The Talisman

by Lynda La Plante

  Alex tossed his towel aside, for a moment he was tempted to tell George.

  ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘Yer know in the washrooms – well, last cubicle, ’is name’s scratched into the wall. He must’ve served time ’ere . . . He was British Heavyweight Champion, oh, must’ve been, now let me think . . . 1925 or ’26 . . .’

  Alex walked along the cubicles and into the stall at the far end. He found his father’s name scrawled beside a date. He leaned against the tiled wall, feeling sick, and tried to remember the dates his father had been away, but it was all so long ago, a blur.

  George was released four months later, but he promised to write, and to arrange a place for Alex to live. Alex had the cell to himself for a month. He now had the best bunk, and he waited to see who they would put in with him.

  Brian Welland was a pretty boy, and Alex knew at a glance that he was queer. He tossed his book down and stared hard. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-seven, sir.’

  ‘What you in fer?’

  ‘Fraud.’

  Alex came on as the heavy ‘con’ at first, almost repeating George Windsor’s welcome when Alex had first arrived at Durham. Brian was well educated, his speech refined. But it was the row of books that Brian carefully laid out by his bunk that interested Alex. Classical volumes, with a few thicker books on banking and taxation. Brian gave Alex a sheepish smile, expecting a crude remark, but instead Alex picked one of the books up and asked if he could read it.

  ‘I doubt if that one will interest you, it’s accountancy.’

  ‘That what you are then? An accountant?’

  ‘Was, I was . . . and I doubt if I’ll be allowed to practise when I get out.’

  ‘I’ll make a deal wiv you. You could get a lot of aggro – I’ll see the blokes leave you alone. In return, I want you to teach me everyfing you know . . .’

  This was the last thing Brian expected. He was so relieved he would have promised anything to have Alex on his side – he had been terrified while being held on remand. But he did not anticipate Alex’s almost obsessive desire to study – the moment he woke up he reached for a book. Every moment he didn’t spend in the gym he spent with Brian, ploughing through everything they could get from the library. Brian was a good teacher, and had worked for the Inland Revenue. As a fledgeling tax inspector, he was able to guide Alex through the complex taxation system.

  Brian had become involved with a man who had manipulated him into a banking and taxation fraud. He had been used, but in the course of the scam he had travelled extensively, and organized tax havens for his friend in Jersey and Switzerland.

  Alex was fascinated, and questioned him on everything, often until the early hours of the morning . . . and the relationship deepened. Alex, not Brian, made the first move. He had already had a number of homosexual so-called affairs, but Brian was different. Alex actually cared for him, and the feelings were reciprocated and eventually consummated. Alex learnt a great deal more than accountancy from his lover, who now corrected his grammar and picked him up on his dropped ‘aitches’. At first Alex had been temperamental about being constantly corrected, but he soon realized it was done out of affection. In the end he worked just as hard on speech defects as on his other studies. Being with Brian gave Alex a new confidence in himself. He was less aggressive, more quietly assertive than he had ever been.

  Brian was broken-hearted when Alex left. They promised to write, and Alex gave his word that as soon as he had a place to stay he would send Brian his address. But he had no intention of ever seeing him again, the relationship was over. For Alex, like most prisoners, homosexual practices until Brian had been a pure necessity . . . but there would be no more Brians, he had served his purpose. He would have one label, ‘ex-con’, and he didn’t want another.

  Alex set his sights on climbing back to the top of the mountain, to breathe that clean, fresh air once more. He vowed to himself that he would never see the inside of a prison again.

  True to his promise, George Windsor was waiting for Alex outside the gates of the prison. He had rented a small flat in Dulwich. The next day they bought a second-hand suit for Alex. Being ‘outside’ was not easy at first, and he had to hide his shyness at talking to strangers. The next step was to find a job, but with hundreds of soldiers back from the war, work was hard to come by. Alex began a depressing round of job interviews, arranged by his probation officer.

  Edward walked out of the examination room, exhausted. His head ached from concentrating and his shoulders were stiff from hunching over the exam papers. He breathed in the lovely, fresh spring air as he walked across the quad. He had done well, he knew it. Not one question had beaten him. It had been his last exam in two weeks of finals, and now all that was left were the results and freedom. He felt almost light-headed as he walked along the river bank.

  The May Ball signified the end of term, and everyone was excitedly looking forward to it. But Edward decided he would give it a miss and await his results in London.

  Edward’s bedmaker was just finishing his room, and told him a letter had just arrived – it was on his desk. ‘You do well, you think, sir? In the exams, sir? I hope so, you’ve certainly worked for it if I may say so. Very dedicated student if I may say so, pleasure to bedmake for you, sir.’

  Edward smiled, he knew the man had hardly given him a moment’s thought, but it was now coming up to the time for tipping, and he wanted to ingratiate himself.

  ‘Well, I’ll be off, sir, all shipshape, thank you very much, sir.’

  Edward didn’t even turn his head to thank the man. The door closed and shut out the sound of his muttering. He opened the letter. It was from Harriet, and the energetic loops and coils of her handwriting reminded him of her. It was misspelt and full of underlinings and double underlinings for emphasis:

  I am coming to the May Ball as Allard’s partner. Will you be there, will I see you?, can I see you. It is imperatife . . .

  Love, Harry.

  PS You have not written once. I have been incarserated at boarding school, then diabolickly removed from boarding school, and threatened with being sent to Switzerland to finishing school.

  PPS Please reply to this, I am esconced at London address.

  PPPS you forgot my birthday AGAIN.

  Edward thought about replying to Harriet’s letter. He had not spoken to Allard for months; they passed each other without any acknowledgement. As he had made up his mind to take up BB’s offer of work, Edward booked a passage on the seaplane to South Africa. This made a considerable dent in his mother’s legacy, but he still had the gold cigarette case and lighter.

  The pieces of furniture and the paintings from Charlie’s attic that Edward wanted to keep were crated to be put into storage. He packed his personal belongings into his trunk, discarding a few articles that were very worn.

  All around him the students were hell-bent on preparing for the ball. Hotels were booked, girlfriends and fiancées began to arrive by the train load to be ready for the big night. Edward kept himself busy completing his packing. He would be in Southampton the night of the ball and, even if he had contemplated staying for it, forking out the one pound and ten shillings for the tickets was, he felt, a waste of his cash.

  ‘You leaving before the big bash, sir? Well, that is a rum thing.’

  The gatekeeper inspected Edward’s list of instructions for the things that were to be picked up. His trunk he would take with him.

  ‘Going somewhere nice, sir?’

  Edward smiled, and said airily that he was going to see friends in South Africa.

  He walked one last time along the river. He had to see Emmott and a few other tutors before he left, but basically it was over, and he wanted one long, last walk.

  ‘Edwaaaaard! Edwaaaaaard!’ It was Harriet, wobbling alarmingly on a bicycle. He knew it was her not just by the bellowing, but the long red hair that streamed out behind her. She was wearing a printed summer dress, and had tucked the skirt into
the leg of her knickers so it wouldn’t catch in the spokes. Her skin was lightly tanned, her long legs bare, and she was wearing brown leather sandals. She careered up to him and he caught the handlebars to stop her.

  ‘Gateman said you were walking this way so I borrowed this, no idea whose it is, but he must be a very tall chap, I can hardly reach the seat.’ She had grown taller herself, and must have been at least five foot eight in her flat sandals. But it was as if there had been no time since their last meeting, she was as familiar with him as if they had parted only yesterday.

  ‘Said you were about to leave, thank you very much, not even a word to me . . . My, you are even taller than I remembered.’

  He tucked her hand under his arm, he could say the same for her, she was almost as tall as her brother.

  ‘What’s gone on between you two? I mentioned your name and I thought he would throw up . . . Oh, look, a mallard!’

  She dropped to her knees on the river bank and stared at the duck. ‘You two have a falling-out, did you?’

  ‘No, not a falling-out, more just sort of going our separate ways.’

  ‘Well, he is a bit odd . . . Ahhh, look, more ducks – I love ducks, I once had a nanny, and she used to take me to Regent’s Park to feed the ducks, lovely woman, with terrible BO, but she knew all the ducks by name, well, the ones she’d given them to.’

  They walked on, arm in arm. Harriet chattered to begin with, then she went quiet and they walked together in silence until they came across a floating, empty punt.

  ‘Shall we capture it? Go for a punt?’

  Edward reached out with a stick and pulled the punt towards them, looked around for a pole, but there wasn’t one.

  ‘We’ll just float along, let it take us where it wants, come on, get in . . . Where are you going, anyway? Why are you leaving before the ball?’

  Edward said he was going travelling. Harriet lay back and hitched her skirt up so the sun could get to her legs. ‘Ma says I shouldn’t sunbathe because my freckles’ll all join up into one dark red-brown blob, but I love the sun . . . Where are you travelling to then?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘I haven’t cut my hair, you will note, it’s now much longer and the front is growing again. You know Pa has been made Chief Justice Simpson now? He swans around, very puffed up, he’s so proud of himself.’

  Edward kept his distance from her at the far end of the punt, watching as she trailed her hand in the water. She filled him in on all the family news. ‘The Van der Burges have gone on a world cruise, then they come back and go home, thank the Lord. They really were becoming part of the fixtures and fittings . . . BB consumed most of Pa’s stock of brandy and never replenished it, which infuriated him.’

  The sun was getting hotter and hotter, and Edward closed his eyes, the cool, slight breeze off the river was delicious.

  Harriet pointed to an ice-cream seller on the bank. ‘Oh, have you any money on you? Come on, paddle over, I’d love a cornet.’

  They paddled with their hands and Edward handed her sixpence. She waded into the water, and with wet dress and sandals she marched up on to the bank, coming back carrying two dripping cornets. She climbed back into the punt and Edward pushed off from the bank.

  They fell into silence again as they drifted on down the river. A few punters passed them, shouting as they poled on.

  ‘I am being made to go to Switzerland, did I write and tell you that? Finish me off, and then I return to be paraded around town for my “coming-out” . . . Crikey, I loathe them all, I really do.’

  Edward sat up and tossed the cornet end to the ducks. He leaned on his elbow, smiling at her. ‘What do you want to do, Harry? Really do with your life?’

  She finished her cornet, not giving a crumb to the ducks. She had ice cream all round her mouth, which she wiped off with the back of her hand, and licked the trace from her lips. ‘You wouldn’t like it if I told you.’

  He tapped her foot and told her to go on, he wanted to know. She bent forward and took one sandal off, laid it on the seat beside her then did the same with the other one. He leaned forward and tapped her bare foot, asked her again to tell him what she was going to do with herself, what she wanted out of her life.

  ‘Okay, I would like . . . One, for you to take me into a big, white, soft bed, really thick and squashy, one that you sink into . . . I would like then to have four sons, all of them as tall as you, all of them a criss-cross of our looks, two with reddish hair, two with your black, black hair, but all with your dark eyes . . . Then I would like to live with you and our sons on a big farm, like abroad somewhere, maybe South America, somewhere where there is hot sun, wild animals roaming, a few horses, my own stables, a cook, because I hate cooking . . .’

  She was lying stretched out, legs bare, eyes closed and her hand trailing along in the water, causing miniature whirlpools to form and disappear. ‘What about you, Edward, any of that take your fancy at all?’

  He shaded his eyes and looked at the river bank because he couldn’t think of anything to say. He had a lump in his throat, and he swallowed hard. The punt banged into the bank, and Harriet reached up to a hanging branch of a willow tree to hold the boat beneath it. He could see the glint of the sun on the thin gold bangle she wore.

  ‘Course, you don’t have to reply, make any decision immediately . . .’ She tossed her head back and laughed, her hair flying around her, and fell back into the punt, legs in the air. She continued to laugh as he moved along the punt on all fours, leaned over her and looked down into her freckled face. ‘You, Harry, are as mad as a hatter.’

  She wrapped her arms around him and looked up into his face.

  ‘You will never have anyone love you as I do, they will all be older, experienced and boring, but you can have me untouched by any other human hand . . .’

  He kissed her nose, but remained hovering just above her, looking down into her upturned face. ‘What if I don’t want you? What if I have other plans for my life that do not involve a lunatic?’

  The big, blue eyes filled with tears, brimming over, and she whispered, very low, ‘You will break my heart.’

  Edward moved back and sat on the seat. He rubbed his head. ‘Harry, I have to go away to find some work. I have no money, nothing to offer you, and added to that you are still a kid with romantic notions you’ve got out of some magazine.’

  She threw water at him and drenched his shirt. ‘Bollocks, I am not a kid, as you put it, I am sixteen years old, you are just making excuses. I’ll wait, I’ll wait for two years, but I won’t wait any longer . . . Ma will have a fit, Pa will have a heart attack, especially if he’s laying out all the cash for my coming-out, but . . .’ She looked at him, she wasn’t joking, she said it softly, so earnestly, it was touching. ‘I’ll wait for you, Edward.’

  She toyed with the branch, and the willow shuddered above her head. Then she let it go and sat up, looking at him very seriously, very straight-faced. ‘Only, you’ll have to give me something, something so that I know you’ll come for me, I don’t want letters, just your word . . .’

  Edward pushed at the bank to make the punt move, but it remained stuck by the willow. ‘I can’t give it to you, push from your end, come on, Harry, push it away.’

  He leaned out and pushed, the punt turned and he fell towards her, landing with his head in her lap, between her legs. He lifted his hands and held her tightly, pressing his face against her, and she folded her arms around him and bent to kiss the back of his head, then wriggled until her body was beneath his, and he let her. Knowing he was mad, knowing he must be out of his mind, he remained lying on top of her.

  The punt drifted off down the river, and they lay wrapped in each other’s arms. Content to hold him close, Harriet lay quiet, made no move. Slowly, gently, he pushed her skirt back until he could feel the edge of her knickers, grasped them and began to ease them down. She kissed his head, his hair, with soft, sweet kisses. ‘What should I do? Tell me.’

  His vo
ice was husky, she could feel his breath on her face as he said, ‘Nothing, nothing . . .’ and she rested her head against his, so happy she wanted to cry. She had dreamed of this moment, dreamed it so many times she felt she needed to pinch herself to prove that this time it was really happening . . .

  She knew he had undone his trousers, she could feel him now . . . he pressed her legs apart, and as if he were afraid to look at her, he turned his head away as he gently eased himself into her . . . At last he kissed her lips, and found them as rounded and soft as her thighs, her breasts, and his kiss hardened as he moved inside her, gripped her tightly, thrusting himself into her until the boat rocked in the water . . . She moaned, and he looked at her face, in anguish that he had hurt her . . . but she smiled, her face so filled with love he felt himself wanting to weep.

  He was so caring, pulling up her knickers, straightening her skirt, and she did up each fly button on his trousers. They lay close and he promised that he would come back for her, gave his solemn oath that he would be back and give her four sons.

  ‘I don’t want a girl, Edward, not a girl, they are such pests.’

  He laughed and cuddled her, said she was the only girl he wanted, and she was right, four sons would be perfect.

  They bumped into an empty, drifting punt and retrieved the pole. Edward poled the boat back towards the bridge, towards the town. ‘Harry, you must never tell anyone what we’ve done today, your father would come after me with a shotgun.’

  She wagged her finger at him and said he had better keep his promise then. He helped her jump on to the bank, and as he was tying up the punt, he heard a sports car careering across the bridge.

  ‘Oh, damn it, here comes Allard.’

  Edward looked towards the bridge as the bright red car screeched around the corner. ‘Go to him, go on Harry – no goodbyes, no nothing, just go . . .’

  She turned back only once, then she ran towards the red car, waving her sandals above her head. ‘Allard, whooo hoooo, Allard!’

  Edward heard Allard shouting, asking where the hell she had been, they had all been looking for her. Then Edward heard the car turn and drive back over the bridge. She sat at the back, he saw her turn, give a small wave . . . and with her red hair flying out behind her she was gone in the little red sports car.