by Wilbur Smith
“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 bastard, 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 nobody 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 shipyard.
“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 fashion. 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 Larsen’s wine farm at Stellenbosch calming his fears. When Fifi Larsen, 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.
“God,“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 nobody 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 shining 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?”
“Hello 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 document 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-“
Sometimes he smiled, once he chuckled.
“-I was top in all subjects except history and religious teaching.
I hope to do better next-” When there was one envelope left he held it a long time in his blue-veined bony hands. Then with an impatient flick of his wrist he threw it on to the fire and reached up to the mantelpiece to pull himself to his feet. As he stood he looked into the gilt-framed mirror above the fireplace.
He stared at his reflection, mildly surprised by the change that the last few weeks had wrought in his appearance. His eyes had lost the sparkle of life, fading to a pale dirty brownish blue the colour of putrefaction. They bulged from the sockets, in the glassy startled stare which is peculiar to the later stages of terminal cancer.
The watery feeling of limb, and the coldness were not the result of the pain-killing drugs, he knew. Nor was the shuffling feet-dragging gait with which he crossed the thick Bokhara carpet to the stinkwood desk.
He looked down at the oblong leather case with its brassbound corners, and he coughed, a single flesh-teatin
g bark.
He caught at the desk to steady himself, waiting for the pain to pass before he sprang the catch on the case and laid the lid back.
His hands were quite steady as he took the barrel and butt section of the Purdy Royal twelve-bore shotgun from the case and fitted them together.
He died the way he had lived - alone.
“Oh, how I hate black.” Ruby Lance stood in the centre of the bedroom floor, staring at the clothing laid out on the double bed. “It makes me look so washed out.” She swung her head from side to side, setting the champagne-coloured cascade of her hair swinging. She turned and moved lazily across the room to the tall mirrors.
She smiled at herself, a languid slanting of the eyes, and then she spoke over the shoulder of her own image.
“You say that Benedict van der Byl has arrived from England?”
“Yes,“Johnny nodded. He sat slumped in the chair beside his dressing-room door, pressing his fingers into his eyes.
Ruby came up on her toes, pulling in her stomach and pushing forward her small hard breasts.
“Who else will be there?” she asked, cupping her hands under her breasts and squeezing out the nipples between thumb and forefinger, inspecting them critically. Johnny took his hand from his eyes.
“Did you hear me?” Ruby’s voice took on a sharp admonishing note. “I’m not talking to myself, you know.” She turned away from the mirror to face him. Standing long and slim and golden as a leopard, even her eyes had the yellow intentness of a leopard’s stare. She gave the impression that at any moment she would draw her lips back in a snarl.
“It’s a funeral,“he said quietly. “Not a cocktail party.”
“Well, you can’t expect me to die of sorrow. I couldn’t stand him.” She crossed to the bed and picked up the pair of peach-coloured panties and rubbed the glossy material against her cheek. Then she stepped into them with two long-legged strides.
“At least I can wear something pretty under the weeds.” She snapped the elastic against her sun-gilt belly, and the almost colourless blonde curls were flattened beneath the sheer silk.
Johnny stood up slowly, and went into his dressing-room.
Scornfully she called after him. “Oh for God’s sake, Johnny Lance, stop dragging that long face around as though it’s the end of the world. Nobody owes that old devil a thing he collected all his debts long before they fell due.” They were a few minutes early, and they stood together beneath the pine-trees outside the entrance to the chapel.
When the pearl-grey Rolls drew up at the gate and brother and sister stepped down and came up the paved path, Ruby could not contain her interest.
“Is that Benedict van der Byl?” Johnny nodded.
“He’s very good-looking.” But Johnny was looking at Tracey. The change in her appearance since he had last seen her was startling. She walked like a desert girl again, straight and proud. She came directly to Johnny and stopped in front of him. She removed her dark glasses, and he could see she had been weeping, for her eyes were slightly puffy. She wore no make-up, and with the dark scarf framing her face she looked like a nun. The marks that sorrow had left gave her face maturity.
“I did not think this day would ever come,” she said softly.
“No,” Johnny agreed. “It was as though he would live for ever.”
Tracey moved a step closer to him, she reached out as if to touch Johnny’s arm but her fingers stopped within inches of his sleeve.
Johnny understood the gesture, it was a sharing of sorrow, an understanding of mutual loss, and an unstated offer of comfort.
“I don’t think we have met.” Ruby used her sugar and arsenic tone. “It is Miss. van der Byl, isn’t it?” Tracey turned her head and her expression went flat and neutral. She replaced the dark glasses, masking her eyes.
“Mrs. Hartford,” she said. “How do you do.” ike Shapiro stood beside Johnny in the pew. He spoke without moving his lips, just loud enough for Johnny to catch the words.
“Benedict knows the conditions of the Will. You can expect his first move immediately.”
“Thanks, Mike.” Johnny kept his eyes on the massive black coffin. The candlelight granted and sparkled on the elaborate silver handles.
As yet he could find no interest for the conflict that lay ahead.
That would come. Now he was too deeply involved in the passing of an era, his life had reached another point of major departure. He knew it would change, had already changed.
He looked across the aisle suddenly, his gaze drawn intuitively.
Benedict van der Byl was watching him, and at that moment the priest asked for the pallbearers.
They went to stand beside the coffin, Benedict and Johnny on opposite sides of the polished black casket among the massed display of arum lilies. They watched each other warily. It seemed to Johnny that the whole scene was significant. The two of them standing over the Old Man’s corpse, facing each other, with Tracey looking on anxiously.
Johnny glanced back into the body of the church, looking for Tracey. Instead he found Ruby. She was watching them both, and Johnny knew suddenly that the board had changed more than he realized.
A new piece had been added to the game.
He felt Mike Shapiro nudge him, and he stooped forward and grasped the silver handle. Between them they carried the Old Man out into the sunshine.
The handle had cut into his palm with the weight of the coffin.
He went on massaging it, even after the coffin had gone down into the pit. The crude mounds of fresh earth were covered with blankets of bright green artificial grass.
The mourners began to drift away, but Johnny went on standing there bareheaded. Until Ruby came to touch his arm.
“Come on.” Her voice pitched low, but stinging. “You’re making a fool of yourself.” Benedict and Tracey were waiting under the pine-trees by the churchyard gate, shaking hands and talking quietly to the departing mourners.
“You are Ruby, of course.” Benedict took her hand, smiling a little, urbane and charming. “The flattering reports I’ve had of you hardly do you justice.” And Ruby glowed, seeming like a butterfly to spread her wings to the sun.
“Johnny.” Benedict turned to him, and Johnny was taken off balance by the friendly warmth of his smile and the grip of his hand. “Michael
Shapiro tells me that you have accepted my father’s legacy and the conditions attached to it - you have signed the guarantee. It’s wonderful news. I don’t know what we would have done without you in Van Der Byl Diamonds. You are the only one that can pull the Company through this difficult period. I want you to know I am behind you all the way, Johnny. I intend becoming much more involved with the Company now, giving you all the help you need.”
“I knew I could depend on you, Benedict.” Johnny accepted the challenge as smoothly as it was thrown down.
“I think everything is going to turn out all right.”
“We have a meeting on Monday, then I must return to London on Thursday - but I hope you can have dinner with me before. then - you and your lovely wife, of course.”
“Thank you.” Ruby seeing the refusal on Johnny’s lips, interrupted quickly. “We’d enjoy that.” You were going to refuse, weren’t you?” She sat with her legs curled up sideways under her, watching him from the passenger seat of the Mercedes with the slanting eyes of a Persian cat.
“You’re damn right.“Johnny nodded grimly.
“Why?”
“Benedict van der Byl is poison.”
“You say so.”
“Yes, I say so.”
“Could be you’re jealous of him.” Ruby lit one of her gold-tipped cigarettes, puffing the smoke through her lips.
“Good God!” Johnny gave one harsh snort of laughter, then they were silent awhile, both staring ahead.
“I think he’s pretty dreamy.”
“You can have him.“Johnny’s tone was disinterested, but her retort was shrill.
“I could too - if I wanted to. A
nyway you and that Tracey creature mooning-“
“Cut it out, Ruby.” “Oh my, I’ve said the wrong thing. The precious Mrs. Hartford-” “Cut it out, I said.“Johnny’s tone was sharp.
“Little Miss. Fancy Pants. - God! She almost had them down for you in the bloody graveyard-“
“Shut up, damn you.”
“Don’t you swear at me.”
And she lashed out at him flathanded, leaning forward across the seat to strike him in the mouth. His lower lip smeared against his teeth, and the taste of blood seeped into his mouth. He took the handkerchief from his breast pocket and held it to his mouth, steering the Mercedes with one hand.
Ruby sat curled in her corner of the seat, puffing quickly at the cigarette. Neither of them spoke again until he drew up in front of the double garage. Then Ruby slipped out of the Mercedes and ran across the lawns to the front door.
She slammed it behind her, with a force that rattled the full-length glass panel.
Johnny parked the Mercedes, closed the garage door and followed her slowly into the house. She had kicked off her shoes on the wall-to-wall carpet in the lounge, and run through on to the patio beside the swimming pool. She stood barefooted staring down into the clear water, hugging herself about the shoulders.
“Ruby.” He came up behind her, forcing the anger out of his voice with an effort, trying to keep it conciliatory.
“Listen to me She spun around to face him, eyes blazing like a cornered leopard.
“Don’t try and gentle talk me, you bastard. What do you think I am - your damned servant. When did I last get to do anything I wanted?” With Ruby he had long ago realized that placation was the short cut to peace, so he was roused by the implication.
“I’ve never stopped you from-“
“Good! That’s just fine! Then you won’t stop me going away.”
“What do you mean?” He was caught between shock and a sneaking sense of hope. “Are you talking about divorce
“Divorce? Are you out of your little mind! I know all about the big bagful of goodies the Old Man left you in his will. Well, little Ruby is getting her pinkies into that bag starting right now.”