together, been in each other’s company day in, day out, and not once had he made a pass at her. She could not take the initiative herself to turn the relationship round. Her business depended on him, she couldn’t risk it. He was more than a meal ticket to her, he had taken her out of the red and into heavy black figures, and when they started to show the chateau in the glossy magazines as she intended, she knew her name would be made. She had done more than a magnificent job, she had surpassed herself.

Alex caught her tiny hand and she saw him flush. This was it, he was going to make a play for her at last. She gave him a demure smile.

‘I was wondering if we could have dinner together tonight? I have made a reservation in town.’

Ming had to stand on tiptoe to reach his lips. Her kiss was soft and swift, and he gasped.

‘I would like that so much. I shall miss the chateau, I shall miss you.’

Ming had never seen a man so pleased by a few simple words.

‘You will? Do you mean that?’

Ming laughed, and fell into step beside him along the marble hall. He was so childlike, and she knew he was unaware of the admiring glances he received from the many women they had met, it was as though he simply didn’t notice them. Ming paused, the hell with it... she held his arm and whispered.

‘Take me upstairs now, take me up there in your arms.’

For a moment Alex stood, nonplussed, then he swept her up into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder, felt his pulses thudding. He carried her up the stairs and into the master bedroom suite with its drapes and the vast bed they had bought from an Austrian castle. As he laid her gently down, she reached up and took his face between her tiny hands, pulled him towards her. But before their lips met, they heard the sound of a car on the gravel drive below.

Edward was impressed, more than impressed; he was astonished. He gazed at the chateau through the window of the Rolls. ‘Mind you,’ he thought to himself, ‘by the rate of knots the cash has been flowing out of the account, I should be impressed.’ Now he could see where it had all gone.

He parked the hired Rolls and walked up the steps to the entrance, which was flanked by urns containing a profusion of budding flowers. He turned to survey the gardens. The orchards, the hedgerows, were all a riot of colour and richness, a wonder to the eye. It was hard to believe that it had been a wilderness less than eight months ago.

He was equally astonished at the interior. He strode from room to room, taking it all in. Nothing jarred — the furnishings, the fabrics, the colours, all blended so perfectly that he felt something akin to awe.

Alex was surprised to see his brother, but not as taken aback as Edward was by him. For a moment he did not recognize Alex, having seen him only fleetingly since the last plastic surgery he had undergone. There had been numerous operations until his face had been completely reshaped, and now Edward could see the full extent of the change. There were no scars or puffiness — he looked like a different man. Edward held him at arm’s length. ‘Jesus Christ, you look good, you look good.’ He inspected Alex’s face closely, shook his head. ‘My God, what a job they did on you... what a face! Now you’re my brother again... I love the gear, nice jacket.’

Edward touched his brother’s face, his cheek, then wrapped him in his arms. Alex seemed not quite at ease with his brother, a little withdrawn, and Edward picked it up immediately.

‘What’s the matter, something wrong?’

‘No, no, nothing wrong... well, tell me, what do you think of the place?’

He watched Edward as he wandered around, picking up objects, looking at the fabrics. He was pale, not tanned like Alex, but there was that strength to him, that confidence. He picked up an ornate vase, a very expensive one. ‘This a copy or the real thing?’

Alex smiled, amazed he wasn’t able to tell. ‘It’s real, Ming Dynasty. It has an unusual fault in the glaze that makes it special.’

‘You don’t say? Well, I believe you, thousands wouldn’t. What did that set us back?’

‘Twenty-five thousand.’

Edward nearly dropped the vase in shock. ‘Fucking hell, twenty-five grand and it’s got a bleedin’ fault... You’re sure you know what the hell you’re doing?’

‘Yes — it’s already increased in value.’

Alex began to feel annoyed as Edward continued his inspection. He noted that Edward’s cashmere coat had a small rip in the pocket and a stain down the front. Edward somehow looked old-fashioned, scruffy, his suede shoes in need of a brush.

It had been almost five years since they had been reunited. For the first three years Alex had undergone extensive plastic surgery. He had recuperated in Cannes, and grown accustomed to living in style, a style he had adapted to with ease. He now spoke fluent French, and had taken a year of elocution classes to, as his brother put it it, ‘Get rid of that bleedin’ East End tag.’

Edward and Alex had struck a deal, one that Alex could not really refuse. He had agreed to leave England, undergo surgery, and hand over the reins of the club and his other business interests to Edward. Alex had drawn up the contracts, selling out for one million. Edward had then placed a further two million in a Swiss bank account for Alex’s use. The chateau had been Edward’s idea on one of his infrequent visits. He had suggested that they buy it and renovate it, even teasing Alex that although he was having a well-earned holiday, there was always money to be made in property, and it would give Alex a goal. But Edward had not bargained for Alex’s enthusiasm, his dedication, or the vast expense of the refurbishment. He kept a watchful eye on the Geneva account, and had cabled even more money to Alex when asked. The more money he paid the less guilt he felt. But he was careful to make notes of every withdrawal, every transaction.

Ming could hear their voices as they strolled from room to room. She waited for what she deemed a respectable time before making an appearance. Then she entered the drawing room silently, standing just inside the ornate, arched doors. Alex watched his brother when he turned towards her. At times Edward’s resemblance to Freedom was truly unnerving — the eyes so dark, hair so black that it had a blue sheen to it.