Aware of the club’s Mafia connections during Edward’s ownership, Alex had always disassociated himself with Banks. Now, with the club going legitimate, he made sure that he kept a share, seeing his opportunity to act as a silent third partner. The new owners closed the club for six months while it was refurbished, and when it reopened it was an exclusive gambling club for members only. It was fronted with such good names and links to the City that it seemed above reproach, and, as Edward had always known it would, the club became a gold mine.
Alex quietly paved his own way in the City, enjoying his forays into high finance more and more. He took a particular interest in arbitrage, a very complicated form of dealing which made money by seizing on anomalies in world currencies and interest rates. He opened up his own office and employed three slick young brokers, whose job it was to watch the money markets for opportunities. For example, if the dollar was 1.29 in Frankfurt, but in New York was fetching 255 Japanese yen, they would find a broker in Milan willing to sell Dutch guilders for 70 yen apiece. Meanwhile, the pound might be changing hands in London at 4.3 guilders. So if they pushed a million pounds through the sequence while the rates held good, from Frankfurt to New York, to Milan, to London . . . they could end up with a vast profit for very little time and effort. This was what attracted Alex to the City, it was like a chess game, and he was making a fortune.
The three young men spent their days scanning Reuters’ screens and ‘running’ on the Stock Exchange, enabling Alex to amass great sums of money with one hand while attending to the Barkley Company with the other. Also, since he had taken over the St James’ Bank, he was able to delve deeper into the property business unhindered by the necessity for loans from City banks. He worked best alone, without interference from Edward, and was more than pleased that his brother was out of the way. All company cheques required double signatures, but Edward trusted his brother’s business acumen and left signed cheques for him to use. Alex was going from strength to strength, ploughing Barbara’s fortune into the Barkley holdings and beginning to structure the massive takeover of Buchanan House, a vast corporation which owned restaurants, shops, and four department stores, nationwide. As he grew more confident of his prowess as a tycoon, Barbara became his ally, always at his side. She considered their social calendar, entertaining lavishly, and their connections enabled them to push their business upwards, step by step. Alex was happy – he was to be a father, and at last he felt fulfilled and contented.
Barbara never mentioned Edward’s name, and she rediscovered her love for Alex. In truth, she couldn’t help but notice that when Edward was absent, Alex was far more at ease. He appeared to be very much the head of the Barkley Company, and the business was run according to his instructions. Everything was legal, he was becoming a public figure, and the baby’s birth was imminent.
Edward didn’t stop to take his coat off. He hurtled up the stairs, dropping baby clothes and toys as he ran. ‘Harry, Harry, I’m home . . .’
Harriet waddled out to the landing. She was wearing a white maternity dress, and her hair was so long she had plaited it down her back. Wild curls framed her forehead, and escaped in small wisps at her neck. Edward thought her more beautiful than ever. He clasped her to him, crushing the flowers he had brought her and dropping more toys. He was deliriously happy. ‘God, I’ve missed you, have I missed you!’
‘Well you’ve not been off the phone – for a man who never used to bother to call you’re certainly making up for lost time. Now, wait until you see the nursery. It is, though I say it myself, a triumph . . . The cot was Dewint’s find, it’s got more frills than I personally would have chosen, but . . . Look, what do you think?’
The room was decorated in eggshell blue. All along one wall were toys, trains and boats and aeroplanes. ‘I’ve had such fun picking out everything.’
‘You’ve not been doing too much? You know you have to look out for yourself, remember what the doctor said . . .’
She gave him a slap, and told him Dewint even carried her handbag for her. She giggled and said she thought he quite liked it.
They sat before the blazing fire, discussing names. Neither of them mentioned the name Freedom, that was the past, this was the future . . . Suddenly, as she leaned forward to poke the fire, Harriet gasped, and put her hands to her swollen belly. The colour drained from her face and she winced with pain, clung to Edward . . . ‘Oh, God, something is wrong, get an ambulance . . . Oh my God, Edward, I’m losing him, for God’s sake help me . . .’
The ambulance took Harriet to the local hospital as there was no time to drive across London to the clinic they had booked. Harriet’s doctor was there within the hour, and she was rushed into the delivery room. Edward, who had studied all the procedures, had to remain outside, frantic with worry. Nurses came and went. He paced the corridor, lighting cigar after cigar, until at long last the surgeon came out and removed his mask. ‘Well, she’s all right – we’ve saved her.’
‘What about the baby?’
‘It’s the baby who’s all right, she’s a tiny little soul, but a fighter. You can see her as soon as she’s cleaned up. Harriet’s still out, she’ll be coming round in fifteen, twenty minutes.’
‘A girl? It’s a girl? Does Harry know?’ He shook his head. ‘Of course not . . . Is she all right? Is my wife all right?’
The surgeon led Edward to a chair before he could fall down, then sat next to him. ‘She’s a little cracker, but be prepared – she’s very tiny, weighed in at two pounds. But she’s got everything in the right place. She’s in the incubator, but you can hold her soon enough, okay? Want to come through? Then you can see your wife . . .’
He led Edward to the Special Care Baby Unit, past rows of bawling babies, to a side ward. There, in something that looked to Edward like a huge cake stand with a clear dome over it, lay his tiny daughter. A nurse, her eyes smiling over her face mask, beckoned him.
‘She’s a sweetheart, come on, take a look. You know, we had a fight on our hands, and she fought along with us.’
Edward’s heart was thudding in his chest, his lips were dry. He swallowed hard, leaned over and looked down into the incubator that was keeping his daughter alive. He gasped and smelt the disinfectant on his own mask. The little girl was like a miniature doll, and all he could think of to say was, ‘Look at her hands, look at her hands.’
The child was wriggling, and her miniature fingers were splayed out, pushing at the tubes in her nostrils. The nurse let him stay for ten minutes, and then they told him he could see his wife, she was coming round.
‘Has anyone told her yet? Has anyone told her the baby’s all right?’
The nurse shook her head. Harriet was not fully conscious, and he would be the one, he could tell her himself.
Edward took Harriet’s hand and she moaned, turned her head and realized he was there. As soon as her eyes opened he bent close, kissing her, whispering, ‘Baby’s fine, it’s all right, you did your stuff. We got the wrong sex, but who cares? She’s beautiful, and she’s all right.’
‘It’s a girl . . .? It’s a girl?’ She gave a deep, shuddering sigh. ‘Oh, it’s a girl, a girl . . .’
‘Hey, now listen, maybe it’s fate, and I don’t want any nonsense. We just thank God we have her, and I won’t leave here until you smile . . . Come on, give me one of your smiles.’
He stroked her forehead gently, and she smiled wanly. ‘Poor Norman will have to redecorate the nursery, we got the wrong colour.’ Her face puckered and she wept.
Edward kissed her tears. ‘My God, she’s the image of you, spitting image . . . Now you get some rest, I have to go and get some of your things, you left in a bit of a hurry.’
Alex arrived at the small, private clinic shortly before the child was born. Barbara was ready to go into the delivery room, but the nurse left them alone for a few moments. Alex sat close, wearing a green gown and mask and holding Barbara’s hand as she went into labour, never leaving her side throughout the birth. When a
t last he heard the baby’s cry his heart thudded, and he found himself weeping.
‘You have a son, Mr Barkley, and what a boy, he’s so strong.’
Alex was beside himself with joy as he held his son. He turned his tearful eyes to his wife. ‘Barbara, look at him, he’s perfect, he’s the most perfect baby I have ever seen . . . nine and a half pounds, nine and a half pounds . . .’
The baby was laid gently on Barbara’s stomach, and they both looked into the tiny face with the long, black eyelashes. Already he had curly black hair, and at less than one hour old he was the image of his father, Edward Barkley. Barbara could see only Edward’s face, the baby was so much his child that Barbara hated him. She turned away, unable to bear it.
Alex picked up his son and showed him off, proudly, to anyone he could find.
‘This is my son, my little boy . . . isn’t he the most perfect baby you have ever seen in your life?’
Left alone, Barbara prayed that Alex would never find out, never know the truth. She had spoken only a few words to Edward since hearing about the birth of his daughter. Harriet was still in the hospital, and rumour was rife about Harriet’s condition, her mental state – no one imagined there could be anything physically wrong with her. Barbara had said simply that if Edward ever gave so much as a hint of the true facts about her child she would make sure his darling wife tripped over the edge she was always teetering on. Edward was disgusted, and even signed a paper Barbara’s lawyer had drawn up.
Barbara had no fear that Edward would ever try to see his child, and she knew she would never be welcome at the manor. She had hoped for another girl, they were so much easier than boys. She wondered how Edward would feel about the situation now, she knew he had been as desperate as Alex for a son. She pursed her lips, thinking it served him right.
After a great deal of argument, Alex had put his foot down and chose the baby’s name. He had called Edward to tell him – he would be known as Evelyn. Barbara hoped he would change his mind and agree that Evelyn was not a boy’s name, but when she tackled him yet again he suggested she take a look at Evelyn Waugh’s novels. Barbara retorted that she’d never heard of her, either. Alex laughed and said he simply wanted to call his son after his beloved mother, and in the end Barbara had acquiesced.
Later that night, when the nurse came in, the baby was crying.
‘Don’t you want to hold him, Mrs Barkley?’
‘No, I’m too tired, you give him the bottle, I’m too tired.’
Harriet came home from hospital. She had recovered from the Caesarean operation, and showed no signs of the post-natal depression that everyone had been expecting. Edward sighed with relief, but it was just like Harry to break all the rules. The doctor did say to Edward that until the baby was well enough to leave the hospital he should keep a careful watch on his wife.
Harriet accepted her daughter, and called her Juliana. Joking with Edward one night she said that the baby was jinxed as all her nursery toys were for boys, and they referred to her as ‘Jinks’. The nickname stuck, and Juliana was known as Jinks from then on.
With Dewint, Harriet visited the baby daily for two months. The doctors believed that not bringing her home straightaway had worked to Harriet’s advantage. They felt that Harriet’s attitude to Jinks was slightly standoffish, she didn’t seem to want to pick the baby up or hold her. Part of the problem was that Harriet was afraid to – the baby was so tiny, so vulnerable. But the time she spent at the hospital with the nurses, learning to care for her, to feed her, gradually enabled Harriet to grow accustomed to handling the baby. Edward went along as often as possible, and it was with relief that he noticed Harriet’s increasing eagerness to visit her.
When at last Jinks was brought home, they hired a nurse to help out, at the doctor’s suggestion. They had chosen a pleasant Scottish girl who, being a vegetarian, had something in common with Harriet. The two got along very well. Mavis McCormick was sensitive and intelligent, and fully aware of Harriet’s problems. She knew when she should interfere and when to stand aside.
Edward had waited until his daughter was safely home before he broke the news that he would have to go away for a few weeks. There were problems in South Africa just as all the hard work of the last few years was coming to fruition. There were serious hitches and financial discrepancies that would have to be sorted out fast. Skye Duval was not answering Edward’s telexes, and his office phone had been left off the hook.
Edward left details with Mavis of how to contact him, day or night, if it should prove necessary. He was very reluctant to leave, but really had no option. Harriet was philosophical about it. She carried Jinks in her arms to see him off, waving the little girl’s hand as Edward got into the car. Then he got out again to give them both another kiss.
‘Okay, now you take care of your mother,’ he told Jinks seriously, ‘and when I come home I’ll bring you something special.’
Harriet, smiling, said if he brought anything more home for the baby, they would never be able to get into the nursery.
Edward had never been so relaxed and happy in his life, and he hated leaving. The thought of his family fed his anger on the flight to South Africa.
Skye had never seen Edward so angry. In all the years they had known each other Edward had never shown this icy fury, and he was terrified. Skye sweated it out as Edward went from site to site, checking and double-checking the company’s building projects. To all intents and purposes Skye had been running the company as Edward instructed, but there were big payouts, five thousand here, ten there, which were not accounted for.
Skye stuttered. ‘That MP you got, he’s in and out of the place all the time. Every time he comes here he wants more, he gives us a project and his hand is out . . . Take a look, he’s got an account here, one in Switzerland, and he’s even got me setting up schemes for his wife, his kids . . . I’ve been warning you about him, I sent you telex after telex . . .’
Edward swore. Walter was going over the top, feathering his nest at Edward’s expense, and yet they could do nothing. They needed him – his name had already got them into Mexico.
‘You think we could get these deals without him, Skye? Do you?’
Skye said they could, the company was now very prestigious, but he doubted if they could lose Walter. He would want to milk them on everything they built.
‘We’ll see about that . . . Mexico, how’s that going?’
Pulling out the drawings and the files, Skye showed Edward that Walter had once again taken a ten thousand pound bribe for his connections in Mexico. ‘He wants a share of everything, Edward. The guy is so greedy, he wants to be a rich man and he’s doing it on your back. But I don’t see how we can stop him. If word of his share in all these projects leaks out, it’ll finish his political career and at the same time wipe us out. The government would step in right away.’
They dined together at a very elegant restaurant. Edward chose a table at the back of the room, in a small alcove. He poured Skye a glass of Dom Perignon and toasted him.
‘Got some business to add to your already expanding duties. That land I own over at Ghost Mountains, I’m ready to begin work on it. I want all the tractors and digging machines driven over there at the beginning of next month. I have all the licences for blowing the place apart.’
Skye whistled. He had been waiting to see why Edward had been steadily buying up vast areas of land to add to the millions of acres he already owned.
‘It’s not for diamonds, it’s perlite . . . I’ve done a deal with some Americans to start mining for perlite.’
‘What do I get out of it, apart from more work?’
‘You’ll be handsomely paid, old bean, as always.’
‘The official will want a cut, plus the government, you know that?’
Edward ordered for them both, and Skye tossed the menu aside. He downed his champagne, ordered another bottle.
Edward mused, twirling his glass around. ‘Been thinking of floating the company on t
he London Johannesburg stock exchange, raise more money from Joe Public – make you a tycoon, Skye. I’ve made an appointment for you to see the solicitors tomorrow, Main Street, they’ll be waiting. I’m not interested in the stones, it’s the perlite I want. You’ll have the best man to help you, an expert on sedimentary rock, he’ll do all the assessments. I want to corner the whole market, become the sole owner of every perlite mine in South Africa, so I don’t want any leakage. I don’t want anyone to suspect there might be valuable stones there as well . . .’
Skye lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke, which formed circles above his head. ‘You’ll have to be fucking careful, man, that place could be more productive – surrounded by fucking oyster beds, you know, near the fucking coast. Could be showered with pearls, never mind fucking diamonds.’
Edward didn’t speak while the waiter served their meal, then he jabbed at the steak with his fork. ‘I’m arranging a method for getting the stones out and over to England . . . We are mining for perlite, sweetheart, anything else keep quiet about. I’ll get it out of South Africa, no problem.’
Skye toyed with his food, pushing it around his plate, his cigarette still burning between his fingers. ‘You’re the boss, man, but you want to get on the side of the blokes running the so-called “Illegal Diamond Division”. I’ll give you their names. They’ll turn a blind eye as long as you pay them enough.’
Edward nodded, chewing his steak, then spoke with his mouth full. ‘I don’t want a single mining house to get wind of this project. Next week I want you to go over to Sbwana Bay, and take your fucking quinine with you, it’s bush and more bush. You don’t go near the map companies, I’ve got some worked out. This is mouth shut time.’
‘Okay by me – fancy a trip, bored out of my mind on the building sites. You know how much the machines will set you back? Around fifty thousand – pounds, not dollars, sweetie.’
The Talisman Page 56
