Diamond Hunters Part 5

Now he must ask them to defer their interest payments for another three months. He picked up the telephone.

"Get me Mr. La.r.s.en at Credit Finance," he said, steeling himself as he did so, jutting out his jaw and thrusting one bunched fist into his jacket pocket.

At five o'clock he stood up from his desk and went to the cabinet.

He poured three fingers of whisky and went back to lower himself wearily into his swivel chair. He felt no elation at having won another reprieve, he was too tired.

The unlisted telephone on his desk rang and he picked it up.

"Lance, he said.

"How was London?" he recognized the voice instantly, feeling no surprise that the Old Man knew about his journey. The Old Man knew everything. Before he could answer the hoa.r.s.e croak came again, "Come up to the house now!" And the receiver clicked dead.

Johnny looked at the whisky in his hand regretfully and set it down untouched. The Old Man would smell it and smile.

Cloud was blowing over the mountain, and the setting sun turned it to the colour of tangerine and peaches. The Old Man stood at the window and watched the cloud cascade down into the valley, dispersing as it fell.

He turned from the window as Johnny entered the study and instantly Johnny was aware that something momentous had taken place in his absence.

He glanced quickly at Michael Shapiro for a cue, but Michael's grey-streaked head was bowed over the papers he held on his lap.

"Good evening." Johnny addressed the Old Man.

"Sit there." The Old Man indicated the Spanish leather chair opposite his desk.

"Read it," the Old Man ordered Michael, and Michael cleared his throat and patted the papers into a neat square before he began.

The Old Man sat with his eyes on Johnny's face. It was a candid, intimate scrutiny, but Johnny felt no discomfort under it. It was almost as though the Old Man's eyes were caressing him.

Mike Shapiro read intelligently, bringing out the meaning of the involved and convoluted legal phrases. The doc.u.ment was the Old Man's Last Will and Testament, and it took twenty minutes for Mike to complete the reading of it. When he had finished there was silence in the room, and the Old Man broke it at last.

"Do you understand?" he asked. There was a gentleness about him that there had never been before. He seemed to have shrunk, the flesh withering on his bones and leaving them dry and light - like the sun-dried bones of a long dead seabird.

"Yes, I understand."Johnny nodded.

"Explain it to us simply, not in your lawyer's gobbledygook, just to be certain," the Old Man insisted, and Mike began to speak.

"Mr. van der Byl's private estate, with the exception of his shares in Van Der Byl Diamond Co. Ltd, after taxes and expenses, is placed in Trust for his two children, Tracey-" The Old Man interrupted impatiently, swatting Mike's words out of the air as though they were flies.

"Not that. The Company. Tell him about the shares in the Company."

"Mr. van der Byps shares in the Company are to be divided equally between you and the two van der Byl children, Tracey-" Again the Old Man interrupted.

"He knows their names, dammit." It was the first time ever that either of them had heard him swear. Mike grinned ruefully at Johnny, as though asking for his sympathy, but Johnny was intent on the Old Man, studying his face, feeling the deep satisfying thrill swelling within his chest.

A third share in Van Der Byl Diamonds was no great fortune n.o.body knew that better than Johnny.

However, by placing Johnny's name on the list with Tracey and Benedict - he had made him his own. This was what he had worked for all these years. The declaration was public, an acknowledgement to the world.

Johnny Lance had a father at last. He wanted to reach out and touch the Old Man. His chest felt swollen, tight with emotion. Behind his eyelids was a slow soft burning.

Johnny blinked.

"This is-" His voice was ragged, and he coughed. "I just don't know how to tell you-" The Old Man interrupted him impatiently, silencing him A with an imperious gesture, and he croaked at Mike.

"Now read him the codicil to the Will. No, don't read it.

Explain it to him." Michael's expression changed; he looked down at his papers as he spoke, as though reluctant to meet Johnny's eyes.

He cleared his throat unnecessarily and s.h.i.+fted in his seat.

"By the codicil to the Will, dated the same date, and duly signed by Mr. van der Byl the bequest of shares in Van Der Byl Diamond Co. Ltd to JOHN RIGBY LANCE, is made conditional on the issue by the said JOHN RIGBY LANCE of a personal guarantee for the debts of the company, including the present loan account and amounts outstanding to tributary companies for royalties and options.

"Christ," said Johnny, stiffening in his chair and turning to stare incredulously at the Old Man. The tightness in his chest was gone. "What are you trying to do to me?" The Old Man dismissed Mike Shapiro quietly, without even looking at him. "I'll call you when I want you." And when he had gone he repeated Johnny's question.

"What am I trying to do to you?" he asked. "I am trying to make you responsible for debts totalling about two and a half million Rand."

"No creditor would come to me for half a million, I would be hard pressed to raise ten thousand on my personal account." Johnny shook his head irritably, the whole thing was nonsensical.

"There is one creditor who could come to you, and subject you to the full process of law. Not to receive payment in cash - but in personal satisfaction. He would smash you - and delight in doing so."

Johnny's eyes narrowed disbelievingly. "Benedict?" The Old Man nodded.

"For once Benedict will hold the top cards. He won't be able to dislodge you from the management of the company, because Tracey will support you as she always has done - but he will be able to watch every move you make from his seat on the Board of Directors. He will be able to hound you, bring you and the Company down without suffering financial loss himself.

And when you fall - you know better than to expect mercy from him.

You will be devoured by the ogre you have created."

"Created?"

Johnny's voice was shocked. "What do you mean?"

"You turned him into what he is now. You broke his heart, made him weak and useless "

"You are crazy." Johnny came to his feet. "I have never done anything to Benedict. It was he who-" But the Old Man's husky croak brushed aside Johnny's protests. "He tried to run with you - but could not. He gave up, became small and vicious. Oh, I know about the way he is - how you made him." Please, listen to me. I did not-" But the Old Man went on remorselessly. "Tracey also, you have ruined her life. You enslaved her, in your sin-" "That night!" Johnny shouted at him. "You never let me explain. We never-" Now the Old Man's voice was a whiplash.

"Silence!" And Johnny could not defy him, the habit was too deeply engrained. The Old Man was trembling, his eyes glittering with pa.s.sion. "Both my children! You have plagued me and my family. My son is a weak-willed drifter, trying to hide his hurt in a hunt for pleasure. I have given him the instruments to destroy you, and when he does so perhaps he will become a man." The Old Man's voice was strained now, rusty and painracked. He swallowed with an effort, his throat convulsing but there was no softening of the glitter in his eyes.

"My daughter also, torturned by her l.u.s.t. A l.u.s.t which you awakened she also seeks an escape from her guilty pa.s.sion. Your destruction will be her release."

"You're wrong," Johnny cried out, half in protest, half in entreaty. "Please, let me explain-"

"This is how it will work. I have made you vulnerable, linking you to a crippled and foundering enterprise. This time we will be rid of you."

He stopped to pant quickly, like a running dog. His breathing was strangled, harsh-sounding.

"Benedict will cut you down, and Tracey will have to watch you go.

She cannot help you, her inheritance is carefully tied up, she has no control of the capital. Your only hope is the Kingfisher. The Kingfisher will turn into a vampire and suck your life blood! You asked why I was systematically transferring the a.s.sets of Van Der Byl Diamonds to my other companies? Well, now you know the answer."

Johnny's lips moved. He was very pale. His voice came out small and whispery.

"I could refuse to sign the guarantee." The Old Man smiled bleakly, a drawing back of the lips that was without warmth or humour.

"You will sign it." His voice was wheezy. "Your pride and conceit will not let you do otherwise. You see, I know you.

I've studied you all these years. But if you refuse to sign the guarantee, I will still have smashed you. Your shares will go to Benedict. You will be out. Out! Gone! We will be finished with you at last." Then his voice dropped, "But you will sign. I know it."

Involuntarily Johnny lifted his hands towards the Old Man, a gesture of supplication. "In all this time. When I stayed with you, when I-" His voice went husky and dried up. "Did you never feel anything for me anything at all?" The Old Man sat up in his chair. He seemed to regain his bulk and he began to smile. He spoke quietly now, he did not have to shout.

"Get out of my nest, Cuckoo. Get out and fly!" he said.

Slowly Johnny's expression changed, the line of his jaw hardened, thrusting out aggressively. His shoulders went back. He pushed his hands into his pockets, balling his fists into bony liters.

He nodded once in understanding.

"I see." He nodded again, and then he started to grin. It was an unconvincing grin, that twisted his mouth out of shape and left his eyes dark and haunted.

"All right, you mean old b.a.s.t.a.r.d, I'll show you." He turned and walked from the room without looking back.

The Old Man's expression lit in deep satisfaction. He chuckled, then his breath caught. He began to cough, and the pain ripped his throat with a violence that left him clinging weakly to the edge of his desk.

He felt the crab of death move within his flesh, sinking its claws more deeply into his throat and lungs - and he was afraid.

He called out in his pain and fear, but there was n.o.body in the old house to hear him.

-Kingfisher was launched in August and ran her trials in the North Sea. Benedict was aboard, by the Old -.&Man's express command.

With a vessel of such complexity, and of such revolutionary design, it would have been a miracle had she functioned perfectly. August that year was not the month for miracles. At the end of the trials Johnny had compiled a list of twenty-three modifications that were necessary.

"How long?" he asked the representative of the s.h.i.+pyard.

"A month."The reply was hesitant.

"You mean two," said Benedict and laughed out loud.

Johnny looked at him thoughtfully, he guessed that the Old Man had spoken to him.

"I'll tell you something, Johnny." Benedict was still laughing.

"I'm glad this cow isn't my dream of paradise." Johnny froze. Those words were the Old Man's, repeated parrot fas.h.i.+on. It was all the confirmation that he needed.

Johnny flew back to Cape Town to find his creditors on the verge of mutiny. They wanted to sell out, and take the loss.

Johnny spent two whole precious days on La.r.s.en's wine farm at Stellenbosch calming his fears. When Fifi La.r.s.en, twenty years younger than her husband, squeezed Johnny's thigh under the lunch table he knew it would be all right for another two months.

During the next hectic, strength-sapping week of argument and negotiation, Johnny made time to see Tracey.

She had been out of the nursing-home for a month now, staying with friends on a small farm near Somerset West.

When Johnny climbed out of the Mercedes, and Tracey came down from the stoop to greet him, he had his first real lift of pleasure in a long time.

"G.o.d,"he said. "You look great." She was dressed in a cotton summer dress with open sandals on her feet. Her friends were away for the day, so they walked through the orchards. He studied her openly, noticing how her cheeks and arms had filled out and the colour had come back into them. Her hair was bright and springing with lights in the sun, but there were still the dark smears under her eyes, and she smiled only once when he picked a sprig of peach blossoms for her. She seemed to be afraid of him, and unsure of herself.

At last he faced her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "All right. What's eating you up It came out in a quick staccato rush of words.

"I want to thank you for coming to find me. I want to explain why I was - like that. In that state. I don't want you to believe - well, bad things about me."

"Tracey, you don't have to explain to me."

"I want to. I must." And she told him, not looking at his face, twisting and tearing the blossoms in her hands.

"You see, I didn't understand, I thought all men were like that.

Not wanting, I mean not doing it-" She broke off, and started again.

"He was kind, you understand. And there were lots of parties and friends around all the time, every night. Then he wanted to go to London - for his career.

There was not enough scope here. Even then I didn't know.

Well, I knew he had lots of men friends and that some of them were different - but ... Then I went to his studio and found them, and they laughed, Kenny and the boy twined together like snakes. "But you must have known," he said.

Something just snapped in my head, I felt spoiled, dirty and horrible and I wanted to die. There was n.o.body to go to and I didn't want anybody - I just wanted to die." She stopped and stood waiting for him to speak.

"Do you still want to die?" he asked gently, and she looked up startled and shook her s.h.i.+ning hair.

"I don't want you to die either." And suddenly they were both laughing. After that it was good between them and they talked with all the strangeness gone until it was almost dark.

"I must go,"Johnny said.

"Your wife?" she asked, the laughter fading.

"Yes. My wife." It was dark when Johnny went in through the front door of the new split-level ranch type in Bishopscourt which was his house but not his home; the telephone was ringing. He picked up the receiver.

"Johnny?"

"h.e.l.lo Michael." He recognized the voice.

"Johnny, get up here to the old house right away." Michael Shapiro's voice was strained.

"Is it the Old Man?"Johnny asked anxiously.

"No talk - just come, quickly!" The curtains were drawn, and a log fire roared on the stone hearth. But the Old Man was cold. The coldness was deep inside him where the flames could not warm it. His hands shook as he picked sheets of paper from the open doc.u.ment box, glanced at them and then dropped them into the fire. They exploded into orange flame, then curled and blackened to ash. At last the box was empty but for a thick wad of multi-coloured envelopes bound together with a ribbon. He loosened the knot, picked out the first envelope, and slipped from it a single sheet of writing-paper.

"Dear Sir, I hope you will be pleased to hear that I am now at school. The food is good but the beds are very hard-" He dropped both envelope and letter on the fire and selected another. One at a time he read and then burned them.

"-that I have been selected to play for the first fifteen-"