Alex sighed a deep sigh that made his body shudder. This was the nightmare, the moment he had dreaded, when a ghost would rear its head and bring back the past.
‘You know, Alex, I loved yer, the best friend I ever had. I loved yer, and I looked up to yer, and I thought you cared about me. I must have been crazy. Why d’yer do that to me, why?’
Alex asked him to drive around, keep on driving. The car moved off slowly, and it began to rain, heavy drops at first. They sounded loud, like Alex’s heart.
‘Too much happened, George, to even begin to tell you, but believe me, it was not in my control.’ The words sounded hollow. ‘Look, I had a chance to get out and I took it, grabbed it with both hands. My brother engineered everything and I went along with it until it was too late, too complicated to get out of.’
Windsor looked at Alex in the mirror. ‘Don’t have ter make excuses to me, Alex. You done all right, more than all right, just hurt that yer couldn’t tell me. But then maybe if I’d hadda chance, I’d have done the same.’
Alex laughed, a soft, mirthless laugh; he would never, could never even begin to tell George part of it. He rested his arm along the back of the driving seat. ‘George, I’ve never had such a good friend, not ever. In fact, I don’t have a single one now.’
The two of them drove around for over an hour, and at last the car pulled up at Alex’s house again.
‘I need a friend, George, someone I can trust, trust with my secrets, my life...’
Windsor said he was not after a bribe, not even after money, but he would be just as good a friend, any time Alex needed him.
‘Then work for me, be my driver.’ Windsor said he would report for duty the following morning. He promised never to say a word about Alex. As Alex began to climb out of the car, he stopped and held Windsor’s shoulder for a moment in a tight grip, and Windsor touched his hand.
The cab stood at the kerb until the front door closed, then moved slowly off. Windsor whistled, he had played that very well. He would be all right now. Things would be all right from now on.
Alex couldn’t face the roomful of talking, laughing people so he gave Scargill the wink and went upstairs to his rooms. As he undressed, he wondered just how far he could really trust George. He soaped his body, he would have to tie George to him strongly, make sure he was well paid but knew his place.
He began to towel himself dry, and caught his reflection in the steamed-up bathroom mirror. He stared, then wiped it clear, looked at himself. His eyes were red-rimmed, he was exhausted. How many more ghosts from the past could rear up and threaten him? No sooner did he make some headway than something or someone dragged him back. Holding the reins of the vast company was a mammoth task in itself, to be working day and night on trying to piece together Edward’s transactions was impossible, he covered his tracks so well... He still had no idea where his brother was.
‘Where the hell are you, Eddie; where?’ He was shocked at the desperation in his voice. He wanted to smash the mirror with his fist. He pressed his head against the cold glass, calming himself, but it seemed that every way he turned there was a wall, closing in on him, pushing him under, as if he were drowning. He breathed deeply, he had not felt this violent, so physically angry, since he had been in prison. As it was then, his fury was directed at his brother, at Edward, but it was impotent fury, because he could not discover where Edward had run to... unless... South Africa.
George Windsor was half asleep. It was six o’clock in the morning, and the last person he expected to call him was Alex Barkley.
‘George? It’s Alex. Sorry to get you up so early, but... I want to work out, the way we used to... get yourself over to the RAC Club in St James’s...’
George was overawed by the ‘gentlemen’s club’ with the marble swimming pool. But he had little time to take it all in as Alex was already dressed in a tracksuit waiting impatiently. ‘Right, put me through it, just the way you used to. I need to be fit, George... so let’s get cracking. We do this every morning, same time, okay?’
George set Alex a tough programme. The good life had put a lot of extra pounds on Alex, but he never said a word, pushing himself until it was George who had to tell him to take it easy or he’d give himself a heart attack. Alex laughed, he felt good, and George began to give him a massage just the way he used to, pummelling his body, his big strong hands oiling, rubbing him down. George looked into Alex’s face — it was an eerie feeling, so many years had passed. It was as though Alex knew what George was thinking. He opened his eyes, and his voice was soft. ‘I need a friend, George, don’t let me down.’
George turned him over and began to massage his shoulders. ‘Whenever you need me, I’ll be there, you can depend on me, son.’
Alex smiled, and the two old friends shook hands; then Alex pulled George close and held him for a moment.
Fifteen minutes later, Alex emerged from the changing room in an immaculate pin-striped suit, carrying his briefcase. He looked at his gold Rolex, and his voice was sharp. ‘Right, bring the car round, I can make a couple of calls here while I’m waiting.’
George watched Alex stride to the reception desk. He seemed a different person, but it took only a moment for George to size up the situation. Alone, they were friends, but in public George was no more than an employee... So be it, if that was what Alex wanted, that was the way George would play it, just as long as he was paid enough.
Harriet stood in the hall of the manor, her suitcase packed. Dewint gave her a small gift and she accepted it graciously.
‘Where will you go, Mrs Barkley?’
‘Oh, my brother Allard’s got to sell up the old Hall, so I shall be there for a while, you know, sorting through family things. Then perhaps I’ll buy a cottage up there. You must come and stay.’
‘Oh, I would like that immensely.’
‘Where is he? Do you know?’
Dewint couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘I’m afraid I don’t, I got a card from Mexico, and India, he travels... you know the way he is.’
She patted his arm. ‘Yes, yes I know... Well this is goodbye. Thank you for being here, for all the times you were so very kind to me. Oh, how are my lettuces?’
Dewint walked with her to the door, said it was the wrong time of year for lettuce but her garden was coming along fine. The cab driver took her case, and she gave a small, sad wave of her hand as Dewint shut the door. ‘Now don’t you cry, you silly old man, we’ll see each other again, go back in, you’ll catch cold.’
The cab went off down the overgrown driveway, and he stood on the stone steps until there was no possibility of catching another glimpse. She had not stayed long, and not taken very much, only a few clothes and a couple of ornaments she had made. Most of her time she had spent in the main bedroom, and he had not interrupted her. There had been no divorce — the papers were left unsigned, but it was very obvious there was no chance of a reconciliation. Edward had not been to see her once during her recovery — he had sent flowers, but they really came from Miss Henderson, and Harriet knew it.
Dewint made himself a cup of tea, and then took out his clean, well-pressed handkerchief and cried. The house was dying, neglected, unloved and silent. It broke his heart.
Harriet sat well back in the taxi, resting her head against the leather upholstery. She was fifty-four years old, her hair completely grey, and she had taken the scissors to it herself. She had gained more weight and was now almost rotund. But her eyes were bright as a child’s, sparkling when she passed familiar areas. She bought a ham and tomato sandwich at the railway station, munching as she wandered along to her compartment, looking for all the world like an ageing hippy.