‘And the taxes,’ added Fleur. ‘The way they have increased them is absolutely iniquitous. If things go on like this we may have to move to a smaller house.’
De Richleau smiled at her. ‘You used to favour a policy of soaking the wicked rich.’
‘I still do.’ She countered the mild jibe without hesitation. ‘That is, in reason, and provided the money obtained really benefits the masses. But this isn’t in reason; and so much of it is squandered by Government hangers-on giving themselves a good time.’
‘To what other uses do they put it?’ asked Simon.
‘A large part of it goes on education,’ she replied, ‘and one can’t grumble about that.’
‘Oh yes, one can,’ Douglas took her up. ‘To teach every child the three Rs and give them a good general grounding, then enable the brighter ones to pass on to a higher education, is only right. But the cranks who are now responsible for education here have the pipe-dream that every little backwoods Sinhalese boy and girl might later qualify as an accountant, musician, lawyer, radiologist or in some other highly technical capacity. So at great expense they are all being crammed with odds and ends of knowledge that in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred will never be the least use to them.’
‘Every child has a right to an equal chance with the rest,’ Fleur retorted, doggedly maintaining her old convictions.
Simon tittered into his hand. ‘Won’t be much good to them if their country goes bankrupt.’
‘And it will,’ Douglas averred, ‘if the Government continues its present policies. The ignorance and stupidity of the people whom Mrs. Bandaranaike is allowing to run the country are almost beyond belief. They have decided that revenue could be increased if Ceylon manufactured her own brandy, gin and rum; so they are planning to build a huge distillery where they will crush cane and by adding various chemicals produce a variety of spirits. But the idiots have failed to take into account the fact that Ceylon grows enough sugar only for her ordinary needs. As they will have to buy the cane from abroad to supply the distillery, instead of helping our own agriculture it’s going to put us further in the red.’
‘Bad show,’ remarked Simon. ‘But I suppose one can’t blame a people who have recently won their independence for wanting to stand on their own feet in various ways.’
‘There would be a case for that if we could afford such expensive experiments, but we can’t. Still worse, these fanatical nationalists have such a hatred of the Western world that they are throwing away some of our best assets simply out of spite. To have antagonised the British by robbing them of many of their big commercial undertakings here was bad enough. Now they mean to treat the Americans the same way. Their latest bright idea is to withdraw the concession by which Shell and the American companies supply the greater part of the island’s petrol and give it instead to the Russians.’
‘Yanks won’t like that. Shouldn’t be surprised if the Americans cut off the aid they’re giving you.’
‘You’re right, Mr. Aron. And what makes it so tragic is that Ceylon is potentially a rich country. It could well support its people in reasonable prosperity if it were administered by an able Government that, instead of squandering capital, protected it and encouraged the foreign investment which we need to develop our industries. But as things are, just the opposite is happening. People are selling up and sending their money out.’
‘Won’t be allowed to much longer, I’m told.’
Douglas gave Simon a quick glance. ‘Where did you hear that?’
Simon shrugged his narrow shoulders and grinned. ‘Well, I’m a banker; and bankers hear things, you know.’
‘I hope you are wrong, but that certainly ties up with a rumour I heard a little time ago,’ Douglas said with a frown.
The Duke then told him that this threat to freeze capital was his reason for having come out to Ceylon and asked his opinion about disposing of Olenevka.
As the mine had failed to show a profit, and no change of Government could be hoped for in the foreseeable future, Douglas agreed that it would be sound to sell, provided they could get a reasonable offer. So, after lunch, they drew up a suitable advertisement for insertion in the Ceylon Times; but de Richleau said that before finally deciding to sell and sending the advertisement in he meant to have a talk with the manager of the mine, for whom he had sent to come to see him the following morning.
The manager was a Sinhalese named de Zoysa and had been chosen for the post by Douglas from a number of applicants, soon after the court had decided the case for possession in de Richleau’s favour. The Duke had asked Simon to remain with him for the interview; so when de Zoysa’s name was sent up they were together in de Richleau’s private sitting room.
De Zoysa proved to be a thin, angular man with a nervous manner. Although his employer urged him to be at ease, he sat throughout on the edge of his chair and fiddled uncomfortably all the time with a soiled panama that he held between his knees.
When asked why Olenevka had shown no profit during the past year, he explained that that was due largely to the state in which d’Azavedo had left it. Owing to the massacre of the Tamils the mine had been left for many months unworked. Then, when d’Azavedo had at length succeeded in collecting a skeleton labour force, he had been under the shadow of a High Court action which might still deprive him of the property; so he had not exerted himself to get the mine fully operative again. Later, when the verdict had been given against him, although it would have been difficult to prove that he had actually sabotaged the best workings, de Zoysa was of the opinion that he had done so. At all events they had been left in such a state that it had entailed months of work to get them going again. Now, too, they had to rely on Sinhalese instead of Tamils. The former were not such good workmen, and under the Bandaranaike Government labour was receiving much higher wages than it had in the past.
Most of this de Richleau already knew from the written reports he had received. He had sent for de Zoysa only to assess his personality and judge whether it would be a good long-term bet to retain the mine with the possibility of its increasing in value under his management and proving a handsome legacy to leave Fleur. He glanced at Simon.
Not a muscle of Simon’s face moved but behind his thick spectacles his dark eyes flickered swiftly from side to side. It was a silent signal that had often caused his partners to refuse a loan of many thousands to applicants who appeared to offer good security. De Richleau knew it of old and read it as, ‘This fellow’s no good. Not enough guts to make a go of it. Much better sell.’ Turning to de Zoysa, the Duke said:
‘As the immediate prospects of the mine are not very good I am minded to dispose of it. Since you have managed it for over a year I feel it only fair to give you the first refusal, should you care to make me a suitable offer.’
De Zoysa swallowed hard, shook his head and replied, ‘Sir, you are very kind. But I have not the capital. No way either to raise it.’
The Duke stood up and extended his slender hand. ‘Then it only remains for me to thank you for the work you have put in and to assure you that you will receive full compensation for the termination of your contract.’
When de Zoysa had awkwardly bowed himself out, Simon telephoned to the Ceylon Times the announcement that Olenevka was for sale, then he and de Richleau went downstairs to lunch.
On his previous visits the Duke had seen all the sights Colombo had to offer so he was content to spend most of his time in the precincts of the hotel dozing in the sun over a book; but Fleur was determined that Simon should see everything of interest and she had arranged to call for him that afternoon in her car.
They took the road out to Mount Lavinia and after a quarter of a mile she pointed out to him on the left a wall about a hundred yards long but only about four feet high. Immediately behind it was a thick hedge of higher shrubs. As he glanced at it he was amazed to see that wedged into the hedge at intervals of only about ten feet stood a line of bored-looking soldiers, each of whom held a Sten gun.<
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‘Behind that hedge,’ said Fleur, ‘lies Temple Trees, Mrs. Bandaranaike’s residence.’
‘No, really!’ exclaimed Simon. ‘Poor woman must be properly scared to keep a dozen gunmen standing about in her front garden.’
‘She has reason to be,’ Fleur replied. ‘She is known as the “wailing widow” because she got herself nominated a Senator and the leader of her husband’s Party after his assassination by making capital out of his death and going round every village weeping over their children. Since then the men she has allowed to run the country have set everyone by the ears: the Sinhalese élite, the Press, the merchants, the Catholics, the Hindus, the Mohammedans, the Dutch burghers, the British. There are scores of people who would put a bullet into her if given half a chance.’
Four miles further on they turned off to the left and pulled up outside the Zoo. It was said to be one of the best in Asia. There they spent a happy two hours looking at the animals and a wonderful collection of tropical fish in the Aquarium, then watching the elephants perform in a natural amphitheatre shaded by fine trees. Afterwards she drove him back to her home for tea and, just before they reached it, she pointed out a fine building standing back from the road, with several tennis courts.
‘That,’ she said, ‘used to be the British Club, but the Government commandeered it as a playground for children.’ Then she added with a laugh, ‘But the children have turned out to be government officials and Civil Servants.’
Over tea Simon asked her about the sort of life she led, and she told him that, apart from the fact that Douglas was constantly worried about the way things were going and that she did not get on with her mother-in-law, she had nothing of which to complain. They had many friends, both British and Sinhalese, she was on the committees of several charities and spent four mornings a week at the Family Planning Clinic, where she felt she was doing really worth-while work.
Simon said ‘Ner’ and ‘Um’d and nodded his birdlike head while she talked freely but, he thought, a shade too quickly and cheerfully about her activities; so that when he left her he had the impression that she had not been entirely frank with him, and he was a little depressed by the thought that their talk had not resulted in a resumption of their old intimacy.
When he got back to the Galle Face he found a cablegram from Rex. It had been sent from Delhi to say that a fault had developed in one of the engines of his aircraft and that, instead of arriving in Colombo on the 27th as planned, he would be delayed until the 30th, and not to book rooms for him as he would be staying at the American Embassy.
As the Duke and Simon had been greatly looking forward to having Rex with them within the next twenty-four hours they were naturally disappointed; but it made no material difference to Simon with regard to his business in Colombo. Rex’s financial contacts there were mainly American agents, whereas Simon’s were associated with London, and he had already made a number of appointments with tea planters, land agents and other people he wanted to see.
Next morning, Thursday the 27th, de Richleau’s advertisement appeared in the Times and Fleur came to lunch with him. In the evening she returned with Douglas and his parents, who came to pay their respects. While they were having drinks Simon, who had been out all day, joined them and later the two friends dined quietly together.
On the Friday Douglas arrived unannounced just before lunch, to find the Duke enjoying a glass of champagne on the glassed-in verandah at the front of the hotel. He was carrying a brief-case, which he put carefully between his legs as he sat down at de Richleau’s table then, when a glass of wine had been poured for him, he said:
‘I have a buyer for your mine; but I’m a bit doubtful if you will be willing to accept his offer.’
‘Why?’ asked de Richleau. ‘Is it a very poor one?’
‘No. On the contrary, I consider it very good. That is, as things are at the moment. Mr. Aron’s intelligence service must be quite exceptional to have picked up several weeks ago a rumour that the Government might decide to put a ban on money being sent out of Ceylon. The secret can have leaked out here only quite recently. But since we talked of it at lunch on Tuesday several people have mentioned it to me. In consequence, no foreign-owned company will now put money into anything until the situation clarifies, and we’ve had no enquiries at all about the advertisement from quarters from which we might expect them. That being so, I’d certainly advise you to accept this one; but you may not wish to do so, because it comes from old d’Azavedo.’
‘What! That rogue!’
Douglas smiled. ‘Yes. And what is more, he is offering to buy back the mine with assets that we have some reason to suppose he stole from you.’
‘Well, I’ll be damned! Of all the barefaced impudence. Tell him to go to the devil.’
‘I thought you would feel like that about it; but as I am acting for you it was up to me to transmit his offer to you.’
At that moment Simon appeared, mopping the perspiration from his sloping forehead with a silk handkerchief. De Richleau greeted him with a laugh. ‘Come and listen to this, Simon. Would you believe it? That villain d’Azavedo has had the audacity to make an offer for Olenevka.’
‘Has he?’ Simon sat down, signed to the waiter to bring another glass and added, ‘How much?’
‘I neither know nor care. The fellow did his best to have me and our friends murdered. I wouldn’t let him have the mine back for all the tea in China.’
‘I’d part with most things for that,’ Simon grinned. ‘Lot of tea in China.’ Then he looked across at Douglas and repeated, ‘How much?’
‘About twenty-four thousand three hundred pounds, more or less.’
‘Why “more or less”?’
Douglas took a drink of champagne, then replied, ‘D’Azavedo and his son came to my office first thing this morning. He said he wanted to buy back the mine, largely for sentimental reasons, because Olenevka had been his home for most of his life. He added that on account of the past, His Grace might be reluctant to sell the mine to him, so he was prepared to pay a bigger price than we were likely to get elsewhere now that properties have suddenly become difficult to dispose of.’ Pausing for a moment Douglas opened his brief-case, took from it a flat leather zip-up folder about twelve inches long by six wide, laid it on the table and said, ‘This is what he offered.’
While the others looked at him in some surprise, he unzipped the folder and turned back its leather flap, revealing the shallow bottom which was divided into scores of tiny compartments. Very nearly all of them held a cut precious stone large enough to make a valuable ring, and the effect of the whole as they blazed in the strong sunshine was positively dazzling.
‘Phew!’ Simon whistled, craning forward his head. ‘Must be worth a packet.’
‘There are more than four hundred of them,’ Douglas told him, ‘and at least a third of them would fetch over three figures on the market. D’Azavedo put their value at twenty-five thousand pounds, but he asked me to have an independent valuation made of them in his presence; so I sent for Gunasena, whom I know to be trustworthy. It took him and an assistant the whole morning to weigh and assess them, then he signed a statement that at auction they should fetch approximately twenty-four thousand three hundred pounds. When d’Azavedo was running the mine it was probably worth about forty thousand pounds. But it has deteriorated a lot since, and with this threat of a currency embargo I’ve been advised that we’d be lucky to get fifteen for it today; so this is an exceptionally good offer.’
‘Funny, d’Azavedo making his offer this way,’ Simon remarked. ‘Why couldn’t he sell the stones, bank the money and pay by cheque?’
‘To dispose of them to the best advantage would take time,’ Douglas replied, ‘and he is anxious that the deal should go through quickly.’
‘Then he has been counting his chickens,’ said the Duke. ‘He proposed a deal of this kind originally and I was prepared to accept it. Then in a most unscrupulous manner he endeavoured to bring about the de
ath of myself and my friends. I’ll have no truck with him.’
Simon’s dark eyes flickered from side to side. ‘Now, wait a minute. Great mistake to mix personal relationships with business. Argument about him being a crook doesn’t hold water anyway. You believed him to be a forger from the beginning, yet you were ready to do a deal with him.’
‘A forger is somewhat different from a man who has tried to commit murder.’
‘No real proof that he didn’t lose his nerve. But let’s agree that he tried to do you in. Doesn’t make this lot of sparklers worth a penny less. Mine’s no good to you. Doubt if you’d ever get anything out of it as long as that chap de Zoysa is running it. Put in another manager and the odds are he’ll do no better. Even given you get one who is a fire-ball and dead honest, you won’t be able to take out of Ceylon any profits you make.’
De Richleau shrugged. ‘We have been over that already. It is my reason for deciding to sell. And, as I have told you, since I have an ample income already, I should not be greatly disappointed if, from beginning to end, I got nothing out of Olenevka.’
‘Um, I know that. But you’ll admit that it is now of no value to you unless you do sell.’
‘Certainly. But Douglas says I might get fifteen thousand from some other source.’
‘Hang it all! That’s nearly ten thousand less than you are being offered.’
‘True; but by a man with whom I do not desire to have any dealings.’
Simon’s agitation at the thought of throwing away such a sum was apparent. ‘You mustn’t let personalities enter into this,’ he insisted. ‘Or look it at another way. Odds are most of these stones are the stock that was in d’Azavedo’s safe before his workshop was burnt out. If so, by rights they’re yours. He’s offering to let you have them back. And for what? For something you want to get rid of anyway.’
Dangerous Inheritance Page 15
