Lynda Plante - The Talisman

‘Tomorrow we’ll drive into town and choose a ring.’

‘No — this is just perfect... this place is perfect, you are perfect.’

Pierre smelt the steaks burning, and rushed into the kitchen.

Caught in candlelight, the silver paper glittered. A small voice in Harriet’s head whispered, ‘Look, Auntie Mae, look at his hands, and his feet — each toe is just perfect.’

Harriet watched Pierre through the open window. He was tossing the salad expertly, and she sighed. She did love him, she cared for him so much, and he was so understanding. Unconsciously she unwound the silver paper from her fingers and rolled it into a tiny ball.

Alex heard Edward’s car, and walked down the stairs as the front door banged open. Alex winced as the delicate stained glass shuddered.

‘You’ve had a few calls from London — I’ve left a note of them on your bed. You’re in the west wing — I won’t be late, but don’t wait up.’

‘My, my, you look very smart — like the suit. What’s the material?’

‘Linen — it’s made locally. See you in the morning.’

Edward watched Alex drive away. He knew he was on his way to Miss Takeda, and he chuckled. He doubted if Alex would ever know about his ‘Lotus Flower’. He had not told Ming just how far he had delved into her affairs, or that he knew how much money she had creamed off the refurbishing of the chateau into her own pocket. She was as devious as Edward, and it amused him, but he reckoned that Alex would be better out of the grasp of her tiny, white hands.

When Alex arrived he found Ming wrapped in a floating white kimono. She held the door open a fraction, then bowed slightly as he stepped in. He had bought a bunch of roses from a flower seller in the town, and Ming held them close to her chest as she led him into her sitting room. She fetched a white vase and filled it with water, began to arrange each bloom with care.

‘Well, you met my brother, what do you think of him?’

‘He is very charming.’

‘I wouldn’t describe him as that.’

Alex wanted her to look at him, wanted her to say something, but still she attended to the flowers with studied concentration. Alex stood close to her. Suddenly he felt so shy, so uncomfortable. Gently, he placed his hand on her shoulder. She touched his hand, brushed her cheek against it. He lifted her into his arms and held her tightly.

‘Be my wife? Will you? Will you marry me?’

He could feel her shaking, and he tilted her chin up to look into her face. She moved away from him, gesturing for him to sit down — not close, a little apart from her.

She told Alex the truth about herself. She left out nothing, even the time she had spent in the ‘massage parlours’. When she had finished, she sat with her head bowed, tears streaming down her face.

Alex hesitated for a moment, then he said, ‘I had better tell you about me.’ And piece by piece he told his story, for the first time in all the years. It came out without violence, without hatred. He told it simply, his voice low, and Ming was silent throughout. Alex’s voice only faltered when he described the death of his father, Freedom.

‘I loved him, I loved him so... but, then, Edward...’

Ming could feel his pain, knew instinctively not to speak. Alex told her of his years in prison, and as he talked the hatred of all those years eased from him, little by little. At one point he smiled at her — at long last someone else knew, knew what he had been through, what he had done. He even told her about the surgery on his face, he left nothing out, as if once he had begun he was unable to stop. At the end he was drained, empty, and he sighed. It was over.

They both sat as if stripped naked, the void between them a vast distance neither of them knew how to span. Suddenly Ming put out her tiny white hand, and there was no void, no more emptiness between them, they were in each other’s arms. While they held each other tightly, Ming told Alex of Edward’s visit. She saw the flash of rage in his eyes, and she held him, calmed him. ‘Listen to me, I want to be your wife, but I want everything he offered me, too. I want what he offered, do you understand?’

Alex did understand, because he too wanted, or at least needed, to try to achieve everything Edward had dangled before him.

‘We can do whatever we want, there’s no need for us to be separated...’

Ming laughed softly, hugged him close. She knew Edward would stand between them.

‘In a way I think he’s scared of me, he wants you all to himself. Well, let him think he has you. We can wait until the time is right. Perhaps it will be better if he thinks he has succeeded in separating us.’

‘You think so?’

‘I know so... You see, I love you, I love you, Alex.’

Alex blushed beneath his tan. He tried to say what he felt, but he wanted to leave, it was crazy. More than he wanted to stay, he wanted to leave. Uppermost in his mind was the fact that he had beaten Edward at his own game.

Ming was disturbed that Alex didn’t make love to her. She watched him from her workshop window as he hurried away, and remained standing there long after the car had gone. Slowly, the armour Ming had carefully constructed around herself cracked. She had let the only man she had ever cared for walk out of her life. She looked around her workroom, the bales of material, the stacks of fabric samples. Why hadn’t she taken him to her bed, why? Almost unaware of what she was doing, she began to draw on a large sheet of paper. She drew the Ming logo, then pressed the pen over and over the drawing until the paper began to tear... Ming... Ming... Ming... It would not be long before that simple logo, and her name, was known worldwide.

Edward heard Alex’s arrival home, heard him moving around below, and was surprised when he walked into the bedroom. He was carrying a bottle of Krug champagne and two glasses, and Edward again marvelled at the change in him. As Alex uncorked the bottle with a single practised movement, he looked so handsome, so sophisticated. He sat on Edward’s bed. ‘Ming has disappeared. I was upset at first... now, well... I’ve been thinking over everything you said, and I am ready to return to England, so we had better begin arranging this “coming-out” party... Cheers.’

Edward toasted his brother in the champagne, which was chilled to exactly the right temperature. He patted the pillow beside him. ‘I’ve already started, take a look at the “A” list.’

Alex lay next to Edward on the vast double bed, their heads resting on frilled white Victorian pillowslips. They laughed as they went over the names, made references to childhood events long forgotten, until they both drifted off to sleep, side by side. In his sleep Edward turned, and his arm rested across Alex’s body as if they were lovers.

Edward returned to London and went directly to the new club to inspect its progress. The building had begun to take shape — dining rooms, tearooms, kitchens and rest rooms. Three floors were totally dedicated to gambling — roulette, chemmy, baccarat tables, and private card rooms. The place was filled with designers and decorators, and no expense was spared. The papers had begun to speculate on the owner of the new, elegant club, which would be membership only, exclusive.

Edward had been taken aback at his brother’s obvious adeptness at accountancy, and now he rubbed his hands in satisfaction. Alex was going to be more than useful. Edward had disposed of all Alex’s small business interests, and had taken over only what he saw as reasonably profit-making establishments. Growing slowly now on the site of what had been their old home, number twelve, was a fifteen-storey tower block. When the building was finished he would have a sign erected the size of the roof saying simply, ‘Barkley Ltd’.