John Simpson - Change of Course

We supped our beers steadily and chatted idly for a while about my leave and what had happened on the mine while I’d been away. It was how we unwound most evenings before we showered and tidied ourselves ready for the mess and our evening meal.

***

‘So, Carlos agreed? He thought it was a dud too?’ said Sophie.

‘Very much so and he’d spent a lot more time than Morgan had at the diversion – he built it and pumped it out.’

‘I’m not sure I want to hear about this test. Maybe I’ll feel better after eating something; I’m starving. I was so excited this morning, I hardly ate anything. Have you got anything I can cook up for us? I didn’t see anything much.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t think. We could either go out, or phone for a takeaway. There’s a good Indian just up the road and they generally deliver within forty-five minutes.’

‘That sounds good.’

I got the menu from next to the phone, told her what I wanted and left her to sort it out while I went back to staring at the cover of the notebook again. I had to read on; I’d already told her everything I’d read. I didn’t want another session of winging it, where I was forced to rely on my memory, which I knew to be heavily self-censored. What I’d told her about her father’s death, I suspected wasn’t exactly true. It was the version of events I’d convinced myself about at the time, but until I’d looked at those pages with objective eyes – something I’d managed to put off for nearly thirty years – I’d never worked out what truly happened. And as for what Sophie should learn …

I sighed and opened the book where I’d folded over the corner of a page. At least there would be a bit more about the development of my friendship with Lodge … I owed it to Jim to do my best for Sophie; I wanted to bring him to life for her.

Chapter 4

Sophie seemed quite happy sorting out our dinner, even though she was on my territory. She was bright enough to realise that the more she took on, the more time I would have for reading the notebook and the more I would feel obliged to tell her.

‘I’ve been thinking about what you were saying,’ she said as she set some pots of pickle and a plate of poppadums on the table between us. ‘My father got that diversion wrong didn’t he?’

‘Let’s leave that until after we’ve eaten,’ I said, cutting her short. I put the notebook to one side and spooned some lime pickle onto my plate. ‘Do you fancy some wine?’ I was hoping alcohol might blunt her senses.

‘If it’s red, yes please. White’s too subtle for curry. Besides, I know there’s no wine in the fridge, and warm white wine? Ugh, I don’t think so.’

‘I’ll get a bottle. I’ve got some very quaffable Rioja.’

‘Sounds good.’

I got up and fetched a bottle from the cupboard under the stairs, opened it and poured us a large glass each.

‘This should loosen your tongue nicely for talking about my father,’ she joked. We each had very different hopes. ‘To my father.’ She raised her glass.

I hesitated then responded, ‘To Jim Lodge, a fine man, a good friend, and a brilliant geologist.’

‘Brilliant? I don’t understand these mixed messages.’

‘Your father was a great geologist, the best I ever met when it came to diamonds. He’d been in Mumbulo for about three years when I arrived, and the only reason he’d been sent there was to give it a final once-over before the mine was shut down. The powers-that-be had decided that it was no longer economic. He saved the mine. He re-examined everything, going through all the old sample data. He basically redrew the geological map with his estimates of the reserves, and he was right to do so. Single-handedly, he kept the whole Mumbulo mining area going. By the time I turned up, the area was back to being one of the company’s top producers.’

‘Thank you. That paints him in a much better light. At least it’ll balance his failure a bit.’

‘He was a clever blighter, but he could be difficult. A lot of people didn’t like him or trust him because he was …’ I struggled for the right words, ‘self-contained; he kept himself to himself.’

‘Is that how you thought about him before you got to know him? Self-contained?’

‘I guess so. I was a bit of a loner too – nowhere near as clever, of course. I felt fairly neutral about him. Our limited contacts gave me no reason to either like or dislike him. I can vaguely remember feeling a bit overawed, but that was his reputation not him. I think he was shy. Although he was very striking to look at, like you are, there was nothing flashy about him; he wasn’t a show-off; but he did have something else – charisma maybe – people listened to him. That’s why they built the Txicaca river diversion.’

‘Did he have many friends?’

‘He had a little group he socialised with. Until we got to know one another, I don’t think I really registered with him at all. Geoff Morgan, Chris Howard – the Chief Engineer, and my house mate, Carlos Pereira, were his usual companions, but they’d all been in Mumbulo much longer than I had. He was also friendly with the Portuguese doctor, Maria.’

We finished our poppadums then I fetched in the main courses which we enjoyed in silence; both of us marshalling our thoughts.

‘So!’ she said when we had finished and cleared the table. ‘You talked him up before. Now tell me more about the river diversion. Is that where your friendship grew from?’ She took a swig of Rioja.

‘Okay,’ I began. ‘We did that test the next day, the day after I got back. I went to the mine offices early and I found your father in his office, ready to go. I picked up what I needed from my office, which wasn’t much: a notebook, a pen and calculator, then we set off for the Cambunda plant where I knew Armando – he was my plant foreman – would have started preparations ready for us.’

***

It was one of those wonderfully cool, fresh mornings that always seemed to follow overnight rain in Angola. It was the best time of the day; in an hour or two it would be hot, and the road would be dry and dusty. We were in Lodge’s VW and he was driving. He was focused on the road, which made a pleasant change from Carlos Pereira, my usual companion, who detected potholes and ruts by feel. Lodge avoided the avoidable and minimised the impact of the unavoidable.

I really wanted to discuss what we had to do, but I felt nervous. The intensity of Lodge’s concentration created an intimidating psychological barrier between us. I was in awe of his reputation and conscious that I had yet to establish my own. I was reluctant to break the silence.

I allowed my eyes and my mind to wander and I began to enjoy the scenery and the wildlife: the rolling scrubland, the river and the birds.

‘So, what’s the plan?’ Lodge’s question caught me off guard.

‘For the test?’ I immediately felt like an idiot.

‘What else?’ He laughed.

‘We’ve got a procedure. Sterilise the plant, treat a known volume of test material then sterilise again. If we do it carefully, we can be sure which diamonds came from the test material.’

‘How do you do the sterilisation?’

‘We chuck loads of waste through the plant to flush out any diamonds still in there from the previous ore. Fifty or sixty cubic metres should be ample. Then we empty all the gravel bins of course. I’ve arranged for Chris to send one of his fitters out to give the plant a mechanical check before we start.’

‘Okay. And security?’ Lodge asked.

‘I spoke to Morgan and Thys last night and Thys’s organised for us to have two extra security guys: an Angolan and an expat. They’ll ride shotgun on the ore trucks and …’

‘Mining’s only going to send us one truckload,’ he interrupted. ‘I thought Morgan was going to take a swing at me when he barged into my office late yesterday. I just ignored him and let him rant on till he ran out of steam and stormed out. The “one” truck was his parting shot.’ He turned towards me briefly and I was surprised to see that he was grinning.