The Talisman

Chapter twenty-seven

Harriet put her suitcase on the small familiar bed. Even though it was cold, she opened her window and stared out towards the old stables, then across the fields to the woods.

‘I’m going for a walk.’

Allard stood at the bottom of the stairs hands on his hips. ‘But you’ve only just got here. I’ve not stopped for a minute, I’ve not had time to go for a walk.’

‘Oh shut up, you look like a demented lurcher.’

‘What?’

She marched to the front door. ‘It’s a cross between a greyhound and a wolfhound, very skinny, usually rather bald and with a very snipey nose.’

‘I know what a lurcher is, and it’s a damned sight preferable to a baby elephant.’

She went out wagging her finger. ‘I won’t forget that, Allard.’

She walked for miles along small winding lanes, the sounds of the crows screeching above her head. Three young girls on their ponies trotted by with their smart jodhpurs and black riding hats... memories of her childhood swept over her. The riders entered a field and began to canter; she closed her eyes to the sound of their hooves. Babba boom... babboom... she belonged here, her father had been right. As she made her way back to the Hall swishing a stick against the hedgerows, she wondered what her life would have been like if she had never met Edward, if he had never taken her away.

Allard was sitting in the kitchen by the fire. He held up an old family photograph album. ‘There’s some hysterical snaps of us. Remember that old Brownie camera Pa had...? There’s not one with an entire body in it. Great one of Buster, just his arse, rather fitting as his raspberries were about all he was good for...’

Allard continued snorting with laughter as he turned the pages. She put the kettle on and took one of the scones Allard had bought from the local bakery. She lathered butter over it, and with her mouth full leaned on his shoulders to look at the photographs.

‘Who’s that?’

Allard touched the faded black-and-white snapshot. ‘Fella called Charlie, your husband took over his rooms at Cambridge, he was killed at Dunkirk... Christ, here’s one of me in the Footlights’ revue. Well well, fancy the old man keeping that, I would have thought he’d have tossed it.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I’m in drag and you know what he was like...’

He snapped the book closed, his initial good humour gone. ‘Christ, he was a bastard even then.’

Before she could stop him he had thrown the book on to the fire.

‘Allard, you shouldn’t have done that... I would have liked to look through it. No matter what Pa said or did he never kept you short...’

Allard gave her a pinched, vicious look. ‘I was actually referring to Edward. He took more than Charlie’s rooms I can tell you...’

‘Why did you bring him home that Christmas?’

‘You know, I haven’t the foggiest. Maybe to use him as a cover for my flirtation with Henry... who knows, who cares, all in the past now... anyway you look at it he certainly trod through our lives. Family is littered with his wreckage...’

Allard went into the hall changing the subject, intent on sorting out all the furniture for the forthcoming auction.

Harriet gazed into the fire as the photographs charred into tiny black flecks.

Allard was pulling off the dust sheets from the dining-room chairs. He heard her going up the stairs and threw the sheets aside. ‘Harriet... are you going to help me or not? You haven’t done a thing, not a single thing since you arrived... Harry?’

She looked down to him, almost at the top of the stairs. ‘I am not wreckage, Allard. If I had the choice, I would choose him again... whatever place, whatever time, there could never be anyone else.’

Allard applauded. ‘When you get through playing Gone With The Wind, do you think you could come down here and give me a hand packing up?’

The gong from the first landing was thrown over the banisters. ‘How’s that for starters?’

Allard and Harriet had never got on all that well, even as children. Now they bickered over what they should do with tables, chairs and pictures. Allard kept one room filled with the things he wanted, and it was crammed to the rafters.

Harriet launched into a tirade. ‘How on earth are you going to fit all this junk into a cottage? You keep on grabbing everything from the “for sale” pile.’

‘I do not, I simply do not, I am preparing for my old age, and I intend to live it out in comfort, so mind your own bloody business. Some of this old stuff is worth a packet and we won’t get a good price from those local idiots.’

Jinks pushed open the front door. She could hear their voices arguing away but could not see them over the jumble of furniture piled almost to the ceiling. She called, ‘Mother?... Mother?’

‘We’re up here, darling — at last, someone who can act as referee. Helloooo, my lovely girl, how are you?’

‘Hello Mother, Uncle Allard — I’m wonderfully well, how are you two?’

Allard was covered in dust, his face grimy. ‘Bloody awful if you must know. Your mother is doing nothing but causing havoc here. I was doing perfectly well without her. I wish she’d never come.’

Harriet swiped at him with a duster. ‘Half of this is mine and I want to make sure my daughter gets her fair share. If you would excuse us, Allard, we are going into my room, for a private conversation.’

Allard muttered that he didn’t give a toss what they said about him and he watched Jinks pick her way up the stairs to reach her mother.

Jinks was no longer surprised by her mother’s appearance. She had not really changed, despite her grey hair sticking up on end and the beads clinking around her neck as she bustled along the landing. Jinks couldn’t help but smile as she slipped her arm around her mother’s shoulders. ‘How are you?’

‘Well, it’s very difficult, you know. Allard’s really a little bit odd, he really is. And so finicky about what he eats. Come on, let’s have a good natter. I’ve been waiting for you to arrive for weeks.’

Harriet closed her bedroom door and moved to the bed, patting it for her daughter to sit beside her. Jinks felt a sudden surge of emotion, so strong she hugged Harriet tight, kissing the top of her head. ‘I love you Ma, I love you so.’

‘Oh, this isn’t like you, what are you being so soppy for? Now then, wait until you see what I’ve got and he — him downstairs — he knows nothing about. It’s our secret...’

Harriet opened a bag, tied up with string, and began to take out jewel cases, so many that in the end the bed was covered with them. Jinks reached over to open one and promptly had her hand slapped. ‘No... don’t you dare open one. There’s a story to each, and I want to sort them out so you can see them in order.’

Jinks watched her mother as she placed the boxes in line along the bed. This took considerable time as she peeked inside each one before she put it down, then switched them around until she was satisfied. She was totally preoccupied with what she was doing, so her daughter could sit back and watch. After a while Jinks inched around the mess of boxes to stand at the window. She looked down into the garden. ‘How’s your vegetarian gardener’s book coming along?’

‘Oh heavens, I’ve not had time to finish it, what with Allard and everything. Now then, I’m almost ready.’

‘It looks as if you’ll need me to do some weeding, how are your lettuces?’

‘It’s not the right time of year for them, now don’t interrupt.’

Jinks leaned against the windowsill and studied her nails. ‘Have you heard from you-know-who?’

‘Well I got all the divorce papers, and sent them back, but I’ve heard nothing. He won’t get around to it. Even Dewint doesn’t know where he is... There you see? I’m muddled now.’

‘I’ve got a place at Cambridge if I want, and Oxford... I had my interviews last month...’

‘Oh that’s nice, dear. I’m nearly ready.’

‘I got my usual birthday card. Miss Henderson’s even started signing it now she knows that I know, so the charade is rather a waste of time. Does he send you money?’

‘Good heavens yes, of course, more than I know what to do with. Not that I tell him downstairs, he’s such a tight-wad. Oh brill, I’m ready... now sit down, I’m going to tell you a story.’

Jinks sat on the edge of the bed, and Harriet, sitting cross-legged on the floor, picked up a red jewel case. For a moment she stared at the box in her hands, hands worn rough from all the gardening. She smiled, hunching her shoulders like a girl, a gleeful gesture. ‘Now then... take your glasses off, close your eyes, and I shall begin.’

Jinks did as she was instructed and instinctively rubbed the bridge of her nose. She had tied her long, dark auburn hair back from her face. She kept it long hoping in some way it would make her look shorter. Her height meant she even had to hunch her legs to sit down on the bed. She was, embarrassingly, almost six foot in her stockinged feet. The tweed skirt and twin set she wore were given to her by Harriet. The colour didn’t really suit her but she had no interest in clothes. She sighed, her thoughts drifting, and suddenly she realized her mother was silent, very silent... she was holding up a small gold bracelet. The cold winter sunlight caught it, it glittered magically, rainbow colours.

‘This was the first present he gave me, I was just fourteen. He was here with Allard for the vacation, from Cambridge. We travelled down from London by train, and by the time we reached the station I knew I loved him... Oh Jinks, he had such a look to him, such a wildness, like no boy I had ever met...’

Jinks listened in totally enraptured silence as Harriet told of her first meeting with Edward, the hunting, the dances, the chapel...

Four hours later the bed was covered with jewellery: diamond necklaces, pearls, bracelets, rings, earrings... and with each piece, each box, came a story. The date Jinks’ father had given it to her mother. Unfolding like a dream sequence in a film was a love story that their daughter had never known, nor understood anything of until that moment. At last Harriet finished, and swept all the jewellery into Jinks’ arms. ‘It’s all for you, my darling, all the memories, all the love, is for you... No, don’t say anything, because I know. I know I haven’t always been the best of mothers and you have had to put up with dreadful things. But here, here’s the proof of my love, and your father’s...’

Jinks couldn’t stop the tears, she shook her head. ‘Oh Mama, I can’t take it, it’s yours...’

‘Now it’s yours...’

Allard’s irate voice screamed up the stairs. ‘When are we going to eat? Harry?’

Harriet flung open the door and shouted, ‘Do you think you could refrain from shouting? I am not deaf, I am not in an open field... and we are going to eat now.’ She slammed the door and leaned against it, her face shining. And just as the tiny gold bracelet had been caught in the sun so her face was bathed in golden light. As if suspended in time, Jinks saw the face of a child, and once again had the desire to throw her arms around her mother.

This time she wasn’t pushed away, wasn’t told she was being soppy. She was hugged tight, and her mother’s voice whispered, ‘There was never, never anyone like him. I was his from the moment we met... Everything went wrong only because my baby boy died. I had promised him, you see, I made a promise — four boys, four wild sons. Freedom, I named him Freedom...’

Jinks wiped away the tear that ran down her mother’s cheek, cupped that sweet, innocent face in her slender hands.

Harriet’s lips trembled as she continued, fighting back the tears, ‘You couldn’t make up for him, you see, my little boy... You were not enough — but he does love you, and I love you... And now you have all my past, you can hold me in your hands whenever you want...’

Jinks couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in her cold attic room. If she closed her eyes, she could see her father’s face, hear her mother’s voice telling her the story. Harriet had never said a single bad word about him, and yet he had left her, pregnant with his child, made no contact with her for years. She felt the anger rising inside her body as she repeated over and over to herself, ‘You couldn’t make up for him, you see, you were not enough.’ She threw her blankets aside and sat up. It wasn’t her fault she’d been born a girl — and what a girl.

She looked at herself in the mirror — so tall and skinny she had to bend at the knee to see herself. She said aloud to her reflection, ‘Why wasn’t I born small and beautiful so he would at least love me...? Why wasn’t I born a man...?’

She lay on her bed and wept, holding the pillow over her face so no one would hear. She would have changed places with any dumb pretty woman, given the opportunity. She hated herself, hated her body — she even hated her own intelligence.

Still red-eyed from weeping, Jinks went down to breakfast. Allard was banging the water pipes with a hammer because they had frozen during the night.

‘Where’s your mother? It’s her job to stoke up the fire at night,’ he complained. ‘There’s no hot water and we have someone coming to view the place this morning. They’ll be frozen before they reach the first bloody landing, it’s colder in than out, ridiculous. One of the first things about selling a place is to make sure it’s boiling hot, potential buyers are always interested in the central heating.’

He continued around the house, hammering, more than likely causing more damage than repair by his total ignorance of the archaic heating system. Harriet still did not appear, so Jinks laid a breakfast tray and took it up to her room. She found the bed made, so she carried it down again to the kitchen.

‘Allard, where’s Mother?’

‘Well, don’t ruddy well ask me, we’ve got a leak on the top floor. Do I have to do everything? They’re the first people we’ve had even remotely interested in the place. Isn’t she in her room?’

‘No, and her bed is made. What about the garden?’

‘Well, she won’t be doing any gardening, it’s a skating rink out there because of the broken drainpipe.’

‘Is the car in the garage?’

‘For goodness’ sake, why don’t you go and look? I can’t be expected to look after Harry and run the place — ever since she arrived that’s what I’ve been doing, and it’s not fair, it really isn’t.’

The MG was still in the garage with blankets over its engine. Harriet had still not appeared by twelve o’clock, and Jinks began to feel really worried. She had to shout over the racket Allard was making. ‘Has she done this before? Only, she knows I have to be back in London on the afternoon train... Allard! Do you think she’s gone into the village?’

In a dire mood, Allard drove her into the village. They waited until the bus appeared, and asked the driver if he had seen her. They stopped everyone they knew, but to no avail — she had disappeared. When they returned to the Hall, Jinks telephoned Miss Henderson and asked her to relay a message to her friends that she had been delayed. Harriet had not been in touch with the office. Miss Henderson offered to put Jinks on to her father — he had returned the week before and Jinks sounded so distressed. Without bothering to reply, Jinks hung up.

Putting on a heavy coat, Jinks walked across the fields, calling for her mother. She returned, unsuccessful, and found Allard in a fury. He was swearing about the estate agent, who had brought round a couple he wouldn’t dream of selling to. ‘They were Jewish. Really, I don’t know what the world is coming to.’

Jinks snapped that he should be ashamed of himself, and should help her search for Harriet instead of worrying about the Hall. He retorted angrily that of course he was worried, but his sister was not the easiest person to care about.

‘She has thrown out, thrown out, a jug I particularly liked, Art Deco, and it was on the manure heap... All right, all right, I’ll help you, no need to look at me like that. You look just like your grandmother — the Judge always said she had the ability to freeze the pond over with one of her looks — it’s your nose, very snipey, dear...’

By five o’clock Allard was as worried as his niece, and he called in the local police.

Jinks sat on the stairs, still wrapped in her coat, listening to the hushed conversation with Sergeant Titherington.

‘You see, my sister has a history of mental disorder, nothing violent, nothing like that... but, well...’

‘Has she done this kind of thing before?’

Allard looked into the hall. He whispered, ‘Has she ever done this before? You know, just walked off without a word?’

Jinks shook her head.

Eventually, the sergeant came out, putting his notebook into his top pocket. ‘We’ll put her on the missing persons’ list if there’s no sign of her by morning.’

‘And in the meantime, Sergeant, what do you suggest we do?’

‘Contact any of her friends, anyone she may have visited and we’ll do what we can...’

‘Do you want a photograph?’

‘Oh, we all know Miss Harry, no need for that. Have you been down to the Feathers at all?’

Jinks snapped, her nerves in shreds. ‘My mother is not in the pub, Sergeant...’

Allard ushered the policeman to the door giving Jinks a frown. ‘My niece is obviously a little upset... thank you for coming.’

Before the door had closed, Jinks said in a fury, ‘Too damned right I am more than a “little upset”. Now think, think of anyone she could have gone to see... Allard, I’m talking to you.’

‘I’m just going to make us a cup of tea. Really. This is typical of her, absolutely typical, you have no idea how dreadful she was when she was little.’

Jinks was close to tears as she followed him into the kitchen. She pulled out a chair and there was her mother’s handbag. ‘Allard, is this Mother’s?’

He filled the kettle. ‘Well, it’s not mine, so that proves she can’t have gone far. When she comes back in, I am going to have it out with her. Total wanton disregard for our feelings.’

Jinks had a strange foreboding, she felt icy cold. ‘Allard, will you see if any of her coats are missing...?’

Allard inspected the row of old coats on the hooks by the kitchen door. Mud-stained wellington boots were all jumbled, left where they had been kicked off. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. ‘The chapel, she was always skiving off there. We can give it a shot, but we’ll have to walk, no through road — and it’s quite a way. Perhaps we should wait until morning, what do you think?’

‘No, we go right now... better get a torch.’

They were out of breath by the time they reached the woods. Allard was cursing the cold, the mud, and the branches that scratched at his face as he pushed through the dead bracken. Their breath steamed in front of them, whirling in the torchlight, and Jinks grew quieter and quieter. Her mother would have been here all night, and it was freezing. More than twenty-four hours had gone by. Allard kept stopping to get his bearings, still swearing. He shouted to Jinks to keep up, she’d get lost.

At last they arrived at the derelict chapel in the overgrown clearing. Ivy crawled over the roof and walls, and weeds burst through the stones. It had a ghostly air in the feeble beam of the torch.

Putting his shoulder against the door, Allard heaved. The door creaked open on its rotten hinges. Jinks held the torch, stepping into the chapel first. She knew they would find her mother.

Caught in the beam of light, Jinks saw her. She dropped the torch, sobbing. ‘Oh, Allard, she’s there... she’s there...’

Harriet was huddled in a corner, a bunch of dried flowers in her rigid hands. Beside her was a tiny grave, obviously newer than the others, on which she had scratched the name ‘Freedom’ with the penknife that lay at her feet.

Chapter twenty-eight

Dwint heard the door open. He looked out from his top-floor window as a black taxi came down the drive. He wrapped his dressing gown round him and pulled on his slippers. The lights had been turned on in the hall, the drawing room and the study. Dewint leaned over the banisters. ‘Miss Jinks, is that you?’ Edward’s voice boomed out. ‘No, it’s me, you old faggot.’ Dewint gasped as Edward strode out of the drawing room.

‘How are you doing, old fella?’

‘Oh, I’m doing fine, sah. Welcome home.’

They stared at each other. Dewint had not changed at all, but Edward had put on a lot of weight, although he was still a handsome, awesome man. He had no luggage apart from an old worn leather case. Tossing his coat to Dewint, he rubbed his hands, saying he was hungry. Then, as if he had been gone no more than a few days, he marched into the kitchen.

Dewint bustled after him and began frying up bacon and eggs as Edward sat at the scrubbed kitchen table. He never mentioned where he had been or what he had been doing, and he didn’t even ask after Jinks. He seemed preoccupied with scratching at one of the cracks in the table with his knife... Suddenly, just as Dewint was about to crack an egg into the pan, Edward got up, opened the kitchen door and walked into the garden. The light from the kitchen enabled Dewint to see him touching the big old oak tree, and then he watched as Edward slowly placed his arms around the tree and pressed his face into the bark. As he put the bacon and eggs on the table, he saw that Edward had scratched the letter ‘H’... The loud ring of the telephone almost made him drop the plate. The phone call was from Allard, enquiring if Dewint had any idea where Edward was. When Dewint replied that he had just come home, there was a pause, and then Allard said that Harriet was dead. Dewint continued to hold on to the phone long after Allard had rung off. Eventually Edward came in and took the receiver from him and replaced it.

‘Oh, sah, it’s bad news, it’s bad news.’

Edward patted his shoulder, and walked slowly up the stairs.

‘It’s all right, old fella, I know. You don’t have to say anything.’

Edward caught the first train, and Allard met him at the station. He gave a brief nod and bent almost double to squeeze himself into the car. There were dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and the inevitable cigar was clamped between his teeth. Allard muttered obscenities as they crept up the steep hill towards the Hall, convinced they were not going to make it. The only time Edward spoke was to remind him that he had a first gear... The car jolted and, with smoke streaming from the exhaust, they eventually made it over the top. Crossing the small humpbacked bridge, they coasted through the village of Helmsley and on to the Hall.

Jinks was waiting, sitting among stacks of furniture.

‘Hello, sweetheart,’ was the only greeting Edward gave her as he followed Allard into the kitchen. ‘Kitchen always was the warmest place in the house.’

Jinks followed them and leaned against the door.

‘Congratulations,’ Edward said to her. ‘It’s something to be offered places at both Oxford and Cambridge. Have you made up your mind yet?’

‘I don’t think this is either the time or the place to discuss that,’ she replied. ‘Did Allard tell you about the arrangements? She’s to be cremated. We couldn’t really have a coffin here with the state the place was in so Mr Postlethwaite — he runs the funeral parlour — he’s got her... she’s at his farm. He has some sort of morgue, where he keeps... Oh God, it sounds awful... Is Uncle Alex coming?’

Edward appeared completely unaffected by his wife’s death. He blew on his hands for warmth. ‘No, they’re busy, wouldn’t you know. They’ll probably send an ornate wreath.’ He found it difficult to meet his daughter’s eyes. It had been a long time since he had seen her. She looked older than her seventeen years, with her thick glasses and her thin, pointed nose pink from the cold. Edward tried to make conversation, huddled by the fire in his great fur coat.

‘Right, what’s to be done? Have you arranged everything?’ Somehow he just knew she would have, he could tell.

Jinks found it hard even to talk to him, he dominated the kitchen and her. She didn’t mean it, but her voice sounded brittle, unforgiving. ‘We all go to Mr Postlethwaite’s and follow the hearse to the church. The vicar’s arranged the ceremony, two o’clock, and afterwards we drive to the crematorium. It’s quite a way, almost to York.’

Edward looked at his watch and suggested they get a bite to eat before they left. Jinks declined and said she would wait for the car. He still could not look at her. ‘Fine, I’ll see you later. I’ll walk to the Feathers, be there if you need me.’

As he opened the kitchen door, Jinks blurted out, ‘It was an accident, she never meant to kill herself.’

‘Yes, you said on the phone... Be back at a quarter to two.’

He strode out into Harriet’s vegetable garden. The line of tomato sticks looked like a miniature army lined up for inspection, and he walked slowly past them. He stopped — attached to one of the rods was a piece of paper, flapping in the wind. He trudged across the frozen soil and looked at it. ‘Edward’ — his name was printed clearly in Harriet’s thick, bold writing. He glanced at the house to see if anyone was watching him, then unhooked the note. There was only one line, in the familiar hand: ‘You were never unkind, just the wrong time of year for lettuce — Harry.’

Pocketing the note, he stood for a long time in the bitterly cold garden. He knew it was no accident — she had just walked out across the fields to die. He lifted his eyes to the horizon, remembering the hunched figure so many years ago, striding off into the night — the night she had taken a shotgun to her horse.

‘He’s still there, he’s still standing there.’

Puzzled, Allard looked at Jinks and she got up, walked across to the window. Her father stood with his back to the house, like a giant, his fur coat flapping in the winter wind. She rubbed her cold arms and asked Allard, ‘What do you think he’s doing, he must be frozen?’

His usually crisp, camp voice was soft. ‘I think he’s saying goodbye to her in his own way.’

Jinks wanted to go to her father then, wanted to feel his arms around her, but instead she stared at him through the dusty window.

The car pulled up outside Mr Postlethwaite’s barn, which also served as a morgue. The elderly bearers, in their black morning coats and toppers, carried the coffin to the equally elderly hearse. As they pushed the coffin in, their feet slid on the icy ground. Mr Postlethwaite murmured to the men that they were going to have a hell of a job getting up the hill, it was hard enough just to stand up straight.

Allard was squashed in between Jinks and Edward in the back of the hired Rolls. Nodding wisely, he said to Edward, ‘It’ll never make it up that hill, any money on it?’

The procession moved off, following the hearse, which seemed bowed beneath the weight of Alex and Barbara Barkley’s ‘floral tribute’, an enormous display of white lilies. Edward and Allard couldn’t help but smile. The hearse’s gears began to grind...

‘What did I tell you, it’s in trouble,’ Allard crowed. Jinks gave him a cold stare to shut him up.

Halfway up the hill, the hearse came to a halt and slowly slid backwards until it bumped into the Rolls. Edward started to laugh, and Allard, his hands over his face, tried desperately not to join in. Their chauffeur reversed frantically, then grabbed the handbrake, but the Rolls rolled on and struck the following car, containing the vicar and three of his parishioners, whose faces looked terrified as they slithered downhill... The parishioners screamed in unison, like three little balding birds...

Three times the hearse attempted the hill, only to slide back. Coats were removed and laid under the back wheels, much to the chagrin of Mr Postlethwaite, whose best tails would bear the tyre imprints forever after. But the hearse steadfastly refused to climb the hill. Allard was now laughing openly, and Edward was wiping away tears of mirth.

Jinks, who had tried so hard not to find humour in the situation, biting her lip until it bled, finally caved in. Edward smiled through his tears, ‘That’s it, sweetheart, you know Harry’s engineered this whole thing — she’s up there roaring with laughter. Can’t you hear her?’

Indeed, Harriet would have split her sides if she had seen her last journey, the coffin tied eventually to the roof-rack of Mr Postlethwaite’s new Morris Minor. The hilarity of the journey was echoed halfway through the delayed funeral service when a wedding party arrived. The vicar took their advent as a cue to speed up the service. The poor organist, his frozen fingers struggling with the keyboard, pumped the bellows desperately for the rendering of ‘The Lord is My Shepherd’. He was mortified when his precious organ began to emit what could only be described as a deep, resonant fart.

The bride and groom stood aghast as the coffin was carried from the church, followed by mourners in a state verging on hysteria. Allard, beside himself, had to lean on the door to get his breath, declaring loudly that it was better than any revue he had ever seen.

By this time the hearse had made it to the top of the hill, and Harriet was driven more sedately on the last leg of her journey to the crematorium. In the confusion between wedding and funeral, someone had tied a silver horseshoe to the coffin. It trailed behind, but no one laughed. They were all very quiet, subdued, and the bouncing horseshoe somehow reminded them that they would never hear Harriet’s wonderful laugh again.

That night they drank more brandy than they should have, sitting in the freezing Hall. They all needed sustenance, and the vicar had to be helped home as he had already overindulged at the wedding reception. Jinks took the opportunity to excuse herself when he departed, and went up to her room. She had only just closed the door when her father knocked.

He was wearing his wolfskin coat, and carried the ashes in a small urn. He had tied the horseshoe to it.

‘I wondered if you would like to say goodbye to her? I’m going to the chapel, and I’d like it if you came — would you?’

They walked apart to begin with, Edward carrying the ashes under his arm. Twice Jinks stumbled, and in the end he tucked her arm in his. He knew the way, never stopping once, and he guided her to ensure the branches didn’t slap her face.

‘Okay, we’re here... You all right?’

She nodded, and he pushed the door open. Jinks hung back slightly as he moved further into the dark, broken-down chapel. He bent down and brushed the dead leaves from the small stone slab.

Jinks whispered, ‘She carved his name, she told me all about him.’

He looked up at her and smiled gently. She could see his eyes were brimming with tears. Sitting back on his heels he opened the urn, held the contents in his hand. He trickled the soft ashes between his fingers, spreading them over his dead son’s grave, then rubbed them until they were part of the stone, part of the scratched name, ‘Freedom’.

Jinks walked slowly to her father and stood behind him. He turned, wrapping his arms around her, and cried like a child in his own child’s embrace. He broke her heart as he said her mother’s name over and over... said it so softly, with such tenderness, that she knew he still loved her.

Jinks and Edward travelled back to London together on the fast morning train. He sat opposite her, and when she looked up from her book she found him scrutinizing her. ‘You know, without those bloody glasses you’d be a smasher. Do you have to wear them? Take the damned things off and let’s have a look at you.’

Jinks would not meet his eyes as he removed her spectacles. ‘Shouldn’t this be in a movie? “Good God, Miss Jones, you’re beautiful... ”’ She smiled at her own joke, but he saw the way she avoided his gaze, the embarrassed flush spreading up her cheeks.

‘Untie your hair.’

‘Oh, Daddy, please don’t, people will start looking.’

‘I don’t care — it’s about time someone took you in hand. It’s all right, don’t look so startled, I’m not saying it should be me. But you know,’ he said reassuringly, ‘you look terrible... Your mother never had much dress sense, but one time she came back from Paris and my God did she look a cracker... hair, outfits... You got a boyfriend?’

‘No I haven’t, and please give me my glasses...’

Edward held them away from her and peered through the lenses, then back at his daughter. ‘Are you long-or shortsighted? Contact lenses would be better than these. Here, don’t get all panic-stricken, put them on, go back into hiding.’

She put them on and looked around quickly to see if any of the passengers had noticed. Then she gazed out of the window and whispered, ‘Got rather a long nose, and if that wasn’t bad enough I’m cross-eyed, my left eye...’

‘You are not.’

‘I am.’

‘Look at my finger... Come on, look at my finger and I’ll tell you if you’re bloody cross-eyed or not — that was your mother... My God.’

‘See, I told you.’

‘No... you don’t understand — Miss Jones, you are beautiful — you are beautiful!’

Jinks laughed, and he loved the deep, throaty sound of it. She put her hands up to cover her face... She needed to be cared for, given confidence in herself. Suddenly he knew who could do it... His daughter looked plain, dowdy, but with the right help she could make the best of herself...

Barbara replaced the telephone receiver and tapped it with her perfectly manicured nails. Edward had rarely, if ever, called her over the years. He had said little about why he had suddenly contacted her, just that his daughter needed her help. They would be driving past her house on the way to Greenwich, and Barbara could think of no reason to refuse. Jinks, on the other hand, had been furious with her father.

‘What? Auntie Barbara? I’m not going! How could you, you know Mother detested her.’

‘You don’t have to like the woman, for Chrissakes, just use her. She knows just about everyone, and she’s got great style.’

Jinks was waiting for her father outside the station as the car was brought up from the parking bay.

‘Barbara’s brought up two daughters of her own, and she has contacts. You’ll like her, once you get over her duchess act.’

Jinks sat moodily at his side. ‘She was always foul to Mother, didn’t even come to her funeral, and now I’m supposed to go round and see her. Well, I won’t. I don’t need her, I don’t need anybody.’

‘No? Grow up, sweetheart. You look like a frump, and you could do with someone to give you a hand. Don’t think because you’ve got brains life is going to be an easy ride.’

‘Oh, I see! It’s a bit late, isn’t it?’

Edward braked sharply to a stop and turned towards the glowering, petulant girl. ‘Maybe I am too late for you to care about what I think or feel, but it’s not too late for you to make the best of yourself. Stop behaving like a spoiled brat, a stinking rich kid! You want to get out? Well? Yes or no?’

She turned away from him, shrugging her shoulders. Edward restarted the Rolls and it surged forward. She had one hell of a stubborn streak in her, and he could see the way she clenched her hands as she fought to control her temper. He reached over to pull her closer, but she resisted, and in the end they continued their journey to Mayfair in silence.

Barbara was waiting for them in the small drawing room. She looked as immaculate as ever, and viewed Jinks with a critical, almost professional, scrutiny.

‘Dear God, you should have brought her to me before. My darling girl, don’t you realize what most women would give to have a figure like yours? Clothes, darling, are designed for you — not that I could recommend the ones you have on, but with those long legs you’ll be a dream to dress. Have you ever been to the Paris collections?’

Jinks wouldn’t look at Barbara. She mumbled that she had been to Paris with her school; then, suddenly, she tossed her head back and squinted at Barbara through her glasses. ‘Besides, I’ll be going to university, not frightfully interested in Paris, or clothes.’

‘Yes, darling, I can see that.’ Barbara cocked her head to one side, then flicked a half-smile to Edward. ‘God, she’s like her mother... which university?’

Proudly, Edward told her that Jinks had gained coveted places at both Oxford and Cambridge. Barbara lit a cigarette, not impressed in the slightest. She let the smoke drift from her nostrils, still looking Jinks up and down.

‘Ghastly places... why the hell don’t you go to Vassar? At least you’d be out of this freezing country. English universities breed excellent, horsey frumps. If Evelyn had won a place I’d be over the moon, but females... No, no, I don’t think you should go, darling. Big world out there — what do you want to do with your life? Bury it?’

Jinks blushed, tucking her size nine feet beneath her chair. She gave her father a helpless look, wanting to leave. Barbara took a large diary from her desk drawer and thumbed through it, making murmuring noises, then snapped it shut.

‘I can start Thursday week, taking you around London, just to get a few outfits to travel to Paris in. I’m going anyway, I always go for the collections, and Jinks can travel with me. Darling, those glasses — why on earth don’t you wear contact lenses? You’ll regret it later in life — you’ll get an awful mark across your nose and red lines under your eyes. If you’ll be here at nine, I like to start early to avoid the crush of unwashed humanity. Edward, I’ll call you with our itinerary, because I like to have everything arranged. It’ll be expensive, but worth it.’

She rang a little gold bell on her desk, a signal that they were leaving. Edward picked up his coat and laughed. ‘Thanks, duchess, I appreciate this and so does Jinks. She’ll be here, and you call me or Miss Henderson for anything you need.’

In truth, Barbara did behave as if she was royalty, enjoying herself, almost flaunting herself in front of Edward. He shook her hand as they left, and Jinks said a polite ‘thank you’.

As the butler closed the front door Jinks snorted, ‘Oh, God, what does she think she’s playing at? And the voice? She’s coming on stronger than the Queen Mother.’

Edward held the car door open for his daughter and tapped her on the nose. ‘Like I said, sweetheart, use her. She’ll have every designer in Paris fighting to dress you.’

The Rolls surged into the Park Lane traffic. Jinks remained silent, chewing her nails, a habit she had picked up from her mother, and Edward pulled her hand from her mouth.

‘Don’t bite your nails. Your mother always chewed hers, bad habit.’

But Jinks paid no attention, thinking over what Barbara had said. ‘What do you know of Vassar? My going there? Only, I was actually thinking about it myself... Maybe I should look into it before making a decision. The important thing is, is what they have on offer better than I could get from Oxford or Cambridge? Education-wise, I doubt it very much.’

‘That’s my girl. We can be on the first plane to New York if that’s what you want.’

‘What? And miss my shopping spree with her ladyship? No need to rush things. I’ll get Miss Henderson to contact them, send me the details. I just want to get one thing straight, though — I’ve no intention of becoming some glorified debutante for you or Barbara. It’s an out-of-date farce now anyway. But maybe I should travel, think seriously about Vassar. You think it would be a good training ground? I’m not really interested in the trappings of the English colleges.’

‘All depends on what you want to do, sweetheart.’

‘Oh, I know exactly what I want to do — go into business.’

‘Oh, yes? Anything particular?’

‘Well, banking, of course — didn’t Mother tell you?’

Edward turned his head sharply. For a moment he thought she was joking. She wasn’t — she gave him a direct look, then turned to gaze at the traffic. She smiled. ‘One day I’ll be taking over the Barkley Company, won’t I? Stands to reason I should know what I am doing.’

He said nothing, concentrating on his driving. The thought had never entered his head that his daughter would consider entering the family business.

As if she was reading his mind, she said softly, ‘You didn’t expect me to want to, did you? I suppose it would be different if I was your son. If I was your son I would automatically presume I was going to work in the company. Evelyn...’ She turned and stared at him, and he kept his eyes on the road, wondering how much she knew.

‘What about Evelyn?’

‘I was just thinking... he’s in France, so if I go to Paris with his mother I will no doubt meet up with him. Did you know Uncle Alex sent him there? About the only place that would take him, so I hear.’

‘And where did you hear all this?’

‘Miss Henderson, of course. She and I are just like that.’ She crossed her fingers. ‘She’s always taken care of me. She never forgets my birthday, she never forgets.’

Edward found her directness, her quietness, unsettling. He realized that, though his daughter might be gauche, there was a strength in her, an edge he hadn’t bargained for and didn’t quite understand.

‘So you’ll go to Paris with Barbara, will you?’

She shrugged her shoulders and then took off her glasses, polishing them with her fingers. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any harm in it. As you said, use her — I don’t have to like her, or her son.’

‘What do you think of Evelyn?’

Her reply almost caused him to run into the car in front of them. ‘Oh, him... he reminds me of a gypsy. Unfortunately, he behaves like one. He was expelled for stealing — pitiful when you consider the opportunities he has. Oh! Would you drop me at the corner? I think I’ll go and see some friends. Dewint’s packing all my bags for me. There’s not a lot I want from the manor, anyway. I’m moving in with two girls, it’s all arranged.’

Edward pulled the car over and she immediately reached into the back seat for her overnight case. He put his hand on her shoulder.

‘I thought we could have dinner tonight?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve a previous engagement. Another time, maybe.’

He withdrew his hand as the car door swung open. She slammed it shut, then tapped on the window. ‘If I decide I’m interested in Vassar, could we go to New York?’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll call you first thing in the morning.’

She strode off without saying goodbye. He had been wrong in thinking his daughter was nervous — there was an arrogance to her, a mannish quality. She was so tall, taller than most of the men she passed in the street. He realized he had no idea who her friends were, or where she was going. He sat drumming his fingers on the steering wheel... There was so much that he didn’t know about his daughter, and it was strange, because he didn’t feel a great deal of affection for her at that precise moment. If anything, she reminded him of Allard... He slapped the wheel. ‘Christ, that’s it, that’s who she’s like — bloody Allard.’

Suddenly he felt old and tired, and he swung the car back into the traffic, heading for Victoria. He spent ages trapped in the rush hour, and by the time he reached Greenwich he was in a foul temper.

Dewint greeted him with brimming eyes, and for one moment Edward wondered what on earth was wrong with him. Then he realized it was only a few days since the funeral. Dewint asked if his flowers had arrived, and Edward said they were the best there, everyone had remarked on them. In actual fact he had no recollection of them. Heavy-hearted, he walked up the stairs to his room, pausing as the full realization struck him. She would never be coming home, he would never see her again. He felt helpless.

‘You know, we would never have been divorced? I loved that crazy lady — I loved her, Norman, you know that?’

‘I know you did, sah. I’ll bring up some nice home-made soup.’

Edward loosened his tie and looked around. The place was in need of redecoration, it was tired like himself. The few family photographs around his dressing-table mirror caught his eye. One was of Evelyn that Christmas when he had arrived on their doorstep. It was the last time the house had felt lived in. He picked up the snapshot and lay on his bed, looked at the cheeky grin that stretched from ear to ear... He muttered to himself, he should never have let him go, never let him leave the house that night. He stared at the picture until his hand flopped to his side. Evelyn belonged to him, he was his son... He sat up, slammed his fist against his other palm. ‘I’m going to get him back, I’m going to bring my son home.’

‘Soup, sah,’ said Dewint, carrying the loaded tray, and found the photograph thrust beneath his nose.

‘This is my son, my son, and I’m going to bring him home...’

Edward rushed from the room, knocking the tray from Dewint’s trembling hands. As it crashed on the floor, he heard Edward’s shout and the awful, thundering sound as he fell headlong down the stairs.

Dewint managed to get him on to the sofa in the lounge before he blacked out. He was streaming blood from a head wound, and the panic-stricken Dewint rushed to phone the doctor. When he got back, Edward was white as a sheet, and lay absolutely motionless.

The doctor wanted Edward to go into hospital for a check-up, but he refused. He did, however, agree to remain in bed for a few days. But he never got as far as his bedroom, preferring to lie on the sofa in front of the fire. He stared into the flames for hours on end, or at the photograph of Evelyn, which was always in his hand.

Although Dewint did his best to keep him from drinking, he started again. He tried to get Edward to eat, but met with nothing but abuse. He did allow Dewint to keep the fire built up, but would accept nothing else from him. In the end Dewint just brought trays every mealtime and left them on a side table. They were always there, untouched, when he returned.

He just did not know what to do. Edward had been drinking steadily for four days, and never left the room except to go to the bathroom. Then he would shamble straight back into the lounge. It was obvious to the old man that Edward was very sick. His eyes were sunken, he was unshaven, and bottles were strewn about the room. Late one night Dewint heard the familiar sound of rock ‘n’ roll music, the same record over and over again, until he hid his head under the pillow trying to block out the repetitious racket.

The music pounded through the house while Edward desperately sought oblivion. The more he drank, the more his mind reeled. Voices called to him, his head ached continuously. He sweated, his face dripping, so he threw open the french windows. No sooner had he done that than he felt chilled to the bone. Shivering with fever, his teeth chattering, he slammed the window shut and stoked the fire until it blazed, then wrapped a blanket around himself. The heat began to sweep over him again, so he rested his head on the cold, wet windowpane.

Gazing at the river, he saw a fire had been lit by the jetty at the end of the long, tangled garden. Vague, shadowy shapes huddled around it, hands held out to the flames. He was about to scream at them to get off his land when one of them started to sing. The words were distorted by the echo from the river, but soft, as though the singer sang only for himself. The song ripped through Edward’s drunken mind...

He pressed his face against the cold, damp window and began to sing the words, dredging them from his past. In the red glow of the flames, the singer turned towards him and smiled. Edward was rigid with fear as the man rose to his feet, still singing softly, but now looking at Edward. The man was Freedom.

‘Come on, Eddie, don’t be afeared, boy. Gimme yer hand, make a Romany of thee.’

Involuntarily, Edward made to move from the window, but pressed close again as he saw a small, naked child walk through the overgrown garden. The child lifted both arms to Freedom, and Edward knew he was watching himself. In slow motion, shimmering in the fireglow, he watched Freedom lift the boy and carry him to the flames... The voice whispered close; he could feel the warmth of the man’s breath as he whispered over and over, telling him not to be afraid. A knife glinted and the child’s eyes widened; he sobbed in fear, but Freedom was holding him safely, holding him with those deep black eyes, with gentleness, with such love it was overwhelming...

‘Give me thy hand...’

The child held up his right hand, and Edward pressed his own flat against the window, wincing with pain as the knife cut clean down his thumb. A single, bright red tear of blood dripped down the child’s hand, and Freedom knelt before him, licking at the blood... then turned and spat into the fire. The flames rose higher and the coals burned brighter...

Edward backed further and further from the brightness beyond the window, moving away from the memory, away from the sight of his father — moving away from the memory of himself as a boy, the long-forgotten memory of his initiation into the Romany clan. He didn’t want to see any more.

The song started up again and repeated, over and over:

Edward was crazy with fear. Turning to run from the room he was caught by his own image in the mirror — but it wasn’t his own face staring back at him, it was the face of his father. He screamed, ‘Get away from me! Go away!’ But still Freedom’s face remained, and then the tears flowed down his cheeks, terrible, streaming tears. Edward closed his eyes to shut out the face of his father, but it remained as clear if not clearer than the image in the mirror. The tears continued dripping down the high, carved cheeks, falling on to naked shoulders while the eyes stared wide, unblinking.

Edward’s chest heaved as the deeply buried memories surfaced, exploded, and he remembered killing his father, remembered every fragmented second...

Once more he was screaming with rage. He was seventeen years old, shouting and punching out at Freedom, screeching that he was going to Cambridge, no one would hold him back — no failure, no has-been boxer, no pitiful loser like Freedom could stop him...

Freedom began to undo the thick leather belt from his waist. Now Alex was there, little Alex weeping for them to stop, crying to them not to fight.

Edward put his arm over his face as if to block out the image that would appear next. He couldn’t bear to face his mother, but she was there, standing at the kitchen door and begging for them to stop. He could see her clearly, her white pinafore, her dark red, coiled hair. She tried to come between them, but Edward pushed her aside and she fell backwards. The dog was barking — Rex, the white bull terrier, growling and yapping, scuttling between their feet, jumping up as if even he was afraid of what was going to happen. He yelped as Freedom tripped over him and lurched against the kitchen table...

Slowly, the inevitable happened again, so slowly... Edward opening the kitchen drawer. Edward taking out the sharp knife, the big knife Evelyne used to carve their Sunday roasts. He took out the knife as his father turned to him...

Edward’s face was distorted with blind rage as he screamed, ‘Come on, you bastard! I dare you to fight me now! Come on!’

Freedom seemed to relax. He no longer attempted to take his belt to his son — instead, he smiled, and lifted his arms in a gesture of love, opening his arms wider and wider, moving closer and closer to his son, closer to the knife.

Edward tried to stop the memory, tried to stop the memory continuing... Picking up a bottle, he smashed it against the fireplace... but the smiling face of his father would not go away. He moved closer, as if to embrace his son. Edward snatched up a poker from beside the fireplace and brought it crashing down between the open arms, crashing into the face that haunted him, the face that would not let him be in peace, would not let him forget. He smashed the face in the mirror into a thousand pieces, broke his own face into myriad jagged pieces... but Freedom was still there.

Edward put his hands over his ears to cut out the sing-song voices — and suddenly there was silence. He felt his father’s arms embrace him as the knife cut upwards into his heart, opening his chest. Freedom sighed, he sighed just as he had done on the day it happened...

Edward stepped back, looking at his bloodstained hands. Splinters of glass had cut his palms to shreds and he was covered in his own blood, but his mind was so confused and disorientated that he believed it was his father’s.

Freedom was lying face down on the floor, lying where he had fallen, embedding the knife deeper into his heart. Evelyne knelt beside him, rocking him in her arms, as his blood spread like deep crimson flowers over the carpet, over her white apron... Edward’s mother cradled Freedom until his body was stiff, until they had to prise his arms away from her.

Slowly the images faded, the song stopped, the fire outside the window was gone. Edward was left with his own blood still wet, still dripping from his cuts. Now he knew what he had done, and he felt the pain opening him up within; he felt his head draw back as if the pain was so great it was splitting him into two beings. And the howl, when it came, was so loud, inhuman, it sounded like the baying of a wounded animal.

At the top of the house, Dewint heard the howl. At first he thought it was an animal, something trapped. As he listened he realized it was coming from the sitting room below.

He crept down the stairs, fearful of what he would discover. The sound was quieter now, and he listened at the door. Gradually the howling subsided and was replaced by sobbing. Concerned, yet too afraid to go and see, he sat on the stairs and waited.

Edward lay face down on the sofa, his head buried in his hands. At long last he was able to ask his father’s forgiveness for what he had done. When Dewint inched open the door, he saw the blood all over the floor, the broken mirror, and Edward’s still figure. Above the fireplace, where the mirror had hung, a red spray of blood resembled a necklace, with small blood drops like pearls. The talisman.

Creeping closer, he saw that Edward was still breathing. He hurried to the telephone.

Alex arrived at the manor within the hour. Dewint let him in and ushered him towards the drawing room. This would be the first time Alex had seen Edward since that terrible Christmas, since the realization that Evelyn was in fact Edward’s son. Any anger or hatred evaporated as soon as he saw his brother, his bloated body, his blotched, boozed-out face and his filthy clothes covered in bloodstains. Like a bum, he half sat, half lay slumped on the sofa staring vacantly at the wall. Aghast, Alex turned to Dewint.

‘Dear God, how long has he been like this?’

‘Ever since the funeral, sah, and I can’t do anything with him. I think he’s dying, sah. He’s been in this room for days.’

Alex looked down into his brother’s face, now hardly recognizable. Looking closely at him, the physical change was frightening. He must have weighed almost twenty stone, and was such a tragic figure that Alex knelt down beside him. ‘Eddie, it’s me, Alex. Can you hear me?’

Suddenly the ghost of Edward’s old self flashed across his dazed face, he gave a sad half smile. ‘Hello, old buddy. How ya doin’?’

‘A helluva lot better than you, by the look of it.’

‘You should have been at her funeral, Alex. She was very fond of you, always liked you. You should have given her that much respect, Alex. She hadn’t a bad thought in her poor mind.’

Dewint carried in a bowl of hot water and a face cloth.

‘It was eerie, sah. He sat at the kitchen table, even carved her name on it, he did. Then he went outside, stood by her tree and the phone rang to say she was gone. He seemed to know, sah, as if he’d come back to bury her... and he’s been this way since he returned from Yorkshire. I’m going to wash your face now, Mr Edward, just lean back. Shockin’ mess you got your hands in.’

‘I’ll call a doctor,’ said Alex. ‘I think someone should be brought in to see him, get him checked over. All this extra weight can’t be good for his heart.’

Alex looked around the dark bottle-strewn room and moved to open the curtains. Suddenly Edward’s voice was strong, angry. ‘Leave them closed, don’t open them.’

Alex shrugged and let the dark velvet curtain fall into place. He moved back to Edward and sat on the edge of the worn sofa.

He tried not to let his anger show, but seeing Edward again and knowing the mayhem he had caused, the trouble he had been through just to get permission to let cheques leave the company without his brother’s signature, the deals he had lost due to delays, constant enquiries about his whereabouts, and not one word... He sighed. ‘Where the hell have you been, Edward, where?’

Slowly Edward turned to him and his bloodshot eyes blinked.‘To hell and back, brother, but I hear you’ve been running things pretty smoothly without me, not made any gigantic steps forwards, but the company is still looking good, brother. But you can take a breather for a while, because I’m back... I’m still alive. How’s Evelyn?’

Alex clenched his fists, and with all his will-power kept his voice quiet, even managed to keep the smile on his face as he answered, ‘Evelyn is just fine. Well, if there’s nothing I can do here, I’ll leave you in Dewint’s obviously capable hands, but I’ll organize a doctor to give you a good check-up, all right? I’ll show myself out.’

‘Not going to say you’re glad to have me back, eh? Aren’t you glad to have me back?’

Alex slammed the door behind him. Edward let loose a deep shuddering sigh, shaking his head. ‘Why do I do it? Norman? Why do I always have to goad him? Even now... Hell, I try so hard, even want to put out my hand to him, hold him, but instead I torment him, why?’

The old pixie face peered up at Edward. ‘Well, sah, maybe because you know that you can. Straightaway you ask him about his son, knowing it’ll be like a knife...’

Edward frowned, then leaned back. ‘And you, you old faggot, know more than you should. Now, leave me alone and let me sleep.’

Dewint’s knees cracked as he straightened up. He paused before he left the room. ‘You carry on this way, sah, tormentin’ him and you will be sorry. Leave his son alone. You can’t always have what you want, that’s the way life is.’

Edward looked at the man who had served him for so many years. He smiled. ‘What did you want that you never got, Norman?’

Dewint cocked his head to one side. ‘Well, I would have liked a round-the-world travel ticket.’

Edward laughed and held up his hand for Dewint to help him up from the sofa. Dewint buckled beneath his weight as Edward leaned heavily against him. ‘Right, Norman, I think it’s time for breakfast television.’

They staggered into the hall and began slowly to mount the stairs. The telephone rang and leaving Edward already out of breath only three steps up, Dewint went back to answer it.

‘It’s Skye Duval, Mr Barkley.’

Edward leaned over the banister to take the phone, and spoke into it briefly. ‘Okay, I’ll sort it out, leave it with me...’ He eased his bulk to sit on the stairs and hung up. ‘Norman, if you get anyone asking for me, I am unobtainable, that clear?’

‘Is it trouble, sah?’

‘You could say that, there’s a warrant out for my arrest.’

Alex decided to go straight to the office. He still had no idea where Edward had been for all that time, but he was back and Alex knew if he intended holding on to the reins, now was the perfect time to have Edward declared unfit to return as his partner. He called George Windsor to arrange for two independent Harley Street doctors to visit Edward that morning. He wanted proof of his alcoholism, proof he was incapable in his present condition of running the company.

At eleven-fifteen Miss Henderson rang through to say two gentlemen had called to speak to Edward. She knew he had returned to London for the funeral, and wondered if he was coming into the office.

‘Who are they?’

‘They wouldn’t give me their names.’

‘Tell them Edward is indisposed and can’t see anybody.’

Two hours later Miss Henderson entered his office. She appeared flustered and said that the two men had returned and were refusing to leave. Alex sighed and briskly told her to find out who the hell they were. She said they were customs officials and now wished to speak to him; they had said it was a very urgent matter. Alex checked his watch, he had already set up the board meeting to discuss his brother’s return and subsequent dismissal, and had two appointments for that morning. Miss Henderson waited for his instructions.

Angrily, Alex said she was to show the men in but interrupt him in five minutes.

Alex knew instinctively something was up as the two men entered. Both wore ill-fitting grey suits with white shirts and silk ties, and carried identical leather briefcases. They were sun-tanned and very confident. Alex’s hackles rose like those of an animal who could smell danger. These were no ordinary customs officials.

‘Well, gentlemen, how can I help you?’

He glanced at their identification, and indicated two seats for them in front of his desk. They were from the South African Government. He continued, ‘I’m afraid my brother is unobtainable, but if you would like to tell me how I can be of assistance...’

The two men were investigating the illegal exportation of semi-precious stones from South Africa. Their neat briefcases contained thick files on Skye Duval of Duval Limited.

‘Do you have any knowledge of this company, Duval Limited, Mr Barkley?’

Warily Alex shook his head. How many times in the past had he heard that name? He wished he had checked more thoroughly. He could feel the sweat trickling down his spine, knowing that this must have been what his brother had been doing for the last six years. His hands were steady as he took the documents outlining the vast mining activities of Duval Limited. His eyes flew over the pages...

‘The Duval company has, over the past ten years, systematically bought up thousands of acres of perlite territory. The crosses indicate the exact locations of the productive mines. The mines close to rivers, marked with blue lines, have been producing semi-precious stones.’

Miss Henderson tapped on the door and entered, interrupting Alex as he had requested. He gave her a sharp, dismissive wave, then waited until the door closed behind her.

‘You must forgive me, gentlemen, I am sure you have some reason for wanting to speak to my brother about this... er, Duval organization, but for the life of me I cannot understand why. I am a very busy man, and my brother, as you have been informed, is unobtainable, so unless you have a very valid reason for taking up my time I must ask you to leave.’

He was handed an enlarged black-and-white photograph, and one of the men, in clipped tones, asked, ‘You know this man?’

Alex stared at the photo and shook his head.

‘But you can identify this man, can’t you?’ Alex was shown another photograph. He flicked a look at it.

‘Yes, that is my brother. The other man I have no knowledge of.’

‘That is Mr Skye Duval and, sir, we have reason to believe that Duval Limited is in fact owned by your brother, Mr Edward Barkley.’

‘Then, gentlemen, I suggest you take this matter up directly with him, or with Mr Duval himself, surely he can assist you. I’m sorry I cannot be of any further help, but I do have another appointment, so if you will excuse me...’

The two men took their time, carefully repacking the files and photographs in their briefcases.

‘You are aware, sir, that the transportation of gems out of South Africa without an export licence is a criminal offence? Perhaps you would inform your brother that we wish to speak to him, and that he must contact us as soon as possible. I think it would benefit all parties if we were to discuss this amicably. Thank you for your time, sir. Good day.’

Miss Henderson jumped to attention as Alex opened his office door. Before the two men had left the reception area, Alex had cancelled his next two appointments. He ordered his car to take him to Greenwich, and left instructions that the board members were to wait for his return if he should be late.

Edward was lying on his bed, watching television. The room was littered with used cartons from take-away food, and the stale smell of hamburgers, brandy and cigars sickened Alex. He stared at Edward, waiting for him to acknowledge his presence. Eventually he walked across to the TV, switched it off and stood in front of it. Edward made no move to stop him, but yawned and asked, ‘What do you want?’

‘Some facts... about South Africa, about a man called Skye Duval... you listening?’

Edward laughed, wagging his finger at Alex. ‘Ahhh, and I thought for a second you were interested in my well-being. That’ll be the day, huh? The day anyone gives a fuck about me, I’ll be under the sod.’

Alex pulled up a chair and sat close to the bed. ‘Two so-called customs officials were at the office this morning. They had photographs of you and this man, Duval.’ He passed Edward their calling card, and waited as he turned it over. He looked at Alex with a bored expression, then sighed and lay back on the pillows.

‘Well, haven’t you got anything to say about it? Edward? They are making enquiries about illegal shipments of gems out of South Africa...’.

‘So what? Nothing to do with me.’

‘No? So how come they have photographs of you and this Duval character? Are you behind this company or not?’

Edward shrugged his massive shoulders and yawned. Alex stared at him, then pushed his chair back in anger. ‘Jesus, I might have known it, are you crazy? What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’

‘It’s got nothing to do with you.’

‘Like hell it hasn’t! I want to know what’s going on and I want to know now. You’re not dragging me down any sewer with you, you try it and I’ll...’

Edward reached out and grabbed his brother’s wrist. ‘What, Alex? What’ll you do? It’s none of your business, I’ll take care of it, all right? I’ll take care of it just like I take care of everything else...’

Alex brought his wrist up so hard he caught Edward’s face with his hand. Blazing with anger, he shouted, ‘You do that, Edward. If this is trouble, then you take care of it because, as from today, I wash my hands of you and your stinking deals...’

Edward applauded him, smirking, ‘That’s my brother talking... You do that, Alex. You go and wash your hands of me, but don’t come back with them held out begging when you fuck up!’

Alex slammed out of the room and hurried down the stairs. He brushed past Dewint, snatched his coat from him, and said, ‘Make sure he sees the doctor. Start cleaning the place up and I’ll sort someone out to give you a hand, all right?’

He hurried to his car.

Hearing a sound, Dewint looked up the stairs. Edward smiled down at him, then crooked his finger for him to go upstairs.

‘Run me a bath, and see if there’s anything in the wardrobe I can get into... now, Norman. Don’t bother cleaning the place, you’ll have plenty of time for that when I’ve gone.’

Alex strode back into his office. Miss Henderson scurried after him, telling him that the board members were all gathered and had been waiting for over half an hour.

By the end of the afternoon Alex was well pleased with his work. The board had discussed his taking over at length, and in the end it had been agreed that when medical certificates verified his brother’s precarious mental state, there could be no foreseeable opposition to Alex heading the company. As it was, no one could deny the fact that it was Alex who fronted the vast organization, and it would therefore only be a matter of time before he had the company legally under his control.

George Windsor, waiting to drive Alex home, reported that Edward was no longer in residence, he had done yet another of his famous disappearing acts. The doctors had been told he had gone abroad — somehow he had managed to get himself together and slip the net. Alex’s buoyant mood collapsed. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the leather upholstery and spoke very softly, almost to himself.

‘Well, the seeds are sown, give the bastard enough rope and he’ll hang himself.’

Book Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jinks had half expected to hear from her father. Over the years she had been used to his broken promises, but after the funeral and the subsequent meeting with Barbara, she had thought their relationship had become closer. But he didn’t contact her, and she made no effort to see him. In truth she had no need of him, her finances were always dealt with by Miss Henderson, and her allowance covered any expenditures she incurred.

She had flown to New York, returning after two weeks, having enrolled for the forthcoming term at Vassar. She also made her early morning appointment with Barbara, and they had bought a number of smart outfits in preparation for the trip to Paris. Barbara had already booked an appointment with an optician, and Jinks’ glasses were unceremoniously dropped in the waste bin, Barbara ignoring her pleas that they helped disguise her problem.

‘What problem? That you’re a bit shortsighted, or what?’

‘No, I have a lazy eye, my left one. Mother was always going on about it.’

Jinks could smell Barbara’s heady perfume as she peered closely, then held Jinks at arm’s length, scrutinizing her eyes. ‘Absolute rubbish, there’s not a sign of a squint, probably all in her imagination.’

She was positively smug with satisfaction when the optician announced that Jinks did not need any kind of correction to her sight. ‘You see? What did I tell you? All the years you’ve had those terrible things wrapped around your face and you never needed them. Typical! Once I asked your mother to be a guest at a Wild Life luncheon — you know, Save the Animals — my dear, she turned up with a silver fox fur dangling round her neck! It was frightful, all through the lunch I could see this wretched thing with its glass eyes glinting at me. She did it on purpose — typical! Your eyes, darling, are your best feature, and you must learn to make the most of them. In fact, you are going to learn to make the most of yourself...’

Jinks was paraded through beauty salons, her body massaged and creamed. Her hair was trimmed, but Barbara wouldn’t hear of her having it cut short. She ran her fingers through Jinks’ thick curls and instructed the hairdresser to simply thin and shape it. Jinks, beginning to trust Barbara’s judgement, didn’t argue. There was no particular warmth between them, and Barbara treated her neither like a daughter nor a friend. But if she felt it a chore to be Jinks’ chaperone, she never showed it. She felt slightly sorry for Jinks in some way; the girl’s helplessness and lack of social graces were a challenge to her. And unlike her own daughters, Jinks took her advice without question. Then, as the trip drew nearer, Barbara suggested to Jinks that she should stay overnight in Mayfair so they could travel to the airport together.

Jinks was given Evelyn’s bedroom. The small room contained little or nothing of the boy, but she took a sneaky look through all the drawers and even read some of the stories he had written when he was a child. They dined very formally and Jinks said little, but noted the interaction between her uncle and his elegant wife. They appeared as formal with each other as they were to her.

Later, as she got ready for bed, she overheard them talking in Barbara’s bedroom. When she realized they were discussing her father, she listened intentionally. Alex had been quiet at dinner, but obviously agitated. Jinks could hear Barbara asking him if Jinks’ presence in the house upset him. Alex replied that he really couldn’t care less.

Jinks pressed her face against her door, eager not to miss a word of what was being said. Alex’s voice rose in anger as he described Edward’s total disregard for the company, for the amount of work Alex was doing... Jinks could hardly believe what she was hearing.

‘That bastard will drag me down with him unless I do something drastic. This time I’m not taking it, this time I’ve had enough. At this afternoon’s board meeting it was carried unanimously. I am taking over the company...’

‘It’s about time. I’m surprised you waited this long. If it’s not drugs, it’s drink; you should get him certified...’

‘That is just what I am doing.’

Alex’s laugh sounded hollow, humourless. The next moment, Jinks had to hurry across to her bed as she heard him in the corridor. Her door inched open, and he popped his head round.

‘Jinks? You asleep? If I don’t see you in the morning, have a good trip. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Uncle Alex, and thank you for letting me stay.’

‘You’re welcome any time, good night.’

He closed the door and went to his own room, leaving Jinks unable to sleep for hours, repeating over and over in her mind every word she had heard her uncle say. She wondered if it was really possible for Alex to take over the Barkley empire and, if so, where would that leave her?

Jinks had been a lonely child, often having to take care of her mother. Now the realization that she also had to take great care of her own future, that nothing could be depended upon, made her aware of just how valuable Barbara Barkley could be.

Jinks began to practise a subtle manipulation of her aunt. She wanted to cut corners, and she knew Barbara could show her exactly how; after all, as her father had said, ‘You don’t have to like the woman, just use her.’ She began to see just what he had meant. The first-class travel was easily bought by anyone, but the extras that a VIP like Barbara Barkley could command were a revelation. She did indeed know everyone, and they moved their suites at the Hotel St George twice before Barbara was satisfied.

‘Honey, you never accept the first room they offer. You want the best, you can pay for the best, you make damn sure you get it...’

Barbara swept through Paris. The season was in full swing, and before they had unpacked the telephone was ringing every two minutes. Invitations poured in, and Barbara acquired a personal maid, a chauffeur-driven stretch limo and a secretary, plus a PR agent to announce where Barbara Barkley would be and at what time. Jinks stood back and admired her, flattered her, and paid close attention to every detail. Barbara obviously loved it all, exuding energy and a zest for life that women half her age would covet. She delighted in having Jinks close at hand to whisper and giggle with, and often said the most outrageous things. She appeared to know who had had what lifted and by whom, and when Jinks asked how she knew so much she roared with laughter.

‘Because, sweet thing, I have used their doctors myself. You don’t remain thirty-eight for long without paying for it, and when it’s in such good condition and all in working order, you bet your sweet arse I know who else has been having the same tucks...’

Together they moved with the elite, surrounded by film stars and Parisian society. Jinks soaked up everything she saw like a sponge. Barbara never let her down, and whisked her to one designer after another. She also took her protegee’s wardrobe very seriously and introduced her to many young designers she thought more suitable than the named houses she herself preferred. After one show she insisted on taking Jinks backstage to meet Jerry Hall, a model as tall, and with feet as big as Jinks’, to give her a good look at what she could do with herself if she tried.

Barbara received so many invitations that did not include Jinks that occasionally she would depart for luncheons or dinners without her. On one of these evenings Jinks was sitting alone, brushing her hair and trying on some of her new clothes. She had ordered room service, so when there was a knock on the door she called for them to come in to set up her dinner. But there were no sounds of a trolley or clinking of cutlery, so she walked through to the lounge.

Evelyn Barkley leaned against the door frame. For a moment she was afraid, not recognizing him, then he tilted his head and smiled at her.

‘Well, hello, cousin, surprise, surprise! Expected Mother, where is she?’

Jinks felt herself flushing, and stammered that Barbara was out for the evening.

‘Oh, she must have forgotten. Still, not to worry.’

There was a knock on the door and he opened it, standing aside for room service to enter. Jinks excused herself and returned to her bedroom to dress. By the time she came out, he was sitting down, pouring a glass of wine.

He was wearing the filthiest pair of leather trousers and an old leather jacket, a scarf knotted at his throat. His motorbike boots had so many straps and buckles he looked like a Hell’s Angel, but he was perfectly at ease. Smiling, he told her he had ordered a steak for himself.

She could not meet his black, slanting eyes. His delicate bone structure was reminiscent of Barbara’s finely chiselled features; and he was an exceptionally handsome boy, but his face, like his hands, was filthy. His hair was lank and greasy, and he wore an elaborate silver skull-and-crossbones earring. She accepted the glass of wine, and before she could offer a toast he had downed his full glass and was pouring another.

‘So what’s with you? What are you doing here with the duchess?’

‘I’m here for the collections.’

He looked at her and laughed. ‘Oh, we’re here for the collections, are we? Christ, how tall are you? You must be nearly six feet.’

Jinks flushed bright pink and sat down quickly, picking up her napkin to cover her embarrassment. He leaned over and tugged her hair. ‘You look better than you did last time. Christ, you used to wear those specs, and those pigtails...’

Jinks could not think of anything to say, so she sipped her wine while he made himself at home, forking salad out of the bowl and then eating it with his fingers, filthy fingernails prodding at the tomatoes and then dipping them into the salad dressing.

‘How’s college, aren’t you at college here?’ Jinks finally managed.

Evelyn snorted. With his mouth full, he told her about his time at St Martin’s of Pontoise. ‘Place is, rather was, run by friggin’ monks. We hadda call them Brother or Frere. Place was like a concentration camp — mass every day, bloody dormitories, fucking ice-cold showers... Jesus, it was a shit-hole. I got out after my first term, not that the old lady knows, or the old man. They wouldn’t know if I died of the clap over here, but they keep on sending the allowance, so who gives a fuck. Know what I mean?’

His steak arrived, and he sauntered to the door to let the waiter in, then kicked it shut. He proceeded to eat the steak with his hands, waving it around the room as he talked. Suddenly Jinks started to laugh. He was trying so hard to impress her or disgust her, she couldn’t tell which, but it was just so ridiculous, and it was all the funnier to think that he was Barbara’s son.

‘Has your mother seen you in this get-up? Or have you bought it especially for tonight?’

He looked at her and licked his filthy fingers. Then, with an open-handed gesture, he enquired what was wrong with his gear... but he was smiling, and his eyes were like a naughty boy’s, wonderful, twinkling eyes with thick, long eyelashes. He threw himself on to the sofa, propped his boots on the satin cushions and unzipped one of his many pockets.

‘I’d rather hoped the duchess would be here so I could hit her for some cash. She coughs up fast when I look like this, especially if she’s got company... you wanna smoke?’

Evelyn drew a rather squashed joint from his pocket, lit it, and inhaled the smoke deeply. Jinks continued to sip her wine, leaving her food untouched.

‘So you’ve left college?’

He nodded, then offered her the joint. She hesitated a moment, then walked over to take it. He pulled her down to sit next to him.

‘So how’s life, willow-legs? You look very affluent, what do you do? You work, do you?’

Jinks puffed tentatively at the joint, but the end was soggy so she handed it back. He took a deep drag, then stared at her.

‘What does a little rich girl do in Paris, huh?’

‘I’m going to college in America.’

‘Oh, are we? Isn’t that exciting...’

‘If you are no longer at St Martin’s, what do you do?’

‘I live in a commune. My friends and I fight against the stinking capitalist shits who run this country.’

He watched her closely for a reaction, but receiving none either way he continued, growing serious about his political beliefs. He spoke in glowing terms of the Baader-Meinhof gang, and spouted the Red Army jargon. Looking at her, he gestured to her silk robe.

‘Sitting in the lap of luxury I doubt if you could understand, could feel any compassion for the injustices...’

Jinks had heard enough. His childish and irritating arrogance annoyed her. ‘On the contrary, I am more than aware of the injustice in the world, but I doubt if joining some tin-pot terrorist organization can put it to rights. You are a typical recruit. It’s a fact that most terrorist organizations draw the offspring of wealthy parents like magnets. Although, as far as I have discovered, there is usually an element of their own failure that surpasses their hatred of their so-called capitalist parents’ wealth. I’m not saying that all the offshoots, all terrorist organizations, are made up of rich kids, but they are essentially useful — if for nothing else but finances. You had every opportunity to make something of yourself but you blew it. If you want my opinion you’d be better off going back to college, or better still, if you don’t want to use the money that I presume is still being paid out for your education and is consequently being wasted, give it to some kid who wouldn’t have the chance...’

He jumped to his feet in a fury, shouting at her, ‘If I wanted a fucking lecture I’d go to my father, you mind your own damned business!’

‘Fine! You started it, I didn’t ask you to come in here spouting political dogma. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you left, you stink — doesn’t this commune of yours possess a bath, or is it not the thing to do?’

They glared at each other, then suddenly he roared with laughter. ‘Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind a bath, thanks... You know, I preferred you with your hair in pigtails and those weird glasses you used to wear. How’s Aunt Harriet?’

Jinks had to turn away from him. ‘She died, nearly nine months ago...’

Evelyn hesitated, and he suddenly dropped his act, became real, even appeared vulnerable. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know. She was nice... You sure it’s okay for me to have a bath?’

Jinks turned to him, and they were totally at ease with each other. She nodded her head. For a moment he looked just like he had done at school, a cheeky grin flashed on his handsome face, then he disappeared into her bedroom.

She could hear him moving around, and then the sound of the bath running. After a moment he called out for her to come and talk to him. She hesitated... and opened the door.

He was stripping off his clothes in preparation for his bath, tipping bath salts and perfume into the steaming tub. She remained hovering in the doorway, and he looked over, laughing, as she flushed crimson and returned to the lounge. She rang for room service to clear dinner, and waited for fifteen minutes, listening to him singing and splashing in the bathroom.

Room service cleared the trolley and delivered fresh coffee. She had just poured herself a cup when he reappeared, wrapped in bath towels. While she poured him the coffee he asked for, he stood very close to her, too close, and she was aware of his body. His hair, washed and drawn back from his face, dripped water down his naked back. In a genuinely friendly gesture he slipped an arm around her.

‘Clean enough, Miss Juliana? Little Four-eyes?’

‘Not any more. I don’t even wear glasses, and your dear mother is showing me the ropes... apparently I inherited my mother’s appalling dress sense. How do you think I look?’

He stood back and looked her up and down. ‘You look okay... yeah, you look okay. Did Mother say when she would be back?’

‘I don’t know, she went to a dinner party.’

‘Oh, so that’s what she calls it nowadays? She screwin’ anyone I would know of?’

‘I’m sure I wouldn’t know...’

‘How’s your father? How’s the Big Bad Wolf?’

‘Apparently bigger and badder, you know the way he is.’

‘I like him. You remember that Christmas I came over — best Christmas I ever had. I got this great car, a police car with sirens.’

They sat drinking their coffee. He seemed miles away, deep in thought. Jinks felt herself constantly wanting to look at him, his eyes, his hair, his delicate bone structure. He had always been a good-looking boy; now he was really exceptionally handsome. His eyes were as dark as her father’s, but his lashes were thick and long as a girl’s. As if he were reading her mind, he looked up to meet her gaze... and he smiled, the sweetest of smiles.

‘I couldn’t hit you for a couple of hundred, could I? It’s just I’m a bit desperate, you know the old man keeps me short, in the hope I’ll behave, ha, ha, ha. I’ll pay you back.’

As Jinks reached for her handbag, he leaned close and cupped her chin in his hand. She stared into his face, and it was over in a second... he simply bent his head and kissed her lips. It was a gentle kiss, a simple ‘thank you’. She blushed, and he touched her cheek with his hand, then watched as she counted out the notes. He kissed them as she held them out, then he walked into the bedroom, dropping the towel and reaching for his trousers just as Barbara walked in. She was a little tipsy, carrying a large bouquet of flowers and a magnum of champagne, calling out as she entered, ‘Jinks, we have been invited by Count Emilio de...’

Barbara stared at her half-naked son, hopping into his trousers, then at Jinks. There was a moment when none of them said a word. The flowers were thrown aside, and Barbara snapped, ‘What the hell has been going on here?’

Evelyn sauntered in from the bedroom. ‘Just came round to see you. You weren’t in, so we decided to have a fuck, so that’s what’s been going on, okay? No harm done, Mother.’

Evelyn ducked as Barbara went for him, grabbed him by the hair and slapped his face. She was screaming incoherently, and received in return a slap that sent her reeling across the room. He picked up his boots and jacket, backing away from his mother.

‘You’re sick, you know that? I need some cash, that’s all I came for, the only reason I ever come to see you. So where’s your bag?’

Jinks tried to intervene, but he pushed past her, picked up his mother’s evening bag, tipped out the contents and took what money she had, stuffing it into his pocket. Jinks went and helped Barbara to her feet — she was shaking badly, and her cheek was inflamed where he had slapped her.

Evelyn finished dressing, stamping his feet into his boots, and Barbara never said a word. As if his mother weren’t in the room, he smiled at Jinks, thanked her for a pleasant evening, and walked out.

Barbara examined her face in the mirror. She was calm, back in control. Patting her hair, she turned to Jinks. ‘I think you had better tell me what’s been going on.’

Jinks shrugged her shoulders and began picking up the flowers. ‘Nothing, he just came round to see you, and you weren’t here.’

‘Oh, I’m sure! Don’t treat me like an imbecile, darling, I’m not your mother, and I’m a damn sight sharper than you give me credit for, so give me the truth — just what has been going on between you two? Has he been sneaking in to see you while I’ve been out? Has he?’

Jinks felt faintly disgusted, and repeated that nothing had been going on, it was all a misunderstanding. Barbara whipped round on her; the fashion-plate-duchess act dropped, replaced by the old toughness she had spent so many years trying to disguise.

‘Look, sweetheart, who do you think you’re kidding? And don’t think I like doing this, but I walk in to find my son fucking naked in your bedroom — what the hell do you think I’m gonna think is going on, you tell me?’

Jinks could feel her temper rising, and she faced Barbara. Her sweet ‘butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth’ act dropping as fast as Barbara’s. ‘I don’t think it’s any of your business, but if you want to know, he came round to see you. You weren’t here, he took a bath, and he was just getting dressed when you walked in... And I don’t like your attitude, or your assumption that I have, in your words, been fucking your son. That may be your style, or your daughters’, but it isn’t mine.’

‘My, my, how the little mouse turns.’

‘I’ve had a very good teacher.’

‘So, are you going to see him again?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Barbara, does it matter?’

‘Yes — he’s no good, and don’t think I don’t know how attractive a little bastard he is. He’s been putting himself about since he was fourteen years old, and I just wanna know if you are intending to see him again? Are you telling me you didn’t find him attractive?’

Jinks took a deep breath and, keeping her voice calm, suggested that Barbara drop the subject. It had been a misunderstanding and it was best forgotten. Barbara took two brandy glasses from the cocktail cabinet and smiled. She was quieter, calmer now.

‘Yeah, I guess that’s what you call jumping the gun, to put it mildly. I guess that’s down to my own promiscuous, ill-spent youth. I can’t help it if I presume every girl’s a woman after my own libido! Here, take it, you might need it.’

She handed Jinks a large brandy. Jinks wondered if Barbara was drunk; if she was about to divulge her past indiscretions she really didn’t want to hear them. Quietly and firmly she refused the drink, sounding rather scathing even to herself.

Barbara smirked. ‘Christ, you know, sometimes you are so like your father. Here, take it, it’s good brandy... The cold, vocal put-down doesn’t wash with me, but give you time, sweetheart. You have the killer instinct, I can feel it, and you know why I know? Because once he put me down, he did it just like that...’

Barbara snapped her fingers, drained her glass and refilled it immediately. Jinks could feel a strange sensation, as if she were stepping out of her body, protecting herself, moving away from a danger — but what, she couldn’t grasp. Barbara lit a cigarette, allowed the smoke to drift out of her nostrils, and stared at Jinks through the haze.

‘I married Alex before I met Edward, and it’s obvious to anyone who meets them which one my type of woman would go for. Oh, they were both good-looking, but...’

Barbara was twisting the cigarette, her long, bright-red nails like talons. ‘I would have left Alex, if he’d wanted me to, but he was using me like he uses everyone who walks into his life.’ Suddenly she stubbed out the cigarette, grinding it, then looked directly at Jinks. ‘Evelyn is his son. I’m surprised you couldn’t tell just by looking at him. Apparently your mother knew, that Christmas, that time he came over to see you all. She knew, she must have realized then. Perhaps that was what made her go crazy... I know she’d been sick before, but that time sort of finished her off.’

Jinks closed her eyes. There was the nightmare of her mother cradling the doll, holding it to her naked breast... She could hear the pounding of her father running up the stairs, dragging the terrified Jinks away from the sight of her mother’s madness.

Her voice betrayed nothing of her emotional state. ‘Does Evelyn know?’

Barbara swayed slightly as she got up to fill her glass again. ‘No, he thinks Alex is his father. Edward gave up any right to him before he was born, Alex’s name is on the birth certificate. Alex found out, but he will never give him up — in a perverse way he has the only thing Edward, with all his money, can’t buy.’ She laughed a soft, slightly drunken laugh.

Jinks moved quickly across to her bedroom door, then turned to Barbara. Her face was set, impassive, giving no sign of the emotional turmoil raging inside her. ‘I overheard Uncle Alex saying he was trying to take over the Barkley Company. I intend to become part of that company, and neither my uncle nor Evelyn will take what is rightly mine. I don’t think I want to see you again, Barbara. You are a vain, egotistical woman without a shred of decency or compassion. You should never have treated my mother with such disrespect — perhaps if you had a grain of sensitivity you would have realized the anguish you must have caused her... Goodnight.’

The bedroom door closed. There was an expression on Jinks’ face that unnerved the older woman. A mask of complete unapproachability had fallen into place. Barbara had seen that mask before, when Edward ended their affair. Now she felt the same bitter anger, the betrayal, all over again. She slammed out of the suite, telling herself that when that little bitch came round needing her help she would tell her, just as she had told her father, to go to hell. She felt not the slightest twinge of guilt.

Barbara did not get the satisfaction she had hoped for. Jinks had already left Paris by the following morning, on her way to New York. Evelyn called his mother and, afraid he would turn up looking as wretched as he had on the previous night, she arranged for more money to be transferred to his account. She made no attempt to enquire if his studies were going well. She still seethed over the scene with Jinks, and as Evelyn had been more than a problem throughout his life she found it easier to pay him whatever it cost to keep him out of her sight.

Evelyn’s so-called friends waited for him to return with the money. In some way the group replaced the family he had never been part of.

The money he had taken from Barbara was used to buy two.22 Birettas. Like children playing with new toys, they inspected the weapons. Evelyn practised loading the.22 short cartridge, and listened with awe as one of the boys, their self-designated leader Kurt Spanier, took it from him. Kurt was older than the rest of the group, and with great authority he told them the Israeli teams used the same weapons, although they were ballistically limited. However, the SOPS of the Massad ‘Sayaret’ teams liked them because they were fairly quiet.

Evelyn looked from Kurt to the gun and back again. ‘Yeah, but we’re not going to kill anyone... I mean, these are just for show.’

The gun was held to Evelyn’s temple and his friend whispered in his ear, ‘Best way is to pump the shots directly into the bastard’s brain. That way, my rich friend, death is assured... and that is exactly what we’ll be doing, if it should prove necessary. We’re gonna hit the post office in two weeks, and we need more cash, ‘cause we’ll need explosives. So, we got a few hundred from mummy — why don’t you tap that nice rich daddy of yours, he’s a fuckin’ capitalist tycoon, isn’t he? Or has one visit with your bourgeois relatives changed your ideals?’

Evelyn was paying for the rent on the farmhouse, plus most of the food they consumed. Suddenly, with the talk of using the weapons, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to get involved so deeply. The embrace of Spanier, hugging him close so that Evelyn could smell the garlic breath, made him afraid. His fear increased when Spanier whispered, ‘You don’t like it, my friend, you go out wrapped in the blankets the rifles came in, you understand? You, my friend, are in too deep to walk away, so don’t even try it.’

Chapter Thirty

Skye Duval was speechless. He couldn’t take it in, couldn’t assimilate all the facts and figures in one sitting. Edward poured another glass of wine. His cigar smoke made the air, already thick and clammy, stifling.

Edward had arranged a complete buy-out with an American-based company. He wanted to retain nothing except the Fordesburg mine. That had been his only stipulation...

Skye picked up the thick folder of documents, then looked at Edward. Edward’s face was jowelled, his once-slim, muscular frame so overweight that his suit and shirt flapped as if accentuating the flab beneath. He was also sweating profusely, and his breath hissed in his barrel-like chest.

Skye chewed on a matchstick, saying, ‘But I can’t see why! I mean, if those bastards are after you for exporting the stones, we pay ‘em off as we’ve always done. But to sell off everything we’ve worked for all these years... I mean, don’t you even want to retain any of the rights in the beds not yet mined?’

Edward sighed. ‘I’m through, an’ I got a feeling it’s the right time. In a few years all hell will break loose over here. We sell now, I sell now, and the money is secure.’

Skye threw his hands in the air. ‘Why? It’s not as if you need the money... You tellin’ me the Barkley Company’s in shit? You tellin’ me I don’t know how many millions you’ve already got stashed away in Switzerland? God knows how many banks we’ve got all over the world? So what in hell is making you sell now, before we’ve opened a quarter of the mines...?’

‘Maybe I wanna buy something.’

‘You wanna buy something? You walk in, tell me to sign on the fucking dotted line, sign over my life’s work, because you wanna buy something? What?’

Edward picked at the end of his cigar. ‘None of your business, buddy. You’ve got a few hours, then, I’m afraid, whether you like it or not, I’m walking. You’ve been bleating on about wanting out, having no time for yourself... Well, now I’m offering it, and you’ll get more than your share.’

He puffed on his cigar until his face was almost obscured by the thick, heavily scented smoke, then tapped the ash off the end. Slowly he placed the documents in his briefcase. There was a finality in the gesture, and Skye put his head in his hands.

‘Jesus Christ, you’ve already done it, haven’t you?’

Edward snapped the briefcase closed and leaned on the table. ‘Thanks for all you’ve done. If you want to stay on, there’s a place for you, just a different man pulling the strings, so it’s up to you. You want some advice, get the hell out...’

Skye reached over and gripped Edward’s hand. ‘You can’t walk out on me. I want in on whatever you’re so desperate to buy... Take me with you — whatever the deal, I want to be part of it.’

‘Not this time, buddy.’

‘But you an’ me, we’re partners! Even if you don’t want me in on the deal. Just tell me, what, in God’s name, costs so much?’

Edward released Skye’s hand gently. His dark eyes looked into the desperate face, and then he pulled Skye close in a bear hug. His voice was gruff with emotion. ‘My son...’

Edward Barkley walked out of Skye Duval’s life just as he had walked into it all those years ago. He left his puppet a rich man, but without that powerful hand guiding him. Without his master pulling the strings, it would only be a matter of time before Duval would, as he had threatened years before, blow his brains out. There would be no tell-tale witness to Edward Barkley’s illegal transactions in South Africa.

Edward’s arrival in New York coincided with his daughter’s birthday. He had not seen her since just after the funeral of Harriet. He had cabled her from Mexico, where he had been systematically selling off all his holdings and finalizing the sale of various companies.

He had booked a suite at the Plaza Hotel and ordered flowers and champagne. His gifts were wrapped and stacked on a coffee table. Miss Henderson had been called to double-check that Jinks had received his cable and would meet him as requested. Now he paced the room, checking the time, and called down to the desk to say his daughter was expected.

Juliana Barkley arrived in a chauffeur-driven limousine. She had been with her college friends, celebrating the honours passes she had gained in every subject, and would take this chance to discuss with her father her ambition to join the company. She was nervous and, purposely, fifteen minutes late. As she rode up in the lift Jinks checked her appearance. She had put Barbara’s advice about clothes to good use, and was wearing Calvin Klein. She was still exceptionally thin, but had learned to wear her hair in a more flattering style, and had inherited her mother’s flawless skin, so she required little make-up. Her mouth felt dry, and she licked her lips. She had virtually written herself a script for this meeting with Edward, rehearsing exactly what she would say to him. She was armed with the knowledge that Alex was intending to try to take over the Barkley Company, and that Evelyn was her father’s illegitimate son.

Everything she had prepared to say, all her neat, rehearsed speeches, flew from her mind. Just as she was about to knock, her father opened the door and clasped her in his arms. He pulled her into the room and, like a little boy, proudly gestured to her birthday gifts. Then he held her at arm’s length and swept her once more into his arms, hugging her close, telling her how wonderful she looked, insisting she open his gifts. As she slipped the ribbon from a large silver box, the telephone rang. Edward glared at it, apologized, and crossed the room.

She had a chance to look at him properly. She could see how much weight he had put on. He was like a giant. She continued to open her gifts, taking out a delicate nightdress. He covered the telephone mouthpiece and beamed.

‘You like it? I chose it myself... open the small box on your left next... Hello? Edward Barkley here. What...?’

Jinks saw his manner change. Turning his back to her he listened intently to the caller. She saw his fists clench, and the small muscle at the side of his cheek twitched. It was as if she were forgotten, no longer in the room.

‘You sure about this? I see... Well, I want a meeting straight away, can you come to my hotel? Good, ‘bout fifteen minutes.’

She heard him murmur under his breath, then he carried the phone to the small desk and sat down. His bulk made the writing chair creak ominously. He began to thumb through a small notebook and promptly redialled, tapping his fingers on the desk.

‘Is something wrong, father?’

Edward gave a brief nod, then spoke into the phone in a low voice. Jinks could not make out exactly what he was saying, but he was asking about shares in some company and what they were now standing at. Eventually he hung up, but made four more calls before turning to her. She still held the small box and he waved his hand for her to open it. At the same time he checked his watch.

‘Sorry, sweetheart, something’s come up. I had hoped we could spend some time together.’

‘So had I.’ Her mouth was a thin, tight line. She stood up, carefully folding the tissue paper from her gift box.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and sighed. ‘It never works out with you and me, does it?’

She shrugged, picking up her handbag and gloves. ‘No, I guess not, but then you’ve never really had time for me. I’m starting work with a bank on Wall Street to gain experience. I would like, when you have a spare moment, to see you about working for the Barkley Company.’

Edward retrieved his briefcase from the sofa and began to take out files. She waited for an answer: receiving none, she walked to the door.

‘Don’t go. Maybe you should sit in on this meeting. I own twenty-five per cent of a company called “Ming”. The little Japanese bitch who owns it has tried unsuccessfully to get back that twenty-five per cent. Over the years she has skimmed and cheated, even threatening to try to cut me out of a business that I virtually handed to her on a plate. Now she’s got Japanese partners, and they don’t like having anyone else in the pond with them — in particular myself. So what she’s done is form another company called “Lotus”, specifically to deal with Japan.’

Jinks joined her father at the desk and started going through the files with him.

‘Is this legal? I mean, can she do this?’

‘Sure, she’ll be competing against herself. She’s going public with Ming, and obviously she’ll push all the money back into the new company. I wouldn’t be surprised if she intends letting it go into liquidation eventually. Easily done — she starts to bring in new lines that don’t sell, and bingo, she gets liquidated, but still retains the secure new company — and my twenty-five per cent won’t be worth a penny.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Put her out of business. I’m going to start buying more shares in Ming as soon as it goes public.’

‘But you’d have to be named if you buy more than five per cent of shares in any company! They have to know the purchaser, that’s the law.’

Edward smiled at his daughter’s bid to show him she knew the business. He found it charming, and he pinched her cheek.

‘But if I buy 4.99 per cent, the law’s on my side. I’ll use what is called the “concert party” system. I buy my quota, you buy, you get your friends to buy, they get their friends to buy... and when the show closes, they sell their shares straight back to me. End result? I own the lion’s share, and the first thing I do is knock Miss Takeda right off her perch and, second, we flatten Lotus and get the Japs coming straight to us.’

Edward laughed his deep, rumbling, infectious laugh. He strode over to her unwrapped gifts and began ripping the paper from them. ‘See her new lines? All this stuff is from Lotus. It’s Japanese and she’s got French labels sewn in. She’s sticking ridiculous prices on them. We’ll expose it, get some great press. We’ll buy the same stuff and undercut her by half... then when the company is back on its feet I sell, and guess who to?’

‘The Japanese?’

‘That’s my daughter. Now, look over these contracts and...’

The phone rang again. Edward answered it, gave his name and just listened to the caller. Jinks looked at the ‘gifts’ — even those were connected with his business, and yet she couldn’t feel any anger because she was genuinely interested. The garments were very delicate, in pale shades of pink and lilac, with fine handmade lace — and all with French designer labels.

Edward called her. He held his hand over the mouthpiece and told her to go down to reception and bring him all the English newspapers.

She returned to the suite to hear Edward instructing reception to get his car brought round as he was leaving for the airport immediately.

‘You’re leaving?’

Edward held out his hand for the papers and flipped them over. ‘You had a look at them?’

‘No. I just brought them straight up.’

He banged them down on the desk. His breath hissed as he flipped through them. ‘Jesus Christ, the stupid kid, the stupid bastard!’ He strode into the bedroom and began throwing his clothes into a suitcase.

Jinks looked at the papers. She picked up The Times and followed her father into the bedroom. There was a photograph of Alex halfway down the front page under the banner headline, ‘TYCOON’S SON ARRESTED’.

‘I’m getting the first flight to Paris. Stupid bastard’s in real trouble; you read it?’

Jinks skimmed the article, which stated that Evelyn Barkley had been arrested among a group of French terrorists.

‘What about the meeting? You said they were coming here?’

‘Forget it, this is more important. You wait here, tell them I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. I’ll leave the documents, just hand them over.’

He swept into the lounge to pack his briefcase just as reception called to tell him his car was waiting.

‘Who called you? Was it Alex?’

‘No, Barbara. She’s hysterical, has no idea what to do. Apparently the rags are having a field day, they’ve reporters hanging around the house. She can’t contact Alex, doesn’t know where he is...’

‘Why do you have to go?’

‘Because Alex couldn’t squeeze a fart out, never mind get his son off this rap.’

‘Don’t you mean your son?’

Edward hesitated, then began stuffing papers into his briefcase. Jinks continued, her voice becoming shrill. ‘You can find time for him but not for me, you’ve never had the time for me because I’m just your daughter. He’s no good, he never was! Let him rot for a while, it’ll do him good...’

‘What the hell would you know about it?’

He checked his passport, and she moved closer to him, trying desperately to keep herself calm.

‘Maybe before you go running to Evelyn and dear Uncle Alex, you should know that Alex is trying to get you thrown out of the Barkley Company. This is the first time you’ve seen me in months, and you never had the decency to even ask how I was doing. Happy birthday? You want to make it happy? Then you give me what I want, pay me off! Then you need never see me again — if you don’t want me in your company, give me enough to start up a business of my own.’

Edward said nothing, but he removed from his case all the documents relating to the Ming company. He tossed them on to the desk.

‘Earn it, like I had to. Here, this is for starters.’

She watched him sign all the documents over to her. She was close to tears, desperate for him to hold her, comfort her, but he did nothing but flick through each page. Satisfied everything was in order, he replaced the top of his pen carefully, and picked up his cases. She still fought to keep her voice steady, fought not to cry.

‘You don’t care about me, just as you never cared for my mother. It was knowing about Evelyn, knowing about you and Barbara that killed her. I hate you, I hate you... and I always have.’

He couldn’t stand her harping voice, that vicious look on her face. Her words hit him hard and he felt sick to his stomach. She was looking at him with such loathing that he could say nothing, do nothing but walk out.

Jinks bathed her face, holding the cold cloth to her cheeks. She didn’t cry, couldn’t have cried now, it was too late. She returned to the lounge and looked once again through the papers.

Ten minutes later two men arrived, introducing themselves as her father’s brokers. They listened attentively as she explained that she would be handling the business with the Ming company. Hesitantly, she enquired about her father’s other interests. The two men looked at each other, and after a moment the younger one, Mike Doytch, was given the nod to speak. His blond, crew-cut head and chiselled features gave the impression of youth although he was in fact over forty. He coughed and loosened his collar.

‘Your father made contact three, almost four, weeks ago. We have been instructed to sell all his shares and to deposit the money in Swiss bank accounts. The meeting today was simply to give him confirmation that this was all being done. However, this morning he asked us to retain his shares in the Ming company. Apparently Mr Barkley has been given some information that changed his mind. He had instructed us to sell to Miss Takeda.’

Jinks poured them drinks. She bit her lip. ‘I hope, gentlemen, that whatever we discuss will be in the strictest confidence. The instructions to sell my father’s interests, were they directly from the Barkley Company or from my father personally?’

Again the two men glanced at each other before Mike spoke. ‘Your father’s holdings in America and Mexico were private. The property and the land was, I believe, owned personally and were nothing to do with the Barkley Company. We have never done any business for them, only for Edward Barkley.’

Jinks sipped her Perrier water, the ice clinking in the glass. ‘Have you ever had any dealings with Alex Barkley? My father’s brother?’

Both men shook their heads. Jinks thought carefully before she spoke. She hinted that she would continue to use them if they could give her some idea as to how much they estimated her father had accumulated through his sell-out. She even smiled and told them confidentially, ‘You see, my uncle has insinuated that my father’s mental state is not... well, not one hundred per cent. He is an alcoholic, so if you could give me some idea, would that be possible? Just so I can report back to London.’

Jinks closed the door, thanking both men and telling them she would contact them within the week. Her knees were shaking, but she gave no outward hint of her nerves — quite the reverse, she was smiling and confident, and it was not until the lift gates closed that she dropped her act. She poured herself a stiff brandy and slumped on to the sofa.

The men had been very cagey, and it had taken a considerable amount of drink before they had more than hinted at Edward’s personal wealth. Once they had told her they seemed strangely relieved, and then a trifle boastful of their own capabilities, Edward Barkley had made close to four hundred million. Jinks repeated it over and over in her mind, four hundred million...

She felt something hard digging in the small of her back, and moved the cushion. There was the tiny box her father had given her, the one she had not opened. She unwrapped it; it contained a gold bracelet similar to the one her mother had given her the afternoon before she died. Jinks turned it over in her palm, wondering for a moment if her father knew she already had the first present he had ever given Harriet. The difference was in the clasp, this bracelet was not broken. Four hundred million and this was her birthday gift. She weighed the gold in her hand, then hurled it across the room.

‘You cheap bastard! I’ll show you, and I’ll do it without your bloody help!’

Alex had been called out of a meeting by Miss Henderson. He was tight-lipped with anger, demanding to know what was so important that it could not have waited. When he learned of his son’s arrest he was on the next flight to Paris. Sitting on the plane Alex felt numb, unable to comprehend the mixed emotions that swept over him.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the seat rest. It was strange he should think of it now, all these years later, but instead of his son’s trouble taking precedence, all he could think of was his own past. Memories that had been nothing but a blur became clear. He could see himself younger than Evelyn, his face twisted in fear arriving at the remand home, Rochester House. Long-forgotten memories came flooding back, and the grey curtain began drawing over him as it had done as a child lying weeping in his bed.

He turned to stare from the window, wanting to blank out the memory of his own frightened face. But the clouds reminded him of the dream, the dream he had been so desperate to hide behind, the dream of the rider on the black stallion, of his father and the mountain. The dream that gave him such nightmares. He felt as if he had been cursed. Why now? he asked himself, just as he was making headway, this time alone, without Edward. Just as he almost had the entire Barkley Company within his grasp, why did he feel it was being taken from him, and why, when he had first been told of his son’s arrest, had his first thought been to contact Edward? Was he always to be tied to him?

The stewardess made Alex jump, he hadn’t even heard her asking if he would like a drink. He asked for a brandy.

Sipping it, Alex’s hatred of his brother, his deep anger at everything Edward had done to him, rose up and gave him renewed energy. His head was clear again, and he was ready to fight for himself and for his son.

At the hotel Alex immediately contacted the lawyers allocated to Evelyn’s case and asked for a meeting as soon as possible. He began to read the French news coverage. The headlines ran ‘TYCOON’S SON HELD IN MASS TERRORIST ARREST’. The more he read the less likely seemed Evelyn’s involvement. He realized that he would be away from London for longer than he had at first anticipated. He began to make numerous urgent business calls to cover for his absence. Alex was making sure his departure could not be compared with any of Edward’s frequent disappearing acts. He instructed Miss Henderson to call every board member and make his personal apologies, but to say nothing regarding his son. Simply that there had been a family crisis. Should anyone require to talk to Alex urgently, they could contact him in Paris.

Alex was asking the lawyers for details before giving them time to remove their coats. He was told about the raid on the farmhouse Evelyn had rented. The police had found a veritable armoury, and it was obvious the boy was very much a part of the terrorist group. He had not attempted to deny it. He had been held in a local jail and then transferred to the Prison de la Sante in Paris.

Alex felt his initial energy and positive thinking slipping away. If anything, the newspaper articles had not suggested anywhere near the seriousness of Evelyn’s involvement. Everything the lawyers told him made Evelyn’s situation worse. After a long time, when he had digested it all, he asked quietly, painfully, how long they thought his son would get if he were convicted.

‘There is no doubt whatsoever, Mr Barkley, that he will be sent to trial, even though there is no evidence as yet that he actually took part in the raids. One of the captured men has given evidence that your son was an active member of the gang, an offshoot of the Front de Liberation de la Bretagne pour la Liberation Nationale et Socialisme, and that he gave them his financial backing. Eleven of their members were arrested in ‘72 — they are small, and appear to be outside the mainstream of international terrorism. They don’t have much in common with the other left-wing radical groups...’

‘How long — for Chrissake, tell me what he’s likely to get?’

‘Ten to twelve years.’

Alex felt the breath rush from his body, and he had to be helped to a chair. Someone put a glass of water in his hand, which was shaking, and the glass rattled against his teeth when he tried to drink. ‘Will I be allowed to see him? Tonight?’

‘Yes, sir. I suggest you go to the jail immediately. They are moving them all to a top-security wing first thing in the morning. It’s a prison forty kilometres outside Paris. I am very sorry, Mr Barkley, but we will use every moment we have, do everything we can. I have a car waiting if you would like to leave now...’

Alex was driven to the prison in a Mercedes. He leaned back and closed his eyes, saying over and over to himself what a fool his son was, what a fool... All he could picture in his mind was Evelyn on his fifth birthday, running to him, yelling at the top of his voice, ‘Dad, Dad, I got a farmyard, I got a farmyard — I got cows and sheep and chickens...’ Alex sighed — this farmyard was full of weapons.

Alex was searched, and questioned until his brain reeled, then he had to wait for over an hour before he was led into a small visiting room. Two guards were stationed at the door.

At last he heard footsteps and keys turning in locks. His mouth went dry and he couldn’t get his breath. He half rose from his seat only to be ordered by the guards to sit down again. Through the small glass window in the door he could see the top of his son’s head. He swallowed hard to stop the tears welling up.

Evelyn was led into the room. He was wearing grey overalls and his hair had been cut very short. He was thin, almost gaunt. His wrists were handcuffed, his hands hanging loosely in front of him. He gave his father the ghost of a smile, but his eyes, his dark, wide eyes, were terrified. Alex had to sit back in his seat when he saw the guards push his son into the chair, ordering him to put his hands on the small, bare table.

‘You all right? They treating you all right?’

‘Yes...’

‘I got here as soon as I could, I only heard this morning.’

Alex turned to one of the guards and asked if he could hold his son’s hand. The man shrugged, and Alex reached over and gripped Evelyn’s hands tightly with his own. The boy hung his head, ashamed.

‘I’ve only got fifteen minutes, so I’ll be as informative as possible. I’ve got the best lawyers there are, and they will be working around the clock. They have asked me to tell you to be completely honest with them, and not to hold anything back — you understand? I will stay here, and when they move you tomorrow, I shall come to see you as soon as possible. I think I can do more here in Paris, see the right people and try to sort this out.’

Evelyn clung to his father’s hands, unable to look up, incapable of speech. The tears trickled down his cheeks. Alex swallowed again, trying to keep his own emotions in check.

‘I can bring you some food, and shaving stuff. They said you will be allowed fruit, and a little money for cigarettes. You must keep yourself to yourself, don’t mix. Don’t, whatever you do, get into any fights. Evelyn? This is not the time to say what you did or didn’t do, I just want you to know that I am here, I am with you, and I will stand by you... Look at me, son, look at me.’

Slowly, Evelyn raised his tear-streaked face. ‘I’m sorry... Go back to England, there is nothing you can do. I was part of them, Dad, whether I wanted to be or not is immaterial. You’ll only make it worse for me inside if you try to get me off.’

Alex gritted his teeth and held the boy’s hand so hard he could feel the bones. ‘Ask to be placed in solitary, keep away from the others, hear me? We may have a chance, but only if you are segregated. I don’t want to hear you say again that you were part of them — you were not, hear me? You were not.’

‘I was... I’ll take whatever they hand out, it’s the way it has to be.’

Alex could no longer hold his tears back, and his voice broke. ‘I love you, I love you, and I’ll be close, visit you whenever I can.’

The look on the boy’s face made Alex reach over to take him in his arms, hold him tight. The bell rang, it was over, and the guard had to pull them apart.

They hauled Evelyn to his feet, marched him to the door. As they took him away he whispered he was sorry, sorry...

Alex heard the prison warders shouting at his son. He froze into a catatonic state, unable to make his limbs work. The sounds, the walls, the smell... He was back inside himself, he was suffocating... He clawed at the edge of the table, somehow managed to rise to his feet and leave, but he had no recollection of the journey back to his hotel. Just those sounds, those echoed voices, those keys... and those terrible locked doors.

There were messages waiting for Alex from his office and the lawyers, and there had been five telephone calls from Ming. He lay on the bed, unable even to wash himself or eat.

At last he roused himself to call Barbara, but the butler told him she was not at home. He called Miss Henderson, and noted down all the things he had to take care of. She began to tell him how sorry she was, and he cut her short, not wanting to discuss it. She told him she had given Ming his Paris number as she had been calling the office every hour on the hour. Whatever it was must be very urgent.

It was after midnight and he was still taking calls from the lawyers, arranging meetings. Every time he put the phone down it rang again with more messages, and top of the list was always Ming. He rang room service, then told the switchboard to block his calls while he took a shower. The water felt good, and he began to relax.

He rang down for his messages, and no sooner had he put the phone down than it rang again. This time it was Ming in person. Before he could say a word she berated him for not returning her calls. He let the phone rest on his shoulder, closed his eyes while she went on.

‘Alex... are you there? Alex, will you answer me? I have just had a visit from Juliana Barkley, did Edward put her up to it? Alex, how can you, you of all people, treat me like this? I have trusted you... Alex? Are you there?’

He sighed and admitted he was, and Ming continued, ‘This little bitch walked in as if she owned the building. I offered her more than her shares are worth, double, and she refused. She wants all the audited accounts, and the Japanese company is giving me hell... You told me to go ahead and agree there would be no third party involved... Alex...?’

Alex swung his legs down from the bed. ‘Yes, I am here, and right now I couldn’t give a tuppenny damn about your bloody tinpot company. I know nothing of Edward’s daughter, and I haven’t seen him for months... and I don’t give a damn about it. Do you hear me? I don’t give a fuck what you do from now on, just don’t call me again.’

She screamed down the line, ‘You had better get this thing sorted out, do you hear me? You have been paid a hell of a lot of money off the top, so don’t start saying you don’t give a damn. You said you were taking over the Barkley Company — well, Alex, are you? I have to know.’

Alex hung up on her, then told the switchboard he was not going to take any more calls from Miss Takeda. Ming had, as always, touched a chord inside him. His intentions of taking over were as strong as ever but, like the pattern that always formed in his life, every time he took a step forward something dragged him back. He had not given a thought to Edward, to the carefully laid plans for uprooting him. Nothing could be further from his mind, and in a strange way he almost wished his brother were with him.

The phone rang again, and he picked it up. Miss Henderson told him that the press was full of leaks on insider dealing, the Barkley Company could be in trouble, and she needed to contact Edward. Did Alex know where he was?

Sighing, he interrupted her. ‘Will you not call me again unless it directly concerns my son, is that clear? Anything else will have to wait until my return. Just fend everyone off, do you understand me?’

There was a loud crackle on the phone, and Miss Henderson apologized for the intrusion, then the phone went dead.

Chapter Thirty-One

Edward’s arrival in Paris coincided with the transfer of Evelyn to the top-security wing. He missed his son by a matter of hours. He contacted London and discovered Alex was in Paris, so he went directly to the hotel, only to find he had checked out and left no forwarding address.

Edward spent a considerable time asking questions of as many people as he could get to see. He sifted through the facts, those he managed to acquire, then tried once again to discover where Alex was staying, without success. He decided to make his way to where Evelyn was being held. Before he left, he paid a visit to the Foreign Office, then drove across Paris to the prison in the hope of seeing Evelyn.

Edward now knew it was far worse than he had anticipated. The main terrorist group were amateurs who had been making attacks on post offices, telephone exchanges, television transmitters, tax offices and banks since the late seventies. They had also destroyed an office at the Academie in Brittany. The new faction had not started causing real damage until three years ago, when they had bombed an officers’ mess, two banks and a customs depot. The list made no sense, there was no logic to it. The only good thing from Evelyn’s point of view was that no one had been killed or seriously injured.

But the police had found enough ammunition and explosives at the farmhouse to give great cause for alarm. The terrorists’ every movement had been monitored by the police, who had had them under surveillance for six months. Initially prepared to wait and catch them red-handed, they changed their minds when they discovered that the group had bought vast amounts of explosive. They decided to move in before anyone got killed, and had raided the farmhouse. One of the ringleaders, Kurt Spanier, was determined, if he and his friends went down, to take their little stool pigeon with them. He had given the police a long statement implicating Evelyn as the financier behind the organization.

Edward was refused permission to see Evelyn. He was standing outside the high prison walls wondering how to trace Alex, when he saw him driving out of the prison. He shouted and waved, chased the car. His brother’s face was grey with worry, and he stared in panic at Edward for a moment, not recognizing him. Edward gasped for breath, ‘I’ve been trying to contact you all day, lemme in the bloody car... Hang on, I’ll pay off my cab.’

Alex opened the door and Edward, wheezing and coughing, squeezed in beside him. The cigar smoke made Alex feel sick, and he opened the window as he drove away from the threatening brick walls topped with barbed wire.

The visits were a nightmare for Alex. Every time he entered the prison he went through agonies. He washed himself obsessively after each visit, unable to get the stench of disinfectant and urine out of his nostrils. The acrid cigar smoke had a similar effect on him, and he kept gasping for air, unable to talk. Edward was totally unaware of the mental strain Alex was undergoing every time he visited Evelyn. Attempts at conversation drew nothing but blank silence.

Alex’s hotel room, though a double, was small. It was clean, but without any of the luxuries the two men had become used to. Alex splashed cold water on his face from the small handbasin, soaped and scrubbed his hands and nails. His brother’s questions, fired at him one after another, made him feel worse. Finally Edward blew his top, yelling, ‘For God’s sake, Alex, talk to me, talk to me.’

Edward’s presence filled the room along with his cigar smoke. He lay down, the single bed creaking beneath his weight.

Alex was washing his hands yet again, and Edward threw his up in despair. ‘You going to fucking talk this through with me or not? You tell me what you’ve got and I’ll say what I’ve sniffed out — isn’t there any room service in this dump?’

Alex loosened his tie and put his head into his hands. The headache still throbbed, but it was fading, the nausea subsiding. At last he spoke. ‘Any way you look at it, he’s going to get at the very least eight, they say more like ten years. The police were staking out the place, the farmhouse, for over six months. They watched him coming and going freely, so there’s nothing to that angle we can try. They have cheques I sent which were signed over to one of them — a German, the one they call Kurt Spanier. The stupid bastard was part of it whether we like it or not.’

Edward took off his thick overcoat and threw it on to the only chair in the room. It fell to the floor in a heap. ‘What about bribes, any joy in that area?’

‘That what you’re here for? What are you going to do, splash your money around? Grow up, money won’t get him off this one — have you seen the list of things they’ve been trying to blow up?’

‘Yeah, talk about arseholes... I dunno, but money gets everyone off everything, just that you’re too dumb to know it... I want to talk to the lawyers. I’ve got contacts in the Foreign Office, maybe we can work something out, some kind of deal. If you ask me, it would maybe do the boy some good to spend a year or two behind bars getting his arse kicked... You never gave him the thrashing he deserved over that Harrow business.’

‘Don’t you start telling me how I should have treated my son...’

‘He’s my son, and you know it.’

‘Wrong — you lost him when you kicked my wife out of your bed. Now why don’t you and your fat cigar get the hell out of here and leave me to try to sort out my son’s problems.’

‘Don’t be a fucking crass idiot. Your son, my son, what difference does it make? Stupid git gets himself into trouble, surely the two of us can put our heads together and come up with something to get him out...’

‘I’m doing just that, and I don’t need you... I don’t want you, nor does he — go on, get out!’

Edward took a massive wad of notes from his pocket and started to count them. ‘That’s exactly what I said to your wife when she came running round begging me to help. She had no idea where you were. Where have you been all these months, anyway? All hell’s going to break loose in the City — you know that, don’t you? So I’ve been cleaning up the back yard, so to speak, and keeping a very low profile. You know the Americans have started blabbing? Take one big guy down and the rest fall like a pack of cards. You know who they’ve got, don’t you? Well, if he can cough up millions in fines, he’s going to make sure he’s got a deal and he will name names... You hear what I’m saying, Alex?’

‘Right now I’m not interested in the backhanded deals you have always persisted in, all right? I will straighten everything out as usual, when I get back. Just get your bulk out of here and leave me alone.’

Edward showed no inclination to get off the bed. He plumped up the pillow, lay back on it. ‘Way I look at it, Alex, you are desperate to hold on to him as your son, because — and for this reason only — you know I want him.’

Alex flung open a window to clear the cigar smoke that billowed around his brother’s head. ‘Oh, yeah, what are you going to do? Offer me a deal, you get him off and he’s yours, is that it? You’re too late, you won’t ever have him...’

For a man his size, Edward moved incredibly fast, pinning his brother against the wall, pushing him so hard his head snapped back. ‘This is the second time I’ve had to do this, first time was with your bitch wife, you know what she’s worried about? That you won’t get your fucking title! That’s what she’s worried about, so just listen, you stupid bastard... I don’t care if he knows who I am, what I am. I’m here to get him out, even if it means using a rope and scaling the wall. All right? I know I lost him, I know he’s not “mine”, and I have to live with it, here, inside me...’

‘All right, all right, I’m sorry... I’m all strung up, it’s the prison, it gets to me.’

‘Yeah, well, it would... You got to admit you did a bloody poor job of bringing him up.’

Alex pushed his brother away, went to lie on the other single bed. Even when Edward wasn’t talking, his presence was an intrusion, and his heavy breathing was irritating Alex. He closed his eyes, sighed. ‘You’re right, maybe I did make a mess of bringing him up, but that was down to you. You destroyed everything I had going with him, did you know that? For a while I hated the poor kid, not because of what he had done, but because of what you had done. Barbara may be a bitch, but deep down inside that plastic body there is this guilt. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d been a girl, but your son? Have you any idea what it felt like to find that out? The way I held him, when he was born — I was there, and to find out he wasn’t... wasn’t... Ah, shit...’

Edward had a coughing fit while he thought of something to say. But, unusually for him, there wasn’t anything, because he was actually trying to imagine what it must have been like for his brother.

Alex stared at the wall, then after a while he said, turning to Edward, ‘See, I was blinded, because I thought he looked like Dad. But she, Barbara, never knew him, all she saw every time she looked at Lyn, as she calls him, all she ever saw was you... When I found out, Christ, I felt such a prick, so dumb that I’d never even tumbled to it... Jesus, what a cunt you have been, all my life you’ve been kicking me. So tell me, why did you go to bed with her? Why, Eddie? All the women you could have had, and it had to be her, why? Was it to get at me? Was that it?’

Edward coughed again, spat in the handbasin and ran the water. ‘I didn’t want her, Alex, she came of her own free will. I never set out to take her, I never set out to hurt you. And right now, if I said I was sorry, it would mean nothing, but if you want to hear it...’

‘I don’t — like everything to do with you, it’s too late.’

Edward walked aimlessly around the room, searched his coat pocket for another cigar. He could remember Barbara’s visit clearly, and that it had coincided with one of Harry’s breakdowns. But there was no point bringing it up. He unwrapped the cellophane from the cigar, picked off the small gold band. He had screwed her, and had even enjoyed it for a while. He patted his pockets, looking for matches — he never could keep a lighter for more than a few weeks. Well, only one. He had kept the solid gold one he had been given in payment for the use of his body. He chuckled to himself — he wouldn’t be paid so much as a matchstick for it now, the size he was. He puffed on the cigar, the smoke coiling in the air, then sat on the bed opposite his brother. He looked at Alex as he lay stretched out on the other bed, put out his big hand and squeezed his shoulder. No words could ever make up for the things he had done, and he knew it.

Alex put his arm across his face and began to cry. Between heart-rending sobs he described what Evelyn had looked like in jail, how he had gripped his father’s hands and seemed so helpless.

Edward pulled out his silk, polka-dot handkerchief, leaned over and wiped his brother’s face, just as he had done when they were kids. ‘Listen, you and me both, we’ll leave no stone unturned, we’ll get this thing sorted out together, yeah? That’s the deal, brother, okay?’

Alex blew his nose and wiped his eyes. ‘I love him, Eddie, I love him, and you know something? He’s just as stubborn a bastard as you always were. But he is my boy, and it wasn’t until he clung to me, held me, that it meant so much. He needs me, and... I need him.’

Edward flopped back on to the bed, the springs creaking ominously. ‘Look, I’ll agree to anything, but will you stop calling me Eddie...? Now then, I have a contact in the Foreign Office, and I shall have to spread a lot of jam. Maybe I can swing it, get it down to a couple of years...? I’m not making promises...’

Alex drew himself up to sit facing his brother. His blue eyes were troubled, his face twisted as he dredged up his past. ‘Not good enough, Eddie, because you do that and I can tell you exactly what’s going to happen to him. Believe me, I know — it doesn’t matter if it’s here in France or in England. Behind bars men all act the same way — he’s a good-looking kid, they won’t leave him alone.’

He reached for his case — the one with the Gucci monogram — and took out a bottle of duty-free Scotch. Unscrewing the cap he drank, and slowly, piece by piece, Edward learnt what Alex had been put through as a boy even younger than Evelyn. The bottle was half-empty by the time he had finished, and he had not once passed it to his brother. Holding it carefully by the neck he stood it on the table between the beds. Edward looked up at him, bereft of words, swamped by a terrible helplessness at his inability to ease his brother’s anguish, so long kept hidden beneath the surface — so much pain. He reached up, offering his brother his hand in a gesture of submission, of understanding. If Alex did not take his hand, Edward did not know what he would do with himself.

Slowly, Alex reached out, threaded his fingers through his brother’s. He spoke so softly Edward had to strain to hear him. ‘Oh, Eddie, how I hated you... and it went on and on, it never ended. Barbara, Evelyn — everything I had you took from me. You know where I’ve been all these weeks? With Skye Duval... Yeah, you’re surprised?’

Alex released his brother’s hand, began to walk around the room. ‘Eddie, I have letters back in England — that doctor I sent you to, when you were ill, remember? Well, there are other letters, and newspaper clippings, proving you are a drunkard and incapable of running the Barkley empire. I wanted it, I wanted all of it, and just in case you tried to fight the board, I got proof of your illegal transactions in South Africa. Plus your part in the murder of a woman called...?’

Edward said the name quietly, ‘Julia.’

‘Right... and the hit and run, the “accident” that killed Richard Van der Burge.’

Edward smiled, shaking his head, and then laughed. ‘You son of a bitch, you son of a bitch, I’ll take you on, Alex, any day, any time.’

Alex stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked the end of his brother’s bed. ‘No, you won’t, because when it comes down to it I don’t think I could see it through. Oh, I’d like to think I could, but... you’ve always beaten me. In a way I’m just like that poor bastard Skye Duval. You pull his strings, just as you pull mine — we’re your puppets.’

Edward picked up his heavy overcoat and walked to the door. He paused a moment, his back to Alex, then said, ‘You know, you dumb bastard, you’re wrong. From the moment I looked into your cradle — I was just tall enough to see over the edge — Ma said, “Come and see him, Edward, come and see Alex”; and there you were, smiling up at me with those big blue eyes. There was no jealousy, no envy, because I wanted to protect you, look out for you. You had me by the balls, my old son, even then. We’re brothers, Alex, we got each other so tight by the nuts we’re not much cop without each other. I love you, Alex, and I’ll get our boy off, and maybe you’ll be free of me for good. Everything I’ve got is yours. I guess it always was... Now get some rest, I’ll be back.’

He walked out without another word, without waiting for a reply, without turning round.

Outside, a janitor watched the big, overweight man leaning against a dirty brick wall. He was punching the wall with his fists, hitting it time and time again until his knuckles bled. The janitor did not dare approach him — the man was too big, too crazy... He clanked his bucket and mop in his haste to get out of sight. He didn’t see the massive frame hunch up, didn’t see Edward press his face against the dirty brick wall, nor did he hear the strange, strangled moan...

Edward did not return for two weeks, during which time Alex spent every possible moment with Evelyn. Somehow the relief of telling his brother everything had made it easier to cope with the prison.

The lawyers began to prepare their case. Through Edward, they had secured a total press blackout on the proceedings. The trial was to be held at the main court in Paris, Les Assises.

Evelyn’s time in prison proved to be a period of growth for him. In some ways Edward had been right, solitary confinement gave him peace to review his life and come to terms with it. He realized what he had wasted, what he had abused, and he was ashamed. He discovered in Alex a loving tenderness that he had never hoped to find. The visits drew them closer together, and they talked about everything that had harmed their relationship and kept them apart.

Alex brought Evelyn many books to fill the time in his cell, and he read avidly. He was a model prisoner and took notice when Alex told him that at any cost he must keep himself segregated. Any trouble he got into would go against him. Alex was able to make him understand what confinement does to a man, the homosexual practices of which he could become the victim. He found his son’s sense of humour touching when he said he had come across enough of that in school to be able to cope with it. Alex even worked out a fitness programme for him, so that he could keep his body strong. He showed Evelyn a couple of exercises, getting down on the visiting room floor to demonstrate. Whereas his visits used to cause him such mental anguish, now it was the partings that became more and more difficult. Their time was so precious, precious because looming over them both was the forthcoming trial. Just as freedom seemed so sweet, the possibility of not being granted it played on Evelyn’s mind.

Edward started with the men and women arrested at the farmhouse with Evelyn. He had already paid handsomely for having his messages carried into the jail via the lawyers, offering vast sums of money, money their families would benefit from, if not themselves. One by one they altered their statements, claiming that Evelyn was just a rich young boy they had manipulated. Kurt Spanier was the most difficult to persuade, as he stood to be charged with kidnapping and holding Evelyn against his will. But money can bend minds, and Spanier negotiated for a deal.

Alex listened as Edward outlined the second part of his compaign. He began to work on the press, arranging interviews, and bought witnesses prepared to swear on oath that Evelyn Barkley was held against his will at the farmhouse. Edward even had sworn affidavits from the freres at St Martin’s. Alex could only guess at the cost of what his brother was doing, he knew it would have to be astronomical. But he obeyed his instructions and queried nothing. The days sped by, the trial drawing closing and closer.

‘I’m going to have to see him, Alex, he’s got to give a performance, and he’s going to need me to tell him exactly what to say... I want no one else there, no lawyers, not even you, and I give you my word I’ll be there for exactly what I’ve told you, nothing more. Can you arrange it? Within the next two days?’

Alex agreed, and after discussion with the prison authorities Edward was given permission to visit Evelyn. Alex had a difficult assignment himself — he was to give a full press interview as the distraught father. That would not require any acting ability, but it was vitally important that he give a display of total support for his son’s innocence.

The two brothers shook hands. Edward knew he must make himself very scarce — no one must associate him with Alex or connect the two with any behind-the-scenes manipulation. There had been no violence, no threats — just the temptation of money.

Judge Gregoire Marechal was the last man Edward had arranged to meet, the last link in his chain.

Edward was body-searched, then left waiting for more than two hours. The room smelt of stale body odour and tobacco.

At last he heard footsteps on the tiled floor, and a warder gestured for him to follow. He was shown into a small, stiflingly hot room. A thick glass barrier ran the length of the room, and a telephone hung on the wall. After a further ten minutes the door behind the barrier opened. The guards removed Evelyn’s handcuffs and he sat down, rubbing his wrists.

It was a moment before Evelyn realized who Edward was. Edward started sweating — he licked his lips and reached for the telephone. Evelyn did the same.

‘There’s nothing wrong with Dad, is there? He’s all right?’

Edward hesitated, finding the telephone system confusing. He wanted to be face to face with Evelyn, but he couldn’t be heard unless he spoke directly into the telephone.

‘Your father’s fine. I’m here for the lawyers, I am with the law firm that’s taking your case, do you understand?’

‘I didn’t recognize you at first, you look different.’

‘Yep, we all change... You all right?’

Edward found it unnerving looking into the boy’s face, seeing his dark eyes, his fine features, his beauty. The slender neck emerging from the rough prison shirt, the long tapering fingers as he held the phone. Even his voice sounded distorted through the receiver, almost surreal.

‘Is this how Alex has to speak to you?’

‘Yes. Put your hand against the glass, I’ll show you how we touch.’

Evelyn pressed his palm against the glass partition, and Edward slowly lifted his own hand and pressed it against the glass on his own side. They ‘touched’... after a moment the glass began to warm... Edward became more adept with the telephone, and he was now able to speak to Evelyn and remain looking at him. Evelyn lifted his hand from the glass.

‘No, no... don’t take your hand away, please...’

Evelyn complied, left his hand pressed close to Edward’s. He found his uncle disturbing. The black eyes held him and he could see the huge man’s body was shaking. But there was no tremor in the deep, husky voice. ‘Keep looking at me, don’t take your eyes off my face, Evelyn, and listen... It’s very important for you to understand, take in everything I say.’

Edward kept his left hand pressed against the glass, against his son’s. His voice was calm as he told Evelyn slowly that being kidnapped must have been a dreadful experience, to be dragged from the school gates...

Evelyn made to withdraw his hand, and Edward almost shouted, ‘Keep your eyes on me, you must remember every word, understand me, every word.’

The minutes ticked by while the two of them sat with phones pressed to their ears, hands against the glass. Edward gave Evelyn dates, times, details, and he could tell by the expression on the boy’s face that he was taking it all in.

When the bell rang, Edward kept talking, but Evelyn banged on the glass, shaking his head. The phone had been disconnected.

Edward dropped the receiver and put both hands against the glass. Evelyn pressed his face to the glass, mouthed ‘thank you’ as the door behind him opened.

It was over so fast — the handcuffs replaced, the two guards gripping Evelyn’s elbows as they led him away. He looked back to see his uncle, his hands still raised to the window as if in contact with Evelyn’s, his huge frame filling the entire soundproof cubicle. He was banging on the glass, shouting at his son, words Evelyn couldn’t hear... and then the door was locked behind him.

Alone in his cell, Evelyn lay on his bunk. He had felt such power, such strength from the big man. He had been drawn close, just as if he were still the child who had run to him all those years ago. He recalled exactly what Edward had said when he had found the little boy crying at the big dining table, crying because he didn’t want to leave the manor. Edward had whispered, ‘We are blood to blood, put your hand on my heart, feel it, feel me... I am always here, don’t ever be afraid.’

Evelyn placed his hand across his own heart. It had all gone so wrong and he had no one to blame but himself. He remembered not just the words but also what it had felt like all those years ago, slipping his tiny hand inside his uncle’s jacket, pressing his palm against the big man’s heart. In that brief moment he had felt an overwhelming and powerful bond, and he had felt it again today, even though he had been unable to touch him. He wasn’t afraid any more — he knew he would be able to take whatever punishment was handed out to him, and he vowed that he would make it up to everyone, especially Alex. Calmly, he drifted into a deep sleep. It was strange because since his arrest he had been unable to, but now, as if another heart beat in rhythm with his own, he felt at peace.

There was nothing more Edward could do. He didn’t even say goodbye to Alex, just threw his old case in the boot of his hired Citroen.

Driving out of Paris he felt, as ever, the desire to overtake every other vehicle on the road. Edward knew that Evelyn would more than likely be acquitted — a few months in jail, perhaps, and then he would be free.

Of late Edward had been drawn back into moments of his past, flashes of total recall. Now, as the sun broke through the clouds, he heard his father’s voice. That soft, gentle voice as he sat Alex on his knee and explained to him about life and death. Edward had never sat on his father’s knee, not that he could remember, it had always been Alex. What was it Freedom had said? Ahhhh, yes now he remembered — he had said, ‘If you love something, set it free. If it comes back it is yours, if it doesn’t then it never was.’ Edward had promised his son to Alex, he would never again try to take him away. It would be the one promise in his life that he would keep. He would set them both free... He put his foot down harder on the accelerator, pushing it to the floor, and the car quickly picked up speed. He sang at the top of his voice, ‘Can you rokka Romany, can you play the bosh...’

Driving at over a hundred miles an hour, he passed a police car. They switched on their siren and gave chase... Edward roared with laughter, and sang even louder, ‘Can you jal adrey the staripen, can you chin the cosh...’

The Citroen began to trail thick, black smoke from its exhaust. Cars swerved, mounting the hard shoulder as the police car, siren wailing, gave chase...

The back tyre of the Citroen blew, and sparks mingled with thick, acrid smoke from the burning rubber... The car seemed to leap into the air, turned half over and skidded for more than fifty yards on its bonnet before crashing into a low brick wall. As if in slow motion, the car righted itself...

The police car that had chased Edward, followed by two others, pulled up, and uniformed gendarmes ran towards the wrecked Citroen.

An hysterical woman with her pet dog began to scream, a thin, high-pitched sound... In the pandemonium the dog broke free and began snarling and snapping at the car.

As the gendarmes came within yards of the car, Edward Barkley could clearly be seen, a calm half smile on his face. He raised a hand and waved them back. His gesture saved their lives. They paused for a moment, and in that split second the petrol tank exploded. The car became a mass of twisted metal and shattered glass... A thick, black, mushroom-shaped cloud rose from the wreck, spreading its choking fumes in the air...

Helpless and horrified, the watchers stood... It was eerie — there were no screams from the car — the man who was burning alive in front of their eyes was sitting looking at them, and smiling. The dog stopped howling, it slunk on its belly and whimpered as the terrible black smoke swirled...

There was a sudden, unreal silence, not a single sound, an unnatural, ominous quiet... All the witnesses seemed frozen as if held in time for a fraction of a second. They saw a black crow, black-eyed with glittering, silky wings... It flew overhead and hung poised above the charred car. It screamed, a single, sharp note, then flapped its wings and rose, straight through the smoke and into the clear sky beyond.

Jinks woke in the middle of the night, feeling as though her body was on fire... She screamed, the heat was suffocating her. She scrabbled at the bedclothes, ripping them away from her body, then started to cough, gasping for breath.

Her bedroom door was flung open and her flatmate switched on the light. Jinks was sitting bolt upright in bed, her eyes staring, still screaming. She stopped abruptly, opening and closing her mouth like a silent bird.

‘Jinks... Jinks, wake up...’

Her friend shook her, but she seemed unaware of being touched. Eventually she lay back against the pillow, the sweat glistening on her forehead. Her friend quickly rinsed a face cloth and laid it gently across her brow. ‘You were having a nightmare, are you all right now?’

Jinks took the cloth from her forehead and pressed it to her throat. The coolness soothed her, and she apologized for waking her. From a distance she heard her voice saying everything was fine, she was all right.

At last her bedroom door closed and she was alone. She didn’t understand what was happening to her. All her senses were sharpened — the hairs on her arms and neck were tingling, and the tips of her fingers twitched of their own accord... She tried to regulate her breathing, stop the fluttering breathlessness, but to no avail...

Her head and body felt light, carrying her out on to the balcony, into the night, of their own accord. The shutters opened wide with one touch of her fingertips, the curtains billowed in the still night... Jinks knew, knew he was dead. In her dream she had seen the road, the blazing car, the smile on her father’s handsome face... Edward Barkley was dead. Her chest heaved as a searing, scorching pain ripped through her, forcing the breath from her body. Something... something had flown out of her...

The tingling sensation subsided, and she returned to her room, struggling to close the heavy, unwieldy shutters. She started to pack her cases.

To her friend’s astonishment, Jinks left first thing in the morning for New York. She had always tried to prepare herself for the death of her father, but it had come sooner than she anticipated. She felt no loss, but an excitement, a release... She felt free.

Evelyn Barkley had been sentenced to eighteen months’ imprisonment, the judge accepting his innocence of the acts of terrorism. At the same time, however, Evelyn had voluntarily financed the terrorists’ activities, and thus aided their cause.

He had already been in jail for five months, so he would, with good behaviour, be released in three to four months’ time. But his lawyer’s request for him to be allowed to serve the sentence in England was refused.

When he was led away to begin his sentence, he was told he would be allowed a few minutes alone with his father. He was coming to say goodbye before returning to England.

Alex had sat in court every day during the hearing. He had been supportive, attentive to Evelyn’s every need, and in return his son gave him a warm but respectful show of affection. He wanted, needed, to give Alex his solemn oath that on his release he would prove to his father and his uncle that everything they had done for him was worthwhile.

Evelyn was shocked at his father’s appearance. It was as though he had aged ten years in a matter of hours. Evelyn made an involuntary move towards him, but he stepped back. Knowing there was something terribly wrong, Evelyn placed a chair beside his father because he looked about to collapse.

‘He’s dead, I just got a call as I left the court. They want me to identify the body — I’m sorry, but I will have to go.’

Evelyn could not touch him. Alex seemed to recoil from any physical contact. He was so shocked, at a loss, and his confusion had a helpless, childlike quality to it. He clutched his briefcase, half rose, then sat down again. ‘Anything you need, the lawyer... er, the lawyer...’

‘It’s all right, father, you go and do what you have to. I’ll write, and... I’ll be home soon. Thank you for all you’ve done...’

‘All I’ve done? It was Edward, Edward... Eddie? Eddie?’

Alex stared around the room, repeating his brother’s name, then turned as his chauffeur appeared at the door. Evelyn watched as Alex slowly walked out, leaning heavily on the man’s arm for support. When he turned back his eyes were brimming with tears.

‘One time at school, this bully punched me and another kid. Eddie came in with fists flying, an’ he got a right shiner. Ma found us and demanded to know what was going on. Eddie said... he said, “Eh, Ma, this bully punched me an’ Alex and this kid, it’s not our fault.”’ Alex said it softly, more to the room than his son. He gave a strange, sad smile, then abruptly walked out. Now that Edward was gone he was trying to find an excuse for him, but there was none. In the end he was still the Big Bad Wolf.

Chapter Thirty-Two

At the mortuary Alex was handed the gold medallion with the single word ‘Stubbs’ engraved on one side. He turned it over in the palm of his hand. He held it tight, afraid someone might take it from him. There were also Edward’s charred wallet and papers, but he could not bring himself to touch them.

Barbara was waiting at the airport, and she too was shocked at her husband’s appearance. She helped him into the Rolls, and instructed the chauffeur to take them straight home. They were being flooded with calls, and Barbara had hired a secretary to fend off all the enquiries.

The news stands carried posters, ‘TYCOON DIES’. Evelyn’s trial was no longer front-page news.

Edward Barkley’s remains were flown back to England, and Barbara set about arranging the funeral. Alex wanted a small, quiet ceremony with only the family — Barbara could go to town on the memorial service if she wished. Barbara fully intended it to be unforgettable in the hope that it would cover her embarrassment at their son’s imprisonment.

Jinks did not come to the funeral, but sent a small wreath. She telephoned to say she would arrive in time for the memorial service. Edward’s ashes were left at the crematorium, with a small plaque saying simply, ‘Edward Barkley, 1924–1987’.

Alex finally went to the office. Miss Henderson was wearing black, and was obviously distressed. Aware that she cared a great deal for his brother, Alex offered her as much time off as she wanted.

The building seemed empty, and everyone was shocked and uneasy. Suddenly there was no ‘king’. Edward’s death had left his throne empty and yet unattainable. Alex could not bear to look in the direction of Edward’s office door, where his name still hung on a black plaque. It reminded Alex of Edward’s grave, and Alex could not climb into that vacant throne.

Alex coped with the many necessary meetings, long overdue because of Alex’s absence and the death of his brother. The French police had investigated the accident, even at one time hinting that Edward’s car could have had explosives planted in it. Alex dismissed these far-fetched theories, as there were police witnesses to the fact that Edward had been driving at over a hundred miles an hour when he crashed. However, when he was alone he did consider the possibility. Edward had made contact with a lot of unsavoury people to enable him to bribe Evelyn’s partners in crime. At one point he even made out a list — there were more people than he cared to think about who might want his brother dead. Even George Windsor had given him a look that seemed to say how fortuitous Edward’s accident was. Alex made a conscious decision to forget the whole thing, but it still hung over him like a small, black cloud, whether he liked it or not. Edward had had many enemies — at one time Alex had numbered himself among them. But at the end he could honestly say they were friends, brothers once more.

Eventually Alex could no longer put off entering Edward’s office. There were papers to be found, documents to be signed. The executors of the estate were in constant contact. The will would take a long time to sort out. They were having difficulty tracing some of the many beneficiaries, and Edward had stipulated so many conditions. Alex was not overly concerned — he did, after all, know exactly what his brother’s will contained, or the bulk of it. He was the sole heir, everything came to him, and so the delay did not concern him over much. He had so many other matters to deal with.

Edward’s death also helped considerably over the allegations of insider dealing. It enabled Alex to cover his tracks, and by the time he had finished there was not one iota of proof against him — any illegal transactions had been swept under the carpet, or rather into Edward’s grave. All the blame was down to his brother — Alex was, and always had been, above reproach.

The portrait of Edward dominated the office. There was still the old wooden panelling, the vast oak desk. When Alex entered, he realized for the first time what Edward had meant by power. It took his breath away, and he felt it from every square inch of the room. Now it came home to him, now the power was his, and his alone. It all belonged to him — at long last, Alex had everything.

He experienced a tremendous surge of energy, and slowly everyone began to notice — it was as if Alex had taken on Edward’s persona. He was more confident, more outgoing, and now he began to take an interest in the arrangements for the memorial service. He knew he was still on the current year’s Honours List, and began to like the sound of ‘Sir Alex Barkley’. The throne was no longer empty, the empire had a king, and it was Alex. The company swung back into action under his control.

Miss Henderson discovered Alex trying to open one of Edward’s locked drawers. ‘There seem to be some keys missing, I know Edward had a personal safe in here, is it in the desk?’

‘No, sir, the entire office is computerized. You see, he had a double security system installed.’

‘What?’

‘Every office has a camera, as you know, connected to the security room in the basement — but they are also connected to a bank of screens behind that wall, and the computer is built into the desk.’

‘What?’

‘It’s very complicated, and I’m not sure how it works, no one but Mr Edward ever touched it.’

Alex glanced at his watch — he would be late if he didn’t get a move on. He told Miss Henderson to get a representative from the security firm that installed the equipment into the office first thing in the morning.

Miss Henderson, still dressed from head to toe in black, was waiting anxiously for Alex to leave so she and the rest of the staff could go to the memorial service. Of course, they had not been invited to the Savoy for champagne afterwards with two hundred other guests.

She became agitated, looking at the clock. ‘Mrs Barkley is waiting, sir. Shall I tell her you are just on your way? It’s almost time.’

‘Yes, yes, do that...’

Alex took another look round Edward’s office. Now he had a damned good idea how his brother had kept tabs on every move the company made. As he left he looked into his own office, and sure enough there was another camera. He would never have known it was there if he hadn’t known to look for it.

He sat at his desk, rang down for his car. The medallion was in a drawer, and he took it out, held it in the palm of his hand. Alex had been ‘killed’ in a car crash, his body identified by false dental evidence. For a moment he wondered, could Edward...? Would he have done it to himself? He turned the medallion over — ‘Stubbs’. Barbara burst into the room.

‘Alex, if we don’t get a move on we will be late — it’s your brother, for Chrissake! Really, I’ve been waiting for over half an hour, and we are in the front pew...’

‘All right, all right... I’ll be with you. Wait in the car.’

‘Yes Alex, no Alex, you know you are beginning to sound like him? Just don’t get like him, I don’t think I could stand it.’

‘No? You did once, more than liked him.’

‘That was uncalled for.’

‘Maybe, but if you don’t like our present arrangement then you know what you can do, any time you want. Right, let’s get this show on the road — has anyone had word from his wayward daughter?’

‘She’ll no doubt be at the memorial service...’

‘No doubt.’

Alex replaced the medallion in the drawer and slammed it shut.

Miss Henderson was just leaving. As she hurried along the corridor, a tall figure, veiled and swathed in black, walked into reception.

‘Hello, Hennie — recognize me?’

Slowly the figure lifted the mourning veil and smiled. Miss Henderson gasped. ‘Why it’s Miss Jinks...’

‘I hate to be called that — Juliana, my name is Juliana.’

The memorial service was, as Barbara had planned, an ornate show of wealth and social contacts. Cars were parked along the Strand almost to Trafalgar Square. The small St Mark’s Chapel was filled to capacity and press photographers clustered outside snapping politicians, film stars, actors... It was an elaborate but exceptionally well-organized circus.

Barbara had invited four well-known Shakespearian actors to read verses, and they stood in the small vestry rehearsing their lines as though getting ready for a theatrical premiere. In some ways it was — out in the pews were some very famous people, and one never knew when luck would strike. Why not at Edward Barkley’s funeral?

Alex and Barbara were the last to arrive. Barbara’s grandchildren were acting as ushers. Every pew was filled, and the rows of elegantly attired people looked around to see who was there. Two rows of exceptionally beautiful women, all dressed in black, sat in the centre of the chapel. No one knew who they were, but all eyes were upon them. They looked neither to left nor right. Jodie and her girls mourned Edward Barkley, some of the older ones more than the new young breed of girls. Jodie had brought them all from the still-flourishing Notting Hill Gate house. She was soon to own it outright — Edward Barkley had remembered her in his will.

Jinks sat well back, her hat pulled over her face to make sure she was not photographed or pressured into giving an interview. Jinks was not emotionally disturbed in any way by the showiness of the occasion — far from it. She took surreptitious glances at her watch, wondering how long it would go on.

A few seats in front of her Miss Henderson wiped the tears from her eyes. She turned and gave Juliana Barkley a small, intimate smile.

Alex was growing impatient. Yet another actor stepped up to the small, lily-bedecked rostrum. His voice rang out as he began Christina Rossetti’s poem, ‘Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand...’

Alex turned to Barbara in fury. ‘Who chose this? Why this?’

Barbara looked round the chapel quickly, then glared at Alex. She whispered that it was Dewint’s idea, apparently Edward had liked it. Alex bowed his head — it had been his mother’s favourite poem, the one she had recited to him when he was a child. He gripped the edge of his seat, gritted his teeth. He could hear his mother’s voice.

‘Damn Barbara, damn her interfering bloody memorial service...’ he cursed silently. ‘Damn you, Edward, for this charade.’ He could feel himself ready to explode, ‘I’ve got to get out of here...’

Alex half rose from his seat, and was saved an embarrassing moment as the congregation stood to sing the final hymn.

Standing hidden in the shadows at the very back of the church was Evelyn Barkley. He had only just made it. He had been released from prison ahead of time, his lawyers having requested for him to be present. He had watched Alex’s face during the proceedings, and his mother, sitting there like royalty. Before the end of the service he left, feeling unable to cope with everyone at the Savoy, unable to return to the house in Mayfair... His good intentions were already fading. He didn’t want to talk to his mother.

Evelyn arrived at the manor house, he had nowhere else to go and no money. Dewint came walking painfully up the overgrown gravel drive. He wore razor sharp creases in his trousers, his stiff-collared shirt and black tie, a thick black arm band around his jacket sleeve. He had to support himself with a stick, his arthritis was so bad. He had been allocated a seat at the very back of the church, and had wept through the entire service. When he saw the boy waiting, he couldn’t walk another step, he recognized him immediately but couldn’t speak.

‘Hello, it’s Dewint, isn’t it? I hope you don’t mind, I wondered if I could stay over for the night. It’s Evelyn, Evelyn Barkley.’

‘I know who you are — come in, sah, we’ll go the back way, Mr Edward put a newfangled lock on the front door and I’m blowed if I can fathom it out...’ The pixie face crumpled, and he apologized as he took out a neatly pressed handkerchief. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, sah, but I just can’t get used to not having him come home.’

Evelyn helped the aged servant round to the back door, and they entered the kitchen. Having Evelyn there gave Dewint something to do, and he bustled around muttering about making up a bed, and that it would be best to use Mr Edward’s as the spare rooms had not been slept in for years. He appeared not to need his walking stick, and fussed over Evelyn like an old woman.

Evelyn wandered around the house. It was in dreadful disrepair, and creaked and groaned. Shutters banged, and it was obvious that Dewint had not dusted or cleaned for months. Evelyn pushed open the door to what had once been Jinks’ bedroom, the neat rows of toys still there, as if waiting for the child to return. Evelyn flushed as he remembered her — she was someone to whom he had to make amends, the funny little girl with the cross-eyes and lopsided pigtails... He had not seen her at the memorial service and he wondered how she had taken the death of her father.

Eventually he found his way to the master bedroom. The four-poster bed had been made up, and he touched the linen sheets. He noticed that his uncle’s initials were embroidered on everything, sheets, towels, pillowcases, even his shirts in the wardrobe...

Dewint smiled at Evelyn’s interest. ‘Oh, that was Miss Harriet, she took a course in it. I’ve even got a few embroidered tea towels. She did it with a machine, very professionally... If you have everything you need, sah, then I’ll say goodnight, sah.’

‘Goodnight, Mr Dewint.’

‘Will you be staying for the reading of the will, sah? The whole family’s coming, Mr Edward stipulated it. It’s to be read in the dining hall.’

‘If it’s all right with you?’

‘Oh, yes, I would like it, it’s good to have someone here.’

Evelyn waited until the old boy had gone up to his attic, then went back downstairs. The lounge was shuttered and dark. There were ashes left in the grate from the last fire... Then he realized there was something missing — he remembered there had been a large, ornate mirror over the fireplace.

He lifted the dusty lid of the old-fashioned record player, and twisted his neck to read the label of the record still on the turntable. He chuckled — it happened to be one of his favourite groups, The Doors, the lead singer long-since dead. He switched it on, settling back on the old, worn velvet sofa. Jim Morrison’s voice boomed out.

Evelyn switched it off, scratching the record in his haste. The room was stuffy, and he pushed open the french windows looking over the river. He breathed in the cold night air, then noticed something was written in the dust on the window. He deciphered the scrawl: ‘Evelyn... Evelyn... Evelyn MY SON... MY SON... MINE.’

Dewint tried to persuade Evelyn to contact his parents, but he refused. He remained in the manor house until the morning the will was due to be read.

Alex could not believe his eyes when Evelyn opened the door to him. ‘When did you get here?’

‘Just arrived, lawyers told me the will was to be read at the manor, so I came straight over.’

‘I see — well, you could at least have called me. You all right?’

‘Yes, yes — and you?’

‘Well, I’m fine, but I could do without all this business. Still, it’s typical. They’ll all be arriving, so I came early to get the old fella sorted out. Few bottles in the car need putting on ice, want to give me a hand? Jesus, this place gives me the creeps, and it’s not been dusted for months... It stinks! Dewint?’

Evelyn gestured for Alex to go into the kitchen ahead of him. Together they washed glasses and put three bottles of champagne on ice.

Some of the family arrived, and Alex bustled around giving orders for curtains to be drawn and windows opened to air the place. Barbara promptly followed him saying they should be closed as it was freezing. Evelyn hung back shyly, but Barbara swept him into her perfumed arms and said she was pleased to have him home. It almost made him laugh — like an outsider, he watched her daughters arriving with their husbands, saw the same sweeping gesture, heard the long drawn-out, ‘Daaaahhhling...’

They all appeared more as if they were arriving for a party than the reading of a will. Evelyn noticed that his father took the throne-like chair at the head of the dining table. He looked very elegant, and smoked a cigar similar to those Edward always used to have clenched in his teeth.

Three lawyers arrived, carrying bulging briefcases. Someone remarked that they hoped luncheon had been ordered as it looked as though it was going to be a long day.

Evelyn found it difficult to answer his cousins’ and aunts’ questions. He avoided them as much as possible, growing quieter and quieter as the family grew louder. In the midst of laughter and funny stories, no one, not one of them, referred to the reason they were all there. Edward’s name was not even mentioned.

Jinks had not yet arrived, and Evelyn kept one eye on the doors. Everyone else was there, and Alex began to get tetchy, checking his watch every minute or so. He asked the lawyers if they could begin as there was obviously a lot of paper to be got through.

Evelyn surveyed the members of his family. There was not a shred of feeling for Edward between the lot of them. Another dreadful portrait of him hung above Alex’s head. It must have been painted when Edward was in his thirties, with coal-black hair. He positively glared into the room. Although it was not a good painting, it was so powerful it dominated the sitter in the throne before it. But Alex was unconscious of it, he was more interested in getting the business over and done with. Evelyn couldn’t help but smile at the face in the painting, it was as though Edward knew exactly what was going on.

Just as the lawyers had agreed to begin, Dewint tapped on the door. ‘Excuse me, sah, Miss Juliana has just driven up.’

Barbara muttered, ‘About time too,’ and like the rest of the family she turned to face the double doors. Dewint was holding one open, and swung the other wide. Both doors stood open, but the marble hall was empty.

Jinks had waited for this moment. She had been parked across the street, watching them all arrive, and had timed it to perfection. The looks on their faces made every second of the wait worthwhile.

No film star, no top model, could have made a better entrance. She was swathed in a mink coat that Barbara could tell with one glance had set her back at least twenty thousand pounds. Her slightly wavy, long hair was gleaming, and as she tossed her head it swung back from her face. A beautiful face, finely sculptured, with little or no trace of make-up. She took her time walking the entire length of the room, and offered her cheek for Alex to kiss.

‘Uncle Alex.’

Alex rose to his feet — she was as tall as he was. She moved on to Barbara, bent and gave her the same non-committal cheek. She gave a languid handshake to the lawyers, two of whom bowed and scraped their chairs back, offering her their seats. One took her coat, the other seated her. At the same time she gave each of her cousins a soft, humourless smile. She said their names in turn — Annabelle, Selina, Lord Henry, Charles, James... her eyes lingering for a fraction of a second on each face. She paused a moment longer when she looked at Lady Annabelle’s daughters. The two teenage girls were open-mouthed with awe at their cousin. She hesitated over their names, not embarrassed, but amused by their gaping mouths... Her eyes slowly roamed around the table until they rested on his face — the one person she had not seen arrive, the one she had been waiting for and wanting to see.

‘Ahhh, Evelyn, how fortunate you were, being released from prison for this occasion. Well, isn’t it something, I think maybe I am wrong, but isn’t this the first time we have all been brought together? Oh, I am sorry, Uncle Alex — please, please don’t let me delay the proceedings any longer. I am sure you were just about to begin.’

Alex nodded to the lawyers to begin and they started by naming all the beneficiaries. Edward had forgotten no one. Dewint had been left more than five hundred thousand pounds. There were names no one had ever heard of: Jodie, Sylvia, and all the girls from Notting Hill Gate had been left five or ten thousand pounds. Many employees, including Miss Henderson, were generously remembered, of course... the list was endless.

Evelyn wanted it to go on, and on, and on — it gave him time to look at his cousin Jinks. He could not believe that this was the gawky, nervous girl from France. He continued to stare at her until she turned and gave him a look of total contempt. She pointed to a glass, and he filled it with champagne, passed it along to her.

At long last the lawyers turned to their last file. Alex puffed on his cigar. He couldn’t help wondering what Edward had left to his now exceptionally glamorous niece.

The lawyer coughed and someone passed him a glass of water, which he sipped, then he licked his lips. ‘We come now to the final section of the late Edward Barkley’s will...’

Alex leaned forward slightly, looking at the date on the will. He could see it quite clearly — 15 March 1987, shortly before Edward’s death. This meant it could not possibly be the same document Alex had passed to the lawyers. He made an involuntary move towards the document, and the lawyer hesitated. He coughed again, pulled the will closer, and began to read...

‘To my daughter, Juliana Harriet Barkley, I leave three million pounds, to be signed over immediately. On her twenty-first birthday, a further one million...’

The colour drained from her face. She waited for them to continue, her heart thudding... The lawyer looked at Alex, and got as far as saying that Alex would retain his half-share in the Barkley Company and would receive a further two million when Alex snatched the will and read for himself what was written.

Edward Barkley had left to Evelyn, on condition that he publicly announced he was Edward’s son, his entire fortune, plus all his shares in the Barkley Company. In other words, Evelyn was now Alex’s partner. No cheque, not a single document, could be sent out from the Barkley Company without a double signature. The power, only just tasted, held for so short a time, slipped out of Alex’s hands.

His initial shock subsided into a calm, deep rage. Edward had cheated him, even in death. With every ounce of control he possessed, Alex stood up and walked out of the room. He passed his son, Edward’s son, with nothing more than a cursory glance. Evelyn lifted his hand as if to stop him, but Alex brushed past him. He was quickly followed by Barbara, who almost snapped her fingers to her daughters and their husbands to leave with her.

Evelyn was confused — they were looking at him with such hatred, such open loathing... He banged the table suddenly. ‘What the hell is going on? What does he mean? What does this mean?’

Evelyn held up the will, and Barbara snatched it from him, threw it back to the lawyers. ‘He wants you to announce that you are his bastard, don’t you understand plain English? All your life he wanted you, tried to get you, but he couldn’t... Now he’s grabbed at you, making fools of us all, from his grave. Well, damn him, and damn you...’

Her family gathered around as she burst into tears. They left in a pack, and the roar of their powerful cars sounded like the start of a race...

Jinks turned to the lawyers, showing no emotion, showing nothing of what she was feeling. Quietly, she told them they could leave.

Evelyn, sitting with the will in his hands, offered it back to the lawyer, who nervously suggested he keep it, as it was only a copy.

Jinks remained in her seat, waiting until she heard the front door close behind them. She then turned to Evelyn as she picked up her fine, black kid gloves. She eased one on, pulling the fingers until they fitted snugly...

Evelyn moved closer, close enough to touch her. ‘I don’t want it, I don’t want any of it.’

She brought her hand back and slapped him across the face. The leather hurt more than flesh... The slap was masculine, with so much force behind it that his neck cracked, and he gasped in shock. She then picked up her other glove.

Her voice was still low, husky, the same throaty sound he had teased her about as a little girl. She leaned close, and he could see the perfection of her skin.

‘You will not get it, not a penny, it’s mine...’

Alex paced his office like a wild animal. He walked into his brother’s office, wanting to take a knife to the painting, slash Edward’s face. But he didn’t — he looked up at the portrait and laughed. He must have been out of his mind — the stupidity of his rage, his ridiculous behaviour... He could manipulate Evelyn, use him — he had brought him up, so what the hell did it matter if he announced he was Edward’s son? Whoever he was, Alex would still be the controller. Evelyn knew nothing about banking, about the company, and Alex was his legal guardian. The Barkley empire had feet of clay, it was rotten to the core. This boy, this fool he had fought so hard for, was totally dependent on him, and now he would fight to bind Evelyn to him until he could make no move alone...

‘You mind if I come in — Uncle?’

Alex had not heard her soft steps, and he turned, startled at her voice. ‘No, no, Jinks, come in... I was just ticking myself off for my rather stupid show of temper this afternoon. Can I get you a drink?’

‘No... I was here earlier, actually. Hennie — Miss Henderson — and I are old friends. I think I had better come clean... You see, I was just as, shall we say upset, as you were this afternoon. I am the legal heir, Alex, and I want my fair share. Now, I am sure whatever Evelyn wants or doesn’t want will, as far as you are concerned, be of little importance — either way, you win — am I right?’

Alex side-stepped sharply. She had her finger right on the pulse. She was Edward’s daughter, all right, and he shrugged, giving her a dazzling smile. ‘Well, I suppose that would be Evelyn’s decision, he is Edward’s son... I’ve known about it for years, and now I suppose everyone else will. I’ll just have to accept it.’

‘But I am his daughter. I am his legitimate daughter — I could bind this company up in legal wrangles for years. You know I could fight that will — my father’s drinking, and his mental state at the end of his life was rather... unsavoury, wasn’t it? You and I know that. So don’t let’s play games. If I were to freeze this company’s assets there would be years of litigation... I want to be your partner, Alex.’

‘Well, sweetheart, what you want and what is legally left to you are two different things...’

‘Whoever’s son he is, it doesn’t make him anything but a fool. You and I know what he is, and we can cut him out like that.’ She snapped her fingers.

He stared at her, his eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want? You have more than enough money, what do you want?’

She leaned against the desk, smiling. ‘Well, I want what you thought had slipped right out of your hands when you heard your little boy had got the lion’s share — I want this company.’

He smiled, believing she was joking. But her face was deadly serious. ‘I sold Ming’s — Miss Takeda’s — shares back to her, for a very good price, but for less than they would have reached on the open market. In return she has given me information, Mr Stubbs. Make me your partner, or you will end up back in prison. I will make them open the grave of Alex Stubbs, East End gangster, club owner found dead in — I think it was a 1962 Jaguar, white, registration number 243 HJL. I will take over this office tomorrow morning. Perhaps you would like to know exactly what is on my father’s computer? You made a mistake there, Alex, you should have got to it first... Miss Henderson and I are just like that.’

Juliana ‘Jinks’ Barkley held up her crossed fingers. She gave Alex a small bow and walked out with a smile on her face, a smile so like Edward’s that Alex’s breath caught in his throat and left him speechless.

He sat down, incapable of coherent thought. After a long time he took off his tie and began to loosen his stiff white collar. His fingers touched the gold medallion. ‘Game, set and match, Eddie, and by your own daughter.’ Alex started to laugh, shaking his head at her audacity, and he let his laugh grow until he rocked back in the chair. His voice boomed out, roared with laughter. It had been years since he had laughed, actually laughed out loud. The brothers had fought for their son and, unnoticed, right under their noses, she had grown up. He knew she would be as ruthless as Edward and, just maybe, as mad as her mother. The game wasn’t over, not yet, not by any means... Only now, he was going to enjoy every minute.

The telephone rang, and he was given the tip-off that he was to be honoured, from now on he would be Sir Alexander Barkley. He laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. At last someone, somewhere, had beaten Edward, and it was fate, fate in the shape of his own daughter. And she was his daughter all right, no question about it. She was like an Amazon, a beautiful, red-haired Amazon.

The following morning, Alex discovered his Amazon had not stopped after her visit to him in his office. Among the mail left for his attention was a legal document requiring his signature for the transfer of all Evelyn Barkley’s shares in the Barkley Company — transferring them to none other than Juliana Barkley. He now had a fight on his hands for his own survival. Juliana, he suspected, wanted more than a partnership.

Evelyn watched his father flip through the documents, spreading them out in his hand like a fan. He then threw them in Evelyn’s face in fury.

‘Why? Just tell me why?’

‘You’re better off without me, if you’re honest you’d say it yourself.’

‘Too damned right I’d be better off without you, so why didn’t you sign them over to me? Why give your share to her — I sign this and you’re out, you relinquish everything.’

‘It makes you equal partners, that is what she wanted. It won’t quite be everything, I still have a considerable amount to live on.’

Alex interrupted him, shouting, ‘You said it, that little bitch wants the entire company! She’s already got access to Edward’s own transactions — she doesn’t want a partnership, you idiot, she’ll have the major share, don’t you even understand what that means?’

Sighing, Evelyn stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared out across the river. It seemed he could never do anything to please his father.

‘Maybe, maybe I did it for you. I don’t want to fight, I don’t want to be dragged through the law courts, I don’t want to stand up publicly and make you a laughing stock. I give her what she wants, I don’t have to make a statement, a public statement that Edward Barkley, your brother, was my father...’

Alex closed his eyes and seemed to deflate completely.

Juliana applauded, leaning on the jamb of the open sitting-room door. ‘Well, isn’t this cosy? Believe me, Alex, all I want is my inheritance, my share, my partnership, nothing more. It will save a lot of time if you sign here and now. I have no intention of taking over, we will continue the double signature, we will both run the Barkley Company.’

Alex spun round, loathing her smirking, beautiful face, but he was already unscrewing the top of his solid gold fountain pen. He snapped, ‘You learn very fast.’

‘I don’t let the carpet get worn out under my feet, as my father would say.’

Evelyn watched Alex as he began signing the documents. Juliana, standing at his side, slowly eased off her soft leather gloves. She then signed alongside each one.

That done, she carefully replaced the cap on the pen and handed it to Alex. ‘Well, partner, will you have lunch with me? I have a reservation at Le Caprice for one-thirty, and I’d like to discuss the data on Father’s computer, it makes very interesting reading... in particular the South African companies. If you agree, I’d like to call a halt to the cloak-and-dagger tactics of my father, bring it all out in the open.’

Alex had to hand it to her, even though he would have liked to wring her neck. He stood back in admiration. ‘I’ll be there, one-thirty.’

She bent and kissed his cheek, taking him right off-guard. She seemed quiet and sincere, meeting his eyes with a warmth he had never seen before. She touched his cheek affectionately. ‘I won’t let you down, I’ll make you see that this was the right, the only, decision to be made.’ As she passed Evelyn on the way out, she gave him not one word of thanks, didn’t even look in his direction.

Neither man spoke a word until they heard her car going away down the drive, then Alex sighed. He felt strangely awkward, even trying to make light of the situation.

‘Well, that’s that. I suppose I should thank you. If any scandal had broken I doubt I’d get my title... Did I tell you I made the Honours List?’

‘Congratulations... Goodbye, Alex.’

Helplessly, Alex watched Evelyn walk from the room. He picked up his briefcase and followed his son into the hall. He had already reached the top of the staircase.

‘What’ll you do?’

Evelyn didn’t look back. Mounting the stairs, he said, ‘Don’t know, not thought about it yet.’

‘If you need me, you know where I am.’

Evelyn laughed softly, and his reply was almost inaudible. ‘Yep, you’ll be at the office with your partner.’

Neither of them was able to say what he felt, they could not even hold each other. The front door closed softly after Alex.

Evelyn lay down on Edward’s bed. He felt drained, squeezed, wrung out. Dewint coughed politely.

‘Excuse me, sah, but I was packing my possessions and, well, there’s a few things Mr Edward left in ‘ere... I found this.’

He handed Evelyn a small, brown envelope. Inside was a worn, flat book, stamped across the front. It was a Post Office Savings book, the copperplate handwriting faint over the stamp, looped and old-fashioned. It was dated May 1921, and bore the name of Evelyne Jones. Between the pages was a photograph that Evelyn remembered being taken the Christmas he had stayed at the manor.

‘Who’s Evelyne Jones?’

‘I don’t know who she is, sah, there was never anyone called Jones livin’ ‘ere. Will you be staying on? Only, I’m almost packed, be off in the morning. Goin’ to Bermuda, sah, I’ve always fancied it.’

Evelyn smiled at the old man. ‘Well, you have a good time... oh, and Dewint, if there’s anything you want from the house, take it, take anything you like.’

Dewint gave one of his formal little nods, and paused at the door. ‘Thank you very much, sah, an’ may God bless you.’ Evelyn’s dark eyes and black hair made him want to weep, he was so like Edward. His high-pitched voice broke, and he swallowed. ‘He loved you, sah, always loved you.’

Bowing out for the last time, Dewint went to finish his packing. Evelyn stared at the ceiling, unconsciously holding the small savings book. He turned it over, then opened it.

In Edward Barkley’s handwriting was a neat list of bank account numbers. They belonged to his first-class Swiss accounts, and they were now made over to his son. The old legacy, left to his grandmother, Evelyne Stubbs, then passed to her son, Edward, still contained one pound, fifteen shillings and sixpence to be withdrawn. Evelyn Barkley held in his hands not only the original legacy, but also access to the vast personal fortune of his blood father. One billion in cash, no strings attached, no partnerships, no ties, just a short scrawled message:

‘This is your freedom.’

Epilogue

One year after the death of Edward Barkley, the Barkley Company, with Juliana and Alex at the helm, was well respected and had moved into legitimate share-trading, reaping vast profits. But the nightmare of the City crash in October 1987 looked set to destroy all they had built.

Panic reigned in the City and within the Barkley organization. The pair worked frantically to salvage their tumbling shares. Alex poured his personal fortune into the failing company until he was at breaking point, but the slide continued until it became an avalanche of loss.

The Silver Cloud Rolls-Royce parked at the edge of the gypsy camp. A filthy, ramshackle, heartbreaking place, hemmed in by iron fences, it snuggled under the foul, fume-filled motorway without a single blade of grass in sight.

George Windsor had driven Alex to the camp on three consecutive nights. Each time, after driving slowly past, Alex had ordered him to take them home. But tonight Alex had made up his mind to go in, even though Windsor had warned him not to.

Threading his way among the broken-down cars, caravans and trailers, Alex finally reached the main semi-circle of wagons. From within could be heard the sounds of television sets and muffled voices. He stood in the darkness, unsure of what to do next.

A hand grabbed him by his fur collar and whipped him round. ‘What the hell do you want, man?’

Two more surly-looking men appeared from the gloom. Shaking with fear, Alex put his hands up, thinking the man was about to hit him. ‘Please, I mean no harm. I need to speak to a dukkerin.’

He was pushed roughly between them as they jeered and laughed at him, pushing him back and forth, their voices rising.

‘Need a what? What the hell you want, man, eh? Eh?’

Lights came on, doors opened and voices yelled for the men to keep quiet as there were kids sleeping. ‘Get out, man, go on, get out!’ Hands touched him, patted his pockets, almost took his wallet. A woman’s voice screeched, ‘What you men doin’? Gerraway from him! You! Come here.’

The woman had an instant effect on the men, and they released Alex.

‘What you want, mun? What you come here for?’

Alex moved nearer, his hands up in a gesture of submission. ‘Please, I need to speak with a dukkerin, is there one among you? A fortune-teller?’

The men behind him laughed, mimicking his voice, but the old woman scrutinized him, sucking her lips into her toothless mouth.

‘Please help me, my father was a Romany...’

‘Bring him in, lads, then leave him be. An’ if yer got his wallet, give it back.’

She sat in a creaking armchair and waved him to another. Her hands, with rings on every finger, were arthritic, gnarled, and she was more lined than any woman he had ever seen. Her holed stockings were as wrinkled as she was, but her eyes, black, small eyes, were bright and young in her strange wizened face.

‘Dukkerin, eh? Where you learn the old language?’

‘My father was Freedom Stubbs.’

She shrugged, and if she knew the name she gave no hint of recognition. ‘Why you come here? What you want?’

Alex tried to explain, feeling helplessly inadequate and near to breaking point, the tears constantly prickling his eyes. In a halting voice he told her of his father, of Edward. Then he put his head in his hands and wept, unashamedly.

‘I always believed Edward was a lucky man, just a lucky man, but now I don’t know. It’s as if he’s still alive, but turning everything rotten. I don’t know if it’s his face I see or my father’s, but I can’t sleep...’

‘He’s haunting you, is that it?’

The relief that she said it so simply was astonishing, and he nodded, licking his lips. He reached out to hold her hand.

‘Yes, yes, that’s it exactly, but I can’t tell anyone, they’d think me crazy. I feel him around me all the time... I’m a rich man, I’ll give you anything you ask if you can help me.’

She held his hand, looking into his face, then she touched his forehead. ‘You got the Romany blood in you. You get us a decent camp, mun. You get us moved to a decent place.’

‘I’ll do whatever is in my power to help you, I give you my word.’

She released his hand and settled back in her chair. ‘You have something of his with you?’

He shook his head, then he remembered. He loosened his tie, unbuttoned his collar, and took off the gold medallion.

Evelyn Barkley returned to Wales to discover more of his background. When he learned of the Barkley Company’s losses, he wrote to Juliana with permission to sell the manor and all its contents. The land alone would be worth a quarter of a million on the property market.

No one had entered the manor since the reading of the late Edward Barkley’s will. The house was in a state of ruin; during the hurricane of November 1987, a tree had crashed through the south end of the roof.

Juliana began to check the house for items that could be auctioned. Intent on her work, she remained until evening. As it grew dark she tried the light switches, but the electricity had been cut off, so she fetched a candle from the kitchen.

As she passed through the hall she noticed the door to the dining room was slightly ajar, and she paused a moment, feeling drawn to the room.

Her father’s portrait faced her. Water had seeped through the ceiling and run down the gilt frame. It had dripped down his cheeks, leaving stains that looked like tears. She stood looking up into her father’s face, without fear, without hatred.

Putting the candle down, she made a note of the table and the ornate chairs, then opened a large Victorian dresser. She added the solid silver cutlery to the inventory and bent to open the lower drawers, where she found silver serving dishes, wrapped in damp newspaper that was yellow with age. At ten-fifteen she paused. The candle was burning low and she was uncertain whether or not to continue, but there was only the drawing room left.

Shielding the candle flame, she inched open the heavy double doors into the room. The room had been left untouched with the ashes of a fire still in the grate.

There was writing, still legible, scrawled on a window overlooking the river: ‘My son, my son Evelyn’. The candle flame flickered and sputtered. Above the mantelpiece, in the centre of the dark-edged space where the mirror had hung, was a strange, red-brown stain that resembled a necklace. The room felt icy cold and Juliana shivered, almost dropping the candle in fright when she heard footsteps, slow footsteps... She turned in terror as the door creaked open.

‘Oh, God, Alex, you almost gave me a heart attack! Why didn’t you call out? This is the last room, I’ve done all the others. I’m afraid there’s not much worth selling, but at least we’ll get a good price for the land. They can build a tower block of apartments, great view over the river. I reckon we can ask more than we... Alex?’

He was standing directly in front of the fireplace, staring at the stain on the wall. Fishing a box of matches from his pocket he struck one, held it above his head. ‘It’s like my mother’s necklace, the shape.’

‘I suppose it must be water, every room’s got water stains. Anything worth selling has been ruined.’

Alex still stared at the stained wall.

‘He took it from her grave, he should never have done that. He had the medallions made from the gold. What did you do with Edward’s?’

Juliana was bending to peer into a glass cabinet filled with ornaments. ‘These are junk — what did you say?’

‘The medallion I gave you, the gold medallion.’

‘Well, funnily enough I wear it. You always said my father had the Midas touch, I thought it would bring me luck. How wrong can one be? Right now our luck’s running out so fast...’

Alex took his own chain from his pocket and walked over to her. ‘Give it to me, take the damned thing off. Take it off!’

She backed away from him, her hand to her throat. ‘Don’t be stupid, Alex... The candle, mind the candle!’

The stub of the candle rolled across the floor, spilling its wax, but he ignored it. He held out his hand for the medallion as she unclasped it from her neck. When he looked again, the candle was lying against the side of the sofa, still alight. He picked it up and walked out of the room, calling for her to follow.

In the hall were three cans of petrol. ‘Start in the master bedroom, pour it over everything. I’ll begin down here. We’ve got to set light to the place, it’s got to burn down.’

‘Are you crazy? What about the silver, the furniture?’

He had already opened one of the cans. ‘Everything worth anything must burn.’

‘Why? Insurance? Is that what all this is about, insurance?’

Alex was pouring petrol along the hallway. He pushed open the door to the dining room, splashing the strong-smelling liquid everywhere.

‘Alex, answer me. Are you doing this for the insurance?’

‘No, but the flames will take away his evil, and they’ll scorch his pain... We’re burying a curse. Think me crazy, think whatever you like, but don’t try to stop me.’

She stood watching him, helplessly, as he emptied the can of petrol. Tossing the can aside, he held out his hand to her, looking up at Edward’s portrait. ‘Come here, it’s all right. Look at his face, his eyes... Same eyes as my father, Romany eyes — black eyes that never let you know what’s behind them, what they’re thinking.’

Standing a little distance from Alex, she looked up at her father’s face, then turned. Alex seemed transfixed by the painting, and she looked again. Her father’s eyes seemed alive, the water-stain tears distorting his face. When Alex spoke she could barely hear him.

‘I never noticed before, but you can see it in his face. He did a terrible thing, it wasn’t premeditated, but it was done in terrible anger. Long, long ago he killed your grandfather, my father... His name was Freedom, Freedom Stubbs. The name engraved on the medallions is our real name. Edward changed it to Barkley, but Freedom wouldn’t let him go — he couldn’t, because the gold in the medallions was taken from the grave. I don’t think he even knew what he had done — the gold was Freedom’s talisman.’ Alex paused, closed his eyes. ‘We were brothers, but only Edward inherited the powers, and I believed he was haunting me, trying to destroy me from the grave. But I was wrong — he’s warning me, for Evelyn’s sake, for his son. Edward was cursed, and it will pass to Evelyn.’ He held up the two gold medallions and repeated the last lines of the Romany curse:

They both stood close to the jetty, right at the water’s edge. From there they watched, knowing that any moment the flames would begin to show. They could see the black, curling smoke; had seen it for almost ten minutes.

It exploded like a bomb. The boom! as it caught the heart of the house could be heard for miles around, but they did not leave until they were sure that the fire was unquenchable. Edward Barkley’s soul burned.

Alex struck the wood of the coffin lid. From his pocket he took the two medallions — his own and Edward’s. He laid them, with their chains, on the coffin in the sign of a cross. The gold talisman was given at last to the grave.

When he had shovelled back the earth, he knelt in prayer. ‘Rest in peace, Freedom, peace be with you both. It’s over, Edward, it’s over now.’

As he walked away from the grave he felt the oppressive weight lift from his shoulders. It was as if it had always been there — but now he felt light, he was free.

Evelyn was waiting at the gates of his small, rented farmhouse. He had been waiting ever since Juliana had called, even though he knew it would take at least four or five hours for them to get to him, sitting impatiently on the five-barred gate.

The Rolls-Royce sparkled in the early morning sun as it came over the hilltop and along the small country lanes. Evelyn ran to meet it, shouting, arms held wide.

Alex stepped out of the car, hesitant at first, then sprinted the last few yards to his son and clasped him in his arms. Overcome with emotion he fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief, then gave up and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

‘Some tycoon, eh? Crying like a baby... You know, this is the first time I’ve ever wept because... because I’m happy. Will you come home?’

Juliana stepped from the car. There was such a gentleness about Evelyn, such a genuine warmth, that Juliana threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. His response was a little bemused, but then he tilted his head back and laughed his wonderful laugh...

Alex shouted, pointing across the fields between the hills. His delight showed in his face like a child’s as he said, ‘It’s the mountain, it’s the mountain... It’s my mountain!’

Rising up against the brilliant dawn sky, lit by the bright sun, was the mountain from his dreams that had always been beyond his reach, that the black rider had leapt, passing by the outstretched hand of the young boy. Now it was before him, no longer a dream but tangible, real, waiting and beckoning him to climb to the very top. He turned to them, his face shining, more alive than either of them had ever seen him. The years seemed to drop away and his handsome face was youthful, vibrant, and his clear blue eyes were those of a young boy.

‘I want to climb that, go right to the top.’

They stood together at the very top of the mountain, their arms linked. Alex gently brushed Juliana’s cheek with his hand. She opened her eyes and they both looked at Evelyn.

He too held his face, as they had done, to the sky. They were transfixed, mesmerized by him — he was in a world of his own, his eyes closed, his long, dark lashes shadowing his cheeks. His hair flew in the wind... Slowly, he lifted his arms and breathed in the sweet, clear air and smiled, his perfect face softening as he whispered, ‘Freedom...’

The whisper echoed round the mountain, and he opened his eyes and laughed.

Alex felt as though his heart would burst. He was at the top of his mountain and, even if Evelyn hadn’t meant to say his grandfather’s name, it was the culmination of his dream. It no longer mattered that the boy was of Edward’s blood, because their blood was one. They were bound together, and at last had come together in peace. He reached out and took their hands, whispering joyously, ‘I am a lucky man.’ Then he lifted their arms high and shouted to the mountain, ‘Freedom... Freedom... Freeeeeedooooooooommmmm...’