by John Hanley
‘Excellent. These are the best. Top of the hardness scale. You can tell by how the crystals are aligned. How many did you say there were?’
I answered. ‘We didn’t but I reckoned each crate weighed over half a hundred-weight. Deduct the weight of the crate and packing, that leaves about fifty pounds of diamonds.’
He whistled. ‘If they are all of this quality then it’s quite a horde. Four crates you say, that’s 200 pounds. Must be over 400,000 carats. Enough to keep the Nazi’s in production for a few –’
Caroline interrupted. ‘No one mentioned Germans.’
‘I may be Jewish but I’m not stupid. Germany is desperate for industrials. That’s where the money is. No one dares sell directly to the Nazis so the market is open for chancers like your father and his friends.’
She considered for a moment. ‘Okay, so he’s dealing with Germans. These are only a sample though. If I’m right, they were discussing shipping a whole lot more.’
‘It’s a long way from the Congo. It’s on the west coast of Africa, only a small frontage onto the Atlantic. Probably steamer to Lisbon, they’re leaning towards the Nazis so no questions asked there. Onward to Belgium or straight to Germany.’ He paused in his musing. ‘That’s the catch. Can’t use the direct route. Too obvious and not enough profit. Some middlemen needed. A trading company registered here with proxy shareholders would be ideal. No tax or awkward questions. Not a De Beers subsidiary like DTC though. It would have to be something more opaque, probably a holding company. Perhaps not the one you mentioned, SGB, they’re legit. That’s your father’s role I suppose, putting together some sort of deal –’
‘So what are they worth?’ She sounded impatient.
‘Keep your wig on and I’ll try to work it out. Let’s see. This sort of quality purchased at source with cheap labour, probably less than two shillings a carat. Times 400,000 works out at about 40,000 pounds sterling. Germans would pay a minimum of three pounds per carat that’s £1.2 million and a profit of £1,196,000 on this sample alone. Take away your shipping and handling costs, bribes, wastage, hired help, etc, and, whoever has stumped up the cash, is looking at a net profit of well over a million. Enough to kill for.’
We considered that in silence.
Suddenly the enormity of the transaction hit me.
‘Never mind the bloody profit, we can’t let these get to Germany!’ I shouted.
‘Don’t be daft, Jack. My father’s a bastard but we can’t steal his diamonds.’
Was she dreaming of a better piano, a faster car, or had she just realised how big this was as well?
‘I don’t mean steal them. We have to inform the authorities.’
Saul chortled. ‘Perhaps the authorities already know, perhaps there’s a slice for them?’
‘You’re right. It’s none of our business though I would have thought, you in particular, would have wanted to stop Hitler getting hold of them,’ I said.
‘Don’t be naïve. If this deal fails, there are plenty of others willing to take the risk. Look at the rewards. Short of bombing the mines and blowing up the stockpiles, you’re not going to stop Germany getting diamonds.’
‘Perhaps not, but I might be able to stop them getting these diamonds. Uncle Fred will know what to do. Even if he won’t, I will –’
‘Stop. That’s enough. This is our secret, remember. No one else must know.’ Caroline grabbed my face, forced me to look at her. ‘Promise me, Jack.’
Her voice was calm but her eyes were full of worry.
‘I’m sorry but we have to stop this. We can’t just let them get away with it.’
Her eyes moistened. She blinked furiously. ‘I trusted you. You can’t betray me.’
Even though I’d had plenty of practise in the last few days, she was right. I couldn’t. Then I thought of someone else who’d been betrayed and what had been done to her by the merciless bastards who would benefit from these diamonds. Caroline was right. It had to remain a secret, but only from her. Whatever I did, whoever I told, I must ensure she was protected from the truth.
I tried to look reassuring. ‘Don’t worry. It will remain between us.’
She pulled me to her, clasped her arms around my neck and pressed her body tightly into mine. She stood on tiptoe, pressed her mouth to my ear. Her breath was cool.
‘Thank you.’
That familiar body promised so much again, shaped itself to mine. I couldn’t stop my reaction but, as soon as she sensed it, she shifted her hips away and removed her arms.
‘I need time to think this through. Saul, be a dear and order me a taxi.’ She bent down, scooped up her diamonds and thrust them back into her pocket.
‘Ask the driver to meet me at the Dicq. I need a walk.’
‘But, I can run you home. It’s no –’
‘Thank you for the offer, Jack, but I can’t think straight while I’m clinging on to you,’ she said, ‘and you can’t either.’
She followed Saul into the corridor where the phone was kept. She paused at the door. ‘I know this is difficult but you have to think it through as well.’ She looked down as though she was engaged in an internal argument.
Apart from Saul’s distant voice on the telephone, the apartment was silent. She was only feet away yet that enormous gulf was between us again.
Finally she looked up and directed her gaze at a point above my head. ‘Please don’t read too much into what’s happened between us today. Remember how easily you betrayed Rachel. Think about that before you break any more promises.’
Message so clearly delivered, it pinned me to the floor. She twisted away and hurried into the hall.
When Saul returned, I was still rooted to the spot.
He refilled his glass and offered me the bottle.
‘No thanks.’
‘“Well, here’s another nice kettle of fish you’ve pickled me in!” ’ He raised his glass. ‘How are you going to get us out of this one?’
Like Caroline, I needed time to think. ‘I don’t know but this isn’t a film, we’re not Laurel and Hardy, and I can’t see a happy ending.’
‘You’re going to tell your uncle, aren’t you?’
‘I might. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you out of it.’
He tilted his head and emptied the glass. ‘Oh no you won’t. Whatever you’re plotting, count me in. It’s as much my fight as yours.’ He refilled my glass and thrust it at me.
This time, I accepted and waited until his was full.
‘Le’chaim!’ I said.
‘Very good. Prost! Coupled with Bumsen Sie Hitler.’ He sat down. ‘Now what are you thinking?’
‘What’s the safest way to sabotage a boat’s engines without leaving any trace?’
26
Tuesday
‘On the balcony – there.’ I indicated behind me while trying to remain camouflaged in the dappled shade under a chestnut tree.
Malita glanced over my shoulder. ‘Yes, I see many men, standing. Who are they?’
‘The tall one on the far left, that’s Kohler’s uncle,’ I whispered. I didn’t want our interest noticed.
‘Who are the others?’ Rachel hissed.
I’d arranged to meet Malita in the Royal Square during her lunch break from de Gruchys to report progress. To my surprise and discomfort, Rachel had appeared with her. My heart had almost stopped with embarrassment. I hadn’t had the courage to face her since the evening of the dance. She looked tired and a trifle sad but didn’t seem to be angry with me. I wondered why Malita had brought her. What had Rachel told her? Was she hoping to get us together again?
Rachel avoided more than the briefest eye contact but declared how pleased she was to escape from the steaming sweatshop of their workroom.
The group I had been following most of the morning had now been joined by some members of the States Assembly during their lunch break and were drinking outside on the shaded balcony of the United Club.
I didn’t turn round. ‘The elderly one, in the
navy pinstriped suit, is Jurat Hurel, vice president of the Finance Committee.’
‘Didn’t you tell me that one of your relations was president of finance?’ Rachel asked.
‘That’s right, Mum’s cousin, Ralph, though I’ve always called him Uncle. But he’s not there. I wonder if he knows about Hurel.’
‘I recognise Hayden-Brown.’ Rachel’s tone implied she would rather spit on Caroline’s father than merely spot him.
‘I’ve been following them since ten o’clock. I’m going to have some explaining to do tomorrow. I was supposed to be taking a swimming lesson for Martlew at the Palace.’
Earlier, I’d been called to the bursar’s office and handed an envelope. The handwriting was Caroline’s and my heart had jumped. I’d hurried into the corridor and ripped it open. Inside was a single sheet. “States Chamber. 10:00 today. That’s all the help you get. Do not contact me again”. What had I expected?
I’d sent a message to the Latin master offering my apologies, changed into cream slacks and a plain white cotton shirt then borrowed a panama hat from Saul’s locker. Slipping into town, I’d tried my best to look like a tourist as I headed for the square.
‘They’re moving,’ Rachel murmured. ‘It looks as though a waiter is calling them to their seats.’ She ducked her head. ‘Don’t turn around. One of them is standing at the balcony looking our way.’ She dropped down, tugging Malita with her, and pretended to be looking for something on the granite flagstones.
‘Is all right. He has gone.’ Malita stood and smiled at me. ‘You have done well. Fred will be pleased.’
‘Yes, but how do I get the photographs of the two new ones from the bank? I can’t waltz in and start taking snaps while they’re eating, now can I?’
‘Malita and I could go up there and have a drink, admire the view and take some shots with them in the background.’
‘Unfortunately, Rachel, the United Club is men only and wouldn’t let you in even if you were someone’s guest.’
Malita snorted. ‘How very British.’ Then her face split with a broad smile. ‘That is the weakness.’
‘What do you mean, weakness?’ Rachel asked.
‘The British don’t see the servants, no?’
‘No, I mean yes. You’re right, Malita. But how does that help.’
She tapped her nose. ‘Give me small camera.’ She reached out as I removed it from my trouser pocket. She stood up, patted down her dress and walked towards the side entrance of the United Club.
Rachel and I watched as she rang the bell and waited outside. A short man in brown overalls answered and listened to her. He seemed to be shaking his head but then shrugged and disappeared inside.
Minutes later a man wearing a short white coat appeared and greeted Malita with a hug and kisses on both cheeks. There was much gesticulating and more kisses before he went back into the club. Malita returned with an even broader smile on her face.
‘Well, what was all that about? Who’s that waiter?’ I asked.
‘Emilio. He work there much time. Also, he friend. He think like Fred and me. He work, you know, how you say? For the party.’
‘So you gave him the little camera and asked him to photograph our friends?’
She nodded.
‘What if he’s caught?’ Rachel sounded anxious.
Malita shrugged her shoulders. ‘Is no matter. He hate job. But no worry. He no make mistake. He bring to me camera later.’
She reached out. ‘You give big camera. I take and Fred make printings. You come at seis, six o’clock. I make for you tea.’ She looked at Rachel, including her in the invitation.
I didn’t know whether I should press her to join us as well as I was still reeling from my encounter with Caroline the previous evening.
I’d replayed the whole scene over and over while I tried to get to sleep but I still couldn’t work out what, apart from hate, she felt for me. I even examined the individual words she had used, trying to pick hidden meanings out of them.
I’d finally dozed off replaying a very different scene: Rachel, the sun sparkling off her enticing grin as she dangled a spare swimming costume in front of me and made me beg for it.
Rachel looked at me before she answered Malita. My mind cleared and I realised that I really wanted her to accept the invitation but, before I could speak, she replied.
‘Thank you but that was enough excitement for one day. It was good to get out of the hothouse for a while though. Come on, Malita, we had better get back before they send out a search party.’
‘Rachel, please…’ I spoke, but it was to her retreating back.
Malita rolled her eyes at me. ‘I try but…’ she shrugged and followed Rachel back to work.
I stood there feeling foolish and helpless until the drips from the tree reminded me I should be in the pool. I hurried off, trying to think of a convincing excuse for Martlew – preferably in Latin.
I’d left Boadicea parked in Museum Street so I made my way there, through the town centre. I cut through the market and, to stop my stomach grumbling, I bought an apple.
As I was paying, I had the feeling that I was being watched. In the mirror behind the fruiterer, I spotted the man who had given me the date of Lawrence’s accident hovering by one of the butchers’ counters. He didn’t look as though he was purchasing a joint of beef.
I left via a side entrance and stopped outside Donaldson’s music shop to check for reflections in the large window. My eye was drawn to a display of gramophone records, including an HMV Red Label double-sided copy of Jussi Bjoerling singing extracts from “La Bohème”. The sad image of the pieces of broken shellac lying in my uncle’s front room reached out from the brightly-coloured record sleeves to taunt me.
I refocused and checked the reflection. My follower was still there, back turned, pretending to study the contents of the newsagent’s window on the other side of the street. Had he been trailing me all morning? Was he just curious or did he intend to stop me? My heart was racing as I turned into Museum Street and hurried towards the bike.
I was nearly there when the Jaguar turned off Belmont Road and ghosted to a halt in front of Boadicea. I slowed and peeked over my shoulder. He was less than fifty feet from me and closing in.
The street was empty apart from a grey Morris van parked outside one of the terraced houses. The rear doors of the van were gaping and the front door to the house was open. I edged towards it. I didn’t know who lived there but I felt the need for company. I was about to cross its threshold, when the tall man, who had spoken to me about Lawrence, blocked my way.
He smiled without humour. His voice was deep, throaty. ‘Good of you to stop. Mind if we have a chat?’ He gestured in the direction of his car. I could hear its engine running.
I started to back away but felt the hot breath of the other man on my neck. ‘Keep calm. We just want a quiet word. Won’t take long. Be a good lad and co-operate.’
I swivelled to face him. The brim of his black hat shaded his eyes but his expression was menacing. Shorter than me, he was built like a rugby forward. His suit was crumpled. I could smell fried breakfast on his clothes and stale tobacco on his breath. The other man was pressing into me, his hand gripped my elbow. My throat was dry and I couldn’t speak. I didn’t want to go with them but my escape route was now blocked.
Flight, fight or surrender? What would they expect least? I measured the gap between myself and the doors of the van. If I jumped in, I could get to the driver’s seat and pound on the horn. That might frighten them off.
As his grip tightened, I jerked my arm forward and twisted backwards towards the van. His hand slipped free and I threw myself into the back and scrambled for the steering wheel. The van smelled of gas and there were tools scattered on the floor. I yelped as my knee scraped over something sharp and my hat flew off. The steering wheel was almost in reach.
I stretched out for the horn but strong hands grabbed my leg and I was hauled backwards and dumped in the road. I’d n
ever felt so frightened. I curled up, waiting for the blows. Instead, there was a raucous laugh.
‘What the hell are you doing, Jack?’
I peeped out from under my arms. Cookie was standing over me. ‘You trying to steal the gas company’s van?’
I exhaled in relief. I couldn’t disguise my trembling as I scrambled up and fell against him. ‘Joe, thank God it’s you.’
‘What’s going on? Who were those two?’ He pointed down the street as the Jaguar turned right and slid around the corner.
‘I don’t know. They grabbed me so I jumped in the back. I was going to bang the horn to get help.’
‘Just as well I came out when I did, the bloody thing doesn’t work. I’ve just delivered a cooker for my aunt.’
He turned back, closed the front door and locked it. ‘She’s not in. Come on, let’s go to the market and have a cup of tea. I’m due a break. You can tell me all about it.’
I looked up and down the street. There was no sign of the men or their car and Boadicea was sitting there waiting. I remembered Cookie’s desperation to become a Bluebottle. I was sure those two were connected to the police so I mustn’t let him get involved. ‘Thanks, Joe, but I’ve got to get back to school.’
‘Hang on. You can’t ignore this. We should report it to the town hall. We can’t have people being grabbed like that off the streets.’
‘It’s okay. I’ll report it later but I must get back.’
‘You make sure you do, now.’ His broad face wrinkled with concern. ‘You’re not involved in any criminal activity, are you?’
I had to laugh. ‘Of course not. They must have mistaken me for someone else. Don’t worry, I’ll report it.’
He didn’t look convinced. ‘You’d tell me if you were in trouble, wouldn’t you?’
I wanted to hug him. I knew I could trust him but getting involved with my uncle could ruin his chances of escaping from a job he hated. ‘I’m fine. Just a bit surprised, that’s all.’
He reached into the back then slammed the doors closed. ‘This your hat?’