The Talisman (64 page)

‘Do you, she’s never sung before in her life, and when I want more wine, I’ll bloody ask for it.’

Harriet began singing, softly at first. ‘Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone, without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own . . .’

Skye never took his eyes from her, and slowly Edward, too, turned towards the piano. There she was, eyes closed, swaying against the pianist and her voice was as sweet as a bird’s. He felt a helplessness sweep over him, she captivated him as she did the entire room. He applauded along with everyone else.

Skye was up and removing a tray from a passing waiter. He slipped his napkin over his arm and tangoed between the tables. Even the elderly foursome managed a half-smile of amusement as he insisted on serving them, and cleaning their breadcrumbs from the table.

He then ordered a very good bottle of port as a peace offering. With the tray held aloft he turned to Harriet who was still standing by the piano. He fell to his knees. ‘I love you, I am in love with you.’ He led her proudly back to their table, bowing low and kissing her hand. ‘Mrs Barkley, you are exquisite . . . I don’t suppose you have a sister do you?’

Edward lit up a cigar, his voice was quiet, nasty. ‘She doesn’t have a sister, Skye, but I think you might prefer her brother. He’s an iron hoof too.’

Harriet saw Skye flinch, the slight flush in his face and she frowned at Edward. She then cupped her hand to Skye’s ear and whispered. ‘Pa calls him a shirt-lifter, isn’t that funny?’

He bent down and gave her a swift kiss on her lips, catching her completely by surprise. His eyes were serious, painful . . . ‘You don’t believe me, do you? But I meant what I said . . . I am in love with you.’

Edward pushed his chair back, clicking his fingers for the waiter. The cigar clenched in his teeth. ‘Oh she likes compliments, she likes to tease, but doesn’t come up with the goods.’ He gripped her arm. ‘Let’s go.’

Just as she had seen the hurt in Skye, Skye saw Edward’s remark hit home, but he didn’t bargain for her reaction. She jerked her arm free. ‘Want to see my next trick, Mr Barkley . . . LADIES AND GENTLEMEN I SHALL REMOVE THIS TABLECLOTH, LEAVING ALL THE CROCKERY ON THE TABLE . . . AHHH ONE, AHHH TWO . . .’ Edward walked out as the crockery smashed to the floor. The bottles of wine, the glasses . . .

He sat in cold fury in the car waiting. They came out arm in arm, and the manager bowing and scraping. It reminded Edward of Cambridge, of Charlie, and his fury grew. She was one of them, the bread-throwing English upper classes. As they reached the car, Edward got out and pulled her round to the passenger seat. He pushed her roughly inside.

‘Oh my God, there is no need to be so butch, dear, I can get in all by myself.’

Skye had his hand on the door, as Edward shoved him aside. ‘Get yourself home, you’ve done enough for one night, show time’s over.’

Skye watched the car career out of the parking lot. He shouted, waving his fists.

‘I love you, I love you Mrs Barkley.’

Harriet folded her arms. ‘That was unnecessary, and very silly.’

Edward drove fast, too fast. ‘Silly? . . . the two of you behaved like schoolkids and you call me silly, Jesus Christ.’

She glared out of the window. ‘Only having a bit of fun, you didn’t have to say that about me, or what you said about him, and stop the car . . . I want you to go back for him.’ He didn’t stop. ‘Did you hear me?’

The car screeched to a halt and she slid forwards banging her head. ‘You think you know him, do you? You think you really know him! Well, believe me, you don’t. There’s more to Mr Duval than you could ever imagine, take it from me.’

‘Ah! Does that mean you know everything about him?’

‘Yes, yes I do. Now let’s forget it.’

Harriet was already sitting on the balcony eating breakfast when Edward, very hung-over, stumbled out from their suite. She peered over her bright pink-rimmed sunglasses. ‘I hope we are in a better mood than we were last night. Coffee?’

‘What’s the time, I’ve got a meeting at nine.’

‘Well you’ve just missed it, and I suppose you’ll say that’s my fault. Here, sit down and have your coffee and I’ll order some eggs and bacon.’

‘Christ, no! I couldn’t face eggs and bacon, just coffee. I must have had more to drink than I thought.’

‘Is that an apology?’

‘No.’

‘Well it should be, you know you left Skye in the car park?’

‘Well somebody had to behave like an adult. You two are not safe to be let out together. I am supposed to be here on the quiet, doing subtle business deals, and what happens? The wife gets up with that ancient pianist and sings, then pulls the whole fucking tablecloth off . . . very subtle, can I borrow your sunglasses?’

Harriet continued to read the paper eating her toast. Edward sat in moody silence. She looked up and then back to her paper, hiding a smile. He was feeling dreadful, she knew it, and he was now wearing her bright-pink sunglasses.

‘I’ve got to go to Pretoria, do you want to come?’

‘No, thank you, I just want to sit and relax by the pool.’

He took his coffee inside. She could hear him on the telephone, then he came back out again. ‘Right, I’m going then, you sure you don’t want to come with me?’ She flicked through the paper, pursing her lips.

‘I don’t understand you. Why don’t you want to come with me?’

She flicked the paper again. ‘Because you are foul. To discuss your wife’s sexual problems in public is to my mind the ultimate in bad taste . . . would you mind standing to one side or the other, you are blocking the sun.’

He sighed, shaking his head. ‘You are something else, you know that. You come all the way out here, and now you’re having a go at me . . . I don’t even remember what I said . . .’

She looked at him over the paper, then carefully folded it. He reached over and took her hand. ‘All right, I do, and I’m sorry, I’d had too much to drink . . . and he was all over you, I never got the chance to tell you something.’

She left her hand in his, and he lifted it to his lips. ‘I liked your song, but before I could say anything he was in like Flynn . . .’

She beamed. ‘Do you mean it? You liked it? Honestly?’

He kissed her hand . . . then caught the time on her wrist-watch. ‘Shit, I’m going to miss my next appointment . . . come on, your coat’s on the bed.’

He grinned at her, and she punched him. ‘You bastard, you always win me round so easily . . .’

He ducked the next punch, still smiling. ‘Was it that I liked your song or the hand kissing?’

She got him a good left, and he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. ‘You can sing to me in the car, it’s a long drive . . . and tonight we’ll go dancing, but without Skye Duval, is it a deal?’

Edward was cramming his white panama hat on to Harriet’s head as the Rolls Corniche screeched out of the parking lot. She was driving. Skye rolled down his window but he knew they hadn’t seen him. He had a bunch of wild flowers for her, and he tossed them away. He sat in the boiling hot car, brooding . . . he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind.

She belonged to Edward, maybe that was why he wanted her so much . . . he lit a cigarette, wondered what Eddie boy had meant when he had said she liked to tease, was that what she had been doing to him? . . . the cigarette followed the flowers as he started the engine, crashing the gears. ‘Bitch . . . they’re all the same, bitch . . .’

He drove as fast as Harriet out of the hotel. He turned the music up loud. ‘I’m Your Back Door Man’ . . . he was Eddie’s back door man all right, he was that schmuck, well, he’d taken enough. By the time he arrived back at his bungalow, he was seething with impotent jealous rage. He rolled up a joint, inspecting his hidden stash, warning himself to go easy, his crop was almost through. He looked at the joint and laughed. If he could get Mrs Barkley to take one of these, he’d show her what teasing was all about.

Skye did not see Edward or Harriet for two days. He was in constant contact with Edward, but he never said a word about their last meeting, or his wife. Edward was no fool, he kept them well apart, knowing that Skye was a bad influence. He was, however, very busy and constantly in meetings, and after two days trailing around with him she grew restless. Unable to sit in the sun for long she went on shopping sprees buying a strange assortment of African carvings. She arrived back at the hotel as the phone rang. It was Skye. He asked what she had been doing, and if she ever had a free afternoon, he would love to show her the sights. She accepted, but said she would have to be back by six as she was expecting Edward then.

‘Eh, no problem, get a cab over to my place and we’ll take it from here.’ He let the phone drop back on to the hook . . . She was at the door before he had finished drying his hair. She handed him a small packet.

‘It’s something I saw, it reminded me of you.’

It was a small carved wooden tiger, and he held it in the palm of his hand.

‘Reminded you of me? Don’t know how to take that, Mrs Barkley.’

She smiled a little self-consciously. ‘It’s your eyes, it was a toss-up between that and a green lizard, but I wouldn’t be offended, I bought Edward a chimp.’

She strolled out on to the verandah and asked where his houseboy was. Skye said it was his day off. It wasn’t. He was banished to his room.

‘I wouldn’t mind a swim, do you mind? Only I never really like swimming in hotel pools, because you never know how many people have pissed in them.’ He smiled, waved for her to help herself. He pointed to the shower area, and said there were swimming costumes if she wanted one.

He sat rolling a very big joint as she changed. She came out, and posed in a terrible flowered one-piece suit. ‘Dear God, what kind of women do you have here, this is thirties, isn’t it?’

He licked the paper, and she screwed her eyes up. ‘Do that again.’ He did. ‘I should have bought you the lizard.’

She then executed a perfect dive into the pool. She was a strong swimmer and he began to lose count of the lengths. Eventually she swung herself up the steps, her hair dragged back from her face. ‘Ohhhhh that was good, so good.’

She flopped down beside him and he lit the joint. He drew heavily on it, feeling it fill his lungs, and then held it out. ‘You want to try it? It’s home grown, pretty good.’

She curled her tongue over her lips, and then nodded. He instructed her to draw in the smoke, to suck it in on a breath so she would ‘feel the benefits’. She held on to the thick joint, and gulped, coughed and wafted her hand . . . then she tried again.

‘You feeling the benefits?’

She cocked her head to one side. ‘Not sure what they are, but it tastes foul.’

He encouraged her to continue smoking, then took the joint back.

‘Holy shit, my head’s exploding, is that the benefit? It’s like being drunk . . . Whooo, lemme have some more, it’s great.’

Skye passed the J back to her and lay back, he was feeling nicely stoned . . .

‘You want some music . . .? Harry? Shall I put some music on?’

She didn’t answer so he got up and walked into the house. He chose one of his favourites, Berlioz. She saw the way his strange eyes closed as he listened to the music. His face with his eyes shut had no brilliance, was ravaged, gaunt. His flowing caftan gave him a sexuality that was both male and female. He hadn’t heard her enter, and his eyes opened. She listened to the music for a moment.

‘Ahhh, the
Symphonie Fantastique.
’

‘You like classical music?’

‘Mmmmm.’

She was wrapped in a white bath towel, and he thought she was the most perfect creature he had ever seen. Her thick red hair still damp from her swim clung to her head forming tiny curls. She sat cross-legged in the centre of the room. ‘You know I think I am feeling the benefits, sort of woozy . . . but nice, Edward will be furious.’

‘Don’t talk about him.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘I just don’t want you to talk about him, I want you to talk about yourself . . .’ He lay on the sofa staring at her, leaning his head on his elbow. ‘I’ve waited for you, did you know that? . . . I wanted to get you stoned, then I wanted to take you to bed.’

He saw her blush, her cheeks went rosy red, and she plucked at the carpet. He stretched out his body, at the same time rubbing his hand down his thigh, his fingers tracing himself, and she could see his erection.

‘Don’t you like him?’

‘Who?’

‘You know who, Edward.’

‘Ahhhhh, Eddie, sure I like him. If you want the truth I more than like him, we go back a long time. I met him in a whorehouse, a black whorehouse. You want a drink?’

‘Does he still go there?’

‘Sure, he takes whatever I deliver, he’s a great stud, a stallion, but you know that . . . you do know that, don’t you, Mrs Barkley?’

He moved past her, so close his gown touched her. He slowly unscrewed the bottle of vodka and drank it neat. He swayed around her like a cat, a cat playing with his catch. He couldn’t see her face, couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Her hair hid her eyes, and he crouched down offering the bottle. Suddenly, she tossed her head back, and stared at him, then she reached over and touched his face.

‘Oh, Mr Duval, you are a dangerous man, with a beautiful face, and a very disarming manner, but you’re just an alley cat, a seedy alley cat with vicious sharp claws.’

He pulled her to him and kissed her, forcing her mouth open, his tongue searching her mouth. An open, wet, frantic kiss, as he pulled the towel away from her and pushed her backward until he lay on top of her, his hands grasping her wrists. She made no effort to fight him off. She showed no fear of him. He was at a loss . . . the hunter had netted himself. She pushed him away from her and he flopped back on the carpet.

‘Let’s go.’

‘Christ,’ he thought, ‘not the bedroom now,’ he couldn’t get it up if she were Ben Hur.

‘To the whorehouse. I want to see what goes on when I’m not around.’

Edward was exhausted, it had been a long, hard day. The mining rights for three of his perlite investments were causing problems. Added to that two hospital complexes were behind schedule and a high-rise apartment block built in shifting ground. This meant his men had bought land cutting corners on the surveys, but they had charged him the full rate. The men had to be sifted out and dealt with.