Lynda Plante - The Talisman

Edward’s voice was husky with emotion. ‘You’ve cut your hair.’

‘You’ve changed your name.’

‘Can I see you?’

‘What on earth is this slimy stuff all over the chicken, it’s awful.’

‘Where are you staying?’

Pierre joined them at that moment, and smiled apologetically at Edward’s discomfort.

‘Pierre, don’t touch the chicken, it’s dreadful... Did you meet my fiance, er... Edward? Do you mind, Mr Barkley, if I call you Edward?’

Pierre smiled again at Edward, then told Harriet they were leaving. He appeared rather embarrassed by her rudeness, and thanked Edward for his hospitality. As they turned to go, Edward caught her by the hand. ‘Where can I find you?’

She withdrew her hand, and her brilliant, sparkling eyes glittered. She tossed her head and walked away without a backward glance.

Alex sat with the Duke of Windsor, Her Grace having departed to talk with other guests. They were discussing seventeenth-century furniture, and the Duke was fascinated. Alex leafed through his book and showed a Chinese painting table, Huang-Hua-Li wood with a carved bamboo motif.

‘So what price would a piece like that fetch?’

Alex told His Grace it would be in the region of seventy-five thousand dollars. Together they inspected the few pieces Alex had already purchased, the small lute table in hardwood, and they walked into the master bedroom to stand side by side looking at a Chinese rectangular side table, again made of Huang-Hua-Li, but sixteenth century.

‘They are very good investments, sir. You see, there are nineteenth-century copies that are fetching extremely high prices. These will always rise in value because of their rarity... the most rare piece would be a seventeenth-century bed, no one has ever found one.’

They got down on their hands and knees to feel the highly polished wood and examine the joints. The Duke was absolutely intrigued...

Sitting at a small garden table in deep discussion with Edward was Count Frederique Rothschild, who offered to purchase the chateau, with all its contents, outright. He wanted to spread his vineyards right across the valley, and the chateau was perfectly placed for the champagne-growing region. They shook hands and agreed to meet within the next day or so to arrange the price.

Edward was beginning to get irritated. The party was clearly a hit, but his brother was nowhere to be seen. Guests were leaving without Alex there to bid them farewell.

He looked around for his prize guests to get them to pose for photographers and wondered if they had left after only a few moments, as was their wont.

Moving from table to table, his computer-like brain stored names and faces for future reference, and still there was no sign of Alex. A butler moved unobtrusively to his side and whispered that the Duke and Duchess of Windsor’s car was being brought round to the main entrance. Edward posed with some of the other guests for the photographers, then weaved his way towards the main entrance where a chauffeur waited with the white Rolls-Royce, engine ticking over. Edward hurried back into the hall and through the group of people who stood there chatting, and was just about to go in search of Alex when he stopped, open-mouthed.

Down the staircase came the Duke, his arm resting loosely on Alex’s, their heads close, in deep conversation. Edward watched in amazement as the Duke reached the bottom of the stairs and a waiter appeared, carrying a small wooden box.

‘Oh, this is really most kind of you, most kind, I shall treasure this, and I assure you I will take an avid interest from now on. This is really an exceptional gift.’

The Duchess joined her husband and he displayed his precious gift, the small seventeenth-century box. Rather casually, she waved her hand for the waiter to take it to the car. The Duke jumped to attention at her side, while Edward stood at the door to see the most important guests to their car. They barely looked at him, but gave Alex a firm handshake before they drove away.

It was late evening when the last hangers-on departed, and the debris of the day was cleared away. At last Alex was able to take a long, soapy, relaxing bath. He felt exhausted. He didn’t even know if the event had gone well or not, he was too tired.

‘Well, well, old chap, you surpassed yourself, and what was that thing you handed over to your new pal? Couldn’t believe my eyes! What on earth did you give the Duke?’

Alex explained that the Duke had been taken with the small Chinese box, and Edward laughed. Perhaps they should get a collection of them to hand out if they were so popular. Alex soaped his hair, too tired to go into details.

‘Got some news — place is sold, lock, stock and barrel, doing the deal first thing in the morning... We did very well, buddy boy.’

‘Why sell, in God’s name, why? After the months I’ve put into it, and just like that you’re selling, it’s madness.’

Edward toasted his brother, and said that four and a half million did not sound like madness to him. ‘Alex, you can buy yourself another place, do it up, but the chap wants it, with all the contents.’

Alex climbed out of the bath, saying there were a few things he would like to keep.

‘Take ‘em, ship ‘em back, no problem.’

Alex wanted his Chinese furniture. He knew and loved each piece, so he gave in without a murmur. Edward raised his glass.

‘To London, to your return... Mr Barkley.’

Alex couldn’t sleep. He was returning to London. It had been a long time, and his nerves were on edge. It was after three in the morning, and he was surprised to find a light still on in the kitchen.

Edward was sitting, staring into space, a bottle of Scotch at his elbow. He turned bleary eyes to Alex — he was drunk. His words were slurred, ‘Ehhhhh, I wake you up? Did I wake you?’

‘No, couldn’t sleep. Do you think it went well?’

‘Yeah, yeah, went well... want a drink?’

Alex got a glass and sat down. Edward poured most of the whisky over the table. ‘I’m thinking of getting married.’

Alex fetched a cloth to wipe the table. He laughed. ‘You joking? Getting married — who to, in God’s name?’

‘Girl I know.’

‘Well, I didn’t think it’d be a bloke! Who is it?’

‘I want a son, four... four boys... yes, cheers.’

Edward lurched to his feet and raised his glass in a grand toast, knocking his chair over. In the end Alex had to help him to bed. He tried to undress him, but Edward was so drunk it was virtually impossible.

‘I’m getting married.’

‘Yes, you said...’

Edward passed out. Alex stared at him for a moment, then went out and closed the door quietly. He wondered if Edward would still be getting married when he sobered up.

In the press the following day there were many pictures of Edward, and a few of Alex, always in the background. But the most important thing was that they were on the inside track — at least, it was important to Edward. Alex looked at his brother — hung-over, propped up in bed with all the newspapers littered around him, reading all the relevant articles aloud to Alex. He made no reference to his forthcoming marriage. As he read, he was downing ‘the hair of the dog’ from a tumbler. His shirt was stained, and he had tossed his trousers on the floor. He was brash, loud, and Alex was thinking how uncouth he was. With a big Havana cigar clamped between his teeth, he was struggling to translate the French papers. Suddenly, Alex started to laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’

Alex didn’t say, he couldn’t explain, but he had made good use of his years in France. If anything he was more of the gent than his brother. The one who had looked like, and been, a thug had overtaken the other and he knew it. Alex found it exceedingly humorous.