When diamond strikes diamond it bounces like a golf ball off a tarmac road.
The second diamond, a white beauty the size of a peach pip, clicked loudly as it struck the other then spun head high in the air.
Both Johnny and the foreman laughed involuntarily with delight at the beauty of that twinkling drop of solid sunlight.
Johnny reached across the table with his good hand, and snatched it out of the air. He rubbed it between his fingers revelling in the soapy feel of it, then turned and offered it to the Old Man.
The Old Man looked at the diamond, nodded in acknowledgement.
Then-he pulled back the cuff of his coat and checked his wrist watch.
“It’s late. I must get back to Cape Town.”
“Won’t you stay for the rest of the run, sir?” Johnny realized his tone was too eager. “We could have a drink together afterwards.” He remembered that the Old Man abhorred alcohol.
“No.” The Old Man shook his head. “I have to get back by this evening.” Now he looked steadily into Johnny’s eyes.
“You see, Tracey is getting married tomorrow afternoon and I must be there.” Then he smiled, watching Johnny’s face, but nobody could ever guess the meaning of a smile on the Old Man’s lips - for it never showed in his eyes.
“Didn’t you know?” he asked, still smiling. “I thought you had received an invitation.” And he went out of the shed to where his jeep stood in the bright sunshine waiting to take him out to the aircraft landing-strip among the sand dunes.
The pain in his injured hand, and the Old Man’s words denied Johnny the sleep he so desperately needed, but it was two o’clock in the morning before he threw back his blankets and lit the lamp beside his camp bed.
“He said I had been invited - and, by God, I’ll be there.” He drove through the night, and the next morning. The first two hundred miles were on desert tracks of sand and stone, then he reached the metalled highway in the dawn and turned south across the great plains an dover the mountains. It was noon before he saw the squat blue silhouette of Table Mountain on the skyline dwarfing the city that huddled beneath it.
He checked in at the Vineyard Hotel, and hurried to his room to bath and shave and change into a suit.
The grounds of the old house were crowded with expensive automobiles, and the overflow was parked along both sides of the street outside, but he found a space for the dusty Land-Rover. He walked up through the white gates and across the green lawns.
There was a band playing in the house, and a hubbub of voices and laughter drifted out through the windows of the ballroom.
He went in through the side door. The passages were thronged with guests, and he made his way amongst them seeking a familiar face in the groups of loud-voiced gesticulating men and giggling women. At last he found one.
“Michael.” And Michael Shapiro looked round, recognizing him and letting the conflicting emotions of pleasure, surprise and alarm show clearly on his face.
“Johnny. It’s good to see you.”
“Is the ceremony over?”
“Yes, and the speeches also - thank God.” He took Johnny’s arm and led him aside.
“Let me get you a glass of champagne.” Michael hailed a waiter and put a crystal glass into Johnny’s hand.
“Here’s to the bride,“Johnny murmured and drank.
“Does the Old Man know you are here?” Michael came out with the question that was burning his mouth, and when Johnny shook his head, Michael’s expression became thoughtful.
“What’s he like, Michael, Tracey’s husband?”
“Kenny Hartford?”
Michael considered the question. “He’s all right, I suppose.
Nice-looking boy, plenty of money.”
“What’s he do for a crust of bread?”
“His daddy left him the whole loaf - but to fill in the time he does fashion photography.” And Johnny pulled down the corners of his mouth.
Michael frowned. “He’s all right, Johnny. The Old Man picked him carefully.”
“The Old Man?“Johnny’s jaw thrust out.
“Of course, you know him - he wouldn’t leave an important decision like that to anybody else.” Johnny finished his champagne in silence, and Michael watched his face anxiously.
“Where is she? Have they left yet?”
“No.” Michael shook his head.
“They’re still in the ballroom.”
“I think I’ll go and wish luck to the bride.”
“Johnny.” Michael caught hold of his elbow. “Don’t do anything stupid - will you?” Johnny stood at the head of the marble staircase that led down into the ballroom. The floor was crowded with dancing couples and the music was loud and merry. The bridal party sat at a raised table across the floor.
Benedict van der Byl saw Johnny first. His face flushed and he leaned quickly to whisper to the Old Man, then began to rise from his seat. The Old Man placed a restraining hand on Benedict’s shoulder, and smiled across the room at Johnny.
A Johnny went down the stairs and made his way through the dancers. Tracey had not seen him. She was talking to the silky-faced young man who sat beside her. He had wavy blond hair.
“Hello, Tracey.” She looked up at Johnny and caught her breath.
She was more beautiful than he remembered.
“Hello, Johnny.” Her voice was almost a whisper.
“May I dance with you?” She was pale now, and her eyes went to the
Old Man, not to her new husband. The gleaming white bush of hair nodded slightly, and Tracey stood up.
They made one circuit of the dance floor before the band stopped playing. Johnny had planned a hundred different things to say to her, but he was dumb until the music ended and the opportunity was passing.
Hurriedly now in the few seconds that were left Johnny told her: “I hope you will be happy, Tracey. But if you ever need help - ever - I will come, I promise you that.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was husky, and for a moment she looked like the little girl who had cried in the night. Then he took her back to her husband.
The promise had been made five years ago, and now he had come to London to honour it.
Number 23 Stark Street was a neat double-storeyed cottage with a narrow front. He parked outside it. It was dark now and lights burned on both floors. He sat in the parked Jaguar, suddenly reluctant to go further. Somehow he knew that Tracey was here, and he knew it would not be pretty.
For a moment he recaptured the image of her as a lovely young woman in a wedding dress of white satin, then he climbed out of the
Jaguar and went up the steps to the front door. He reached for the bell before he noticed with surprise that the door was ajar. He pushed it open and walked into a small sitting-room furnished with feminine taste.
The room had been hastily ransacked, one of the curtains was spread on the floor and on it were piled books and ornaments. Pictures had been taken down from the walls and stacked ready for removal.
Johnny picked up one of the books, and opened the cover. On the fly leaf was a handwritten name. “Tracey van der Byl He dropped it back on the pile as he heard footsteps on the stairs from the floor above.
A man came down the stairs. He was dressed in soiled green velvet trousers, sheepskin boots, and shabby frock coat of military cut fragged. with tarnished gold braid. He was carrying an armful of women’s dresses.
He saw Johnny and stopped nervously, his pink lips opened in vacant surprise but his eyes were beady and bright under the thatch of lank blond hair.
“Hello,” Johnny smiled pleasantly. “Are you moving out?” And he drifted quietly closer to the man on the stairs and stood looking up at him.
Suddenly from the floor above a low wail echoed down the stairs.
