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.
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.