His hand tightened on hers and his grip began to hurt her. His voice was quiet and cold. ‘One day he’ll come back – if not for you, he’ll be looking for me. An’ I’ll be ready, waiting. I’ll surprise him. Now sign these contracts if that’s what you want.’
In his clean, neat flat Alex sat with his arms folded behind his head. He owned Masks outright, plus Dora’s Notting Hill Gate property, and he began to calculate just how much he was worth. He grinned to himself, he was doing all right – more than all right, he was making it and he was going to go even further. He had to admit the buy-out had almost cleaned him out of ready cash, but he would soon be flush again. He began to think about buying the year’s new model Jaguar XK120, the sports model, he’d have it custom made.
Going to the bathroom, he picked up his toothbrush and squeezed some paste on to it. He stared at his muscular body in the mirror, then began to brush his teeth. He was always very self-conscious about an ill-fitting plate he had to use after losing two front teeth at the hands of his prison guards. He kept it by his bed at night in a small cup. He splashed cold water over his face and patted it dry.
He would have liked to celebrate his success, but there was no one he particularly wanted to see. He pulled on his freshly laundered pyjamas and turned back the bed. From habit, he always made it as he had been forced to in prison. The small flat was bare, only his precious, worn books were on display. The cleanliness and neatness of the two white-walled rooms verged on the obsessive. A kitchen table and two chairs were the only other pieces of furniture. He had painted them white, and often a vase of fresh flowers stood on the table. His writing paper, pens and sharp pencils stood in groups in a small holder. Every garment had its hanger, socks and shirts had their space. Each drawer was lined with paper.
At night Alex would spend his time reading, always aware of the limits of his education. He liked routine, and every night when he returned from the club he would put in two hours’ work. He was taking several university courses by post. He never intended to take any of the exams, it was purely for his own enjoyment, and these hours were precious to him.
He sat at the table, his exercise books in front of him, but he couldn’t concentrate, so he lay down on his bed instead. There was someone he would dearly have liked to show off his success to, and that person was Edward. He whispered to the white walls, ‘I can wait, Eddie, I can wait, and I’m going to get rich waiting.’
Chapter Fifteen
While Alex climbed to success in England, Edward’s preparations for the ‘big scam’ in South Africa were moving towards their conclusion. Skye Duval worked at the press releases for the reopening of the mines, all due to the assurance of a young scientist carrying out experiments on their owners’ land. The mines were mostly fictitious and so far afield the reports would take some time to verify.
BB was deliberately getting himself deeper and deeper into debt with the banks. Mortgaging the house was the last move. All his defunct mines were now open, and to all intents and purposes active.
Rumours began to spread like a small bush fire, continually fuelled. The De Veer Corporation placed a notice in the newspapers disassociating themselves from the ‘new chemical method of assessing mining areas’. Edward was unobtainable, supposedly travelling across Africa. A group of technicians were put into Edward’s laboratory to take over his experiments. Hundreds of thousands of phials took time to assimilate, none could be taken at face value. They had to begin taking their own samples from the same areas, but they had Edward’s notes and positive samples, all linked directly to the reopening of the mines.
Edward had a secret meeting with Skye. They had to have a headline, and fast. They needed bulk findings quickly, and they needed names and photographs. They were running out of money, running out of the jewels Edward was using for the samples, and running out of gold. They were so close and yet, without substantive evidence to back up the claims fed to the papers by Skye Duval, the whole scam could fall apart like a pack of cards.
Luck was on their side, in the form of Sylvia Van der Burge’s death. Richard arrived in South Africa for the funeral, and his visit coincided with a consignment of stones being sent to England.
BB was not expecting his son. He had not had time to mourn his wife’s death, or even take it in properly, and he looked sadly at his only surviving son. ‘I’m sorry . . . so sorry the poor old gel’s gone.’
Richard was irate, and stormed at his father. ‘Sorry? I like that! I’ve had to drop everything to fly out here. On top of that, you haven’t paid the nursing home bills, and then there’s the cost of the funeral.’
BB wanted to block out his son’s carping, vicious voice. His face flushed bright red. ‘Inconvenient, is it? Your mother’s death is inconvenient?’
Richard gritted his teeth. ‘Yes, yes, inconvenient. And that’s being truthful. The news hasn’t exactly bowled you over, has it? She was your wife.’
‘Yes, God bless her, she was my wife, and – God help me – your mother.’
Richard clenched his hands and swallowed. ‘The nursing home has to be paid, the funeral costs . . . I don’t have any cash, you’ll have to put a notice in the papers.’
BB shuddered – how Sylvia had doted on this boy. He took out his big handkerchief and blew his nose. ‘You know, Dickie, she was a sweet soul, but when my boys died they took part of her with them, left nothing for me. She gave you all the love she had left, along with every penny.’
BB sobbed, his handkerchief over his face, blubbering like a child. Richard was about to put his arms around his father, hold him, but he heard BB moan the names of his dead brothers. Even now he wasn’t weeping for his wife, but for his beloved first-born sons. Richard felt the old familiar jealousy sweep over him. His brothers’ deaths had not only destroyed his mother, taken a part of her with him – they had taken all of his father’s love, leaving nothing for him.
Richard helped himself to a drink and they discussed the arrangements. ‘Perhaps you should also know that the bank will be calling in your loan any day now, I suggest you put those worthless pieces of crap on the market while I’m here. It’ll just about cover my expenses, and the bank will more than likely take the house from under your feet.’
BB knew exactly when the bank loans would be called in. He was worried that someone might put two and two together; it was, after all, Richard who had introduced Edward to De Veer’s, and someone might remember. They were so close now that Edward too was worried, and he went to meet BB.
‘Old girl kicked the bucket, that’s why Richard’s here.’
‘Sorry, I’m so sorry . . . You holding up all right, are you?’
Richard would have been blind with fury if he had seen the way his father’s eyes glowed for Edward. ‘Aye, I’m better now I’ve seen you, son. I need a bit of human contact. We’ll see it through, though, eh? We’ll get the buggers, won’t we?’
Edward nodded. Any day now the banks would call in BB’s markers and he still had one move to make.
‘I have the explosives boy standing by – Thin Willy, good chap, trust him. But without the goods we can’t do a damned thing . . . You know, in the old days I kept an old jamjar full of rough cuts, all the old-timers used to keep one stone per haul as a good luck stake, now . . . well, there aren’t many of us left, not the old-timers.’
Edward couldn’t sleep, the millions and millions of rough stones pouring out of the De Veer mines daily were, like his scam, so close and yet so far. The security was tough, no one could get near them. Edward sat up. No one? What about Richard Van der Burge himself? He not only got close but he carried bloody bags full back and forth to England.
Edward approached Richard almost immediately after his mother’s funeral. He talked about mundane things – did Richard still see Allard? Then, nonchalantly, he asked if Richard was still carrying for De Veer’s.
‘Yep, still the blessed errand boy, what about you? Oh, you work for them, of course.’
It was obvio
us that Richard had only half his mind on Edward, the other half on some matter of his own.
‘You all right? Seem a bit down?’
Richard shrugged and said that was putting it mildly. ‘Truth is, old man, I am in what one could only describe as a tight corner, so tight I’m choking to death, and I can’t see a way out.’
Edward played him deftly, not pushing for explanations, not too eager, but still interested.
‘Might as well tell you, I suppose. Got myself into more of the old trouble, lost a lot of money on the tables.’
Edward hinted that his own fortunes were about to change. He became cagey, but let out the information inch by inch until he could tell Richard had taken the bait. When Edward let slip that it was a little bit of a scam that’d bring in about a quarter of a million, Richard grabbed his arm. ‘Can you tell me about it?’
‘Can’t really tell you too much. It’s a bit dodgy, and I’m not the only one involved . . . You might even know one of the chaps, so I can’t really.’
‘Oh, come on, tell me. You know I won’t say a word, really I won’t . . . Must be crooked, the way you’re so wary. Come on, tell me.’
Richard had swallowed the bait, and slowly Edward gave him enough details, not that he would be able to trace any of it for himself.
Richard laughed. ‘So when this reporter chappie gives a big splash about the mine reaping you’ll sell . . . Well, wish you luck – sounds easy, bit too easy . . . Where you getting the roughs to throw about?’
Edward shook his head, then grabbed Richard’s arm. ‘Listen, we could cut this guy out, the one we’ve got lined up. You would be perfect, my God . . . Look, aren’t you carrying back a load this weekend? You’d pay off all your debts, no one would be any the wiser – plus you’d have money in your pocket. Look, I may be able to let you in on it, just a possibility, I’m not sure . . .’
Richard fell for it hook, line and sinker. ‘It would be easy enough for me to do. You see, we keep the stones in a safety vault, but I take them with me on the plane. I’ll change my flight to the next day and I’ll still be able to get the stones delivered on time because it’s the weekend.’
Edward left Richard hanging on tenterhooks to see if he would be able to bring him into the scam.
Without mentioning who he was using to place the gems, Edward called BB and gave him the news it was ‘on’. He then called Skye, instructing him to get cracking. He had the stones, they could do it, but Skye had to move fast to set up the mine.
The girl was hired, a prostitute brought from Johannesburg and installed in a hotel. She was to be paid five thousand for her part in the scam, and she would return home the same day so she would not be able to answer any questions.
Skye met with Thin Willy to prepare the explosives, and all the men hired by BB were gathered together, waiting. Five more journalists had been tipped off, and had their cameras ready.
Skye photographed the prostitute posing as the granddaughter of the mine owner, holding in her hands the rough diamonds like blackened, muddy stones. The mine was cordoned off as the press interviewed the girl, and the men patrolled the new fences with guns at the ready.
‘Miss Smith’, with Skye taking photographs all the time, was driven to the diamond weighing and verification office. The press gathered around them, flashbulbs popping. She was photographed outside the office doors, smiling and waving a bottle of champagne.
In her hotel room, Edward waited to collect the stones. She was slightly drunk from the champagne, and seemed not to care about her body search. Edward replaced the stones in their little white bags, then into the case, after which Skye took ‘Miss Smith’ to the airport and saw her safely on her way.
The next day Skye had sold his story to every paper, with different pictures to go with the stories. The photos of the visit to the diamond merchant’s office to verify the stones were of excellent quality, and the ones at the minehead showed Miss Smith displaying the stones as the boys grouped around. There were also shots taken by flash down the newly blasted mine.
All the newspaper reports stated that Miss Smith had been prepared to sell until a young scientist from the De Veer Corporation had assured her that her old grandfather’s mine was indeed alive and kicking not more than another hundred feet down. Skye’s article also mentioned that the experiment had been verified and that Japan was fighting to get a share of what would be the biggest breakthrough in the history of mining. The news caused an uproar, and an even greater ripple passed through the laboratories of De Veer’s. When they checked the exact location of the mine, they found that Edward Stubbs had already earmarked it as being live. Again De Veer’s declined to make a statement as to the authenticity of Edward’s experiments, saying they were not prepared to disclose their findings before further examination.
With trembling hands, Richard retrieved his case and Edward gave his word that he would be paid in full by banker’s draft in any currency he desired within the month. All the stones were intact, and Richard returned to England.
BB now played his final hand at the Pretoria Club. He weaved his way in and declared that he was buying drinks for everyone in the house. The news items littered every table. ‘That lad’s a genius, he’s proved it once, now it’s my turn.’
Edward made the call to the club and BB’s voice boomed at him down the line. For a moment he thought BB was having a heart attack, then he started to laugh as the old boy gave the performance of his life.
He would have laughed even harder if he had seen BB stagger to his chair in the club, gripping his arm. ‘The bank, those bastards are foreclosing on me.’
He began to think he had overdone it, because he could actually feel a burning pain down his left arm.
They all watched as the old boy, his face flushed bright red, gritted his teeth and marched, leaning on his stick, to the car, and drove himself home. Edward was waiting, ran to him, clapping his hands. ‘My God, BB, we’re going to do it, look – the bank’s publicized their foreclosure on your loans, when that auction starts we’ll clean up.’
BB felt terrible, his chest hurt and his arm was stiff. He nodded and asked Edward to bring him a brandy.
Concerned, Edward stepped back, looked the old boy over, and hurried to the drinks cabinet. He carried the bottle back and poured a stiff measure, helped BB’s shaking hands lift the glass to his lips.
‘I’ll be fine, just fine . . . Now then, son, you know where everything is kept, don’t you, never know, old ticker’s playing me up.’
Edward held the old man close, gripped him tight. ‘Now listen to me, you old bastard, I do know where everything is, and in no way are you opting out of the last stage. You not got the guts for it? Backing out at the last minute?’
The old boy swiped the air with his cane. ‘Am I hell, I’ll be at the bloody auction, I’ll be there.’ He let the cane slide to the floor and held his big hand out. Edward knelt down beside him.
‘God bless the day I met you, you’ve made an old man happy.’
Edward kissed him on the top of his bristling white hair and said he would be waiting. ‘Think big and your dreams will grow, think small and you’ll fall behind.’
The next day BB drove himself to the auction of all his worldly possessions in his gleaming old Bentley. As he entered the room, a hush fell over the crowd. He pointed his stick at two bankers and told them they were vultures. He sat up at the front as the auctioneer took his place. The house went under the hammer for a ludicrously low price. From the front came the boom of BB’s voice, ‘Bastards . . . bastard bankers.’
Next on the agenda were the mines, to be sold as a job lot. BB waved his stick, screaming that the bankers were taking his very life.
The bidding started, and BB had to hold on to his stick with both hands. He wished Edward, his adopted son, could be there . . . he closed his eyes and the bidding sounded like sweet music . . .
‘I am bid five . . . and six million . . . and one and two, eight . . . I have nine . . . a
nd one, ten million . . . twelve . . .’
The Van der Burge mines went under the hammer for sixteen million. Cheap at the price – if they had been as good as the reports they should have fetched twenty times that amount. BB didn’t feel he had cheated in any way. The vultures deserved it.
BB could see Edward waiting as he stepped out of the car and he beamed, held up four fingers four times . . . Edward slid down the wall of the house, rolled on the ground and screamed with delight. ‘We did it, we did it!’
That afternoon BB signed over all the deeds to his dead mines. He kissed the cheque lovingly, and banked it the same day. Edward placed his mines on the market and made five million each. Like his partner, he deposited the cheque the same day. They were moving as fast as possible, knowing that at any moment the ludicrous ‘gold rush’ they had instigated would be proved a con. BB had already signed the drafts of the major sums over to Edward as agreed. The rest he retained, leaving very little for himself. Overnight Edward earned himself fifteen million. The dam would burst at any time, and preparations for him to leave South Africa began to move ahead.
Skye Duval threw himself at Edward’s feet and kissed his ankles. ‘We did it! We fucking did it!’
Edward turned on him. He was so tense he was like a coiled spring. ‘I’ve got to get out. I’m the one who started this rolling, so they’ll be coming for me. I’m leaving for London on the next plane.’
Skye crawled across the floor and hauled himself up into a chair. He had been drinking steadily, and was so flushed with the success of their scheme he couldn’t stop laughing.
Edward left Skye opening a bottle of champagne and went upstairs to BB’s study. Hearing Edward coming, BB knew he had done the right thing. Edward would receive his share too if anything happened . . . He had made Edward his heir.
Edward went to the old man and held him tight. ‘I’ve got two tickets, one for you as well. You packed? We’ll move out this afternoon. The vultures won’t take long, BB.’
The Talisman Page 33
