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.