The Blue Sapphire

by D. E. Stevenson

  When he went back to his post he found that his patient had rolled over in delirium. Stephen straightened him out and took his hand. The hand was as hot as fire and clung to his fingers desperately.

  ‘I thought you were gone,’ said the hoarse, choking voice.

  ‘I just went to have a look round, that’s all. I shan’t leave you,’ Stephen told him as he bent over him and moistened his lips. There was not much left in the bottle now and the glaring sun was rising like a fire in the eastern sky.

  It was then that the old chap had groped about in his woolly hair and produced his treasures . . . and of course the stone had had been the beginning of the whole thing.

  That night! thought Stephen, as he tied his white tie with meticulous care. That night—just a year ago—and now this!

  This, said Stephen to himself: dining Julia, the lovely darling, with lots of money in my pocket, enough and to spare, so that I needn’t think about money at all. Then perhaps we could go and dance somewhere. I wonder if she would. That long-nosed city type wouldn’t like it much—but who cares? I wonder if she’s really fond of the Rajah. It doesn’t seem possible! But she’s frightfully loyal. She’s the sort that would stick to her word through thick and thin; she’s the sort that would do what she thought was right if it killed her. I wouldn’t have her different, of course; I wouldn’t alter a hair of her lovely head, but . . . oh well, it’s a problem. He sighed. I shall tell Mother about it, he thought. She might be able to advise me. Even if she can’t advise me it would be a comfort to talk about it. I could tell her the whole thing. I could even tell her about seeing the darling sitting on that seat in the park and falling in love with her straight off, head over heels. Mother would understand. Yes, that’s what I’ll do when I get home.

  Stephen was ready by this time—bathed and shaved, his hair brushed, his tie properly adjusted—ready, all except the tail-coat which was hanging on the back of the chair. It had come that morning from the tailor in Savile Row. He put it on and regarded himself critically in the mirror. Not bad, he thought, smiling at his reflection. It pays to go to the best place if you can afford it.

  Seizing his light coat he ran downstairs and hailed a passing taxi; he was on his way to Julia.

  All this passed through Stephen’s mind while he was waiting for Julia in Miss Martineau’s Victorian parlour. He had expected to have to wait quite a long time for Julia (he did not mind in the very least how long he had to wait), but in less than half an hour the door opened and there she was.

  Stephen had told her to make herself beautiful, and she had taken him at his word.

  She was beautiful—absolutely beautiful—thought Stephen, gazing at the vision in stunned amazement.

  ‘Will I do?’ asked Julia, feigning anxiety. It was rather naughty of her, of course, because although Stephen had said nothing it was perfectly obvious what he was thinking; besides, May had told her—and she had seen herself in the long mirror in Peta’s room.

  Stephen did not reply to the question. He was speechless.

  ‘Well, come on,’ said Julia, smiling kindly. ‘We’d better go, hadn’t we?’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Julia had dined with Stephen before and had enjoyed it immensely, but it was even better to-night. For to-night was a very special night; it was a celebration. Both were excited, both were wearing new clothes and were pleased with their own and each other’s appearance.

  In spite of having dwelt for years in the wilderness Stephen knew exactly how to behave; he treated his lady like a queen and the waiters with just the right amount of gracious condescension to obtain the best service. Even the lordly wine-waiter was impressed by Stephen’s magnificence. Who are they? he wondered as he hastened to fetch the gold-necked bottle and to bestow it with tender care in the ice-pail.

  Quite a number of other people were wondering the same thing: who were they? Various suggestions as to their identity were whispered and discussed at the adjoining tables.

  Stephen and Julia were quite unconscious of the interest they were arousing; they were too much interested in each other’s conversation; they were enjoying themselves immensely. Julia was retailing the story about the Honourable Mrs. de Courcy, and who could blame her if she retold it with advantages?

  Presently Stephen leant across the table and said, ‘Isn’t this a joke?’

  ‘It’s terrific fun, but why a joke?’ asked Julia.

  ‘Because if they could have seen me this time last year they would have thrown me out of the place. I was in rags and as dirty as a tinker. It was exactly a year ago to-day that we found that old man at Coribunda.’

  Julia gazed at him, wide-eyed. ‘We ought to be very grateful to that old man, because if it hadn’t been for him——’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ agreed Stephen. ‘I’ve thought of that often. I was thinking about it to-night when I was dressing. If I hadn’t found that poor old chap none of this would have happened. It was because he gave me the sapphire and I came home to have it cut that I found you sitting in Kensington Gardens. If it hadn’t been for him——’

  ‘We shouldn’t be here to-night,’ nodded Julia. ‘It’s queer, isn’t it?’ she added thoughtfully.

  ‘Very queer. That old man—and now this.’

  They were silent for a few moments, looking round at the beautifully decorated room full of beautifully decorated people.

  ‘I wish you would explain why the shares went up and down,’ said Julia at last. ‘I’m not really half-witted, it’s just that I don’t understand. You said it wasn’t a ramp.’

  Stephen took up a fork and began to draw a little pattern on the gleaming white tablecloth. ‘It wasn’t a ramp,’ he said slowly. ‘There are sapphires at Coribunda—good ones. The surveyor’s report was excellent.’

  ‘Stephen, you’ll cut the cloth!’ exclaimed Julia in alarm.

  ‘Oh, sorry!’ said Stephen. ‘It’s a bad habit of mine—doodling, you know.’

  ‘Well, if the surveyor’s report was excellent that’s all right, isn’t it?’ asked Julia.

  ‘Yes, that’s why the shares went up. When people got to know about the report they started buying the shares. One fellow said to another, “I’ll tell you something, old boy. You know the Coribunda Company? Well, they’ve discovered that the place is stiff with sapphires. Take my tip and buy.” Then the other fellow told his pals about it. That’s how things get round. People saw the shares rising, and bought and went on buying.’

  ‘I see that, I can understand that. But why did they go down?’

  ‘They went up too high,’ he told her. ‘There are a lot of mugs in this world and the mugs thought (if they ever stopped to think) that all you have to do when you find precious stones is to go and pick them up. They never realised that new equipment would have to be bought and transported to one of the wildest places in Africa; they never realised that you must have people to work there and suitable accommodation in which to house them.’

  ‘And the old man said there were devils!’

  Stephen laughed. ‘I know it seems ridiculous, but actually it’s a tremendously important point. In fact you’ve laid that little finger of yours on the biggest snag of the lot. Jim thinks so and Jim knows Africa better than most. Jim thinks that although there are sapphires in the Coribunda workings it will be dashed difficult to get them out. He says . . . but you’d better keep this dark,’ said Stephen, lowering his voice. ‘He says he wouldn’t take on the job of manager at Coribunda for any money they liked to offer.’

  ‘Oh dear, what a pity! Those beautiful sapphires!’

  ‘Yes, what a pity,’ agreed Stephen, smiling. ‘All those beautiful sapphires waiting for somebody to get them out and have them cut and polished and made into engagement rings for girls with sapphire-blue eyes! Oh dear, what a pity!’

  ‘How are your parents, Stephen?’ asked Julia.

  Stephen’s eyes twinkled. They were grey with little brown flecks in them. He said, ‘The parents are as fit as fiddle
s, thank you, and of course they’re very happy about the money. It will make a lot of difference to them. The old house was getting terribly shabby so they’re planning to have it put in proper order; in fact the whole place should be renovated and restored. It has been going downhill for years. There’s only one fly in the ointment; you won’t believe me when I tell you what Mother is worrying about!’

  ‘The people who lost their money,’ said Julia confidently. ‘The people who bought shares at seventeen and sixpence.’

  ‘Well, I’m dashed! And you don’t even know Mother! Surely you can’t mean you’re worrying about the mugs?’

  ‘Well—yes,’ admitted Julia. ‘I can’t help wondering who they are and being sorry for them. I keep on hoping they’re very rich, in which case it wouldn’t matter so much.’

  ‘They’re all as rich as Crœsus,’ declared Stephen. ‘They’ve all got more money than they know what to do with—every one of them.’

  Julia did not laugh. She frowned and sighed. ‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘If they were poor it would be frightful. Oh, Stephen, I couldn’t bear it if they were poor.’

  ‘Goodness! That’s just the way Mother goes on! Do you know this, Julia, you and Mother would simply love each other. I know you would! What about coming down to Gemscoombe for a visit?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Julia, couldn’t you? It would be so lovely. You’d adore Gemscoombe; it’s an old old house and very attractive, set high up on a cliff overlooking the sea. We could bathe and have picnics and go for spins together—it’s lovely country—and I promise to be terribly good and sensible all the time. We’d just be good friends,’ declared Stephen earnestly. ‘We’d just be pals, that’s all. That chap is chasing a little white ball at Gleneagles so he couldn’t object to your having a holiday at Gemscoombe, could he?’

  ‘It’s very kind of you, Stephen, and of course I should love it, but you see I’ve got a job, and I must——’

  ‘But just for a week,’ he urged. ‘Just for a little short week. Surely you could get a week’s holiday.’

  ‘I’ve got a job,’ repeated Julia in regretful tones; truth to tell she was very much tempted by the joys which Stephen had offered. ‘I’ve got a job, Stephen, and I’ve only had it for a fortnight; I don’t see how I could ask for a holiday so soon.’

  ‘It isn’t a very important job, is it?’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ she agreed. ‘I dare say it seems a silly sort of job to you—selling hats—but it suits me and really and truly there’s quite a lot in it. There’s psychology in it.’

  He thought for a moment or two and then nodded. ‘I can see there might be.’

  ‘That’s what makes it interesting.’

  ‘What are you paid for selling hats?’

  ‘Eight pounds a week,’ said Julia proudly . . . and so she was, for May had managed to persuade Jeanne Kessel to part with this princely sum. (May had popped round to see her friend and had returned from the interview in triumph. ‘Jeanne is raising your screw to eight pounds, dulling. Isn’t that nice?’ she had said.)

  ‘Well, I suppose eight pounds isn’t too bad,’ admitted Stephen.

  ‘It’s splendid,’ declared Julia. ‘And I’ve got all that lovely money in the bank! I’m rich, Stephen.’

  ‘Beyond the dreams of avarice,’ agreed Stephen, chuckling.

  *

  2

  The moment had now come for Stephen to suggest that they might go on somewhere else and dance. He suggested it with more confidence than he felt, for he was doubtful whether she would agree.

  Julia hesitated—but not for long. Why shouldn’t she dance? It was more than likely that Morland was dancing at Gleneagles.

  ‘But where?’ asked Julia. ‘I mean I don’t know much about these places and I don’t suppose you do either.’

  ‘I’ll ask that commissionaire at the door. He’s sure to know the best place.’

  Naturally he knew the best place, commissionaires know everything, and one glance at this couple was sufficient to assure him that only the very best place would be good enough for them; he named the very best place in a confidential undertone.

  ‘You’re sure it’s the best?’ asked Stephen anxiously. ‘It’s quite all right, I mean? Not rowdy or anything?’

  Rowdy! The commissionaire’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair. As if he would have recommended a rowdy place!

  ‘I think it will suit your requirements, sir; it is occasionally patronised by royalty,’ replied the commissionaire accepting Stephen’s gratuity with gracious condescension.

  There was nothing more to be said . . . which was fortunate, because Stephen was trying to stifle an attack of the giggles; Julia was in the same condition, so they fled out through the revolving doors into the street.

  ‘Oh, Julia!’ gasped Stephen. ‘Wasn’t he priceless?’

  ‘Priceless,’ agreed Julia in a choking voice.

  The best place to dance in London was very pleasant indeed; there were shaded lights and an exceedingly good band, the floor was like satin. It was so delightful that Julia was surprised to find it was not overcrowded; there were just enough people and no more. Stephen was not surprised; it was he who had paid for the privilege of entry; he had arranged the matter with a very grand gentleman while his partner was titivating in the ladies’ room.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m frightfully out of practice,’ said Stephen as they took the floor.

  ‘Weren’t there dances in Africa?’

  ‘Not this sort.’

  ‘Witch-dances, perhaps?’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t take part.’

  They both laughed. They were so excited that even this nonsense seemed witty. . . . Stephen suddenly remembered the last time he had danced. Jim had taken him to the place (a basement room in Jo’burg) and they had danced with sixpenny partners to the strains of a radiogram. It was stifling, hot and airless, and soon the proceedings became so rowdy that even Jim, who was tough as blazes, had agreed that it might be better to quit before they became involved in a stand-up fight. That was the last time Stephen had danced; if you could call it dancing. Stephen smiled to himself as he guided his partner round the room.

  ‘You don’t seem out of practice,’ his partner said.

  ‘Anyone with two feet can dance with a feather,’ he replied.

  After that they scarcely talked at all but just danced and sat at a little table and drank iced lemon-squash and then danced again.

  ‘I suppose we ought to go home,’ said Julia at last.

  ‘We should, really,’ agreed Stephen reluctantly. ‘I’ve been asked to meet the Coribunda directors to-morrow morning and I shall have to have all my wits about me . . . and I’m going home to-morrow afternoon. I meant to spend several days in Town, but Father wants me to see the builder about the roof. I shall have to go.’

  ‘Yes, of course you must go.’

  ‘It means I shan’t see you again for at least a week, probably more,’ continued Stephen in lugubrious tones. ‘Of course I can dash up to Town and see you when it has all been settled.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Julia doubtfully.

  ‘Home to-morrow! Isn’t life sickening?’ exclaimed Stephen.

  ‘We’ve had a lovely, lovely evening.’

  ‘We’ll have another lovely, lovely evening soon, won’t we?’

  Julia was silent. Of course when Morland came home she would not be free to go out with Stephen; she would be spending her evenings with Morland. She wondered whether she should mention this to Stephen but she decided it would be better to write. She could explain it more easily in a letter, and to-night had been so perfect that it seemed a shame to spoil it.

  Yes, thought Julia, she would write to Stephen at Gemscoombe and explain that she would not be able to go out with him again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Julia had received a good many letters from Morland telling her about his doings at Gleneagles; chiefly about his golf. His game was improving with daily p
ractice and tuition from the pro. He had met some kindred spirits in the hotel. Their name was Foster, two brothers and a sister, all very good players. Morland had been playing four-ball matches with them nearly every day. The Fosters had a beautiful house at Sandwich which of course accounted for their proficiency in the game. Morland’s letters were well written and well expressed, but somehow they were rather unsatisfactory, for although they contained a great deal of information it was not the kind of information that Julia wanted. Julia was not a golfer and she did not know the Fosters; she would rather have heard about Morland’s thoughts than about his deeds of prowess on the golf course; she would rather have heard little details about his daily life than about the magnificence of the Fosters’ residence at Sandwich.

  (Of course Morland Beverley was by no means unique; quite a number of people who write letters to their friends are concerned to describe their own interests without pausing to think whether or not their news is likely to be of interest to the recipients.)

  Julia’s letters to Morland were quite different; they flowed from her pen rapidly and occasionally a trifle incoherently. She told Morland that she missed him very much and often thought of him, especially on Thursday afternoons; she told him about her job and how interesting it was; she told him about May Martineau and the boarders . . . but she did not mention Stephen. She had tried several times to tell Morland about Stephen, but it was too difficult in a letter, so she decided to wait until Morland returned. She realised that if she did not mention Stephen she could not mention Coribunda . . . but perhaps that was just as well, for she had a feeling that Morland would not approve of her little flutter on the Stock Exchange. All that must wait until Morland came home, when she could explain it properly and make sure that he understood. She salved her conscience by saying in her letter that she had lots and lots of things to tell him when he came home—and of course he would be home quite soon now, for his three weeks’ holiday was almost at an end.