by Wilbur Smith
He had withdrawn from her and flung all his energies into the Company.
This, then, was his life and he saw that it was an empty thing, hollowed out by the Old Man’s hand.
For the first time his mind skirted the idea that it was a carefully calculated and sadistic revenge for the innocent action of a half-grown boy.
As though it were an escape from thoughts too dreadful to be borne, he fell asleep in the chair and the glass fell from his hand.
Jacobus Isaac van der Byl sat in a leather chair before the X-ray viewer. Fear had blasted the granite of his features, leaving them cracked and sagging, recognizable but subtly alerted below the gleaming white mane.
Fear was in his eyes also, moving below the surface like slimy water creatures in the pale blue pools. With the fear chilling and numbing his limbs he watched the cloudy and swirling images on the screen.
The specialist was talking softly, impersonally, as though he were lecturing one of his classes, enveloping the thymus here and extending beyond the trachea.”
The point of his gold pencil followed the ghostly outline on the screen. The Old Man swallowed with an effort. It seemed to be swelling in his throat as he listened, and his voice was hoarse and blurred to his own ears.
“You will operate?” he asked, and the specialist paused in his explanation. He glanced at the surgeon across the desk.
The exchange was as guilty as that of conspirators.
The Old Man swivelled his chair and faced the surgeon.
“Well?“he demanded harshly.
“No.” The surgeon shook his head apologetically. “It’s too late.
If only you had-“
“How long?“The Old Man overrode his explanation.
“Six months, not more.”
“You are certain?”
“Yes.” The Old Man’s chin sank on to his chest and he closed his eyes. There was complete silence in the room, they watched him with Professional pity and interest as he reached his own personal acceptance of death.
At last the Old Man opened his eyes and stood up slowly. He tried to smile but his lips would not hold the shape.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” he croaked in this new rough voice. “Will you excuse me, please. There are many things to arrange now.” He went down to where the Rolls waited at the entrance.
He walked slowly, shuffling his feet and the chauffeur came to him quickly, but the Old Man shrugged away his helping hands and climbed into the back seat of the car.
Michael Shapiro was waiting for him in the study of the big house.
He saw the change in him immediately and jumped up from his chair.
The Old Man stood in the doorway, his body seemed to have shrunk.
“Six months,” he said. “They give me six months.” He said it as though he had expected to buy off death, and they had tricked him. He closed his eyes again, and when he opened them there was a glint of cunning in them, even his face had a pinched foxy look to it.
“Where is he? Is he back yet?”
“Yes, the Boeing got in at nine this morning. He’s at the office now.” Michael was shocked, it was the first time he had seen the Old Man without the mask.
“And the girl?” He had not called her daughter” since the divorce.
“Johnny has her in a private nursing home.” “Worthless slut,” said the Old Man softly, and Michael stilled the protest before it reached his lips. “Get your pad. I want you to take something down.” The Old
Man chuckled hoarsely. “We’ll see!” he said, making it sound like a threat.
“We’ll see!” Johnny’s doctor was waiting at Cape Town airport.
“Take her, Robin. Dry her out, and fatten her up.
She’s up to her gills with drugs and she probably hasn’t eaten for a month.” Tracey showed her first spark of spirit.
“Where do you think-“
“Into a nursing home.” Johnny anticipated her questions.
“For as long as is necessary.”
“I’m not-“
“Oh, yes, you bloody well are.” He took her arm, and Robin grabbed the other. They walked her, still protesting weakly to the car park.
“Thanks, Robin Old Soldier, give her the full workout.”
“I’ll send her back to you like new,” Robin promised and drove away. Johnny took a few moments to look at the massive square silhouette of the mountain - his own private home-coming ceremony. Then he fetched the Mercedes from the airport garage, and hesitated between home or the office, decided he was not up to an interrogation from Ruby and chose the office. He kept a clean shirt and shaving tackle in his private bathroom there.
They descended on him like a tribe of man-eating Amazons as he came in through the glass doors into the lusciously furnished and carpeted reception area of Van Der Byl Diamonds head office.
The two pretty little receptionists began yipping joyously in chorus.
“Oh, Mr. Lance, I have a whole sheaf of messages-“
“Oh, Mr. Lance, your wife,” Trying not to run he made it to within ten feet of his own door, when the Old Man’s secretary popped out of ambush from behind her frosted-glass panel.
“Mr. Lance, where on earth have you been? Mr. van der Byl has been asking-” Which alerted Lettie Pienaar, his own secretary.
“Mr. Lance, thank goodness you’re back.” Johnny stopped and held up his hands in an attitude of surrender.
“One at a time, ladies. There is enough h to go round don’t panic.”
Which broke the reception team into a quivering jelly of giggles, and sent the Old Man’s watchdog back behind her panel sniffing disgustedly.
“Which is the most important, Lettie?” he asked as he went to his desk and flipped through his mail, shrugged out of his coat and began stripping tie and shirt as he headed for his bathroom.
“They shouted at each other through the open door of the bathroom, as Johnny shaved quickly and showered, Lettie bringing him up to date on every aspect of Company and domestic business.
“Mrs. Lance has phoned regularly. She called me a liar when I told her you were at Cartridge Bay.” Lettie was silent a moment, then as
Johnny came out of the bathroom she asked, “By the way, where have you been?”
“Don’t you start that.” Johnny stood over the desk, and began flipping through the accumulated papers. “Get my wife on the phone, please - no, hold it. Tell her I’ll be home at seven.”
Lettie saw she had lost his attention, and she stood and went out.
Johnny settled down behind his desk.
Van Der Byl Diamonds was a sick company. Despite Johnny’s protests the Old Man had been drawing off its reserves and feeding them into his other ventures - the property-developing company, the clothing factory, Van Der Byl fisheries, the big irrigation scheme on the Orange
River - and now the cupboard was almost bare.
The beach concessions were reaching the end of a short but glorious life. They were starting to work break-even ground. The Old
Man had sold the Huib Hoch concession to the big Company for a quick profit - but the profit had been just as quickly transferred out of Johnny’s control.
There was only one really fat goose left in his pen, and it wasn’t laying eggs yet.
Eighteen months earlier Johnny had purchased two offshore diamond grounds from a company which had died in attempting to work them. It had been strangled by its own inefficiency.
Taking diamonds from the sea is about eight times more expensive than working them from a dry opencast. One must dredge the gravel from the wild and unpredictable waters of the Skeleton Coast, load it into dumb barges, tow the barges to a safe base, off-load it and then begin the recovery process - or rather, that was the method the defunct company had attempted.
Johnny had dreamed up, and then ordered a vessel which was completely self-contained. It could lie out at sea, suck up the gravel and process it, spilling the waste gravel back into the sea as rapidly as it was sucked aboar
d. It was fitted with a sophisticated recovery plant that was completely computerized and contained within the ocean-going hull. It needed only a small crew, and it could work in all weather conditions short of a full tornado.
The Kingfisher was lying at Portsmouth dockyards rapidly nearing completion. Her trials were scheduled for early August.
Financing the building of this vessel had been a nightmare for Johnny. The Old Man had been unhelpful, when he wasn’t being downright obstructive. He never discussed the venture without that little smile twitching at his lips.
He had restricted Van Der Byl Diamonds” monetary involvement in the project so severely that Johnny had been forced to raise two millions outside the company.
He had found the money, and the Old Man had smiled again.
Kingfisher should have been lying on the grounds three months ago, sucking up diamonds. The whole financial structure of the scheme was based on her completion on schedule, but Kingfisher was running six months behind and now the foundations were shivering.
Sitting at his desk Johnny was working out how to shore up the whole edifice and keep it from collapsing before he could get
Kingfisher working. The creditors were rumbling and creaking, and Johnny had only his own enthusiasm and reputation left to keep them quiet.
Now he must ask them to defer their interest payments for another three months. He picked up the telephone.
“Get me Mr. Larsen 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 hoarse 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 document 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 - nobody 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 shifted 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 passion. “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 lust. A lust which you awakened - she also seeks an escape from her guilty passion. 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 assets 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.