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 assum
ption 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.
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