by Jan Andersen
When Alex finally left her she wished suddenly she was going with him—but she could hardly change her mind at this point.
“When am I going to see you again?” he asked. “I won’t get a weekend off for a while. Will you be able to come to the Reserve?”
“I’d love to, Alex, but with Mother arriving soon, it may prove difficult.”
His face fell, then suddenly he thumped the table. “I know, why didn’t I think of it before? Only about an hour’s drive from you is a fabulous hotel high on a ridge, called the Bushman’s Rock. I could also get there from the Park, and we could have dinner one evening—that is if you don’t mind driving. It’s not quite the way to take a girl out, but in this country with such huge distances, you have to make a few allowances.”
“That would be marvellous, Alex.” Her eyes were shining with delight.
“Then that’s a date. I’ll ring you as soon as I know when I’ve a longish evening free. And, Tracy...”
“Yes?”
“Take care of yourself. You mean quite a lot to me. You know that, don’t you?”
“I think so,” she said quietly.
He hugged her. “One day I’m going to show you what I think of a wonderful girl. One day when you’re free of that wretched farm...”
“Wait, Alex ... I don’t know that I will be free.
You mean you don’t want me and the farm?”
“Of course not, darling, but—well, it wouldn’t be much good with me in the Park and you on a farm. Now would it?”
She smiled, shaking her head.
“Then think it over.” His kiss was warm and gentle. “And above all, take care of yourself. I ... I love you, Tracy. There, I’ve said it at last.” With a quick wave he was gone.
Breathless, she returned to her room. From being little more than friends here they are talking about love and marriage. She felt suddenly a little frightened. Were they rushing things ... was she even sure of her feelings?
The following morning she felt almost completely herself again and even welcomed breakfast. The dining room was rather full and she was asked if she would mind sitting at a table with two other people, a man and his wife. About half way through the meal they asked her where she came from, and soon she learned that they owned a gem-dealing business in Australia and were doing a world tour, studying gems in other countries. For a few minutes she listened, fascinated, as they told her what they had seen in Ceylon and Japan, how they had already been over the gold mines near Pretoria, now were having an intensive few days at Kimberley.
“And I’ve only got another day,” Tracy said ruefully. “I haven’t seen a single diamond yet!”
“But that’s terrible,” they chorused, being utterly absorbed in the pursuit of gems themselves, then they looked at each other and Mr. Harris said emphatically, “Then you must come with us today. We’re going across to the diamond sorting office after breakfast and we hope to go down one of the mines this afternoon.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t possibly...”
Tracy’s objections were swept away, and within a few minutes she found herself promising to be ready in the hotel foyer in half an hour’s time.
Well, she decided, it didn’t look as if she was going to find news of Uncle George here—Alex had assured her he had covered all the ground he could think of—so she might as well see some of the sights. But if she did go to the mines there was a small chance she would be able to ask more questions of the men who actually worked there, so her time need not be wasted.
The centre of Kimberley was so small that five minutes’ walk in any direction covered most of the ground. The diamond sorting office was only a few hundred yards from the hotel. Tracy followed the Harrises into the rather sombre Victorian building through the heavy grille at the top of the stairs, which was locked immediately behind them, then they were taken in to see the display of diamonds.
They lay in brilliant mounds, just like small glass pebbles, except, the guide informed them, there were probably over eighty thousand pounds’ worth there.
While Mr. and Mrs. Harris were busy asking technical questions Tracy turned to where the sorting was going on in a little open room behind—also guarded by iron bars. She watched, fascinated, for a few moments as the quick eyes and fingers examined the stones and placed them on the right piles.
The man standing by the door keeping a wary eye on all visitors, smiled at her intense interest. “It’s difficult to think so many men have died to get stones like this.” Within moments he was talking about the old days of Kimberley, telling her some of the tales Alex had already outlined.
When he paused she said, “You’ve been here a long time, then?”
“Bless you, yes, I was born in Kimberley. My father was one of the early diggers. Never made his fortune, though.”
Impulsively she said, “Perhaps you can help me, then. You see, I’m looking for my uncle—my father’s brother.” She told him what she knew about George Jamieson, realising as she did how very little there was. And unfortunately, in the hurry of parting, Alex had taken the photograph with him.
“George Jamieson,” he mused. “You say he’s a man over fifty? Well, if he’s worked in Kimberley in the last twenty years then I reckon I’d know of him—at least if he’d been in the diamond business. You can’t tell me any more about him?”
“I don’t think so.” She searched her mind for any small detail. “My mother might be able to help when she arrives in this country. He came originally from England, he was an engineer of some kind and he had worked with diamonds...”
“Wait a minute.” His leathery face creased into a broad smile. “When you said Englishman, I had an idea ... it may be a false clue, but it’s worth following up. There was an Englishman called George James—not Jamieson—who worked out at the alluvial diggings. He made one of the biggest finds out there about four years ago. Everyone thought, he would pack it up, but he must have spent the money, because he was back there within a month. I reckon it’s worth a try, miss.”
Tracy tried to control her excitement. It was foolish to count on anything, and the name was wrong ... still, it was something.
She learned that the alluvial diggings were some distance outside Kimberley, where twenty or thirty old-timers mined just as they had done at the beginning of the century. “As a matter of fact,” the security man told her in a whisper, “between you and me, it’s the best sight of all out there. You really get the feel of what mining was like in the old days. But they don’t encourage tourists.”
“Won’t I be able to go?” Tracy said anxiously.
“Oh, yes, I’ll fix it myself, but you’ll have to hire a car and we’ll give you directions how to get there.”
By now the Harrises had got wind of her excitement, so she explained to them what she had found out and apologised that she would not be able to go to the mine with them after all.
Mr. Harris said quickly, “Well, Miss Jamieson, the trip you’re going to make is supposed to be one of the most worth while round here. We were going to try to get permission to go. If you wouldn’t mind our company, we’d be very happy to drive you there. We have a car here.”
“Would you really?” Tracy said. “Oh, how kind everyone is!”
Before they left the building some phone calls were made and Mr. Harris was given directions on how to reach the diggings. He seemed more grateful to her for letting him come along on a trip he imagined most difficult to arrange than she was for the drive.
They had an early lunch and after a short rest set off. The Harrises were laden with camera equipment, eager to photograph one of the remaining sights of the old world. Tracy simply did not know what to expect and steeled herself against probable disappointment.
The town of Kimberley ended abruptly. Beyond it was red, dusty desert, spreading in flat monotony as far as the eye could see. It was broken up only by small scrubby plants that were brown from continuous sun.
They drove for some miles before they sa
w the narrow turning that was little more than a cart track, and followed this until it ended by a single small concrete house. This was the office of the mining company where all the diggers had to bring their finds. The diamonds were weighed here before going off for valuation.
The official pointed in the direction they must continue, explaining that there was no real road, but the ground was so hard they would not have much difficulty in following the rough track. He wasn’t quite certain where George James was, but he thought in an area about two miles ahead.
So they bumped their way on, trying to avoid the worst of the ruts, with thorn trees brushing against the car.
There was no sign of life except that suddenly they came upon a tiny native village, a few dilapidated huts made of rush or corrugated iron. It was the first time in South Africa that Tracy had seen real evidence of poverty. Yet the children were cheerful enough, waving and calling as they passed.
Mr. Harris explained that they must be the families of the Africans working for the diggers. There were so many good jobs in the towns that the workers who came out here were probably desperate indeed, having been turned down for everything else. They probably lived only just above starvation level. It was a sobering thought, and made Tracy all the more certain that her uncle could not possibly be here.
The track suddenly opened out and the sound of machinery came over the still air. In the flat barren country they could see three groups of men within half a mile of each other.
“I think I’d better walk from here,” Tracy decided. Mrs. Harris looked anxious. “Shall we come with you, or would you prefer to go alone?”
“I think I’d prefer to go alone. I’m not sure which one to start at. But I know you’re within calling distance, which is a comfort.”
“Then we’ll start taking some photographs, but be careful it’s very very hot here.”
That was true enough. As Tracy stepped from the car, it was like going into an oven. As far as the eye could see the red baked earth stretched and there was not a scrap of shade. The few patches of scrub and thorn were never more than two or three feet high. Adjusting her sun-glasses and her wide straw hat, Tracy started to walk towards the nearest group.
As she drew near the Africans hardly glanced up from their back-breaking work, digging into the soil and washing the gravel through machinery that was old, noisy and rusty. The white man there was also old, well over sixty, gaunt but as tough as an old crow. He raised his dirty, broad-brimmed hat and spoke in guttural Dutch.
Tracy smiled and shook her head. “English,” she said, so he shrugged good-humouredly and went back to work.
The next digging was three or four hundred yards away, and already Tracy found the heat almost intolerable. How, she wondered, did they work out here all day without a scrap of shade?
To the side of the broken earth was a small table, and on this a white man, dressed in the same uniform of khaki trousers, shirt and broad bush hat, was sieving gravel on to the table and running his fingers through it. He looked up as she approached and his eyes narrowed in surprise.
“My heavens, I must be dreaming, or has the sun gone to my head at last? Pretty girls like you don’t come here by normal means—or did you just appear?” She tried to smile. “No, I drove here. Are you Mr. George James?”
“And it’s me she wants too. This surely must be a miracle!”
Tracy swallowed. She could not be sure but there was something familiar about the face, the sun-roughened skin, the eyes, but his hair was iron grey.
“Are you my Uncle George?” she said at last. “Brother of Jack Jamieson?”
CHAPTER TEN
FOR a moment he stared at her, astounded, then he lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.
“You’re joking, of course ... you can’t be Jack’s little girl, Tracy?”
“I am.”
She watched his expression change from amazement to delight, then he threw back his head and laughed, a huge booming laugh that seemed to echo across the desert. His workers stopped briefly to gape at him, then they went on with their endless job of turning the machine, fetching, water, washing the gravel...
Then she took off her sunglasses and the laugh died away abruptly.
“I can see it now, you’re the split image of your mother. Well, by all that’s miraculous,” he boomed again, “how on earth did you turn up here? I thought I’d tucked myself nicely away. Does Jack know you’re here—or did he send you to find me?”
“Father’s dead,” she said quietly. “So you didn’t know.”
“Jack dead?” he repeated. “But he can’t be! Why, he was younger than I am. He was as fit as a fiddle when I last saw him.”
“That was four years ago, wasn’t it, Uncle George?”
“Well, yes, I suppose it was,” he said uncomfortably. He looked around him. “I wish I could ask you into my home, to sit down or something, but we don’t go in for comforts out here, as you can see.”
“Where do you live, Uncle?”
“There.” He pointed to a couple of bushes, a little higher than most, with a spread of tarpaulin across them.
“You mean ... you sleep there? You actually live out here?” It wasn’t possible ... it couldn’t be true.
“Right enough. I go into town occasionally for supplies and a bath and brush-up, but I’m happy enough here. Mind you, it can’t be for much longer. I think the place will wear me out long before I wear it out. You over here on a trip, Tracy? Is ... is your mother with you?”
She shook her head. “No, Mother’s coming in a few days’ time. She’s taken care of me all these years, now it’s my turn to take care of her. I’m living at Green Bays.”
He did not answer. He was looking into the distance, as if he was remembering the old days.
“Did you hear me, Uncle?” she said gently. “I’m living at Green Bays? Do you know it?”
“I saw it once.”
“Well, you must come and see it again. You and I own it between us.”
She let the words sink in. But he did not seem particularly surprised, nodding and saying, “Aye, I suppose the silly fellow would do something like that. But I wanted to see Jack again. Try to make up for...” He turned abruptly to her. “Who’s looking after the place?”
“Well, I’m learning as quickly as possible, but there’s a manager there. That’s why I was hoping that you might come.”
He laughed roughly. “Fruit, lass, I haven’t a clue. Give me timber or diamonds and I’m your man, but oranges and lemons, I daresay you know more than I do already.”
“Oh!” She must have shown her dismay, for he patted her shoulder awkwardly and said:
“I’ve been in the wilds too long. I wouldn’t be any help to you.”
“But you could come and see the place,” she pleaded. “There are problems, and I’ve no one to turn to. That’s why I came out here to find you.”
“I see. How did you find me, by the way? No one else has done since I changed my name, or perhaps they haven’t bothered.”
“Oh, it was a bit of luck, and someone in Kimberley gave me a clue.” She put her hand to her head. “This heat! I don’t know how you stand it.”
“I’m used to it, can’t you see I’m a tough old bird? How’s your mother, Tracy?” he changed the subject abruptly.
“She’s all right, but she’s been working these past eight years and she’s a bit tired. I think she’s lonely too, but she won’t admit it. She’s not awfully good at looking after herself.”
“Aye, I remember that ... So you, young Tracy, keep things going?”
“Only for the past couple of years,” she answered. “I had hoped that she and Dad...” her voice trailed away. “I’ll have to get back soon, Uncle. Some people brought me and they’ll be getting hot standing around here. And I have to catch a train back to White River. There’s so much I want to ask you,” she spread her hand round the desolate countryside. “Why you do this, for instance? They said you found
a fortune four years ago, and spent it. Is it true?”
“True enough.”
“Oh.” She added quickly, “Come back with me for a holiday. Come and see what it’s like living on a farm. You said just now that time is running out.”
“Maybe I will, Tracy, maybe I will.” He leaned heavily on the sieve, picked up a handful of gravel and ran it through his fingers. “There’s a fellow over there who’s been doing this for forty years. I’m a beginner compared with him.”
“How often do you find diamonds, Uncle?”
“A few stones a week, but they’re not usually good ones. Just keep you on subsistence level.” He pushed aside the top layer of gravel on the table and his keen eye searched for a sign of the tiny white gem.
Tracy watched him, quietly appalled. He must do this same operation dozens of times a day, seven days a week, out in the burning sun, without proper food or any comforts. Why? She could perhaps understand more easily the man who had been doing it for forty years. He was old and knew no other way of life—but Uncle George...
He said suddenly, “I know what you’re thinking, lass—it’s a curious way for a man like me to spend my days. Maybe it is. But it’s like a drug, you know. And I’m happy in my own quiet way. At least I was until I saw you, my only pretty niece, full of youth and vitality. Perhaps I should come back into the world after all. I’ll be up to White River just as soon as I can make it. I won’t give you a time because I’ve lived without calendars and clocks for years.”
He went back to his work and she walked towards the Harrises car. She turned round once and he was standing still, as though the meeting had been too much for him. But it was not that, she guessed, but the news of his brother’s death. He needed to be alone to digest that.
