The Talisman

Chapter twenty-one

Alex breezed into the office, was congratulated on his marriage by all the staff, and walked straight into Edward’s office. The door was closed, and Alex tried to open it, infuriated that it was always kept locked. Miss Henderson appeared.

‘My brother not in today?’

‘I’m sorry sir, he left two days ago.’

‘Do you know where he’s gone?’

‘I’m sorry, sir... shall I bring the mail into your office now?’

Alex’s initial good spirits deflated, and he gave her a brief nod. He had expected Edward to have left at least a note, perhaps even shown some interest in his marriage, his wife, but there was nothing. He sat down and began to sift through the backlog of work that had piled up in his absence. Everything seemed in reasonable order. He began to flick through the night-club accounts, then sat back and let out a long, hissing breath. As Edward had predicted, it was a gold mine, money was pouring in, and Alex knew he would have his work cut out moving it around. He would have to work fast before they were crippled by taxes.

Edward had indeed cut and run, after an emergency call from Skye Duval. Richard Van der Burge was causing trouble and needed to be removed from South Africa. He was bad-mouthing Edward, and the last thing Skye wanted was the slightest whisper getting out about the nasty situation he and Edward had been involved in with Julia. Edward had literally dropped everything and caught the next flight out. Miss Henderson rang Harriet and told her not to expect Edward home for a few days.

Harriet had given Dewint the night off, as she and Edward had planned to go to the theatre. She had been to the hairdressers and the beauty parlour, and her new evening gown had cost a fortune. She was about to take the dress off again, thinking of the waste of the two tickets, when she remembered Dewint. She climbed the stairs to the attic where he had his room and opened the door.

Dewint was sitting at his small dressing table in full make-up, looking rather like Joan Crawford. He was wearing a darkred satin dress, high heels and long sleeves. He froze, clenched his gloved hands, and his body shook with nerves at being caught out. Harriet took in the bizarre situation in a moment. She tilted her head to one side, saying, ‘Sorry, I should have knocked.’

Dewint stuttered apologies. His terrible shame was pitiful, he was close to tears. ‘I only ever do this in my time off, really... I cannot say how sorry I am... Oh, God.’ The pixie face crumpled, and he wept into his gloved hands.

Harriet stood close behind him and patted his powdered shoulder. ‘This is your domain, Norman, you can do what the hell you like.’

She was gone before Dewint could say another word. Picking up a large pot of Pond’s Cold Cream, he began to smother his face, then he realized he’d not taken off his gloves and burst into tears.

Harriet decided to watch TV. She sat in full evening dress and tuned in to Dr Kildare. The show had her groping for a tissue as it was all about a poor crippled girl who wanted a famous movie star’s autograph. The young girl was dying, but the movie star refused point-blank even to see her, being too involved in her own drama... Harriet gasped, it was Joan Crawford... she ran to the stairs and shouted at the top of her voice for Dewint.

‘Oh, quick, quick, she’s on TV. Joan, your idol... hurry or you’ll miss it.’ Dewint scurried down the stairs. As he entered the lounge, the programme had been interrupted by the announcement that President Kennedy had been assassinated. They stood side by side in stunned silence. They spent the evening together waiting for the news flashes... eventually the ‘National Anthem’ played and she turned off the television with a sigh. Dewint blew his nose for the umpteenth time. ‘Oh Mrs Barkley, what a shockin’ thing, what a shockin’ thing to have happened. A man like that cut down in his prime...’

She continued to stare at the blank TV screen. Her face was concentrating, frowning. After a moment, she said to him, ‘You and I have just witnessed a modern-day tragedy... but it’s strange, when you turn that little square box off, it sucks it all back in. As if it weren’t real. Tragedy is personal, it clings, holds on to you, stays inside you and you can’t turn it off... it won’t go away. I wish I had a small switch at the side of my head. I think I’ll take myself off to bed now, goodnight Norman.’

Dewint locked up the house. As he passed the master bedroom, he heard her crying... the sound was eerie, and he hoped Edward would come home soon.

Edward found Richard Van der Burge in his bungalow. He was sitting staring at the wall. His suit was sweat-stained and his shirt grimy. The room stank of his body odour, dirty socks and discarded clothes. Edward closed the door quietly and chucked the key on the dressing table. ‘I thought Skye Duval was a bum, but you — look at you! What are you trying to prove, that you can drink this place dry?’

‘Ahhhh, so fucking what? Way I hear it, you’ve been trying hard enough... Well, join the AA, Eddie, that’s the “All-time Arseholes”. Trouble is, we’re not too anonymous, haw, haw, haw. Christ, what did you make me come back to this place for, man? That bloody fairy you’ve got working for you is a fucking nutcase, plays ruddy music all day, all night. He tell you I flew out to Pretoria? Yesss, bastard spat at me. That’s what you did, Eddie, you did that!’

‘Here’s five grand — take it and get the hell out of here.’

‘Fuck your five grand, Stubbs... You brought me out here, an’ now you’d better cough up if you want me swept under the carpet. Maybe you’d like to blow me up in one of Dad’s defunct mines... You’re not just a thief, oh no — I’ve been checking up on you and that poofter.’

Edward knew they had to get rid of Richard fast. He walked out to the waiting car and sat with Skye.

As he drove, Skye kept an eye on Edward. His hair had grown longer and he was fatter, but he was still the most handsome man Skye had ever known.

Edward was miles away. He remembered now, the mine where BB’s sons had died... He also recalled Sylvia and BB sitting puffing on a Havana, telling Edward to be sure and marry a strong woman. God, what a joke! The Sylvia syndrome had come full circle.

Skye was still talking. ‘Dickie’s been ostracized, they won’t allow him into any of the clubs. Memories out here are long. He’s pretty objectionable anyway, a real prat.’

Edward leaned back and closed his eyes. ‘We’ve got to get him off our backs, Skye. He said he’d been doing some checking up, don’t want him to get wind of that little incident with Julia, could be very nasty.’ He sucked in his breath.

Skye leaned casually across Edward and opened the glove compartment as they sped along. He was still a showman, and made no attempt to remove the.38. He knew Edward could see it. He snapped the compartment closed.

‘No, Skye, it’s got to be more subtle, and we mustn’t be involved. Can’t you set him up? Right now I don’t want anything to interfere in our business stakes, things are just coming together. Perhaps... if it were known he had some cash on him, known to a few of your friends, they might do the job for us — you with me?’

‘Loud and clear, brother — loud and clear.’

Alex led Barbara up the steps of the manor house and rang the bell, shading his eyes to look through the glass panels of the door. Barbara was dressed in a white Courreges outfit with matching white boots. She was still tanned, and her blonde hair fell in a straight, silky sheet to her shoulders. Alex stepped back and looked up at the windows.

‘There’s lights on — can you see anyone?’

Dewint inched the door open.

‘Is Mrs Barkley at home? Would you tell her it’s Mr and Mrs... Harry? Harry, that you?’

Harriet yelped, ran straight into Alex’s arms and hugged him close. He introduced Barbara, but Harriet gave her only a cursory glance and led them into the sitting room, sending Dewint scuttling down the dark passage towards the kitchen. Papers littered the room, piles of books were strewn on the floor.

Harriet took hold of Alex’s hand excitedly. ‘I’ve started drama classes, and I’m trying to get an audition prepared. Dewint is absolutely marvellous, he goes over all my lines.’ She bit her lip and pulled Alex close, whispering, ‘Can I talk to you, it’s important... Would you mind, Barbara, I just want to show Alex something?’

Alex gave Barbara a small smile and followed Harriet out into the hall. Left alone, Barbara surveyed the mess — this was not what she’d expected. She picked her way across the room to look at the photographs on the mantelpiece among the many invitations. One small photo caught her eye, of Alex, Harriet and Edward together. She recognized the chateau, but she was more interested in Edward, thinking what a handsome man he was. She wondered why he had married such a strange-looking creature. There was a slight cough behind her, and she turned as Dewint carried in champagne and chilled glasses on a tray.

Harriet was huddled with Alex in a corner of the hall. She asked him over and over where Edward was and how long he would be away. Alex couldn’t give her any information on where his brother was. Eventually he insisted they return to Barbara. As he turned to walk away, Harriet caught his hand again.

‘Have you been told about me? Has anyone said anything about me?’

‘No, I’ve only recently got back to England. To be quite honest, I did think perhaps you might have called to invite us over, to meet Barbara and her daughters... Has he not been in touch?’

‘No, he just upped and left as usual... Is there someone else? You would know, is there someone else, Alex?’

‘Harry, I don’t know anything, really I don’t. Come in and sit with us, come along, we’re being very rude.’

Harriet moved past Alex and threw open the sitting-room door. She smiled, charm itself, and offered champagne, suggested they stay to dinner. Barbara had never met anyone quite like her, and was not sure how she should deal with the situation. Harriet’s main topic of conversation was the plays she had been to see, and the performances of actors Barbara had never heard of. At one point she flushed with embarrassment, and Harriet guffawed. ‘What? John Gielgud? You’ve never heard of him? But he’s a knight, he’s one of the most famous actors in England! Laurence Olivier, now you must know him, don’t they have theatres in Texas? Where did you find her, Alex? What about Paul Scofield?’

Harriet launched into a detailed, scene-by-scene account of a production of Romeo and Juliet she had seen at the Old Vic. Alex received a frigid look from Barbara to get her out fast. He made excuses while Harriet continued to describe the costumes and the direction all the way to the front door. As they walked down the steps they heard her shouting to Dewint, ‘She’s never heard of Sir John Gielgud, can you imagine it?’

Barbara was furious. She sat, tight-lipped, in the back of the car, refusing to sit in the front with Alex.

‘She was just so damned rude, whatever excuses you want to make for her. I won’t be going back there, that’s for sure. No wonder your brother’s done a disappearing act, with that at home, who wouldn’t?’

Harriet licked her lips and began the balcony scene for the third time, Dewint reading Romeo’s lines. When the phone rang halfway through, she snatched it up, hoping it would be Edward. ‘Hello... oh it’s you.’ She pulled a face to Dewint, ‘It’s Allard.’ She sat on the edge of the sofa swinging her legs. ‘Well, what do you want, you old shirt-lifter? What...? Oh, but that’s terrible.’

As she continued the call Dewint gestured to see if she wished him to leave the room. She shook her head and placed her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘It’s about Dickie, my cousin, he’s dead.’ Yet she didn’t seem particularly disturbed by the news, in fact quite the reverse. She replaced the receiver. ‘Well that’s the end of the line for the Van der Burges, killed in a hit and run accident. Surprised he was standing up long enough to be knocked over by anything, dreadful boozer... but it gives me a jolly good excuse, so start packing, Romeo, and I’ll call the dreaded Miss Henderson to arrange my flight... I’ll give Edward the shock of his life. Oh, pack something black for the funeral.’

Dewint gathered up the pages of their script as she danced into the hall, singing at the top of her voice. Dewint called up to her, ‘Will your black woollen coat and matching dress suffice, Mrs Barkley?’

She grinned back to him. ‘Good heavens, no. Something cotton, I’m going to South Africa.’

Dewint almost dropped the papers. ‘South Africa? But don’t you think you should contact someone first? What if you arrive and the funeral’s over?’

She winked, ‘I’m not really going for that, it’s just a marvellous excuse to surprise Edward. Let’s get cracking, it’s going to be a hard job finding my passport.’

Dewint tapped on the bedroom door, a suitcase already wiped down and ready to pack. She was standing with her back to him, staring out of the window. She had been crying, but waved for him to come in and wiped her face with the back of her hand. ‘Just thinking about poor Dickie, I really should have tried to see him, but I never got around to it. We used to have such fun when we were kids, up at the old Hall. I loved that place, keep meaning to go there, but I never do... I don’t even call Ma and Pa, I suppose I should let them know about Dickie, not that they cared a hoot for him, but he was family after all.’

Dewint began selecting clothes, holding them up for her approval, as she searched the desk drawer for the telephone code for Yorkshire. ‘Ahhh, we need look no further, my passport’s here.’ She tossed it to Dewint and as it fell open he could see her photograph. ‘It’s a real shocker, isn’t it, I couldn’t keep my face straight, that’s why I look so fierce.’ Dewint carefully placed the passport to one side and continued packing.

Harriet dialled, swore under her breath and dialled again. She cupped the mouthpiece under her chin carrying the base to the wardrobe to inspect her clothes. She peered in, pointing to a black hat as her call was put through. ‘Ma? It’s me, Harry... Harry.’ She rolled her eyes, and slumped on to the bed, as her mother obviously gave her a lecture about how she never contacted them. She held the mouthpiece up for Dewint to hear, and then interrupted Mrs Simpson. ‘Ma, I don’t have much time, I’m going to South Africa... South Africa, it’s Dickie, he’s dead... All right, I’ll start again, Richard van der Burge, your nephew, BB’s son, has been killed, in a hit and run accident... I don’t know any facts, just what I’ve told you, and what Allard... Allard, have you gone deaf?’

The call continued for another ten minutes, and then she lay back and let the phone drop from her hand on to the bed. ‘I feel terrible, she’s as deaf as a post, and Pa’s still got something wrong with his prostate. He’s sold all the horses... poor Pa, how he loved hunting... we all did.’ She carried the phone back to the bedside table and walked out of the room.

Dewint saw her standing in the garden. She had her arms wrapped around an oak tree, her face pressed against it. He made a pot of tea, constantly looking into the garden from the back door and still she remained holding the tree. It was getting dark. She had made no arrangements for her ticket. He knew Miss Henderson would have left the office and he was relieved. Dewint didn’t think it a good idea to surprise Edward. If he behaved away from home as he had done when his wife was in the clinic it would be Harriet, not Edward, who would be in for the surprise.

Harriet eventually came to the kitchen door. Her face was pale, and she shivered with the cold. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it, how episodes of your life suddenly come back to you?’ She poured herself a mug of tea and heaped in three teaspoonfuls of sugar. ‘We’d all been hunting, Pa was furious with me, I took a fence badly, spent all night in the stable, but I knew it was hopeless, just as I knew it had been entirely my fault. Just as I know, deep down, I know it was my fault he died.’

Dewint presumed she was referring to her horse, he had no idea she was talking about her baby. She gulped at the hot tea, and her hands shook. ‘I kept riding, you see, I loved to ride so much. Early morning, when the grass is wet, everything’s clean and fresh, and they come out of the stables, snorting, pawing the ground and they want to run free. Up you get, and you have to hold them in, hold them tight, then you let go, and you feel that surge of power as they are released, the sound... ba-ba-ba-boom-ba-ba-boom.’ The tea spilt as she punched the air with the mug. Dewint could not take his eyes from her. She was so alive, her cheeks flooded with colour and her eyes sparkled. She slapped the draining board, making the sound of running hooves... ‘All that energy, Norman, all that life and...’ She spun round holding her arm out straight, her fingers shaped to form a gun. ‘I killed him... BANG.’

Dewint’s hands flew to his cheeks, gasping like an old woman. ‘Oh Mrs Barkley you didn’t... you didn’t, God help me if I ever break my leg.’

Just as that energy had flooded through her, he saw it drain away. Her whole body sagged, and she said she would lie down for a while. He followed her into the hall, watched her move slowly, heavily up the stairs. ‘What shall I do about South Africa, Mrs Barkley?’

She paused, seemed confused. ‘South Africa...? Oh yes, well I suppose you’d better arrange my ticket, you sort everything out that’s necessary, don’t want to talk now, can’t talk now.’ Dewint hovered at the foot of the stairs.

‘Are you sure you still want to go?’

He saw her hands clench and she snapped, ‘I need to see my husband, I want to see Edward. Now leave me alone.’

Edward lay beside the swimming pool, his body oiled and relaxed. He was tanned to a deep, dark brown, and his hair had grown even longer. He was smiling because the joint Skye Duval had presented to him was taking effect. Skye had harvested his own illegal crop from seeds brought in by one of his men. The grass was very strong, and Edward felt as if his head were opening up, his body drifting on a cloud.

Swimming length after length of the pool was Skye Duval. Eventually he swam to the side and hauled himself out. He was naked, and a young houseboy threw him a towel. Skye flopped down on to the sunbed next to Edward and took the joint. He drew heavily on it, letting the smoke drift from his nostrils, moaning softly. He rolled on to his stomach. ‘This is the life, eh? Sometimes this place isn’t so bad.’

Edward picked up the newspaper, the English Times, and tossed it to Skye. He stretched, yawning. ‘I put an obituary in for Dickie, felt I owed it to BB.’

‘That was very decent of you. I’m sure the old boy wouldn’t have given a bugger.’

Edward laughed, took the joint back for a last drag before stubbing it out. ‘He couldn’t have timed it better. What beats me is what he was doing in that section of town, he must have been out of his mind.’

‘Aren’t we all! Shall I roll another?’

Edward closed his eyes without replying. Skye gave him a hooded, hesitant look before rolling the joint. He used straight grass, no tobacco, and his joints were strong. He leaned over and switched on the transistor radio — and The Doors blared out across the pool, ‘I’m Your Back Door Man’. Jim Morrison’s heavy voice was joined by Skye Duval’s gusty laugh, he found the link between the lyrics and his own preferences hysterically funny. Stoned, he jumped up, danced around, puffing on the cigar-sized joint.

Edward turned over, began to rub more oil on his shoulders. He put on a pair of Skye’s mirrored shades, and continued to watch him dancing. He held up his hand as Skye proffered the joint. Edward gripped Skye’s wrist tightly. ‘What was Richard doing in the wogs’ area, Skye? Do you know?’

Skye released his wrist, backing off. ‘Sure! He liked black ass, always made his way there after a drinking session. He must have played around with someone’s wife, or daughter, his sister or mother — who gives a fuck. Whoever zapped him did us all a favour.’

‘Who was he having this booze-up with, Skye, do you know?’

Skye’s doorbell rang, and the houseboy moved as if to answer it. Skye waved him back to mixing drinks at the poolside bar and wrapped a towel round his waist. He ambled off, still dancing, to answer the door. Edward dragged on the joint, inhaling the grass deeply into his lungs. He had a bloody good idea exactly who Richard Van der Burge had been with that night. Skye Duval.

Edward had his eyes closed. Skye bent close, whispered in his ear, ‘You’ve got a visitor, and a very attractive one. I don’t know where you get the energy from, man, and this one’s far out.’

Edward half rose, then blinked in the strong sunlight. He reached for the shades again, and his hand froze. He tried to stand, but was so stoned he flopped back. Harriet stood on the verandah. She was wearing a black dress, a wide-brimmed, black straw hat. ‘Jesus Christ.’

Skye made a sweeping gesture for Harriet to come to the poolside. Out of the side of his mouth he said, ‘This one even I wouldn’t mind shafting.’ He called out, ‘You want a drink sweetheart... what did you say your name was?’

Harriet remained on the verandah, half in the shadows, half in the sunlight. Casually, she took her hat off and shook out her hair. Skye clapped his hands... ‘Oh yes... get ‘em off, she’s lovely... Eddie, I gotta hand it to you, you know how to pick ‘em.’

Edward pushed him aside. ‘Shut it, it’s my wife.’ Skye curled up with laughter, thinking Edward was joking. He yelled... ‘Man here says you’re his wife, that true?’

Edward glowered as he made his way to the verandah, and Skye shut the music off. Now he shaded his eyes watching with interest, more than interest. Wife? Edward had never mentioned to him that he was married.

Harriet’s heart was thudding, Edward moved up the steps into the shadows. ‘Hi. I was just passing on the way to the shops and thought I’d drop in, have I interrupted a business meeting? I mean I can always come back.’ He didn’t make it easy for her, he didn’t take her in his arms, even seem too surprised. Instead, he leaned against the wooden railing.

‘How in Christ’s name did you find me?’

‘Allard called me about Dickie, so I came for the funeral, ashes to ashes, you know, that kind of thing.’

‘He was buried a week ago.’

‘Oh well, in that case I’ll go home.’

Edward stared at her, his mind racing. He had always covered his tracks so well and if Harriet could find him, God knows who else would. ‘You tell Alex you were coming?’

‘No, but Allard knew where I could contact you, I didn’t know he worked for you?’

‘He doesn’t... come on down to the pool, I’ll introduce you, Skye, this is Harriet... Harriet, Skye Duval.’

Still he did not touch her, did not show any sign he was pleased to see her, in fact the reverse. Skye on the other hand held her at arm’s length, raved about her hair, her eyes, and promptly ordered a bottle of champagne to be opened in her honour. All the while Edward made no attempt to move near her, he picked up his towel, and casually said he would take a shower. He walked to the side of the pool and stepped under the ice-cold water. Distanced from her he could look at her, watch her sitting in her neat black dress, shading the sun with her hand as Skye chattered away. He saw Skye pick up her straw hat and stick it on his head. He sat close to her lounge chair, talking non-stop, asking about her flight, her hotel.

Edward dressed and combed his hair before joining them at the poolside. She was more relaxed, yet Skye had seen her nervousness, her eyes straying to Edward every few moments. What fascinated Skye was the change in Edward. If his wife was nervous, his dear friend was all over the place. First he had put his shirt on inside out, and his shoes on the wrong feet. Buddy boy was stoned out of his tree, and trying to be straight. Skye started to snigger, this could be fun. Just as the thought crossed his mind, the smile was wiped off his face. It was as if he, Skye, didn’t exist, wasn’t there. Edward’s shadow loomed over Harriet, and she took her hand away from her face, no longer needing to shade her eyes. She looked up. ‘Christ she’s beautiful,’ thought Skye. Edward spoke so softly Skye could only just hear.

‘Hello, Harry.’

‘Hello.’

Gently Edward cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lips. Skye had seen him with more women than he could count, but he had never seen this protective, gentle side. She glowed with love, it shone in her eyes, in her every gesture. He watched her touch Edward’s hair, say softly how long it had grown, and that she liked it.

Skye did a dive into the pool, swam a length almost entirely beneath the surface. His lungs felt as if they would burst. He wanted to explode with jealousy. He loved Edward, was in love with him, always had been. They had been getting on so well, nothing sexual, but for Skye just to have him close was enough and now he saw what closeness really was, and he hated her. Even more so as they walked to the verandah, Edward giving a casual wave to Skye, the only indication they were leaving. She, however, smiled, thanked him for the champagne. The champagne she had not even touched. She also called out that he could keep her hat, said it suited him better. Skye heard the car drawing away and, towelling himself dry, trod on the straw hat, crushing it with his foot. So much for Mrs fucking Barkley.

Edward carried her cases into the hotel. He had switched her room demanding the best they had, and it was the bridal suite. He gave the bellhop a big tip, too big, to get rid of him, before he scooped her up in his arms. She clung to his neck and they both fell on to the enormous bed together. ‘So tell me, how in God’s name did you find me?’

He began to take off her dress as she repeated what Allard had told her. He again asked if Alex knew, and she flopped back on to the pillow. ‘No, no one knows I’m here, except Norman — why? Is this place a secret or something?’

Edward told her that he was in the middle of a complex deal, and didn’t want even a sniff of it to get back to London until he was ready. She began to undo the buttons on his shirt, kissing his chest. ‘Well, you can leave me with that dreadful lizard-type gent at the pool, I won’t get in your way, I promise, just needed to see you.’

Edward pulled off his shirt and got up from the bed to take off his trousers. ‘The lizard, my love, is Skye Duval. He does the odd bit of work for me.’

He moved back to the bed, and took her shoes off. She rested her head against his shoulder, rubbing his back with her hand. ‘You know, sometimes I forget just how you look, I think I know but I don’t. I love you, Edward, I do love you.’

He held her, rocking her slightly. He didn’t tell her the effect she had on him, seeing her there, standing in the shadows of the verandah. His initial anger, his instinct for self-preservation and concern that no one knew his whereabouts had made him angry at her intrusion. Now he could think of nothing he wanted more... ‘Tell you what, I’ll get through all the business, then we’ll go some place, what do you say to that?’

She mimicked Barbara, Alex’s wife, using a soft Texan drawl, ‘Why honey, that sounds divine...’ She laughed, describing Barbara to him as he had never met her. She insisted on entering the room from the wardrobe, giving him Barbara’s performance in their manor and he lay back on the bed with his hands behind his head. She could always make him laugh, and she was so unselfconscious that her whole performance had been done stark-naked.

He held out his arm for her to lie next to him. Her skin was so pale against his dark tan, and he found himself instructing her to take great care if she went out in the sun. They lay side by side, completely relaxed with each other, and he pulled her even closer. His arm slipped around her, resting on her belly and drawing her body into his own curve. It was a simple gesture, but one she always associated with him, with security. He kissed the nape of her neck... his hand stroked her body, and he felt the tiny stretch marks at her back. He knew what they were, maybe she was even unaware of them herself... they were the marks from her child, the child he believed had been Pierre Rochal’s. Even thinking about it, about a part of her life he had never known, made him jealous. He held her closer. ‘I want you to have our son... no, no, now don’t turn away from me... I want your belly growing fat with my boy, our son... Why not? You’ve been well, and you’re fit and strong... what do you say?’ She looked into his face and they kissed... he took it to be an answer and, aroused, he began to make love to her.

The black cloud inched fragment by fragment across her mind, weighing her down, engulfing her. ‘Don’t think about it, don’t think about it.’ She repeated it to herself over and over... She moaned for him, her legs opening to him, but her mind began closing, the voices screamed inside her head, ‘Push... push... he’s coming, push Harry...’ and the pain engulfed her, making her gasp as if she couldn’t breathe. The black cloud burst with the fragmented picture of their dead baby’s face. Unaware of what she was doing, she was pushing Edward away from her, her body rigid... but he came into her, climaxing into her until he shook.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered...

He moved from the bed and walked into the bathroom, closing the door. Suddenly he kicked it open. ‘What in Christ’s name is wrong with you?... If you tell me what I do wrong, then we can work it out. Jesus Christ, you drive me crazy, do you know that? You think I don’t feel it? You think I don’t feel you freeze up on me? What am I doing wrong, do I hurt you? Harry?... Harry?’

‘I’m just tired from the plane, I said I was sorry.’

He stood for a long time looking at her. Then he sighed. ‘I’ll take a shower.’ She pressed her face into the pillow, not wanting him to hear her crying.

When he came out, he sat on the bed. ‘I’ll book a table, invite Skye, is that all right...? Harry?’ She held her arms out, wanting his forgiveness... wanting to tell him why, what happened to her, in her mind... how could she tell him that the son he wanted died in her arms. The fear of her own madness linked to the loss of the child, the baby she blamed herself for losing. Her guilt was more powerful than her body, her desires, and yet she loved him completely.

As she bathed, Edward lit a cigar. He had already booked the table, and was dressed and ready to leave. Skye had invited them for drinks first... sex with Harriet had never been the mainstay of their relationship... he reconciled himself to the knowledge that it never would be. Sex he could get wherever he wanted... he would just have to make do with loving her. He paced the room, even thought about going elsewhere, for another woman to father him a son... he stubbed out the cigar, grinding it into the ashtray. Trouble was he wanted the mother of his child to be Harriet... he didn’t want just any woman’s brat.

Edward didn’t remark on how beautiful she looked when she came out of the bathroom. She had made a great effort, even making up her face. He just said, ‘Let’s go.’ But as always, when she looked at him in that tentative nervous way, his whole body wanted to hold her, say it was all right... but tonight, like so many other nights, she had pushed him away... He knew he would be won round soon enough, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

They drove to Skye’s in silence. She was biting her nails, looking at him, needing him to be kind, but he purposely remained silent. It was not until he parked the car outside Skye’s bungalow that he made a conscious effort to be nice to her. ‘You look lovely... and don’t worry, we’ll work it out, okay?’ She nodded her head, then flung herself into his arms. ‘I love you, I do love you.’

‘I know, I know... and by the way, don’t take one of his joints, they’re lethal.’

Skye did not get the slightest hint that all was not well, far from it. Edward bounded in, hand in hand with Harriet. The champagne corks popped, and this time Mrs Barkley drank. They also had more champagne at dinner. Harriet and Skye began to interact fast, she picked up his camp humour and then had not only Skye weeping with laughter, but Edward too. She repeated the story about discovering Dewint dressed as Joan Crawford, but she made Edward promise never to mention that she had told him. His mood eased, and he started to enjoy himself for real. He could see the way Skye was being captivated by her and he liked it.

She had ordered snails, and then held up one of the shells, and with a serious face looked at Skye. ‘Did you know that the shell is the most delicious part of the escargot? You really must try it...’

Skye bit into the shell and almost lost his front tooth before he realized she was joking.

Edward didn’t find it quite as hysterically funny as they both did, but concentrated on ordering a good wine to go with their main course. They had all ordered different dishes.

When the meal was served, Harriet was very disgruntled by what she called ‘her shrivelled chicken’. Skye, getting well drunk, admired with relish his Dover sole. He made a great show of offering his plate to her, then withdrawing it, saying she could only have it if she gave him a forfeit. Edward sliced into his steak, warning Harriet against the ‘deal’, and Skye splashed more red wine into his already full glass... ‘Don’t be so bloody boring, come on, Harry, yes or no? Yes? Okay...’

Skye thought about it, and then pointed to the pianist sitting playing a very soft rendering of show tunes. ‘Okay, Mrs Barkley, I want you to go across the room, and ask him to play something... and you have to sing, in front of everyone... if you do, you’ll get my Dover, if you don’t, you are stuck with that very sickly chicken.’

Edward wiped his mouth with his napkin and suggested she simply call the waiter and order something else. ‘No, that’s not the point, it’s not the point, is it, Skye?’ Edward was slightly embarrassed, they were already louder than any of the other diners. Skye was obviously encouraging her, and at the same time giving sly little nudges to Edward. Harriet was having a ball, she banged the table. ‘I’ll do it on the condition you do one as well.’

Edward had almost finished his steak, he put his knife down. ‘This is getting stupid, just order something else, or I’ll order it for you.’

She clapped her hands not listening to him. ‘You, Mister Duval, have to go across to that table and act as a waiter.’

Skye turned to the group of people already raising their eyebrows and giving disapproving stares.

Edward threw down his napkin. ‘That’s enough Harry, just call the waiter and stop this.’

‘But I am the waiter, dear heart, I am.’ Skye was lisping, and being overtly camp.

Before Edward could stop her, Harriet was at the piano. The pianist, who had very rarely had a request and could play his medley of show tunes with his eyes closed, became quite animated. There was no microphone, and Harriet sat next to him on the piano stool. He flipped through his books and she helped him to find the music.

Edward finished his steak. Skye leaned close to him. ‘She’s wonderful, just wonderful, I adore her... how in the hell did you find her. My God, she’s going to do it...’ Skye drew the entire restaurant’s attention as he applauded loudly. He knew Edward was getting more uptight, and he revelled in it, pouring even more wine. ‘Ease up, Eddie, I reckon she knows what she’s doing.’

‘Do you, she’s never sung before in her life, and when I want more wine, I’ll bloody ask for it.’

Harriet began singing, softly at first. ‘Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone, without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own...’

Skye never took his eyes from her, and slowly Edward, too, turned towards the piano. There she was, eyes closed, swaying against the pianist and her voice was as sweet as a bird’s. He felt a helplessness sweep over him, she captivated him as she did the entire room. He applauded along with everyone else.

Skye was up and removing a tray from a passing waiter. He slipped his napkin over his arm and tangoed between the tables. Even the elderly foursome managed a half-smile of amusement as he insisted on serving them, and cleaning their breadcrumbs from the table.

He then ordered a very good bottle of port as a peace offering. With the tray held aloft he turned to Harriet who was still standing by the piano. He fell to his knees. ‘I love you, I am in love with you.’ He led her proudly back to their table, bowing low and kissing her hand. ‘Mrs Barkley, you are exquisite... I don’t suppose you have a sister do you?’

Edward lit up a cigar, his voice was quiet, nasty. ‘She doesn’t have a sister, Skye, but I think you might prefer her brother. He’s an iron hoof too.’

Harriet saw Skye flinch, the slight flush in his face and she frowned at Edward. She then cupped her hand to Skye’s ear and whispered. ‘Pa calls him a shirt-lifter, isn’t that funny?’

He bent down and gave her a swift kiss on her lips, catching her completely by surprise. His eyes were serious, painful... ‘You don’t believe me, do you? But I meant what I said... I am in love with you.’

Edward pushed his chair back, clicking his fingers for the waiter. The cigar clenched in his teeth. ‘Oh she likes compliments, she likes to tease, but doesn’t come up with the goods.’ He gripped her arm. ‘Let’s go.’

Just as she had seen the hurt in Skye, Skye saw Edward’s remark hit home, but he didn’t bargain for her reaction. She jerked her arm free. ‘Want to see my next trick, Mr Barkley... LADIES AND GENTLEMEN I SHALL REMOVE THIS TABLECLOTH, LEAVING ALL THE CROCKERY ON THE TABLE... AHHH ONE, AHHH TWO...’ Edward walked out as the crockery smashed to the floor. The bottles of wine, the glasses...

He sat in cold fury in the car waiting. They came out arm in arm, and the manager bowing and scraping. It reminded Edward of Cambridge, of Charlie, and his fury grew. She was one of them, the bread-throwing English upper classes. As they reached the car, Edward got out and pulled her round to the passenger seat. He pushed her roughly inside.

‘Oh my God, there is no need to be so butch, dear, I can get in all by myself.’

Skye had his hand on the door, as Edward shoved him aside. ‘Get yourself home, you’ve done enough for one night, show time’s over.’

Skye watched the car career out of the parking lot. He shouted, waving his fists.

‘I love you, I love you Mrs Barkley.’

Harriet folded her arms. ‘That was unnecessary, and very silly.’

Edward drove fast, too fast. ‘Silly?... the two of you behaved like schoolkids and you call me silly, Jesus Christ.’

She glared out of the window. ‘Only having a bit of fun, you didn’t have to say that about me, or what you said about him, and stop the car... I want you to go back for him.’ He didn’t stop. ‘Did you hear me?’

The car screeched to a halt and she slid forwards banging her head. ‘You think you know him, do you? You think you really know him! Well, believe me, you don’t. There’s more to Mr Duval than you could ever imagine, take it from me.’

‘Ah! Does that mean you know everything about him?’

‘Yes, yes I do. Now let’s forget it.’

Harriet was already sitting on the balcony eating breakfast when Edward, very hung-over, stumbled out from their suite. She peered over her bright pink-rimmed sunglasses. ‘I hope we are in a better mood than we were last night. Coffee?’

‘What’s the time, I’ve got a meeting at nine.’

‘Well you’ve just missed it, and I suppose you’ll say that’s my fault. Here, sit down and have your coffee and I’ll order some eggs and bacon.’

‘Christ, no! I couldn’t face eggs and bacon, just coffee. I must have had more to drink than I thought.’

‘Is that an apology?’

‘No.’

‘Well it should be, you know you left Skye in the car park?’

‘Well somebody had to behave like an adult. You two are not safe to be let out together. I am supposed to be here on the quiet, doing subtle business deals, and what happens? The wife gets up with that ancient pianist and sings, then pulls the whole fucking tablecloth off... very subtle, can I borrow your sunglasses?’

Harriet continued to read the paper eating her toast. Edward sat in moody silence. She looked up and then back to her paper, hiding a smile. He was feeling dreadful, she knew it, and he was now wearing her bright-pink sunglasses.

‘I’ve got to go to Pretoria, do you want to come?’

‘No, thank you, I just want to sit and relax by the pool.’

He took his coffee inside. She could hear him on the telephone, then he came back out again. ‘Right, I’m going then, you sure you don’t want to come with me?’ She flicked through the paper, pursing her lips.

‘I don’t understand you. Why don’t you want to come with me?’

She flicked the paper again. ‘Because you are foul. To discuss your wife’s sexual problems in public is to my mind the ultimate in bad taste... would you mind standing to one side or the other, you are blocking the sun.’

He sighed, shaking his head. ‘You are something else, you know that. You come all the way out here, and now you’re having a go at me... I don’t even remember what I said...’

She looked at him over the paper, then carefully folded it. He reached over and took her hand. ‘All right, I do, and I’m sorry, I’d had too much to drink... and he was all over you, I never got the chance to tell you something.’

She left her hand in his, and he lifted it to his lips. ‘I liked your song, but before I could say anything he was in like Flynn...’

She beamed. ‘Do you mean it? You liked it? Honestly?’

He kissed her hand... then caught the time on her wrist-watch. ‘Shit, I’m going to miss my next appointment... come on, your coat’s on the bed.’

He grinned at her, and she punched him. ‘You bastard, you always win me round so easily...’

He ducked the next punch, still smiling. ‘Was it that I liked your song or the hand kissing?’

She got him a good left, and he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. ‘You can sing to me in the car, it’s a long drive... and tonight we’ll go dancing, but without Skye Duval, is it a deal?’

Edward was cramming his white panama hat on to Harriet’s head as the Rolls Corniche screeched out of the parking lot. She was driving. Skye rolled down his window but he knew they hadn’t seen him. He had a bunch of wild flowers for her, and he tossed them away. He sat in the boiling hot car, brooding... he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind.

She belonged to Edward, maybe that was why he wanted her so much... he lit a cigarette, wondered what Eddie boy had meant when he had said she liked to tease, was that what she had been doing to him?... the cigarette followed the flowers as he started the engine, crashing the gears. ‘Bitch... they’re all the same, bitch...’

He drove as fast as Harriet out of the hotel. He turned the music up loud. ‘I’m Your Back Door Man’... he was Eddie’s back door man all right, he was that schmuck, well, he’d taken enough. By the time he arrived back at his bungalow, he was seething with impotent jealous rage. He rolled up a joint, inspecting his hidden stash, warning himself to go easy, his crop was almost through. He looked at the joint and laughed. If he could get Mrs Barkley to take one of these, he’d show her what teasing was all about.

Skye did not see Edward or Harriet for two days. He was in constant contact with Edward, but he never said a word about their last meeting, or his wife. Edward was no fool, he kept them well apart, knowing that Skye was a bad influence. He was, however, very busy and constantly in meetings, and after two days trailing around with him she grew restless. Unable to sit in the sun for long she went on shopping sprees buying a strange assortment of African carvings. She arrived back at the hotel as the phone rang. It was Skye. He asked what she had been doing, and if she ever had a free afternoon, he would love to show her the sights. She accepted, but said she would have to be back by six as she was expecting Edward then.

‘Eh, no problem, get a cab over to my place and we’ll take it from here.’ He let the phone drop back on to the hook... She was at the door before he had finished drying his hair. She handed him a small packet.

‘It’s something I saw, it reminded me of you.’

It was a small carved wooden tiger, and he held it in the palm of his hand.

‘Reminded you of me? Don’t know how to take that, Mrs Barkley.’

She smiled a little selfconsciously. ‘It’s your eyes, it was a toss-up between that and a green lizard, but I wouldn’t be offended, I bought Edward a chimp.’

She strolled out on to the verandah and asked where his houseboy was. Skye said it was his day off. It wasn’t. He was banished to his room.

‘I wouldn’t mind a swim, do you mind? Only I never really like swimming in hotel pools, because you never know how many people have pissed in them.’ He smiled, waved for her to help herself. He pointed to the shower area, and said there were swimming costumes if she wanted one.

He sat rolling a very big joint as she changed. She came out, and posed in a terrible flowered one-piece suit. ‘Dear God, what kind of women do you have here, this is thirties, isn’t it?’

He licked the paper, and she screwed her eyes up. ‘Do that again.’ He did. ‘I should have bought you the lizard.’

She then executed a perfect dive into the pool. She was a strong swimmer and he began to lose count of the lengths. Eventually she swung herself up the steps, her hair dragged back from her face. ‘Ohhhhh that was good, so good.’

She flopped down beside him and he lit the joint. He drew heavily on it, feeling it fill his lungs, and then held it out. ‘You want to try it? It’s home grown, pretty good.’

She curled her tongue over her lips, and then nodded. He instructed her to draw in the smoke, to suck it in on a breath so she would ‘feel the benefits’. She held on to the thick joint, and gulped, coughed and wafted her hand... then she tried again.

‘You feeling the benefits?’

She cocked her head to one side. ‘Not sure what they are, but it tastes foul.’

He encouraged her to continue smoking, then took the joint back.

‘Holy shit, my head’s exploding, is that the benefit? It’s like being drunk... Whooo, lemme have some more, it’s great.’

Skye passed the J back to her and lay back, he was feeling nicely stoned...

‘You want some music...? Harry? Shall I put some music on?’

She didn’t answer so he got up and walked into the house. He chose one of his favourites, Berlioz. She saw the way his strange eyes closed as he listened to the music. His face with his eyes shut had no brilliance, was ravaged, gaunt. His flowing caftan gave him a sexuality that was both male and female. He hadn’t heard her enter, and his eyes opened. She listened to the music for a moment.

‘Ahhh, the Symphonie Fantastique.’

‘You like classical music?’

‘Mmmmm.’

She was wrapped in a white bath towel, and he thought she was the most perfect creature he had ever seen. Her thick red hair still damp from her swim clung to her head forming tiny curls. She sat cross-legged in the centre of the room. ‘You know I think I am feeling the benefits, sort of woozy... but nice, Edward will be furious.’

‘Don’t talk about him.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘I just don’t want you to talk about him, I want you to talk about yourself...’ He lay on the sofa staring at her, leaning his head on his elbow. ‘I’ve waited for you, did you know that?... I wanted to get you stoned, then I wanted to take you to bed.’

He saw her blush, her cheeks went rosy red, and she plucked at the carpet. He stretched out his body, at the same time rubbing his hand down his thigh, his fingers tracing himself, and she could see his erection.

‘Don’t you like him?’

‘Who?’

‘You know who, Edward.’

‘Ahhhhh, Eddie, sure I like him. If you want the truth I more than like him, we go back a long time. I met him in a whorehouse, a black whorehouse. You want a drink?’

‘Does he still go there?’

‘Sure, he takes whatever I deliver, he’s a great stud, a stallion, but you know that... you do know that, don’t you, Mrs Barkley?’

He moved past her, so close his gown touched her. He slowly unscrewed the bottle of vodka and drank it neat. He swayed around her like a cat, a cat playing with his catch. He couldn’t see her face, couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Her hair hid her eyes, and he crouched down offering the bottle. Suddenly, she tossed her head back, and stared at him, then she reached over and touched his face.

‘Oh, Mr Duval, you are a dangerous man, with a beautiful face, and a very disarming manner, but you’re just an alley cat, a seedy alley cat with vicious sharp claws.’

He pulled her to him and kissed her, forcing her mouth open, his tongue searching her mouth. An open, wet, frantic kiss, as he pulled the towel away from her and pushed her backward until he lay on top of her, his hands grasping her wrists. She made no effort to fight him off. She showed no fear of him. He was at a loss... the hunter had netted himself. She pushed him away from her and he flopped back on the carpet.

‘Let’s go.’

‘Christ,’ he thought, ‘not the bedroom now,’ he couldn’t get it up if she were Ben Hur.

‘To the whorehouse. I want to see what goes on when I’m not around.’

Edward was exhausted, it had been a long, hard day. The mining rights for three of his perlite investments were causing problems. Added to that two hospital complexes were behind schedule and a high-rise apartment block built in shifting ground. This meant his men had bought land cutting corners on the surveys, but they had charged him the full rate. The men had to be sifted out and dealt with.

He walked into the hotel and took the elevator up to their suite. He wanted a hot bath and food, his shirt was sticking to his back. He dropped his briefcase on to the bed, pulled his shirt off and threw it aside. ‘Harry? You on the balcony?’ Getting no answer he looked at his watch, it was after eight. He crossed to the phone to ring down to the main dining room and saw her note. He angrily placed a call through to Skye. No reply. He ordered room service, and then took a shower.

He rang Skye three more times during the evening. His anger turned to genuine worry when at eleven o’clock she still had not returned... at twelve o’clock he was driving around the streets looking for Skye Duval’s car. He stopped at a phone booth and called Skye yet again, and still could get no reply. He called the hotel, and Mrs Barkley had not returned... he sat in icy fury in the car and banged the steering wheel. Where would that bastard take her at this hour?

Skye was exhausted, he sat slumped on a bar stool. Harriet was sitting between four blacks and a hooker known as Tricks, because she never missed one. Harriet was holding forth about black rights, and Skye couldn’t believe it. One drive through the black shanty towns and she was an authority on what had to be done. They all listened avidly, because she also ordered drinks every two minutes for anyone who cared to join her group.

Skye had tried to take her out, but one of her new friends had pushed him aside... pushed him a little too roughly. They were in the black area, and not wanting trouble he went back to the bar.

Skye became more and more wary as the evening went on. He knew he would have Edward to deal with, never mind getting his wife out. He didn’t know who he would be more scared of — Edward or the blacks that surrounded him... or were surrounding Harriet.

Encouraged by her friendliness, they were openly touching her, accepting her free drinks. White women didn’t come in their area. Shifty looks passed between dark eyes, her gold necklace, her diamond ring, even better was the thick wad of notes they saw in her wallet... any moment now they would make their move and take her outside — and Skye knew he could do nothing to stop them.

Edward Barkley entered the dark, seedy bar. Everybody fell silent as the tension built. Harriet waved across to him and then turned to the men. ‘It’s all right, he’s my husband... Edward, I want you to meet some friends of mine.’

He walked straight through the lot of them and took her elbow. ‘Time we went home, you got your bag?’

He turned to Skye, his face was a mask; he gave Skye a small nod of recognition. The men formed a circle, surrounding Harriet and Edward... a tight silent group. Still holding her with one hand, he took from his inside jacket pocket a wad of notes, he tossed them to the bar... he looked to each man. They moved aside, and the couple walked out of the club. Edward opened the car door and slammed it shut so hard the car rocked. Before starting the engine he leaned over, flipped the glove compartment open and replaced the gun.

She didn’t know what she was more afraid of, the change in her so-called friends, or the violent cold anger from her husband. His hands clenched the wheel as he drove back to their hotel. She could see a muscle twitching in the side of his face...

‘I’m sorry, I should have let you know where I was.’

He gave her a look that frightened her.

They went up in the elevator in silence. He unlocked their hotel room, jerked his head for her to go in before him and she moved quickly to the bed. He didn’t switch the light on, but stood in the dark. His voice was unrecognizable, ‘You have a good time, white trash?’ She had never seen him so angry. ‘Well? You going to answer me?’

‘Yes, and I am sorry, I should have called you...’

‘You should have called me...?’

She moved towards him. ‘Don’t come any nearer, I’ve never hit you but, by Christ, you’re close... what the fuck do you think you were doing? Did that prick get you stoned? Well...? You better answer me, Harry.’ She didn’t have to, he knew by her silence.

‘So then what? Don’t tell me he fucked you? That would be too much of a joke... well, I’m waiting?’

‘Go screw yourself...’

He was across the room like lightning, he got her by the hair and threw her down across the bed, his hand came up, and she was as fast as he was, rolling away from him. ‘This is how you treat your black tarts, is it...? Beat them up? That is where you pick them up from, isn’t it? Which one do you go for? Tricks? You go with her?’

He had wanted to hit her before, now he could have killed her. Instead he chose his words, knowing he would get to her, hurt her. ‘I go with any woman who won’t freeze up on me, that likes me inside her, wants me inside her, unlike the frigid bitch I’m married to, all right?’

Her dress hit him first, then her right shoe, she stood in front of him and swished her hips. ‘You want to rip my pants off, or shall I suck you off?’

He tore her pants off, and picked her up. ‘You asked for it and you are going to get it.’

She was spreadeagled on the bed, his hands gripping her wrists. Skye had tried to rape her in exactly the same way... but now she fought, struggling and kicking with all her strength, but she couldn’t move. Slowly he lowered his head and kissed her, releasing her hands, and pressing her legs open. She tried to move from beneath him and he grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her head back. She screamed, biting at his hand, but he kept on, his hand roughly pushing her legs further and further apart. Slowly she began to move with him, not against him. Her whole body opened to him, and just as she reached out for him, he moved away.

He laughed, standing at the end of the bed. He began to peel off his clothes. He then reached over for the lights.

‘Don’t turn it on, please don’t... don’t turn the light on.’

He lay down on her, and with his right hand flicked the switch, light flooded the room. She tried to hide her face, but he turned her roughly to look at him. ‘You are going to know who’s fucking you... now look at me...’

There were no fragmented dreams. No nightmares... they made love over and over again. She came to him, openly, with no fear, and her mind cleared, lifted. She was free.

Skye Duval was, to put it politely, shitting himself. He had half a bottle of vodka beside him to give him the nerve to walk into the hotel. When told to go straight up to Mr Barkley’s suite, he had another large vodka in the bar. He tapped on their door sweating. Edward called that it was open and for him to walk right in. He hesitated, licked his lips, thought that if he was going to take a beating he might as well get it over with.

Edward was sitting up in bed, just the white sheet draped over him. Skye hovered by the door, and Edward smiled, his teeth gleaming in his tanned face, and his hair loose, as if he had just showered. He lit a cigar and tossed the match aside.

‘Siddown... drinks on the table, help yourself.’ Skye was even more at a loss, he looked to the balcony. ‘She’s in the tub, okay? I’ve got all these papers for you to sort out; the cables I want sent today and the rest you can do when I’ve gone. I want monies transferred to the five accounts I’ve listed...’ As the bathroom door opened, Skye was so nervous he swallowed an ice cube. She was fully dressed and smiled at him. As she crossed to the bed, she knelt close to Edward and kissed him. ‘I’ll get them to collect the cases — you want anything from reception?’ Edward shook his head and she walked out. Pausing at the door, she cocked her head to Skye. ‘Bye Mr Alley Cat.’

Skye flushed, looked nervously at Edward, his foot began twitching... still he got no adverse reaction.

‘Okay, that’s about it, there’s four folders, this stack of letters and the rest are cables. We’re leaving, but I’ll contact you in a few days, okay?’

Skye nodded, his foot still twitching... she was right... compared to Edward he was nothing... just a seedy alley cat, because there before him was the king — the cigar clamped in his teeth, the broad powerful shoulders. As he got up from the bed tucking the sheet around him he seemed like a giant. ‘What you waiting for? You want something?’

‘No.’

He towered above Skye as he whispered, ‘You’re getting off light this time my friend and you know it, now get out.’

Skye gathered up the papers, and moved as fast as he could to the bar for another booster. He was shaking, not really believing he had got away with it. She hadn’t told him... he just couldn’t understand it... all he knew was, whatever the game, Edward always beat him, was always one step ahead of him. He could never be free of him, the power he held over Skye was unbreakable, unless he killed himself, and Skye was too much of a coward to do that.

On their return Dewint was given so many African statues his ‘pigeon loft’ looked like a market stall. He had never seen them both looking so well and happy.

It was even more unpleasant therefore for him to give Harriet the news that her father was dying. She left for Yorkshire the same day.

The following morning Dewint carried in Edward’s breakfast tray. Although he said not a word, he couldn’t help but notice Edward’s appearance — the long hair, the tan so dark he could have been a Red Indian, or one of those hippies from America.

‘I’ll run a bath immediately, sah.’ He behaved as though Edward had been gone only a few hours, and asked no questions.

‘Dewint, contact Miss Henderson at the office, tell her to bring everything that’s been dealt with while I’ve been away. She’s to say nothing, I don’t want anyone to know I’m home yet. I also want back numbers of the newspapers — get copies from the library or whatever... And Dewint, the house looks good, just fine.’

In contrast to Dewint’s reaction, Miss Henderson nearly dropped all the files, and her mouth gaped open.

‘Something wrong, Henny old girl?’

She flushed to the roots of her mousy hair and bit her lip, trying to hide her shock by turning away to put the files down. Dewint closed the door as he went out, and Miss Henderson swallowed hard and took another look at Edward.

He looked just like a wild gypsy. He smiled at her, reached out and gripped her chin. ‘What’s going on in that little head, eh?’

‘I’m sorry, but... well, excuse me for saying this, but you look like a gypsy, Mr Edward. I don’t mean to be rude, but you do, you really do.’

He tilted his head to one side and smiled again, his teeth whiter than white against his dark skin. ‘I do, do I? Well, well, I look like a gypsy, what a thing to say.’

She looked so nervous that he patted her shoulder. ‘Just joking, I don’t mind — and you never know, Henny, I might just have a drop of the Romany in me... Right now, to work. Tell me everything, all the gossip, and don’t miss out a single thing. Let’s start with Alex.’

He listened, wandering around the room in his dressing gown, barefoot. His long hair had been washed and combed back from his face.

Miss Henderson talked for at least two hours, and was tired at the end of her lengthy monologue. Edward didn’t interrupt her once, gave no hint of what he was feeling. Finally, he said, ‘That it? How’s your mother, any better?’

Miss Henderson shook her head, said she was worse, and now it was becoming very difficult to cope.

‘You need a break, Henny. Find a good nursing home, and don’t worry about the cost, that’ll be taken care of. Just go out and have a shopping spree, buy yourself a few things.’

She was going to cry, but he picked up a file and started talking business.

In the early evening Miss Henderson departed, trying to thank him, but he waved her thanks aside, then cupped her face in his enormous hands. ‘I don’t want to lose you — you go on doing too much and I will. So get that old lady of yours sorted out. I’ll be in the office first thing in the morning.’

He kissed her frazzled brow and she hurried out. By the time she reached the gates she was crying openly. She had never met anyone like Edward — she knew a lot of people didn’t like him, but as far as she was concerned he was a god, and she worshipped him.

Edward reached for the phone. He didn’t bother to check the time, he just dialled Alex’s number and waited. After a moment Alex answered.

‘Well, well, buddy boy, while the cat’s away, huh... I’m home, see you in the office tomorrow.’

He didn’t wait for Alex to reply, just put the phone down and lay back on the sofa. He wondered what this Barbara woman would be like, and if he would approve of her. He got up and carefully opened a small, mirrored box, carrying it to the table. He had changed from smoking joints, he had found something far more stimulating. He opened a small square of tin foil, picked up a razor-blade and cut two long lines of cocaine. He rolled up a crisp new pound note and snorted both lines. He whistled, sniffing, then licked his finger and removed all traces of the powder from the mirror, rubbing it along his gums. This was something else Skye had introduced him to, and he liked it, liked the way his head cleared, the energy that flooded through him.

Padding across to the record player he selected an album, dusted the record off, and put it on the turntable. Jimi Hendrix — ‘All Along The Watch Tower’. Edward swung his hips and danced, singing along at the top of his voice.

Way up at the top of the house, Dewint cocked an ear to the music and Edward’s loud singing. He closed his eyes. ‘Dear God,’ he thought, ‘not again. Why can’t he play something soft and gentle?’ If it wasn’t this record it was Bob Dylan and his ruddy ‘Tambourine Man’. It appeared that Mr Barkley was swinging along through the sixties with a vengeance.

Chapter twenty-two

Everyone said ‘good morning’ to Alex: the receptionist, the doorman, and the lift man. The lift doors opened as Miss Henderson was walking by with a thick pile of letters.

‘Mr Barkley’s waiting in his office, sir, I’ll bring coffee.’

Alex pursed his lips and let himself into his own office. Putting his briefcase down he took off his raincoat, hung it carefully on a bronze coat stand, checked his hair and tie and then walked along the corridor to his brother’s office.

Edward was on the phone when Alex entered, and waved him in, paying no other attention to him. ‘Well, if it’s a popular street we’ll make it even more so, run a string of boutiques along the whole length of it, stocking all the newfangled gear the kids want... Yeah, okay, I’ll be in touch.’ Replacing the receiver, he clapped his hands. ‘We’re going into the fashion business, Alex. I’ve been reading all these mags, the Carnaby Street boutiques are doing a roaring trade — fancy the mini-skirts myself... How you doing, old fella, long time no see?’

Alex couldn’t speak, he simply stared. The cowboy boots, the denims, they were not the reason... Edward, with his long hair, looked like a ghost.

‘What the hell’s the matter? The gear? Don’t worry about it, I’ll get organized soon... Alex?’

His face white, Alex dropped into the chair opposite his brother’s. He swallowed, Edward carried on talking, heaving files on to his desk and slapping the top one. ‘We got trouble, eh? They want to close the club down, right? Fucking bastards... I’ll find a way round it, Jesus, what the hell is the matter with you?’

Alex snapped at him that perhaps he should take a look in the mirror. If it was some kind of joke, it was sick. ‘We build this whole thing up and for what, you want the world to know, is that it? You changed your tune, look at you — Freedom, want me to start calling you Freedom?’

Edward ran his hands through his long hair, then he leaned back in his chair and roared with laughter. The gold chain was visible round his neck; with his tan he looked fit.

‘Oh, Jesus, Alex, it never occurred to me, I just never bothered to cut it... hey, easy, take it easy, man, I’ll get it cut... we gotta talk business now, and fast.’

Barbara was furious. She had changed her dress eighteen times, had her hair done, and was about to set out for the Ritz when Alex called to say the lunch was cancelled. He gave no reason, irritated at her questions.

‘When do I get to meet him, then?’

Covering the phone with his hand, Alex asked Edward if he would be available for dinner that evening. Edward, caught up in the mound of files, shrugged. ‘Come over to my place, we’ll eat there, meet her there, right now we’ve got more important things to discuss...’

He swung back and forth in his chair, and then stuck a match between his lips and cocked his head to one side. ‘So you want to buy in, eh? Fine by me, but I want the money placed in a bank in Geneva, this wife of yours arrange that? And the other condition is, as partners, we go hand in glove, no cheque, no letter, not one document leaves this building without a double signature. You agree to that, then let’s get the lawyers in and away we go.’

Alex agreed readily, and they spent the rest of the morning discussing their massive network of business activities. One by one. They were only a quarter of the way through when Edward threw in the towel, yawned and said he had had enough. ‘We have to start selling, Edward. Lot of these small businesses take up too much time, and with the club going bust on us we’ll need more funds to lay out on certain projects we’ve not yet discussed. But the more of the smaller businesses we release the more finances we’ll have to buy bigger concerns. I think we should put in a bid for Buchanan House, they have a tremendous turnover and they are on the market right now.’

Edward sniffed, then concentrated on the heel of his cowboy boot. ‘Why, if Buchanan House has such a big turnover, do they want to sell; it doesn’t quite add up?’

With pride, Alex handed him a neat file. ‘They don’t, not yet, but I have inside information that there’s one hell of a family feud going on. We can buy a major stake, they have guaranteed three other members of the family will follow suit — it’s all here, Edward, read for yourself.’

Edward yawned, picked up the file and scratched his head. ‘I’ll take a look at it at home, see you around.’

‘Edward, we’ll be over about eight-thirty, is that all right?’

Edward shrugged his shoulders and walked out.

As Alex returned to his office he overheard Edward at the reception desk, asking about the new security system he had ordered to be installed.

‘They had begun work, sir, but we were unsure about certain specifications you had made, and they have to wait for some parts to come from Japan...’ Edward swore, and then the doors banged closed.

‘What was that about the security system?’

The receptionist explained that Mr Barkley had requested monitor cameras to be wired into all the offices, and then the night watchmen would be able to watch on screens in the basement.

It was already after eight when Edward returned home. He had been discussing the security system with the company, and was armed with a vast number of leaflets. He bellowed for Dewint. ‘I’ll have something to eat in the bedroom, I’m... shit! Look, can you knock up some kind of meal, my brother’s coming over, anything’ll do...’

Edward could hear Alex’s Rolls coming up the drive, and he swore, tossing the leaflets aside. He hadn’t bathed, changed, nothing... ‘Dewint, they’re here, get them drinks and I’ll be down.’

Barbara was wearing a sequinned, full-length white evening gown, off the shoulder on one side, a single sleeve on the other side reaching to a point on the back of her hand. The skirt fluted out from the knee, and she carried a matching sequinned handbag and a silver-fox wrap. Alex was dressed in a white evening suit and black tie, more to suit Barbara than for Edward. He had told Barbara little, just that Edward was as difficult as ever but had agreed to the buy-in, and was considering the Buchanan House deal.

Dewint served chilled champagne and murmured that Mr Edward would be down shortly. Then he shot up the stairs to warn Edward to dress, and found him still soaking in the bath.

‘Are you expecting any other guests, sah? They are wearing formal attire.’

Edward swore, heaved himself out of the bath and grabbed the proffered towel. Then he fetched his address book. ‘Call a few regulars, some from a show, and tell them to come on later — make it about eight to ten of them, okay?’

‘Would that be for dinner, sah?’

Pulling out clothes from the closet, Edward told Dewint just to get a few faces along after they had dined.

‘Stars, Dewint, look under “S” for stars, they’ll be here.’

Dewint hovered, squinting at Edward’s scrawling writing and shook his head as Edward held up a grey suit.

‘I don’t think so, sah, they are, as I said, dressed.’

Alex and Barbara sat in silence. The clock ticked and they could hear the constant pinging of the telephone.

‘Where has he been, did he tell you?’

Alex said he had asked, but Edward had been as evasive as usual. She began to tap her foot in irritation. ‘I presume he is aware that we are here? How long does he intend to keep us waiting?’

Alex stared out of the window across the river, where the Barkley Company Ltd sign loomed high in the sky. He sipped the champagne, then lit a Havana cigar, carefully clipping the end.

‘I must say the place is frightful! Who on earth did the interior for him? A lot of it looks almost threadbare... and all those terrible paintings, Alex, in the hall.’

Puffing his cigar alight, Alex went to stand at the fireplace. ‘Oh, they’re family.’

Harriet sounded very distressed on the telephone. The Judge was nearing the end and she found Haverley Hall very cold and her family in a similar state. Edward asked if she was all right, and not getting too upset, and she retorted that of course she was upset, anyone would be under the circumstances.

‘Look, sweetheart, I’ve got to go. Alex is downstairs, I’m to meet the new wife. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?’ He replaced the receiver.

Alex and Barbara both looked at the phone as it pinged again, and Barbara stood up, smoothing her dress over her tight, firm figure. ‘Perhaps you should go and bring him down. He’s obviously on the phone — it’s ridiculous keeping us waiting like this.’

The double doors opened with a bang as she finished, and Edward beamed, open-armed. He wore a white silk suit and a pale blue shirt, open at the neck, a thick, heavy gold bracelet, and his long hair was tied in a thong at the nape of his neck. Barbara’s jaw dropped, but she recovered rapidly as Edward strode towards her.

‘Well, you must be Barbara... I have to apologize for keeping you waiting. There’ll be just the three of us dining, and then some more guests will be joining us.’

Edward bent his head over her outstretched hand and kissed it. She could smell a heavy, musky perfume, and found herself blushing. ‘Alex, you are a sly old dog. You never said you’d married a raving beauty... Sit down, sit down and let me look at you — champagne, let me toast the pair of you.’ He raised his glass and drank, then sat opposite Barbara, smiling, and continued to flatter and tease her. When she told him about her daughters he laughed, tossing his head back, saying she had to be lying, no woman who looked like she did could have two grown daughters.

Barbara warmed to Edward, laughing and joking with him. She did not mention her anger at being kept waiting, or make any reference to her previous visit. He asked her all about Texas, and when Dewint entered to say that dinner was served he leapt to her side, guiding her into the dining hall.

Rows of candles shed their light on the long table, which was set out with heavy silver, polished and dazzling, as for a banquet. There were big silver goblets, bowls of fresh fruit, large chunks of bread in silver bowls, and Edward was the perfect host. If Barbara spoke, he gave her his full attention, his eyes never leaving her face as if everything she said was of vital importance. She was flattered, and the flow of conversation continued throughout the meal.

Alex toyed with the thick, home-made chicken soup, and hardly touched the roast beef, which was overdone and too thickly carved for his taste. The wine flowed, good wine, and Edward kept their glasses filled as Dewint moved around silently, clearing and setting, as unobtrusive as ever.

Barbara regaled Edward with stories of her old devil of a grandfather, and even though they were not particularly amusing he threw back his head and laughed as if she were the wittiest woman he had ever met. Alex watched his wife blooming under Edward’s encouraging attention. Occasionally Edward would reach over and pat his arm. ‘You lucky man, you lucky man... Barbara, another toast to you both. My brother’s a lucky man, but I warn him, he should keep you tied to the home...’

Alex felt very emotional. Again and again he saw the ghost of his father in Edward. Sitting in the throne, with his huge shoulders and thick black hair, the only difference was that Edward was a year older than Freedom had been when he died. It was as if Freedom had come back to say, ‘Look at me, this is what I would have been if everything had gone well, if my life had been different...’

‘You’re very quiet, Alex? Have some more wine, I’ve lots of people arriving to meet your wife, so I don’t want you crawling off with one of your headaches...’ Alex’s lips tightened — Edward made him sound like an old woman. But he smiled, and accepted the wine as Dewint passed round a mediocre selection of cheeses.

The doorbell rang a couple of times, but Edward gave not the slightest indication that he had heard it. They could hear voices, people arriving, laughter, but still Edward concentrated on Barbara. It was not until Dewint murmured that coffee was served in the lounge that Edward jumped to his feet and withdrew Barbara’s chair. But as the three made their way past the long refectory table towards the lounge, Edward stifled a yawn.

Barbara recognized several of Edward’s film-star guests. She listened as they discussed a columnist who had written a scandalous piece about a drug addict, but she had no idea to whom they were referring. The doors constantly opened to allow more guests to enter. Two of the men were obviously gay, wearing extraordinary thick platform boots and flared trousers with torn tee-shirts. The next couple were both in seedy evening dress, but they all greeted Edward with familiarity, shrieking with laughter when they saw him.

‘Eddie, the hair! Dahling, I mean, it’s Buffalo Bill!’

Edward grinned and laughed with them all, completely relaxed. He kept the stereo playing all the time, with Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, and then a band so loud that Barbara could no longer hear the film stars’ gossip. ‘I’m a back door man, Yes... Yes I am...’ Barbara noticed that a joint was being passed round — not that it came in her direction, it bypassed Alex and herself discreetly.

Alex sat quietly on a sofa, tired, wanting to leave. A group of actors was holding a heated discussion about a production of Hamlet, and on the other side of the room the pros and cons of mini-skirts held sway, the comments light and flippant. Alex flicked a look at his watch, it was past midnight and he wanted to go. Barbara was enthralled with two actors, accepting free tickets for an opening night. The music grew louder, another Bob Dylan record.

‘Barbara, I think we should leave, I have an early appointment in the morning.’

Barbara would have loved to stay. She had spent most of her time in London with quite a different set of people and she loved this noisy, flamboyant group. However, she bowed to Alex, and waited for Dewint to bring her fur. Everyone kissed and waved goodbye, and went back to talking even louder as Edward ushered Alex and Barbara to the door.

Sitting at her dressing table Barbara creamed her face while Alex sat on the bed and asked her what she thought of Edward.

‘He’s divine, and such a character. The girls will adore him.’ Alex kissed her neck and she moved her head away, saying she was tired, and continued cleaning her face.

‘I’ll see you in the morning, goodnight.’

Barbara watched him through the mirror as he stood for a moment at her bedroom door, then gave her a small smile and walked out. She sighed, tossed the cotton wool into the waste bin and followed him, slipped into his bed and held him, performed well for him, dutifully.

It was strange, Alex was just as handsome, but Edward? She traced Alex’s face softly with her finger, bent and kissed it. He murmured and turned over.

When Barbara returned to her own room, she couldn’t sleep. She went over the whole evening in her mind — Edward’s smiling face, his perfume, his roaring laugh... She had known instantly, almost the moment she saw him, that he was different — there was something intensely exciting about him. That was what really set the brothers apart — Edward was dangerous. When she finally slept, her body turned and she reached for the pillow, pulling it to her — pulling Edward into her arms.

Installed in Alex’s elegant house, Barbara caused an uproar with the servants as she moved furniture around, and hired two more maids. She couldn’t wait to begin her career as a socialite. She found Alex as sweet as ever, but lacking in the one thing she had married him for — social contacts. She began to get bored, itchy, with everything set up in the house to entertain and no one to lavish invitations on.

Alex closeted himself in his office with calculators and files, trying to determine the flow of finances and redirect them into various projects of his own. The property development side alone was now an incredible size, and with the profits from the night club Edward had been buying buildings with cash. According to what Alex had fathomed out he now owned almost a two-mile stretch of warehouses and Thames waterfront. The discrepancies between the accounts and the cash were enormous, and night after night Alex worked on the terrifying jumble of scraps of paper, leases and deeds, until he threw his hands up in despair. The company could be prosecuted at any time, the Inland Revenue would have a field day.

Edward’s return did not make his appearances in the office any more frequent. Alex could never contact him, he was either out supervising his new boutiques in Carnaby Street or he was at the night club. Alex left him messages, memos, but never received a word in reply. Also, a couple of Alex’s own business ventures were not going as well as he had hoped. Yet again he was warned that, with the new gaming laws being introduced, their club, and hence a valuable asset for laundering money, was near to closure.

Bundles of documents would be left on Alex’s desk — more new companies, more lists of salaries to be paid out, instructions for large sums of money to be withdrawn, all with hastily scrawled messages telling him to lose the transactions in the books.

Alex worked late every night, not helped by a constant stream of workmen installing Edward’s new toy, the security system. Loose wires hung in every corner of every office.

Nor was there any respite for Alex when he went home to Mayfair. Barbara would be sitting waiting for him, wanting to go here or there, wanting to be introduced to everyone she could think of, and Alex was so tired he simply wanted to eat his supper and collapse into bed.

‘Alex, I’m bored out of my mind, for Chrissake, I sit here all day, I sit here all night! What in God’s name do you expect me to do? I can’t just sit, I wanna do things, I gotta do something... is there nothing I can do in the business?’

Her Texas twang grated on his nerves, and he snapped that perhaps she should take some elocution lessons.

‘Fine, I’ll start tomorrow... You want eloquence, fine, you mind telling me who’s gonna even hear my goddamn voice? We don’t see anyone, we don’t meet anyone, I am bored! Jesus Christ, I come all this way and the only people I meet are goddamn Americans over here for the season — I bought a horse for the girls, stabled it in Hyde Park, that should keep them quiet. Alex, are you even listening to me?’

She snatched the newspaper from him and threw it across the room. ‘Alex, will you just listen for a minute, all you have to do is to tell me what to do and I’ll do it, but I don’t know where to begin.’

Alex got up, kissed her, and apologized. ‘Okay, my love, start donating to charities. Make sure they are the big ones and directly connected to royalty. Donate, then offer your time to help out at functions. You want to meet people that’s the way to do it... Then...’ He picked up the newspaper and opened it, and Barbara was about to shout at him again when he passed it to her and pointed out an article. ‘That bank’s in trouble. It’s a private bank run by a family. See if you can’t get to them, they’re well connected, but rumours in the City have it that they’re on their way out. See what you can find out, open an account there or whatever, send the lawyers in first and say you want to make a large deposit...’

Barbara moaned that that wasn’t really what she had had in mind, but Alex kissed her neck and unbuttoned her blouse. ‘I think we should maybe take the bank over, the family’s got the connections but they’re broke — that’s your task, sweetheart, so get cracking.’ Suddenly he sounded, even to his own ears, like his brother.

Barbara donated massive sums to charities, and soon got caught up in so many charity functions she hardly had the time for her elocution classes. She was invited to lunches, balls, dances, teas, and for the first time since she came to England she started to enjoy herself.

The St James’ Bank was overawed by Mrs Barkley. Her lawyers had paved the way and there was quite a reception waiting for her. She made an impressive entrance — the Rolls, the chauffeur, the furs, but most important was the amount of money she wanted to transfer from her Texas accounts. She was evasive, playing them along and suggesting that perhaps they should take time to think about the arrangements. Next, Barbara invited the bankers to a small dinner party, knowing they would come, and set about making sure her guest list was full of society names.

Alex was impressed, Barbara was doing far better than he had ever bargained for, although he could do without the frequent dinner parties. He found her circle of ‘friends’ growing in number, and they were useful to him. The dinner parties became bigger and better, and at long last she began to feature in the society columns. Soon she had every gossip columnist eating out of her hand, and paid for it highly. She became close to the American Ambassador and his wife, and began to dominate many charity functions. She was a natural hostess, and learned faster than Alex would have given her credit for. He began to admire her, and to love her even more.

Barbara was in her element, she had made it, and she was now even more choosy about who she talked with, who she invited to her dinners. Now she was looking for openings to move yet another step upward.

Barbara’s daughters had both been shipped off to finishing school in Switzerland. On their return to London, the elder girl, Selina, had found it difficult to adjust to her new life and a whole circle of new people, and became very quiet and withdrawn. However, Annabelle, the younger, took to it all with an energy and vigour inherited from her mother. She made many friends, ensuring that they were all from titled families, and moved effortlessly into the young jet set.

Barbara put all her efforts into making good marriages for her daughters, and she discussed a possible suitor with Alex. It would not only mean a good step forward into society, but a strong business move. The St James’ Bank heir, Conrad St James, was hand-picked for Selina, financial arrangements with the family having been concluded satisfactorily. Alex Barkley took over the bank, giving Conrad a job for life, and in return Conrad married Selina. She had very little say in the matter, led like a lamb to the slaughter.

The wedding was an elaborate occasion, the cathedral packed with four hundred guests, followed by the reception at the Grosvenor House Hotel in Park Lane. It made every society column, and took up the whole of the gossip diary in Queen magazine.

When the newly weds departed for Rome on their honeymoon, Barbara heaved a sigh of relief. Next, she wanted to get Annabelle married. Annabelle had grown taller, and she had her mother’s perfect figure. Lord Henry Blackwell, who was as shy as Selina, had been earmarked for her. Unlike her sister, however, she did not bow down to her mother, and they fought like cat and dog. She had a mind of her own and a strong one; she knew exactly what she wanted, what clothes she wanted to wear, and she was as adept at social climbing as her mother. With her friends from school, many of them titled, she could always get around her mother by saying, ‘But Lady Somerton’s daughter was with me.’

Alex let Barbara do exactly as she wanted, content that she was out of his way, for he was in the midst of the takeover of Buchanan House. He had sold off numerous small businesses and was amassing the cash in readiness. He and Edward argued over virtually every sale, every clause, and their terrible rows echoed round the office. Alex was infuriated by his brother, who would appear and disappear at will, always on some deal or other that he had in mind. These were never of interest to Alex, he wanted more and more to move into the City, but Edward kicked against it. ‘Stocks and shares, buddy boy, why get into that, we do all right this way... Someone’s got to do the dirty little deals, and we’re way ahead of everyone else. You start playing the stock market and you’ll get your fingers burnt...’

Alex was insistent, just as his wife was climbing socially so he wanted to have the City’s respect. The Barkley Company had a bad name for under-dealing. Alex wanted to move up and out.

‘Edward, why break your balls on this club, close it, let it go.’

Edward hit the roof, screaming at his brother that if he would just go through the accounts he would see why not. They could launder money through it, cream it, just like the old days.

Trying to keep Edward on the straight and narrow was virtually a full-time job, and a desperate one for Alex. ‘Why? Why, for Chrissake, take these risks? We are legitimate, and yet you always want to branch out into back-alley deals.’

Edward lost patience, snapping at his brother that he had made the Barkley Company, not Alex. He had made it on the backs of his deals, and if Alex didn’t like what he was doing he could go fuck himself and see how well he would do without Edward. The rows between them became a daily occurrence, secretaries and typists would cringe as the bellowing rang through the office. Edward terrified them all, rampaging along the corridors arguing at the top of his voice.

Alex had to spend days trying to fathom out what new moves his brother had made. The Carnaby Street boutiques, which Alex had been against from the first, were going from strength to strength.

‘I got the nose, buddy boy, I got the nose... listen to me, and you’ll be where you want, believe me.’

The office was still in turmoil, with workmen carrying wires and monitor screens in and out of Edward’s office installing his elaborate security system. Every room was fitted with cameras. Edward’s new toys whirred and bleeped, and he was forever rushing down to the basement to check how they worked.

‘How long are these men going to be here, Edward? I’ve got two board meetings this morning, and I don’t want ladders everywhere and white overalls dodging in and out.’

Edward beamed and told Alex it was all completed, dragged him down to the basement. ‘Okay, now take a look — see, we get anyone breaking in and all the guys down here have to do is flick switches... see... There’s now a camera in every room, right? They can check out the place with a couple of switches... bingo!’

Alex looked around the room and sighed. He was beginning to think Edward was paranoid. At times he acted so crazily. His hair was longer than ever, and he wore his denim jeans and cowboy boots every day. While Alex was striving for respectability, Edward was joining in with the ‘Swinging Sixties’. The rock music from Edward’s office was so loud at times that Alex couldn’t hear himself think.

‘Edward, maybe you need some kind of rest, you know?’

Edward swore at him, said he was simply moving with the times.

‘Bit old, aren’t you, to be wandering around like a hippy?’

Edward roared with laughter. ‘Brother... maybe I’m making up for all the lost years of hard labour I put in, so what?’

Alex quietly reminded him that he himself was more than familiar with hard labour. Edward flung his arms around him in one of his crazy gestures. ‘Hey, trust me, you got to trust me, Alex old son. I know what I’m doing — you do your thing, man, and I’ll do mine, okay?’

Alex hesitated, then asked point-blank, ‘She’s bad again, isn’t she? Harry?’

Edward was suddenly deflated, and made a strange, half-hearted gesture. ‘Always comes out at strange times, you know. I was on tenterhooks when the Judge died, but she coped, right as rain. But she’s acting up now... I dunno what to do, Alex, I just don’t. She joined some fringe theatre, all I hear about is this bloody play, she’s obsessed with it... I don’t know if it’s in her mind or what, she’s wearing black from head to foot all the time now, and she’s started shutting herself up in her studio again.’

Alex suggested she should see a doctor.

‘Not as easy as all that, she’s so paranoid.’

‘Well, that makes two of you. With all this equipment you’ve been installing I’d say you were one and the same... if you like, I’ll invite her over, or call and see her.’

‘Sure you can fit her in? With your busy social schedule I’m amazed you have time to get into the office. But thanks and no thanks. How’s your takeover doing?’

Alex was immediately on guard, murmuring that it was going along fine. But Edward was already striding down the corridor, not even interested.

Barbara was not too pleased to be told at the last moment she had two extra guests, Edward and Harriet. She rearranged the table, moved her place cards in a desperate bid to seat Harriet where she would be the least trouble.

Dinner was set for nine o’clock, by eight forty-five there was still no sign of them. Alex called the manor only to be told they had just left. They did not make an appearance until after nine and Barbara was furious. Her guests sat very formally sipping cocktails as Edward, wearing a white tuxedo but no tie, strolled into the sitting room. Harriet remained in the hall wearing what could only be described as an assortment of scarves pulled together to form a dress... she also had one wrapped around her head, but worse than her appearance was the fact that she was holding a pigeon she had found in the drive. She appeared at the door as everyone turned to stare. ‘Edward, what should I do with it? It’s got a clubbed foot! The poor thing’s starving.’

‘Give it to the butler.’

Barbara’s butler, Scargill, turned from handing round the drinks tray. Barbara gave him a look, waved her hand, and knew by now the chef would be throwing a fit in the kitchen. In the end it was Alex who removed the pigeon and took it outside. He simply threw it out of the back door and then assured Harriet it was being fed and cared for.

Dinner was announced and Edward, deep in conversation with a New York banker, sat down in the wrong place. This put all the seating arrangements out, and so it was musical chairs until at last everyone was seated.

The consomme was being served by two white-gloved waiters. Harriet was seated next to a judge, and she fell into a deep conversation about her father and his prostate operation. Everyone had finished their soup and the waiters hovered as Harriet hadn’t touched hers. Edward leaned on his elbow and enquired if she had finished, everyone was waiting. ‘Oh sorry, you can take it away... sorry, Barbara, but we were talking about my father.’

Barbara enquired how Judge Simpson was and Harriet looked astonished. ‘Oh he’s dead, didn’t you know?’ Everyone murmured their condolences, and Alex quickly changed the conversation.

Harriet grew very quiet as she knew nothing about banking, and had no interest in political matters. She couldn’t help but notice how at ease Edward was and felt more than inadequate. She also noted what a very good hostess Barbara was...

As they drove home, Edward yawned. Harriet was biting her nails. He slipped his arm around her shoulders. ‘You went very quiet.’

‘Well I felt a bit out of my depth, the white-gloved treatment is a bit over the top.’

He drove up the manor house drive. ‘Maybe, but sometimes it’s good for business.’

Harriet lay awake most of the night. She made elaborate plans to begin working with Dewint. To redecorate the manor, and get lots of white gloves... suddenly she could hear the Judge, his booming voice bellowing through the old Hall... ‘For God’s sake, Edna, that fella looks as if he’s in a black and white minstrel show, the Duke’s comin’ for a bite to eat, not a ruddy cabaret.’ She slipped out of the bed and crept to the window. She loved to look out of this particular window, down to the big oak tree.

His approaching death had frightened her father, his bluster had gone, and when she had sat with him, he had cried... held on to her hand. ‘How’s my country gel then, eh? Good of you ta come up and see us, place always quiet without you... this is where you belong, not in that filthy city.’

The Judge’s request to be buried with his favourite hunter was dismissed as senile ramblings. After his funeral Harriet found the old horse’s grave. The horse her pa had refused point-blank to send to the glue factory. He had dug the grave himself. She laid a bunch of wild flowers and a small card... ‘From Your Country Girl’.

As the train arrived back in London, her heart had already begun to ache for the fields, for the fresh clean air, but Edward wasn’t there, and where he was, she had to be.

Alex was preparing for the takeover of Buchanan House, a twenty-three-million-pound deal. The news hit the City, and Mr Alex Barkley’s face began to appear in the Financial Times columns. He was referred to as a new breed of tycoon. He began to relax. Maybe his brother was right, he should let Edward get on with his side of the business. He negotiated the renaming of Buchanan House, listing all the subsidiary companies they could combine. He thought about going public, so he had many meetings with brokers and financiers, closeted in his office or in the boardroom for hours on end. The poised, whirring cameras were soon forgotten, became part of the walls. But Alex was unaware of just what a tight security system his ‘dear’ brother had had installed. Although Edward’s office appeared as it always had, the mammoth desk had been modified, as had the walls. Behind five oak panels were monitor screens, and his desk was computerized, the sides opening up to reveal the controls. Without moving out of his office, Edward Barkley could tape and record every meeting that took place in the building. Every single negotiation, every single phone call that went in or out of the Barkley Company, he recorded. By this method, Edward felt free to roam, leave London whenever he wanted, assured that his office was ticking away all by itself.

Edward had decided that a meeting with Ming was called for. It was not particularly urgent, he just wanted to get away from London, from Harriet — she was heading for one of her depressive bouts. He knew it was wrong, that he should tell her what he was doing, but he did his usual disappearing act anyway.

Dewint had the unfortunate task of telling her, one that often landed on his frail shoulders. Her play was about to open, and Dewint knew how important it was for her to have Edward there on her first night — she needed his approval. She had worked so hard, and at long last she had her Equity card. But she took it very well, shrugging her shoulders and saying it was only to be expected. Dewint tried to make up for Edward’s absence, telling her that by the time he returned from New York the play would have had a chance to ‘run in’, and her performance would no doubt be better for the experience.

This was her first professional engagement, one she had worked hard to get. She had joined the Bush Theatre at Shepherd’s Bush as an assistant to the stage manager. She was an obvious choice for the part of Christina in their production of The Soul of a Whore, and so far the rehearsals had gone without a single hitch. As the opening night approached, Harriet’s nerves were in shreds. This was no passing whim, as Edward had believed at first, but a serious stab at making a career for herself. She had made considerable donations towards the running of the theatre, and although no one liked to admit it, this had swayed the company into not only staging the production but also offering her the role. They were touched when she insisted she auditioned like anyone else, even though she was the ‘angel’. She didn’t want to destroy the play’s chances of success. Harriet had won the role fair and square, and her position in the company was confirmed.

She rarely, if ever, mentioned her husband, and used the stage name of Harriet Simpson. It had become very important to her that she prove herself, without any influence from Edward.

Dewint watched over her, fussing around, almost as nervous as she was. Alex had been asked to attend, but he had declined due to a prior engagement. Allard, however, was bringing a crowd of his friends to support her.

The small theatre at the top of the pub was crammed. The young author sat biting his nails as the critics squeezed into the rows of benches.

Dewint’s nervousness evaporated within the first ten minutes. Harriet’s performance was astonishing — she seemed perfectly at home on the stage, and her performance had depth and great humour. She had a rare quality that riveted the audience. She walked a dangerous edge, switching a laugh line into a violent tirade against the men she picked up in her character of a whore. She dominated the stage, and at the end the small theatre gave her a standing ovation.

Dewint waited outside the pub’s ‘stage door’ until Harriet appeared with Allard and his crowd of friends, who were absolutely overwhelmed by her talent. They went off to celebrate, and Dewint caught the bus home. He sat up until four in the morning, when she arrived, exhausted but jubilant. She had done it — she didn’t need anyone to tell her, she had felt it from the stage. She handed Dewint a newspaper with the only review so far.

‘I’m a star, Norman... twinkle, twinkle.’

‘Oh, Mrs Barkley, you are, and I’ll be there every night.’

‘I’d like that, Norman, I’d like that... Don’t wake me until late. Goodnight...’

The following morning as Dewint cleared Harriet’s breakfast tray from her bedroom, he noticed all the bread had been rolled into tiny pellets. He checked the pill bottle in her bedside table and found it open.

Ming was reading the morning papers, including the English ones, from cover to cover. There was yet another article about the Barkley empire in the financial section, plus an announcement in the social columns — Alex’s second stepdaughter, Annabelle, was to marry Lord Henry Blackwell. But there was little or nothing about Edward Barkley.

It was chilling that, at that precise moment, her houseboy informed her that she had a visitor... a Mr Edward Barkley.

Ming kept Edward waiting until she had changed, made up her face, and felt ready to meet him. He was waiting in the lounge, spreadeagled across the sofa reading one of her magazines. She had a moment to take in his dishevelled appearance, his long hair, the denims.

‘Well, I see we are very much into the swinging style, would you care for coffee?’

Edward beamed at her and swung his cowboy boots down from the sofa. ‘You look good... in fact, you’ve not changed at all.’

Primly she sat down, as far away from him as possible.

‘You know, Ming, when I heard that Alex was married, I thought it was you — I knew the pair of you were carrying on your little affair — but I was wrong.’

‘Yes, you were. Well what do you want?’

He laughed, ran his hands through his long hair, and she noticed he wore a gold bracelet. He seemed at ease with her, as if they had seen each other only a few days previously. ‘I’ve got some more projects for you to take over, in Mexico, couple of hotels... and I may have a deal for you. What do you think of shipping your fabrics back to Japan? Be a lot of money in it, and they are very interested... You free for lunch?’

Ming was impressed, Edward’s ability for making contacts never ceased to amaze her. The Japanese project was, as he had said, worth a fortune.

Having made the introductions at lunch, Edward left Ming with the four Japanese buyers to negotiate the contracts. On his way out he let his hand rest just a moment too long on the nape of her neck. ‘Why not drop into my hotel later, spot of dinner... ‘bout nine?’

Ming inclined her head slightly to show her acceptance, then gave her full attention to her countrymen. The deal was an excellent one. They were very interested in Ming’s company, interested enough to want to buy into it as part of the deal. They questioned her closely on Edward Barkley’s association with her business, hinting that if he agreed to sell them his shares, they could guarantee that shops for her fabrics would open in Japan. As their discussions continued, it became increasingly clear that the deal would only go through if there were no third party involved.

Ming knew that her long wait was to come to an end, now, tonight. During dinner with Edward Barkley tonight she would make her move, and be free of him for good.

Edward had not even changed. He was sprawled on his bed watching cartoons on television when Ming entered. He smiled and patted the bed for her to sit beside him. She hesitated, then sat in a chair.

‘I thought we could have room service, or would you prefer to eat out? How did it go? Did you finalize the deal?’

Ming smiled, then cocked her head to one side. ‘I’m not hungry, Mr Stubbs. I’ve come here to discuss business, nothing more.’

She noted the slight twitch, but he gave her no other sign that her use of the name ‘Stubbs’ had affected him. He switched off the television, and Ming opened her briefcase, tossed him the morning newspaper. ‘Alex is really doing well, his stepdaughter, too, marrying a baronet... they entertain royalty, according to that article.’

Edward picked up the paper and began to laugh. The world was so small — Lord Henry Blackwell, Allard’s boyfriend, no less. Ming was taken off guard when he chuckled. Then his manner changed and he tossed the paper aside. He stared at her, his face hard, his eyes expressionless. ‘What’s with the “Stubbs”? What’s going on in that conniving little head, Miss Takeda?’

Ming folded her hands, licked her lips, and spoke very quietly, but clearly. ‘I know all about you, Edward, just as I know all about Alex. I am prepared to forget what I know in return for your twenty-five per cent share of my company.’

She waited, watching him as he stared at her, but he remained silent. She continued, ‘I know, Edward, and I am sure Alex would not want it divulged to the English press, that he was convicted of murder. He served a sentence, didn’t he? But he served it for you... I think it would make fascinating reading, and I could make a considerable amount of money selling the story to one of your more dubious newspapers...’

Taking out a cigarette, Edward tapped it on the bedside table, then searched his jeans for his gold lighter. ‘So they want me out, do they? Only to be expected, they’re a devious bunch, the Japs... Well, I suggest you go ahead — and shut the door when you leave, sweetheart.’

Ming sat for a moment longer, then rose to her feet, straightened her skirt, and walked to the door. ‘Very well, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

‘I hear you... You don’t have time for a quick massage before you go, do you? I like the girls naked, sitting astride, you know? But I’m sure I don’t have to teach you the business, do I? I’ll pay you extra if you toss me off.’

Ming’s hand tightened on the door knob. She knew she had lost this round, he had beaten her at her own game. She looked back at him; if she hated him before, now she wanted him dead. ‘Goodnight, Mr Barkley.’

‘Oh, Ming, don’t try to undercut me, it’s a waste of time, you ungrateful little bitch. Try anything and I warn you, I’ll take you down with me... Now go back to the Japs and say I want in, or there’s no deal.’

Ming closed the door silently. She knew she could not win with Edward, perhaps she could stand a better chance with Alex. In the meantime she would play the Japanese company along, saying the Barkley shares were being bought out.

Alex Barkley had made it, and he revelled in it. He was happier than he had been in his whole life, with his beautiful wife at his side, two well-connected sons-in-law, and a three-quarter share in a private bank. His own income was staggering, and combined with that of his wife he deserved the title of ‘tycoon’ the newspapers had given him. He was proud of his achievements, his home and his business. Princess Margaret was a regular guest. Mr and Mrs Barkley had become an ‘A list’ couple. There were still some slight hitches with the Buchanan takeover, but nothing that alarmed Alex, only Edward could do that.

Edward’s increasingly erratic behaviour was not confined to the office. The manor became an open house to dropouts, welcomed by Harriet, who always surrounded herself with groups of actors and musicians. Edward took little interest, his main occupation of late was his night club. He still managed to hold the reins of Banks, being the ninety per cent shareholder, and he was adamant that he would not lose one of his lucrative assets. They were beneficial to him, not just financially.

Edward tried every ‘hit’ he had used in the past, but to no avail. Clubs were being closed down all over London, and the exclusive Banks became a government priority when it was noted that Edward had returned to London with the notorious George Raft. Mr Raft, it appeared, had Mafia connections. Edward flaunted Raft at the club — flashbulbs popped as he sat, cigar clenched in his teeth, with his arm around his new friend’s shoulders. Next day, the photograph accompanied the headline ‘Tycoon’s brother involved with Mafia.’

Alex drove to Edward’s house. He was trying to control his anger. Dewint was pushed out of the way as Alex passed him. ‘Edward! Edwaaaard!’

Edward appeared at the top of the stairs, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Hi, man, something up?’

‘Don’t you play silly buggers with me, Edward. What the hell do you think you’re doing? You seen the papers?’

‘No — in them, am I? Well, that makes a change — I mean, you’re the Barkley Company, according to the press. Tycoon’s brother, what?’

Dewint heard them quarrelling at the tops of their voices. He turned away a car-load of guests, and still the brothers argued.

‘The Home Office is going to bar George Raft from re-entering the country, why in God’s name didn’t you tell me he had a share in the club, why? And why, for Chrissake, are you getting mixed up with these guys? You don’t need them, you don’t even need the club. Just as we are doing so well, the last thing I want is the company name besmirched with this kind of press...’

Edward looked at Alex, his face a mask, and when he spoke his voice was so calm that it sent chills through Alex. ‘How about headlines like “Barkley tycoon uncovered — ex-con Alex Stubbs”? You stupid bastard, you know Ming threatened to sell our story? You with all your fucking press agents, your social-climbing wife — well let me tell you, your bloody high-powered friends would drop you like dog shit...’

Alex paled, so shaken he had to sit down.

‘It’s all right, it’s all right, I doubt if she wants her “true life” history plastered across the papers either. But why didn’t you listen to me, I warned you about her...’

Alex closed his eyes. ‘Oh, Christ...’ He helped himself to a drink and sat down again.

Edward put an arm around his shoulder. ‘Look, don’t panic about the club, it’ll blow over, but I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse — three-quarters of a million for a thirty per cent share in Banks. In return I get a share of a casino in Nevada — it would have been madness to turn it down. When are you going to learn, your big brother has the Midas touch? Listen to me, don’t try to do me in, ride with me. You’re my brother, I’d never do anything to harm you, you know that... Look at me... you ever dream you could be where you are now? Well, did you? But never forget where we came from and keep your mouth shut tight... and if you ever feel like gabbing, take a look at your medallion, that way you’ll always remember.’

Alex asked if Edward still wanted to keep the club open, knowing it was being investigated by the Home Office.

‘They won’t find anything wrong, Alex. And besides, I have my own contacts in the Home Office, so why don’t you just back off, you aren’t involved.’

Without touching his drink, Alex walked out. Apparently unconcerned, Edward sat with his feet up on the sofa, whistling. He would find himself a new partner, one person, someone high up in the City, and they would run the club, he would show Alex. He cut and snorted more cocaine, he was doing a line on the hour almost every hour now.

Later, he put it down to the cocaine, and the fact that he was still jet lagged. He always had to have a reason, but however he fooled himself, there could be no excuse for his flagrant disregard of everything the doctors had said about Harriet.

The argument began over dinner. She was dressed in a strange forties’ dress with padded shoulders. He looked her up and down. ‘Do you go out of your way to make yourself unattractive? Where in God’s name did you get that dress?’

‘My mother, if you must know.’

‘Well I’d give it back.’

‘That would be rather difficult... don’t you want to know why?’

‘I’m sure you will have some amusing elaborate story... so tell me!’

‘She died three weeks ago...’

‘I’m sorry, you should have told me.’

‘How? I never know where the hell you are... what made it worse, I couldn’t even get to her funeral. The play... remember the play I was in, just another thing in my life you missed.’

‘I’ve said I’m sorry — what more do you want me to say? Well?’

‘Nothing...’

‘Are you going into any more of these theatrical ventures?’

‘That’s my business.’

‘Not quite, I do happen to be paying for them, and if you want my opinion I think they’re conning you. I had a look at your accounts... and like I said you’ve shelled out a lot of cash.’

‘Shelled?... Christ you sometimes sound so vulgar... where did you pick that one up from, little slit eyes? Dingley ding Ming?’

He bit the end of his cigar and spat it out. She drummed her fingers on the table spoiling for a fight.

‘I was just trying to fathom out how much longer this fad of yours was going to last... that’s all, no need to get uptight.’

‘Fad?... the theatre is not a fad. I happen to like it, more than that I love it, the warmth and the friendship I get from the people associated with it...’

He interrupted her, ‘How long do you think this so-called warmth would last if your cash dried up? You should put it to the test... couple of months you’d be left high and dry, sweetheart.’

She jumped up shouting, ‘You are the one that’s high; you should look at yourself — you’re stoned out of your mind most of the time, and don’t call me sweetheart... save it for your tarts.’

Dewint was about to enter the dining room with a large trifle, but stepped aside as she rushed out of the room. She was quickly followed by Edward, and by the look on his face there was more than a storm brewing. He took himself and his trifle back into the safety of the kitchen. They had had rows, and he was used to them, but this one he had felt coming for quite a while.

Edward cornered her at the top of the stairs. ‘You think this is any place for a man to come home to? All those queens poncing around, you got up like something from the ark? Well do you? When will you try learning the part of a wife for a change?’

She kicked out at him. ‘When you play the part of a husband, you egotistical bastard, that’s when...’

‘You saying I’m not? That what you’re saying? Well you tell me who picks up the pieces? I got the leftovers, didn’t I? Well didn’t I? And you know who I’m talking about.’

‘No, I don’t... you’re so stoned it’s difficult to follow your train of thought, now let me past... get out of my way.’

He leaned both hands over her so she was trapped beneath him. ‘I’m referring to the French man, Pierre Rochal... go on, run to your hiding hole, go on...’

She edged past him, and he sneered. ‘He didn’t put up much of a fight, did he? Know why? Because he knew all about you, guy couldn’t wait to get shot of you...’

Harriet was almost at the top of the stairs, she looked back at him. ‘You were the one that ran after me, and if you’ve got to rake up that far back, then you really are pitiful.’

‘Yeah, you said it... but if I’d known about the baby, maybe I wouldn’t have come after you. I was the one who wanted sons remember? Me!’

He began to move up the stairs. ‘It was his baby you lost, not mine, but I’ve had the shit thrown at me. Surprised? You didn’t think I knew about it, did you? Don’t you tell me about being a good husband, you got the better side of the bargain.’

He waited for her to come back at him, ready to continue the fight. Like a boxer coming in for the kill, knowing the punch had found its mark, he waited... his opponent, his wife reached down to the ache inside her. The pain that had haunted her, that she had denied him, was released. Her face crimson with anguished rage she screamed... ‘It was your son, you bastard.’

The fight turned tables, a boxer when hurt can be more dangerous... more vicious because he knows it’s the last chance... Harriet took it, took it and gave punch after punch to his heart. ‘He was perfect, Edward, perfect. Imagine what it felt like to hold his cold body in my arms — whisper his name, beg for his lungs to move... what was his name, can you think what I would have called your son, can that putrid, festering mind think... tell me his name?’

His mind reeled, he pressed his back against the wall. She came closer, closer, now she moved to stand in front of him, her arms stretching either side of him as she looked into his face. She whispered the name he already knew...

‘Freedom... I called him Freedom.’

Slowly he moved his arms around her as her body caved in. He cried for what he had done, he cried for his son... and at long last they wept together for their loss. Later they slept in each other’s arms, afraid to let go... drained... bound to each other as they had always been. Edward woke and felt for her body, but she was gone. He prayed he would be wrong, but he found her in the studio. This time, though, she allowed him to drive her to the doctor.

It was almost ten o’clock when Edward returned. Dewint made him fresh coffee and took it into the lounge. Edward stood staring into the fire, he turned a sheepish, sad face.

‘How is she, sir?’

‘Not too good, may be away for some time... I’ll be at the club if anyone wants me.’

Edward began his drinking again, staying out until the early hours of the morning. Dewint didn’t serve his breakfast often until noon. He always tapped nervously... afraid to wake him because he could have such terrible moods. This morning he was awake, and Dewint carried in his tray.

‘Mrs Barkley’s downstairs, sah... Mrs Barbara Barkley.’

Edward smiled, began to eat. ‘Show her up, and bring a bottle of champagne.’ Barbara walked in and tossed her mink on the bed. She noticed he was wearing only his pyjama bottoms, and the gold medallion around his neck.

‘Well, you proud of yourself? Alex says he’s tried to reason with you, now it’s my turn. He says you’ve been offered a lot of money for a percentage of the club. Well, I’ll match it if you back off, get rid of it.’

Dewint entered with the champagne and popped the cork, while Edward lay back, arms behind his head. Barbara waited until Dewint had gone then she sat down a good distance away. ‘Annabelle’s just married, everything is good right now, and Alex can’t afford to lose out on this thing he’s got going. Why do you do it, Edward? Why?’

Edward sipped his champagne and patted the bed for her to come and sit close. ‘Maybe I’m bored, maybe I’ve been through Alex’s trip and out the other side. I don’t care any more, I don’t give a fuck what the right people think of me, it doesn’t matter. You know, the only thing that does is money — need I say more? Look where it got you.’

Barbara threw the glass of champagne straight at his head. It splashed down the pillow and Edward laughed. ‘Do you really care what those stuffed shirts think? Who gives a shit? You got one life, Barbara, and I’ve spent most of mine licking other men’s fucking boots... Why don’t you get your clothes off and get into bed with me.’

Barbara slapped him and he caught her wrist. ‘Temper, temper... only teasing. But you can rest easy, I’ll be a good boy, no more headlines, all right? I was just bored, that’s all, don’t you ever get bored?’

He watched her sigh and pour herself another drink.

‘Now you’ve met the so-called English aristocrats, you telling me you really get on with those wankers?’

Barbara, walking to the window, asked him to refrain from speaking to her like a tart.

‘Ohhh, I’m sorry, I’ll mind my p’s and q’s, won’t use any naughty words in front of Her Ladyship. Why don’t you be honest, honey child, you’re as pissed off as I am...’

Barbara picked up her mink coat, slipped it round her shoulders. ‘I happen to like my life. Just because you have nothing worthwhile in yours, don’t think everyone feels the same way.’

She couldn’t have said anything worse. Edward threw back the bedclothes and stood, barring her exit. She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her and she tried to force him away. He held on, and she fought, kicked at him and scratched him, grabbed his hair. The leather thing holding it snapped, and his hair fell loose, down to his shoulders. Barbara resisted by letting her body go limp. ‘Please don’t, let me go, Edward. Don’t do this to me, please.’

He opened his arms, released her, and then cupped her face in his hands, gently. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry... go home to him, go home like a good girl.’

He moved back to the bed and sprang up on it, then flopped down like a child. The door closed and he glanced up; she was leaning against it. She began to unbutton her blouse, kicked off her shoes, and Edward, propped on one elbow, watched her. ‘You are a rare beauty, Barbara, you know that? Untie your hair.’

She sat on the edge of the bed and allowed him to toss her hairpins aside one by one... He eased her blouse away and with one finger unhooked her bra, kissing her shoulders, her back, and she leaned against him... He pulled her back until she lay across the bed, and he ran his hands through her hair. He began to ease her skirt off, and she made no move to either stop him or help him.

They lay side by side, one so fair, so blonde, and the other so dark...

‘You know, you look like him sometimes, and you both wear those medallions. What have you got on yours?’

Edward looked down at her and smiled. ‘Exactly what Alex has on his.’

He touched her breast, slowly tracing the nipple, then he whispered that perhaps she should just close her eyes and make believe he was Alex, and then she would be able to make regular visits...

‘Would you want me to?’

Edward kissed each of her breasts and said he would, he would like her here with him all the time. She held him, wrapped her arms around him and kissed his neck.

‘I want that too, you know I want that too.’

Edward hadn’t expected her to be quite so easy, but he did fancy her; she was a beauty. He made love to her gently, lovingly. She was slow to be aroused, she behaved straight, not seeming to want anything ‘unusual’... and it was not until he had come into her that she started. He wouldn’t have minded a quick snooze, but she rolled on top of him. ‘You go to sleep, Mr Barkley, and I’ll suffocate you.’

She put the pillow over his face, told him to keep still and not move, then she got off the bed, went to the champagne bucket and brought back a handful of ice cubes, dumped them on the bedside table. She took one and ran it gently along the side of his thigh. He squirmed.

‘No, no, don’t move, you’ll like it... wait, you’ll like it.’

Edward grasped the pillow and pulled it over his face as the ice slithered over his body, between his thighs, his balls, until he was jumping, writhing... but she kept pushing him down, started to kiss and rub his chest. He tossed the pillow aside. ‘Where else have you got an ice cube, madam?’

Barbara leaned back, laughing, and eased him into her.

‘My God, where did you learn all this — Alex?’

She moved on top of him and smiled, Alex had not had this treatment, he preferred something else... ‘I’ll try out Alex’s treatment on you after, he always likes it a certain way... now why don’t you shut up talking about him and enjoy it.’

Edward pulled her down to him. ‘You think I’m not enjoying it? Well, I’ll teach you a few things.’

Lying awake in his room, Alex heard Barbara arrive home, and waited to see if she would come into his room. She tapped on his door and opened it.

‘Edward wouldn’t listen to me. I even offered to buy him out, but he was so beastly I went over to see Margaret and had a late dinner... I’ll see you in the morning, darling... night-night.’

Barbara was so exhausted she almost had to crawl the last few yards to her bed, and fell asleep instantly.

Edward hated Barbara to ring him at the office, and what had started out as a fling was now very heavy going. She would arrive at any hour she chose, never calling first, expecting him to be ready like a stud. Otherwise she would demand to meet him in hotels or secret restaurants.

Edward paid weekly visits to Harriet, but this time her recovery was slow. She had become a vegetarian, preparing for her release to eat her way back to health. She had endeared herself to so many nurses and patients it was difficult to have a private conversation with her. She knew everyone’s name, and her sunny nature made the doctors joke that no one ever wanted to leave. They also informed Edward in all seriousness that it was taking time because she was still afraid to leave the security of the nursing home. Edward was relieved, life was becoming a little tricky, with Barbara appearing whenever she chose. She had no regard for Harriet, and rarely asked about her.

He couldn’t help but smile, they certainly were poles apart... he stood by the greenhouse door and watched Harry with a small trowel digging at a tomato plant... Barbara would never have been seen dead in a pair of wellington boots, but there was Harry elbows in soil — her face filthy. She gave him a wink, and then wrapped her arms around a very plump girl who appeared to be in tears. She joined him outside and jerked her thumb back to the greenhouse... ‘She’s very upset, her pet’s died.’ She slipped her arm through his.

‘I didn’t know you could have pets here?’ he said.

‘Oh, you can’t, not really, it was a toad, called Herbie, but she was very fond of him, she’s known him since he was a tadpole.’

‘Ah well, in that case they’d have a strong rapport.’

She laughed, and he pulled her close... then he sniffed.

‘God, what’s that smell?’

‘Manure... it’s the new perfume by Dior, very popular.’

As always she had him laughing, and he kissed her soil-stained face. ‘Want you home soon, Dewint is walking around like Dracula’s mother...’

He felt her tense up, then she was serious. ‘I’ll come home when I’m strong, won’t be too long, okay?’ She waved him goodbye from behind the gates, placing the trowel to her lips and giving him a Hitler salute. She returned to her tomato plants and he to a young, skinny model he had begun an affair with. He was in a very good mood, perhaps it was because he knew Harry would be home soon.

Dewint looked disdainfully at the young girl. Edward took him aside and gave him strict instructions that if Mrs Barkley, Mrs Barbara Barkley, was to call he was not available — ever. He knew he could get rid of the model easily enough, but Barbara was too close, too dangerous when Harry came home, he didn’t want anything to upset her.

Dewint tapped on the bedroom door. Even though he had told Mrs Barkley that Edward was not at home, she was refusing to leave. She swept past him, straight into the bedroom, and closed the door in his face.

‘What the hell are you playing at, giving that idiot orders to say to me, to me, that you are not in when I know damned well you are?’

The poor, nervous ‘beanpole’ hovered in the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her skinny body. Barbara shouted that it was the third time she had tried to see Edward, and that he had not returned any of her calls, but she was stunned into silence when the bathroom door opened and the girl, pink with embarrassment stood there, shaking.

‘Get this thing out of here, Edward, and fast — I mean it.’

Edward kissed his little girlfriend and handed her her clothes, saying he was sorry but there was obviously some kind of family crisis... It was nothing, ‘she’ was just his sister-in-law.

Dewint was given the nod to get the girl out, and Edward wrapped his dressing gown around himself and went to join Barbara in the lounge.

‘You bastard, you bastard, why haven’t you answered my calls? Because that, whatever you call it, was in your bed? Why don’t you grow up, you’re a bit old for her, aren’t you? What is she, sixteen, seventeen?’

Edward lit a cigar and lay on the sofa. ‘She’s actually twenty-two, but she looks younger... was there something you wanted?’

Barbara walked around to the other side of the sofa so she could face him. ‘I’m pregnant.’

Edward beamed and congratulated her, said Alex would be thrilled.

‘It isn’t Alex’s, it’s yours, it’s yours. If you recall, when I first came here I didn’t happen to have my cap in my handbag...’

‘So what do you want to do about it?’

She sighed, asked him what he wanted to do about it. He walked to the window, pushed it open. ‘Will you tell Alex? I know a good doctor...’

Barbara stepped away from him as though she’d been slapped. ‘What did you say...?’

‘I said I know a good doctor who will see you, be over with, if that’s what you want...’

‘What do you want, you bastard?’

Edward sighed, rubbing his head. ‘Does Alex have any idea about us?’

Barbara opened her handbag and took out her compact, began dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘No... no he doesn’t, and he won’t. He’ll think it’s his, I’ll make sure of it.’

She blew her nose and refreshed her lipstick, but her eyes filled with tears. ‘You know, I thought you really cared about me. But you don’t care about anyone, do you? I must have been out of my mind. Well, I’m going to make it up to him, so stay away from me and if you so much as even hint at what has gone on between us I’ll... I’ll...’

‘Give me some credit, for Chrissake, he is my brother... He’ll not hear it from me, you have my word on it.’

He heard the snap of her compact, then she sniffed. ‘Well, do something for him. Get rid of that club, sell it, do whatever you have to, but don’t be involved in it any more.’

‘Okay, if that’s what you want.’

‘Even more than that, I want you to stay out of our lives, stay away from us, and leave him alone. He’s decent... I wish to God I’d never met you.’

When she had gone, Edward poured himself a brandy. What a bloody mess. Part of him, the part that had always wanted an heir, was saddened by the fact that, of all the women in the world, the one who carried the child he’d always wanted should be his brother’s wife.

Dewint came in to say that if Edward was going to visit Harriet, he should set out soon to avoid the traffic.

‘Ahhh, yes, we must avoid the traffic at all cost. Right, let’s get on the road then. Did you get some flowers and the things she likes from the vegetarian shop?’

‘Yes, sah, everything’s here. You’ll give her my love, won’t you?’

Edward took the carrier bag and nodded, saying quietly, ‘Yes, old fella, I’ll give her your love.’

Harriet was waiting for him in the sunny lounge. She sprang up and hurried towards him. She looked wonderful, and it never ceased to amaze him how quickly she changed. The terrible, drawn, haggard look had been replaced by a youthful bloom.

‘I have some news. I’ve been bursting to tell you, but I wanted to see your face when I told you — guess what?’

‘Why don’t you try telling me, and here — all the stuff you wanted from that weird shop.’

‘Oh, I’m coming home! Still, we can take it back with us...’ Her laugh bubbled up and eventually he was caught by her good spirits.

‘So, what is it, eh? What do you want to tell me?’

‘You are going to be a father.’

He stared, open-mouthed, then swallowed. He looked around the room, then back to her in disbelief. For a moment he was so confused he was speechless.

‘I — am — going — to — have — a - baby...’