Alex had seen Ming only a few times since their last meeting that Christmas. Now that he had access to the accounts, in particular those in Mexico, Alex had discovered just why Edward had been against selling back her shares to Ming. The company had channelled thousands of dollars through her outlets and it had proved a good method of laundering money. Ming had taken a percentage of the vast sums. As Edward had done, Alex picked up on the discrepancies in her accounts. Ming might love him, but she had certainly made sure she had lined her own pockets. Alex felt betrayed but realized once more how Edward had covered for him, and just how shrewd he was at business. He had begun to think of Edward more of late, wondering where he was... and what he was doing. His silence, at first welcome, had become rather ominous.
Alex had been so immersed in the old accounts he had forgotten the time. He knew they were entertaining, yet again, and hurried to the bedroom door, mumbling that he had been held up and was he supposed to dress. ‘Barbara, is it black tie tonight or not?’
Barbara raised her eyebrows to her hairdresser and sighed. ‘Daaarling, I phoned the office... It’s very casual, but smart casual. It’s Walter, his wife and Lord Harmsworth, then the...’
Alex had already departed to his own rooms.
‘I’ve changed my mind, part it down the middle, Timmy.’
Alex made polite conversation throughout the meal. He was tired, and he stifled yawn after yawn. Barbara’s charity affairs were always like this, the people all looked the same, they just switched clothes. As they withdrew into the lounge for coffee, Walter, who had been to the far end of the table, asked for a private word with Alex. The two men waited while Scargill poured them brandy, and Alex clipped his cigar.
‘I need to talk to Edward, I’ve called numerous times and I am told he’s abroad or not available.’
Alex lit the cigar and puffed slowly, trying to size Walter up. They had met on a number of occasions similar to this evening, but they had never had an in-depth conversation.
‘It’s rather a delicate situation, but it is imperative I speak to him within the week. Do you know where he is?’
Alex could see the man was sweating. His pockmarked face glistened, and his eyes behind the thick glasses were shifty, drifting away from Alex’s gaze.
‘Anything I can do to help? You see, I actually don’t have the slightest idea where he is — and believe me, I need to contact him too.’
Walter stubbed out his cigarette, immediately lit another, and pulled his chair closer. ‘Have you discussed my business with him at all?’
Alex had no knowledge of any business transactions between Walter and Edward, but Walter made the mistake of taking Alex’s silence for confirmation that he did know. ‘I’ve tried to contact Duval in Africa for three months, the PM’s somehow got wind of the hospital complex, I cannot afford at this stage... You know I regained my seat this election?’
Alex was trying to fathom what the hell Walter was talking about, but he couldn’t make head nor tail of it. All he could say for sure was that the man was exceptionally nervous.
‘Yes, yes, but that was a foregone conclusion.’
Walter paced the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. ‘Part of my campaign was that I would begin building a whole new leisure centre. Costs have jumped — escalated — to a ridiculous level, and I need Edward. He agreed to finance the project, but I have not seen a penny as yet. Now it’s up before a committee for review and if it seems like I’m going to break my word, it won’t look good... You have the hospital, everything’s gone through, but he’s let me down. I need to speak with him, and within the week.’ He lit yet another cigarette and began a hacking, chesty cough.
‘How much? I’ll see if I can release funds to you immediately.’
Walter eased up, sat down and sighed with relief. ‘Jesus, if you could it would save my skin, the election was by no means the foregone conclusion everyone thought... Well, Edward must have told you... Thirty-five thousand, as agreed.’
Alex nearly choked on his cigar, but covered by saying they should both give up smoking for their health.
Walter stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette and gave Alex a strange, sly look. ‘With you two bastards I’m amazed I’ve kept my sanity this long... I’ll call the office first thing in the morning, all right?’ He straightened his tie, wiped his sweating face and gave a small bow. ‘Perhaps we should join the party?’
First thing in the morning, Alex called Miss Henderson and asked her if he had all the documents on the building works. She replied that he had all she had ever been given to file. Alex sent a memo down to personnel to check out Skye Duval.
Evelyn was being driven to Heathrow, by Scargill. No one had even said goodbye to him, but he was used to that. He had his precious record collection and his guitar, he cared about little else. He wondered what France would hold for him. The place sounded gruesome, if not monastic. The school was run by friars, and it was apparent even to Evelyn that his father had really scraped the bottom of the barrel.
Scargill did not take Evelyn’s cases into the terminal. He pulled up outside and waited until he saw Evelyn give the thumbs up sign at his ticket collection desk then he returned to London. The school was St Martin at Pontoise, about thirty-two kilometres north-west of Paris. Evelyn had drunk his fill of free champagne in first-class during the flight. Now the taxi made his head ache, and he felt sick. As they turned a corner, he saw stretching before him what looked like a fortress. He leaned forward. ‘Holy shit, this can’t be it, it’s like a fucking prison.’
Chapter twenty-six
Alex had called a security company hire-car as Barbara was using the Rolls-Royce. The navy blue Mercedes was waiting for him outside the Barkley Company. The uniformed security guards locked up after him. The Mercedes’ door was held open by the chauffeur, who greeted him with, ‘Good evening, Mr Barkley.’ He replaced his peaked cap and hurried round to the driving seat. Alex gave the man a cursory glance, snapped open his briefcase, and began to look over contracts, unaware of the driver’s scrutiny as he began making notes with a gold pen in the margin. On every housing development contract he had come across, the same government stamp had been signed by Walter...
Looking in the driver’s mirror George Windsor was sure now, one hundred per cent sure, that the man in the back of his hire-car was without question Alex Stubbs. They drew up outside Alex’s house.
‘How much?’
George turned. ‘Have this one on me, Alex, for old times’ sake.’
Puzzled, Alex looked at him, frowning in annoyance at the driver’s familiarity... Then he felt as if he had been punched in the gut. Somehow he found the control to take out his wallet, extract a ten-pound note. ‘Keep the change.’
George gripped his wrist. ‘You can’t fool me, Alex, this is George, remember? You share a cell wiv someone else as long as what I did, yer get to remember.’ He released Alex’s wrist and there was a long silence. Alex stared out of the window at his house. Barbara was entertaining yet again, he could see all the lights on, the cars in the drive. After a long pause, thirty years of pause, Alex spoke again. ‘How much do you want?’
‘Ahhh, don’t make me ‘it yer! You think I’d try that one? I was your friend, remember me, George? We shared a cell, a flat, an’ yer say that to me... What yer take me for, some kind of fuckin’ bum?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I fuckin’ buried yer, mate, stood over yer friggin’ grave, mate. Sorry!’ George turned back to gaze through the windscreen, gripped the wheel tight.