The Diamond Hunter Page 31

  At this Will had to take a breath. Were they really talking about the same person?

  ‘I remember how determined he was that you would enjoy a home life, feel the care and security of a parent around you, and that you would grow up in his mould rather than someone else’s. You look surprised?’ It was an understatement.

  He glanced at Clem, whose expression had softened. He wished it hadn’t. To have her sympathy now but not to be able to act upon it hurt more. He looked back at her companion. ‘I am, Mrs Chattoway. I’ve always thought I never quite lived up to my father’s hopes.’ He regretted sharing this secret the moment it escaped him.

  But she simply waved a bejewelled hand at him. ‘That’s typical of Jerome – never one for bestowing compliments. I’ll tell you this, though, William. Surround me with the Jeromes of this world. Beware the silver-tongued, who lavish their thoughts and affections for public knowledge, I say.’

  He didn’t mean to glance at Clem, but he knew she understood his look to be about her uncle – as though Mrs Chattoway had just referred to Reggie Grant. He blinked with exasperation, wondering if he could try any harder to let her see him in a worse light.

  ‘You’re very quiet, my dear,’ said Mrs Chattoway, squeezing Clem’s hand. ‘And look, there’s Eugenie Collet. She’s headed this way. You will excuse me if I just turn and have a little chat, won’t you?’

  Mrs Chattoway swivelled in her seat to talk to a big-bosomed woman wearing the tightest of S-shaped corsets of a fashion years gone, which made her waist ridiculously tiny and gave her an odd swan-necked shape.

  Will looked at Clem. ‘A set-up?’

  She smiled self-consciously. ‘It’s very kind of Elspeth. She knew I needed a private word with you.’

  ‘Does she know everything about everyone?’

  Clementine chuckled. ‘Yes, I believe so.’

  He smiled, pleased just to hear that sound of her amusement, but he waited; only Clem could determine what happened next.

  They both raised their cups and drank.

  ‘We don’t have long, Will. Do you mind if I am brief?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  She paused, as if the asking was hard. ‘I need your help.’

  ‘Anything,’ he murmured softly, filled with fresh hope. ‘Name it.’

  Clementine explained succinctly, and by the time her chaperone turned back towards them, all which had needed to be discussed by the two young people had been said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Clem said to Elspeth.

  ‘Oh, my dears. I haven’t forgotten what it is to be young and desperate to be alone with the one person in the world with whom no one will permit you to be alone,’ she said, her tone one of kind amusement. Elspeth sipped her tea with a pleasurable groan.

  Will hoped Clem wouldn’t correct her. He wanted Mrs Chattoway to believe they were in love. Maybe she would help him to repair the damage?

  ‘It was just a business matter. Will and I might be undertaking a new venture together . . . with my uncle’s blessing, I should add.’

  ‘Of course, dears. And the fact that the two of you make the most darling of couples is irrelevant. You couldn’t do any better, Will Axford – and as for you, Clementine Grant, whatever is holding you back?’ She stood, as if she did not wish for them to answer. ‘Come along, dear. It’s time for my afternoon nap. Thank you, Will. A delight to meet you – I hope I shall see much more of you.’

  He stood and kissed her gloved hand. ‘The pleasure was mine, Mrs Chattoway, and thank you – I shall visit, I promise. I would love to hear about my mother. My father rarely speaks of her.’

  She tapped her nose. ‘That’s because he doesn’t like to share her, William – not even with you.’

  He turned to Clem. ‘Will I see you soon, Clementine?’ He kissed her gloved hand in identical fashion, but his gaze lingered.

  ‘You shall,’ she said, and he hoped she understood all of his ragged emotions.

  ‘Until then.’ He bowed slightly. ‘Ladies.’

  As he escorted them into the shop where they waved him off while they purchased tea, Will understood that his only chance to redeem himself would be if his research via the Kimberley Club could yield for Clementine the gravesite of Joseph One-Shoe so she could fulfil her dream to give her friend the proper Zulu farewell.

  28

  ‘Ah, there you are. Good morning, darling girl,’ Reggie said from the breakfast table at Holland Park. He folded up a letter and returned it to the pile of post before turning his cheek towards Clem as she bent down to plant a kiss. ‘Oh, but you smell delicious. Is that your mother’s perfume?’

  She leaned in to give him a hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him on the head. She was pleased he couldn’t see the sadness in her expression, glad that he still held her mother’s memory close. ‘It is.’

  He patted her hand. ‘And what are you up to today?’

  She was ready for this. ‘I’m meeting a friend at the art gallery,’ she lied. ‘I think Mrs Chattoway might accompany us. How about you?’

  ‘Oh, business, you know. I’ve got to go into the City to sort out some finances.’

  ‘You sound very chipper this morning, Uncle Reg.’

  ‘Do I?’ he said, buttering some toast. ‘Well, I suppose I’m feeling happier than I have in a while.’

  ‘Oh? Why’s that?’

  ‘Nothing to bother you with, my darling. Business can often weigh heavily, but I think today I shall be receiving some excellent news about an investment I made many years ago. If all goes to plan, I think we should celebrate.’

  She wanted to weep. ‘Celebrate?’

  ‘Fancy meeting me for dinner? I’ll take you somewhere ridiculously swanky and we can set tongues wagging. How do you fancy the Criterion at Piccadilly?’

  ‘Gosh – very swanky, then?’

  ‘You deserve it all, my darling girl.’

  She didn’t know what to say. ‘Shall we see how my day goes, Uncle Reg? If I have lunch with the ladies, I may not be able to fit in another meal.’

  He smiled. ‘Eat lightly,’ he said. ‘I want you on my arm tonight in all your finery so I can show you off. That Will Axford had better hurry up and get my permission or every young bachelor in England is going to be on our tail.’

  She laughed, but her insides felt like a tangle of vines. Clem was not looking forward to today. The morning had begun with a lie – not her style at all – and it would likely end with the revelation of another lie: one that would change her life’s course irrevocably.

  ‘Shall I call to get you some eggs cooked fresh?’ he offered, sipping his tea. ‘Bread and butter is hardly enough.’

  ‘You said to eat lightly!’ She winked, knowing she wouldn’t even be able to nibble the bread for the nausea she was feeling. ‘I might take this upstairs, Uncle. I’ve realised I’m running a little bit late.’

  ‘Off you go, darling. Have a wonderful day – I’m already looking forward to this evening hugely.’ He stood to kiss her. ‘See you later.’

  She left the light-filled breakfast room and wondered if that would be the last time she and Uncle Reg would break bread together. Clem ran up the stairs of the London house so that no one could witness her tears.

  Several hours later, Clem found herself standing in the back room of a jewellery salon in Hatton Garden. Her scarlet day suit stood out in the workroom, being far more appropriate to the salon. She had needed to dress for lunch with the ladies, not her sombre mood and this task ahead. Perhaps she’d overdone it in her desire to convince Uncle Reggie that all was normal.

  Will stood politely apart. His all-black ensemble, with a frock coat for the City, picked up on the black velvet trim of her lapels. She still wore her black kid gloves, although the tremble in her body had nothing to do with the cold of the December day.

  This was fear.

  She thought about how Uncle Reggie had taken Gillie from her, remembering that in Kimberley her ragdoll had felt heavy. By the
time they had reached the shores of England he was light, and her mind had been too blurred with sorrow, anxiety and grief for her to even think of mentioning it to him. She recalled that Uncle Reggie had spent the entire voyage playing with her, cajoling her, reading with her, telling her tall tales. He had even sung her to sleep, and he had always been there when she woke up. When they had arrived he’d carried her off the ship and never let go of her hand, all the way to Woodingdene in Northumberland. He had been by her side throughout her childhood and for every important milestone – never once a harsh word, always quick with praise, ever interested in her thoughts and passions.

  He had been the best and most reliable of fathers. But the whopping rough diamond known as Sirius had been secreted in Gillie, and in her heart she knew the diamonds had still been there after her father’s death. She thought about the Dog Star and remembered that Joseph One-Shoe had said he would always follow her. Was he following her now in spirit?

  The trap was now complete. It was a necessary evil to force the truth, or doubt would forever cast a shadow over her life. Will had likened it to toppling dominoes. They’d spoken on the telephone to finalise the details of the plan. She replayed it in her mind.

  ‘Each domino stands on its end and must tap the next in line – you could have a dozen or more lined up and they would all fall, providing the first one was tipped over. That’s what we have to do to corner your uncle into revealing the truth.’

  ‘The truth could be the opposite of what you suspect, Will.’

  ‘And I hope that is how it turns out, Clem.’

  ‘What about the bank? Does anybody there know?’

  ‘Not about what we’re doing, but I did exert some pressure via my father.’

  ‘Which he was only too pleased to provide?’

  ‘Clem, my father doesn’t dislike Reggie – he simply doesn’t trust him. He prefers not to do business with him, but he is well aware of my involvement with —’ he didn’t finish that sentence, changing course, she was sure — ‘my involvement with your uncle, and how he’s pitched a new business venture.’

  ‘And has the bank foreclosed?’ she asked, cutting to the heart of the conversation.

  He answered immediately and evenly. ‘No. It is my understanding that your uncle’s banker has spoken to him on the telephone, warning him of the dire need to inject funds or face foreclosure. It was a final warning, you could say. And it worked – he took the action we suspected he would, to avoid the public humiliation of bankruptcy.’

  She nodded, gripping the receiver, hating that Will was right.

  ‘Well, we shall find out tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘I can assure you I am not either,’ he replied. ‘There’s something else I want to tell you, Clem.’

  ‘Will, can we not . . . I mean, can it wait, please, until this unpleasant business is done?’

  ‘Of course.’ He replied as any gentleman should but he sounded disappointed. ‘Except it might brighten you, and if you’d —’

  ‘No, Will, please. Not now. I can barely face looking at myself in the mirror at the moment – I don’t believe I deserve anything bright or cheerful right now, thank you. I’m better off in this mood or I won’t be able to see it through.’

  ‘As you wish. Clem . . .’

  ‘I shall see you tomorrow, as we’ve arranged.’

  Will murmured to her now, snapping her out of her dark thoughts, his worried expression once again softening her feelings towards him. ‘Are you feeling all right, Clem?’

  ‘I just want it to be over,’ she whispered back, weary of the seesawing emotions she felt towards Will.

  He nodded, glancing at his fob watch. ‘Any minute now.’

  Sammy Izak came over to them. ‘Your uncle has just alighted a hackney, Clementine.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. She assumed he knew this because spies had been posted. Her ears were buzzing as though a bee were trapped inside her head and her mouth turned as dry as if she’d swallowed the ashes of her father’s bones.

  29

  Only a few days earlier Reggie Grant had felt as though his world was opening up to its full potential. His idea of a new form of insurance for theatrical presentations was inspired. Looking beyond opera, ballet and grand orchestral performances, he could see a latent business opportunity insuring entertainment for the lower classes. Not only circuses, penny gaffs and freak shows, but pleasure palaces on the seafront and the new music halls. Now that’s where real money could be made. These venues offered the masses everything from acrobats to singers for a shilling entrance fee; they were colourful, bawdy, hilarious, and worth every penny. These fun spots were becoming so popular it seemed that a new music hall opened its red velvet curtains every month.

  At the beginning of the week, he had actually burst into gleeful laughter looking at his own reflection while shaving.

  ‘You really are a card, Reggie,’ he said, pointing the soapy badger-bristle brush at the mirror. ‘You are a Grant who is going to be rich in his own right, and Clementine will be proud of you.’

  Just three days later that buoyant mood deflated when his banker telephoned with the awkward news that his patience had run out. Reggie begged and cajoled him, even offering to double the interest on his loans, but Sir Jeremy Jones was implacable.

  ‘It is regretful, Reginald.’ He had always used Reggie’s full name, which made him feel like a schoolboy. No doubt it was deliberate. ‘A most unpleasant business, but we have our duty to the board and our shareholders.’

  ‘Jeremy. You knew my father before I was born, and you’ve worked with me ever since his death. You promised you’d give me a few more months.’

  ‘No, I promised you I would try. I am not the bank, Reginald. I am one of its stakeholders and we all answer to one another. I did my best for you, but the bank’s tolerance has expired.’

  ‘I can’t believe they don’t trust —’

  ‘I don’t know why you cannot believe it, Reginald. This has occurred before.’

  ‘Well, quite! Isn’t that the point? I sorted out that catastrophe at the ironworks, none of which was my doing!’ he bleated. ‘Money was forthcoming.’

  ‘You did. But you’ve been drawing on the account ever since.’

  ‘And you well know the spending has been for good reason. You know the improvements at Woodingdene. Plus my investments are not all poor decisions – they’ve paid dividends.’

  ‘Even so. We accept there has been income over the past twenty years, of course, but the outgoings can no longer be ignored. Out of respect for your family we have done our utmost to turn a blind eye, essentially, but there are those calling for us to take action and I cannot hold them off any longer. We’ve had several conversations about the sale of some of the assets, which you assured me was underway, but I’ve seen no large deposits made into the account.’

  Assets had been sold privately, but Reggie could hardly tell Sir Jeremy that the proceeds had been used to pay off ‘other debts’. The bank had always been so tolerant. He sighed. ‘All right, all right. How much time can you give me?’

  ‘To do what, Reginald?’

  ‘To put us back on an even keel,’ he replied, in a tone that said, Isn’t it obvious?

  ‘Let’s not speak in euphemisms, dear boy. You’re talking about an impossible situation. The bank is wishing to foreclose, do you understand?’

  ‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

  The banker sighed. ‘To put your account into credit and reassure the bank of your future security, you would need to find a minimum of four thousand pounds. Now, I just don’t see —’

  ‘Done.’

  Sir Jeremy sounded exasperated. ‘What do you mean by “done”?’

  ‘I’ll have four and a half thousand pounds in the account by Tuesday morning.’

  ‘Four and a half . . .? But it’s Friday tomorrow,’ Sir Jeremy spluttered, astonished.

  ‘I realise that. I sha
ll journey to London and the money will be forthcoming by the close of business next Monday at the earliest, but Tuesday before midday at the latest. How does that sound to you?’

  ‘To be frank, it sounds preposterous. You couldn’t possibly raise the funds to —’

  ‘I can, and I shall. Indulge me. Keep those wolves at bay,’ he said. ‘Let’s have a cognac and a cigar at your club next week. Good morning, Sir Jeremy.’

  Reggie replaced the receiver, and without allowing a thought to enter his head, he pulled on rubber wellingtons, put a thick oilskin over his woollen jumper, and took the snaking path down into the gardens. The steps were too treacherous on such an icy December day. It took him half an hour of solid walking, his mind still blank, to reach the last part of the embankment. He lowered himself down, treading sideways like a goat until he hit the pathway that would take him to Louisa’s Bridge.

  He walked to the middle of the bridge, his footsteps creating a metallic song as they resonated through the steel. And there he stood for many long minutes, aware only that the day was darkening around him. Reggie Grant finally gazed upwards through the tallest reaches of the trees and understood that the sun would soon slip to the other side of the world, bringing a new dawn to the people of the colonies. He thought about Africa, where this new day would soon rise, shining on the grave of his beloved sister and her loathsome husband. It would light the scene of the lie of his life – the theft of their child – yet it was no lie that he loved Clementine. Everything had been for her. And what he was contemplating was for her, too.

  The massive rough stone and its six remaining smaller companions would have to be sold. Although he’d taken precautions, he had hoped just the smaller stones might get him out of this jam – and they would have, if not for the bank’s foreclosure. Sir Jeremy’s revelation had exploded on him like a firework.

  It was all manageable. There was income from Woodingdene – solid, enviable income – and there was the income from his investments, but he’d mounted the debt faster than the money could come in. The new insurance scheme had infinite potential, but Sir Jeremy and his peers didn’t bank on potential – not modern, forward ideas with no track record or secure precedent. What he was proposing was so new it would be considered strange and incomprehensible, just as the telephone or the railway might have sounded to such men a century earlier.