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 he
re?’
‘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 ARR
EST’. 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 Santé 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 Libération de la Bretagne pour la Libération 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 . . .’
The Talisman Page 69
