Lynda Plante - The Talisman

‘Edward, this is Ming. Ming and I have been working closely on the whole project — in fact I couldn’t have done up the place without her.’

Edward smiled at her, but his eyes were expressionless. His French was not as good as Alex’s, and he spoke to her in English. ‘Done a great job, I’m very impressed... what about a small tour?’

He picked up the looks between the two of them as they led him around the chateau. They were very much a couple, pointing out one piece of furniture or another, explaining where it came from and exactly which period. Ming talked about the colour schemes, the wonderful carpets they had shipped in, and Edward said not a word. She could feel his eyes, taking stock of everything, taking special note of her. So this was the big brother she had heard Alex speak of. She could see how different they were, in manner as well as appearance, and she could feel the energy flowing from Edward, could sense his danger.

Alex grew quiet as they neared the end of their tour. He noticed the way Edward stood close to Ming, rested his hand on her shoulder when he asked about a painting, stepped back and laughed with her when she described the auction where they bought it.

At last the inspection was over, and Edward walked slowly down the great stairway. Halfway down, he stopped. ‘Well, we shall have to throw a party before we leave. I shall call London, start making arrangements... what about staff, have you anyone moving in yet?’

Alex hesitated. He had not hired anyone as yet, he had been taking care of himself. But Edward paid little heed to his reply, he was congratulating Ming again, but at the same time dismissing her. ‘Do you have transport?’

Ming smiled and said yes she did. Edward looked over at Alex.

‘Well, no doubt we will meet again... Alex and I have a lot to discuss, I am only here for a few days, then we return to London.’

Alex ushered Ming to her car. She knew he was angry, his face was set, but he smiled, said he would collect her for dinner later in the evening. He stood and watched her drive away before turning back to the chateau.

Edward was lounging on a silk sofa, his feet resting on frilled silk cushions. ‘We’ll have a good dinner, then we’ll go over all the papers you have to sign. I’ll be here for a couple of days, but I want to send them back by courier tomorrow, then I can relax. May take a dip later, I must say the pool looks very inviting.’ He paused, looked searchingly at Alex. ‘You look fit and well, Alex, really tanned, it suits you... She’s a cute little thing, isn’t she? Very talented, too...’

Alex clenched and unclenched his fist.

‘You’ll have the office next to mine, but I’ve not furnished it... after seeing your taste, well, I think you’d rather do it yourself. Tres impressed, old boy.’

‘Good, I’m glad you like it. I... well, I love the place, and it must be obvious to you that I’m very happy here — not just in the chateau, but in France. I like it, I like the people, and I’ve been thinking.’

‘Obviously. Well — go on.’

‘Well, I can’t just continue spending, this place will cost a fortune to run. But I’m sure I could open up the vineyards. And perhaps I could start buying some of the farm land surrounding the orchards, make it a productive business. We’ve already started — we’ll have a good crop, and the season’s not even begun.’

‘You don’t know anything about farming! Besides, I’ve made arrangements.’

Edward cursed himself silently for not coming to France more often. He should have guessed something like this would happen. He lit a Havana cigar, puffing slowly, taking his time and choosing his words carefully. ‘Trouble is, you’ve no option really.’

‘Whaddya mean by that?’

‘Watch it, Alex, the accent slipped there.’

‘Screw my fucking accent! What do you mean I’ve got no option? If I don’t want to come back to London, then I won’t... And would you use the bloody ashtray?’

Edward turned on him, his voice controlled, but spitting out the words. ‘Maybe I need you, maybe you’ve overspent out here — do you think I’m running the Bank of England? While you’ve been lazing about over here in the sun, I’ve been working my butt off for you — yeah, for you... Here — passport, birth certificate — Alex Stubbs is dead, Alex Barkley’s coming back to London with me.’

Alex didn’t even pick up the envelope. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. ‘You owe me, Eddie, you gave me that cash, what is this? You want it back? Not a lot to pay for near ten years.’

Edward went to his brother, put his arms round him. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. I’m needled now because... because, Alex, I want you with me. I want you to take a look at what I’ve been doing, that’s what I’ve been knocking myself out for since you’ve been in France. Between us, together, we can go places, you know? You haven’t even seen what I’m working with in London, and you’re going to step right in, right in next to me... You opt out of it, then it’ll all be worthless. Don’t run out on it just because of some Jap bitch.’

Alex pushed him away, had to get away from his arms. ‘Maybe I need her.’

Edward sighed, rubbed his fingers in his hair. He tried another tack. ‘You look closely at her, Alex my old son. She’s no twenty-two-year-old, she’s forty if she’s a day. Not quite the sort you want to settle down with and have a family.’

Alex was getting angrier, his fist itching to throw a punch.

Edward opened his briefcase. ‘Take a look at how deep I’m prepared to go for you, how far I’m prepared to go to get you out of that cheap shit-hole of a club you ran. You are free, no one can trace you... Alex Stubbs, the ex-con with the off-the-peg suits, is gone. Read it, bottom of second page.’

Alex opened the English newspaper, searched the columns, unsure even what he was looking for... The article was only a few lines long, but it was a nightmare: ‘GANGLAND KILLING SUSPECTED... Alex Stubbs, a Mayfair club owner, was found burnt to death in his Jaguar early this morning. Police suspect...’ The print blurred, and Alex couldn’t read any more. He swallowed, stammered, ‘What the hell is this, for Chrissake?’

‘Like I said, Alex Stubbs is dead. You’ve a new passport, new birth certificate — you come back as Alex Barkley. I’m already making waves — we’ve got a property business, investment company, plus that old club you ran... I didn’t sell it, you only had a short lease, so I bought the whole building. We’ll open a club, it’ll be the best in London — gambling, dining, cabaret... I’ve already sunk over two and a half hundred grand in it, going too fast for you, am I? Whichever way you want to look at it, the jam is spreading very thick and fast. Going to make you rich, brother, richer than you ever dreamed.’

Alex’s mouth was dry, his mind reeled. Edward leaned back on the sofa and laughed. ‘I’ve been over all your old accounts, and you are good. As I said, I need you.’ He sprang to his feet, bursting with excitement, and strode around the room. ‘I want this place in every magazine, every glossy from Paris Match to Vogue, Elle , you name it, and then we’ll throw a coming-out party, for you, for me. We’ll get the Rainiers, the Windsors, big names, have them all here kissing our hands, and then, brother, we are in, all you need is the social acceptance... Alex? Heyyy, buddy...’

Alex sighed and rested his hand on the Louis XIV marble-topped table. ‘It’s maybe what you want, but...’

Edward snapped, his face flushed with anger, ‘Can’t you see what I’m offering? Remember Ma, her dreams? Not just for me, but for you. We’re going to be everything she ever wanted, and more. If you need time to think about it, fine. But I won’t wait long, and don’t think this came cheap.’ He held out the newspaper, shoved it under his brother’s nose. His voice dropped almost to a whisper, ‘You had a pretty poor funeral, old son — two bouncers and a wreath of friggin’ yellow roses from a tart... that what you want? You make your mind up.’