The Diamond Hunters

by Wilbur Smith

  As she discarded each of the coats she dropped it in the centre of the floor, until there was a knee-high pile of precious fur.

  At last she faced him, hugging the soft creamy cloud tightly about her body. Then she opened her arms, and the coat also, standing on tip-toe to tighten and highlight the hard muscle in her legs and flanks.

  This one,” she whispered, and he came out of the chair, picked her up in his arms and laid her, still wrapped in mink, on the great pile of furs.

  Ruby woke in the double bed to a feeling of excitement and enormous well-being such as she had not experienced since she was a schoolgirl on the first morning of a holiday.

  The morning was far advanced, pale sunshine in a square shaft poured through the open window like a stage effect.

  Benedict in a yellow silk dressing-gown stood beside the bed watching her with an unfathomable expression which changed immediately he realized that she was awake.

  “My man has collected your luggage from the Lancaster.

  Your toilet things are in the bathroom, your clothing in the dressing-room.” He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead and then each cheek.

  “We will breakfast when you are ready.” He sat back and watched her eyes; clearly he was waiting for her to say something important.

  Immediately she was on guard, wary of making a mistake, seeking a clue in his expression.

  “Last night,” he asked. “Was it as good for you, as it was for me?” Understanding washed over her in a warm wave. He wanted assurance, a comparison between himself and Johnny Lance.

  “I have never in my life She placed the emphasis carefully. “-

  experienced anything like it.” He nodded, relieved, pleased - and stood up.

  “After breakfast we will go to town.” This morning, Edmund, Benedict’s man, chauffeured the Bentley. When they alighted at the north end of Bond Street and walked arm in arm along the pavement, Edmund tailed them at a dignified crawl, steadfastly ignoring the abuse of other drivers.

  The morning was cool enough for Ruby to wear her new cream mink, and the looks of admiration and envy she drew from the other strollers delighted Benedict. He wanted to impress her, he wanted to flaunt his wealth.

  “The wife of a diamond man must have diamonds.” He spoke on impulse as they came up to an expensive-looking jewellers. Ruby squeezed his arm and turned to look into the window.

  “Good Lord,” Benedict laughed. “Not here!” And Ruby looked at him with surprise.

  Mockingly Benedict began reading the signs in the window.

  “Paradise jewellers. A large selection of blue white gems.

  Certificate of flawlessness with every diamond.

  Perfect flawless stones at bargain prices as advertised on TV

  and in the national Press. Small deposit secures your ring now. A

  diamond is forever - show her you really care.””

  “But they are such a well-known firm. They have branches all over the world - even in South

  Africa!” Ruby protested, and bridled a little as Benedict smiled patronizingly.

  “Let me explain about diamonds. They are bought for two reasons by two different types of people. Firstly by rich men as investments that will not erode and can only increase in value. These men buy notable stones on the advice of experts, the best of the gem diamond production goes to them. So when Richard Burton buys Liz a 300,000 pounds diamond he is not being extravagant - on the contrary he is being ultraconservative and thrifty with his money.”

  “That’s the kind of meanness I like,” Ruby laughed, and Benedict smiled at her honesty.

  “You may find me as thrifty,“he promised.

  “Go on,” she said, “tell me more about diamonds.”

  “Well, there is another type who buys diamonds. Usually just one in his life, luckily for him - and he very seldom tries to resell it again or he would get a nasty shock. This type is Joe Everybody who wants to get married. He usually goes to somebody like Paradise jewellers.” Benedict poked a derisive finger at the sign in the window. “Because he has seen it on telly and he can get a ring on the instalment plan. In many cases the deposit covers the dealer for the cost of the stone - the rest goes on advertising, finance charges and, of course, profit.”

  “How do you know

  Paradise jewellers are that type?” Ruby’s attention was wide-eyed and girlish.

  “You recognize them firstly by the big Advertising splurge, then by their language.” Again he studied the notices in the window.”

  A large selection of blue-white. gems” - of every thousand stones of jewellery quality produced only one is fine enough in colour to be termed blue-white. It is unlikely they have a large selection. “Gem”

  is a special term reserved for a diamond which is in every way superb.

  “Flawless stones at bargain prices” - the lack of flaws in a diamond is only one of many factors governing its value. As for bargain prices -

  there ain’t no such animal. Prices are maintained at the lowest level by fierce competition among expert and canny dealers, and there are no “sales” or special prices for anyone

  “But where should a person buy a diamond?” Ruby was impressed and dismayed despite herself.

  “Not here.” Benedict chuckled. “Come, I will show you.” And before she could protest he had taken her arm and swept her into the shop, to be greeted with enthusiasm by the manager who must have noticed Ruby’s mink and the attendant Bentley, which was causing a small traffic jam outside the shop.

  “Good morning, madam and sir. May I be of service to you?”

  “Yes,” Benedict turned to Ruby, as they settled down in the manager’s office with a tray of diamond rings in front of them. “You cannot examine a diamond properly in its setting.” He selected the biggest diamond, took from his pocket a gold-plated penknife fitted with a special tool and prised open the claws of the setting to a chorus of horrified squeals from the staff.

  “I will make good any damage,” he snapped, and they subsided as

  Benedict took the loose stone and laid it on the velvet-covered tray.

  “Firstly, size. This stone is about one carat.” He looked for confirmation to the manager who nodded. “Let us say the value of this stone is 500 pounds. Ten similar stones will be worth 5,000 pounds, right?

  However, a ten-carat stone may be worth as much as 175,000. So the price per carat rises sharply as the total weight of the stone increases. If I were investing I would not touch a stone under three carats.” The staff were listening now with as much attention as Ruby.

  “Next, colour,” said Benedict, and glanced at the manager. “A

  sheet of clean white paper, please.” The manager scratched in his drawer and laid a sheet of paper in front of Benedict who placed the stone upon it, bottom upwards.

  “We compare the colour it “draws” from white paper in good natural light.” He looked up at the manager. “Switch off the fluorescent lights, and open those curtains, please.” The manager obeyed with alacrity.

  “This is a matter of experience. The colour is judged by a standard. We forget about the fancy rare colours like blue and red and green, and take our top standard as blue-white.

  A stone so white as to appear slightly blue, after which the distinctions drop to “fine white”, and “white”. Then stones which “draw” a yellowish tinge which we call “Cape” - in different shades, then finally stones which “draw” a brown colour - which will reduce the value of a stone by up to eighty percent.” Benedict fished in his fob pocket and pulled out a guinea case which he opened.

  “Every expert carries a special diamond which he uses as a gauge for colour by which to judge all other stones. This is mine.” The staff exchanged apprehensive looks as Benedict placed a small diamond beside the other. He studied them a moment then replaced his gauge in the case.

  “Second Silver Cape, I’d say,” he grunted, and the staff looked suitably abashed. “No
w we consider the stone’s perfection.” He looked at the manager. “Please lend me your I loupe.

  “Loupe?“The manager was mystified.

  “Yes, your jeweller’s glass.” the manager was deeply embarrassed.

  “You sell diamonds - Yet you do not own a loupe.” Benedict shook his head in disapproval. “No matter, I have my own.” Benedict took the glass from his inner pocket and placed it in his eye.

  “Imperfections can be almost negligible - a “natural” at the girdle, or a bubble or pinpoint of carbon in the stone, on the other hand they can be gross “cracks”, “clouds”, “ice”, or “feathers” which will ruin the value of the stone.

  But this one is flawless - so when the certificate of flawlessness is issued there will be no misrepresentation.” Benedict closed the glass and tucked it back into his pocket.

  However, in order to produce a flawless stone, the cut has been squeezed.” He held up the stone between thumb and forefinger.

  “The cut or “make” of a stone is the fourth and final decider of its value. The “make” should conform closely to the “ideal”. This stone has been cut to exclude a flaw, and in consequence it is badly proportioned - heavy and out of round. I would prefer to see a graceful stone which includes a slight imperfection rather than a grotesque little cripple like this He put the diamond down on the desk.

  “The asking price by Paradise Jewellers for this stone is “500 pounds. - which would be fair and correct for a gem. However, the colour is poor and although it is flawless it is of ungainly make. Its true value would be about - ah, let’s see - 185 pounds. approximately.” There was another chorus of protest from the assembled staff, led by the manager.

  “I assure you, sir, that all our stones have been most carefully appraised.”

  “How long have you been with Paradise Jewellers?” Benedict demanded brusquely. “Four months, isn’t it?” The manager gaped at him.

  “Before that you were a salesman in the showroom of a large firm of embalmers and undertakers.” 1, well - I mean.” The manager fluttered his hands weakly. “How did you know that?”

  “I like to know about all my employees.”

  “Employees?“The manager looked stunned.

  “That’s correct. My name is Benedict van der Byl. I own Paradise

  Jewellers.” Ruby clapped her hands and cooed her applause.

  “What a bundle of surprises you are!” she exclaimed.

  Benedict smiled in acknowledgement and inclined his head.

  “Now,” he said, as he rose and helped Ruby to her feet.

  “We will go and buy some real diamonds. Aaron Cohen sold them two fine white twin marquisecut brilliants, and Ruby chose the mounting for a pair of white-gold earrings from a leather-bound catalogue.

  Benedict gave Aaron his cheque for twenty thousand pounds, then turned to Ruby.

  “Now,” he said. “We’ll have lunch at the Celeste Grillroom. The food is bloody awful - but the decor is stupendous. We had best phone and reserve a table - it isn’t really necessary but they get terribly hurt if you don’t.” As they settled back in the lush upholstery of the

  Bentley, Benedict instructed the chauffeur.

  “Go past Trafalgar Square, Edmund. I want to pick up the newspapers from South Africa House.” Edmund double-parked outside the

  Ambassador’s entrance, and the doorman recognized the car and hurried inside to fetch the bundle of newspapers.

  As they pulled away around the square towards Haymarket, Benedict selected a copy of the Cape Argus.

  “Let’s see what’s happened at home.” He glanced at the front page, and stiffened perceptibly.

  “What is it?” Ruby leaned towards him anxiously, but he ignored her. His eyes were darting across the page like the shuttle of a loom.

  She saw the colour fade from his face, leaving it white and intent.

  He finished reading, and pushed the paper towards her. She spread the page.

  VAN DER BYL DIAMONDS WIN VALUABLE CONCESSION.

  APPEAL COURT SUPPORTS KAISER’S MINERAL GRANT.

  LANCE GETS THUNDERBOLT AND SUICIDE.

  Bloemfontein, Thursday.

  “In an urgent application by the Central Diamond Mines Ltd, to prevent Van Der Byl Diamonds Ltd prospecting and mining a concession area off the South West African Coast, Mr. justice Tromp today dismissed the application with costs stating in his judgment: “The original concession granted by German Imperial Decree in 1899, and subsequently ratified by Act of the Union Parliament in Act 24 of the 1920 must hold good in law, and will take precedent over any subsequent grant or concession purporting to have been made by the Minister of Mines to any other party.”

  “The area in dispute covers 100 square kilometres surrounding two small islands lying some fifteen miles south of Cartridge Bay and five miles offshore. The islands are known as Thunderbolt Island and

  Suicide Island, and at the turn of the century were the site of considerable exploitation by a German guano company. Mr. John Rigby

  Lance, the General Manager of Van Der Byl Diamond Co. Ltd, acquired the rights to the concession when he took over the inoperative guano company.

  “In Cape Town today Mr. Lance stated: “It’s the opportunity I have waited for all my life. All indications are that Thunderbolt and

  Suicide will prove to be one of the richest marine diamond fields in the world.”

  “Van Der Byl Diamond Co. had a diamond-dredging vessel nearing completion in the United Kingdom, and Mr. Lance stated that he hoped to begin recovery operations off Thunderbolt and Suicide Islands before the end of the year.” Ruby lowered the paper and looked at Benedict.

  What she saw was an intense physical shock.

  Benedict had crumpled down in the seat. Gone was all the assurance and savoir fare. His face was deathly pale, but now his lips trembled and with disgust she saw that his eyes were swimming with tears. He hunched forward over his hands, shaking his head gently and hopelessly.

  “The bastard,” he whispered, and his voice was soggy and muffled.

  “He does it every time. I thought that I had him at last but - Oh God, I hate him He looked at her, his face soft with self-pity. “He does it every time. Often I’ve thought I had him, but he just-” She was mystified by his reaction.

  “Aren’t you pleased? Van Der Byl Diamonds will make millions-“

  “No! No!” he cut in savagely, and then the years of hatred and frustration and humiliation began pouring out.

  Ruby listened quietly, slowly beginning to understand it all, marvelling at the accumulation of pain and hatred that he exposed for her. He remembered conversations from twenty years ago. Small childhood episodes, innocent remarks that had festered and rankled for a decade.

  “You don’t want him to succeed, is that it?“she asked.

  I want to crush him, break him, humiliate him.” For ten seconds

  Ruby was silent.

  “Well, what are we going to do about it?“she asked flatly.

  “Nothing, I suppose.” Benedict’s tone irritated her. “He always comes out on top, you just can’t-, “Nonsense,” Ruby snapped. She was angry now. “Let’s go over it carefully, and see how we can stop him. He is only human, and you have shown me enough to prove you are a brilliant and successful businessman.” Benedict’s expression changed, becoming trusting and animated. He turned to her almost eagerly: he blinked his eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

  The bunk was too narrow, Sergio Caporetti decided, much too narrow.

  He would have one of the carpenters alter it today.

  He lay on his back, wedged in firmly, with the blanketcovered mound of his belly blocking his view southwards.

  He lay and assessed his physical condition. It was surprisingly good. There was but a small blurred pain behind his eyes and the taste of stale cigars and rank wine in the back of his throat was bearable.

  The leaden feeling in his lower limbs alarmed him until he realized that he was still wearing his h
eavy fisherman’s boots. He remembered one of the girls complaining about that.

  He hoisted himself on one elbow, and looked at the girls.

  One on each side of him, jamming him solidly into the bunk with magnificent hillocks of pink flesh. Big strong girls both of them, he had chosen them with care, neither of them an ounce under twelve stone.

  Sergio sighed happily it had been a wonderful weekend. The girls were snoring, in such harmony that it might have been a rehearsed stage act.

  He listened to them with mild admiration for a few minutes, then crawled over the outside girl and stood in the centre of the cabin, clad only in his heavy boots. He yawned extravagantly, scratching the thick black wiry curls that covered his chest and belly, and cocked an eye at the bulkhead clock. Four o’clock on a Monday morning, but it had been a truly memorable weekend.

  The table was hidden under a forest of empty wine bottles, and dirty plates. There was a congealed mass of cold spaghetti bolognaise in a dish and he picked it up. As he clumped out of the cabin on to

  Kingfisher’s bridge he was scooping up spaghetti with his fingers and cramming it into his mouth.

  He stood at the rail of the bridge, a naked hairy figure in tall black boots clutching a dish of spaghetti to his chest, and looked around the dockyard.

  Kingfisher was in stocks undergoing the modifications that Johnny

  Lance had ordered. She was standing high above the level she would attain when she was launched.

  Although she was a vessel of a mere 3,000-ton displacement, she appeared black and monstrous in the floodlights that illuminated the ship-builders” yard. It was obvious from her unusual silhouette that she was designed for a special purpose. Her superstructure was situated well aft like that of an oil tanker, while her foredeck was crowded by the huge gantry which would control the dredge, and by the massive storage tanks for the compressed air.

  At this hour of the morning the shipyard was deserted, and wisps and tendrils of sea mist drifted about Kingfisher’s bulk.