I nodded. Desolation Valley was now yielding twenty thousand carats of gem diamonds a month.
‘There is something here. I am sure of it, but where?’ He turned to stare at me, as though I had hidden whatever he was searching for, ‘Where is it, Ben? The floor, the walls, the roof?’
‘And the pool,’ I said,
‘All right, let’s start with the pool,’ he agreed.
‘It’s too deep, Lo. No diver—’
‘What do you know about diving?’ he demanded.
‘Well, I’ve dived a couple of times.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Ben!’ he interrupted brusquely. ‘When I need a heart operation I go to Chris Barnard, not the local vet. Who is the best diver in the world?’
‘Cousteau, I suppose.’
‘Fine. I’ll get my people on to him. That takes care of the pool. Now the floor—’
Dealing with Louren is like being caught in a hurricane. At the end of an hour, he had outlined a scheme for a thorough investigation of the cavern, and at last he suggested casually, ‘Okay, Ben. Why don’t you go on back to camp. I’d like an hour or so alone here.’ I was reluctant to miss a minute of his company but I stood up immediately.
‘Are you coming, Sal?’ I asked. Louren wanted to be alone.
‘Oh, Ben. I’m in the middle of—’
‘That’s okay, Ben,’ Louren told me, ‘she won’t disturb me.’ And I left them in the cavern.
The guest hut was long ago prepared, but I went with one of the servants to supervise the unpacking of Louren’s bags. I noticed that someone had cut a spray of the wild cave-lilies that grew under the cliffs, and placed them in a beer tankard beside the bed. I meant to compliment the Matabele who acted as our cook, butler and housekeeper for this thoughtful little touch. It relieved the bleakness of the hut.
After checking Louren’s accommodation I went down to the big bungalow and made sure there was ice in the refrigerator and plenty of cold water. Then I cracked the seal on a fresh bottle of Glen Grant - Louren and I have a common fondness for this nectar. While I was busy with the whisky bottle, Ral and Leslie came in off the dig and I heard them clump into the office next door. I did not intend eavesdropping, but the partition walls were paper- thin.
Ral growled like an enraged beast, and Leslie squealed.
‘Oh, you are naughtyl’ she cried breathlessly, and it was clear that she had been physically molested. ‘Someone will catch you doing that.’
‘As long as they don’t catch me doing what I’m going to do tonight,’ Ral declared.
‘Shh!’ Leslie enjoined silence, but to no avail.
‘Five weeks. I thought he’d never come. I was going mad.’
‘Oh, Rally Dally darling,’ wheezed Leslie in high passion.
‘Toodles, my little Toodles,’ Ral replied, and I blushed for them. Silently I set down the bottle and stole from the room. I was slightly puzzled as to how Louren’s arrival, for that was obviously what Ral was referring to, could make such a dramatic improvement in their physical relationship, and I envied them for I had no such expectation.
We were all of us sick to the stomach with a diet of canned and preserved food. Louren had brought with him a full load of fresh fruit, vegetables and meat. That night we had a sucking pig, golden brown in its suit of crackling, with roast potatoes, green peas and a gigantic bowl of fresh salad. There was very little conversation at the dinner-table.
Once the dishes were cleared, Louren lit a cigar, I refilled the glasses and we all settled down in a circle about Louren. First I reported to Louren the discovery of the quarry, and the deductions we had made from it. This led on to an exhibition of Sally’s reconstruction of the city.
I had not expected Louren to react the way he did. I had thought he might be mildly amused, as we were, not that he would accept our fantasy as proven fact. He worked himself into a fever of excitement, jumping up from his chair to examine each illustration, firing his abrupt searching questions at us, or simply sitting hunched forward in his seat staring at the painting with glitter-eyed concentration. His face was still pale and ravaged, which gave an almost demented intensity to his expression.
Sally, with a touch of canny showmanship, had kept the painting of the white king for the last. As she lifted it onto the board I saw Louren stiffen in his seat. The white king was in full battle armour, helmet and breastplate in glistening bronze, shield slung, and a short sword girt around his waist. His red-gold beard was curled and clubbed, and his bearing regal. His attendants followed him through the gates of the high outer wall, one carried his battle- axe, another his bow and a quiver of arrows, a third bore the golden chalice of eternal life.
Sally had lavished patient skill upon this particular illustration, and it was the most impressive of the whole series. We all stared at it in silence until suddenly I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward quickly, spilling a little of my whisky in my surprise. I had not noticed it before, the golden beard had masked it, but now I realized suddenly whom Sally had used as her model for the white king. I turned to stare at Louren, and there was the same deep forehead, the noble brow above wide-set piercing pale blue eyes, the same straight nose with delicately chiselled nostrils, and the proud curve of mouth with the slightly sensual pout of the lower lip.
‘Ben!’ His voice was husky, he did not take his eyes off the portrait. ‘This is remarkable -I hadn’t realized until this evening what this meant. Up to now it was just intriguing blocks of stone, and a few beads and scraps of gold. I never really thought about the people. That’s the important thing, Ben! These men that voyaged to the ends of their world; that built something magnificent in the wilderness—’ He broke off, and shook his head slowly, considering the magnitude, the grandeur of it. Then he turned to me.
‘Ben. We have got to find out what happened to them, and their city. I don’t care how long it takes, how much it costs. I have got to know.’
