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 aboard. 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.
