Роберт Фиш - Rough Diamond

“What time is it, darling?”

“Four o’clock.”

“What took you so long? Did everything go all right?”

There was the briefest of pauses before Barney answered. “I had something to do. And everything went fine.”

“And Jack?”

“He’s safe in Free Town. He’ll catch the early coach for Durban and take ship from there.” He leaned over and kissed her gently, and then lay back again. “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

“You, too,” she said sleepily, and then suddenly sat up with a scream as the building shook. “Barney!”

The BOOM that followed the tremor almost instantly, rattled the windows. There was the sound of other windows being hastily raised, then men were calling and running in the streets. Lanterns bobbed in the darkness as men headed for the big hole to determine the source of the huge explosion. Barney reached up and drew Fay down again.

“Someone was careless with dynamite,” he said evenly. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

“But it may be our—”

“It isn’t,” he said.

“But somebody may have been—”

“They weren’t,” he said.

She raised herself on an elbow, trying to make out his features in the little moonlight that filtered into the room, and then lay back again, now wide awake, trying to analyze her feelings. She felt an odd combination of awe and fear, with a touch of pride mixed in. It was all very strange. She wondered if she would ever completely understand the man she had chosen to spend her life with, and then knew it made no difference. She was going to love him, no matter what he did, as long as she lived.

The directors of the De Beers Mining Company, alerted by telegraph from his previous stop at Bloemfontein in the Free State, were waiting for Cecil Rhodes as his express coach from Cape Town rolled down the Dutoitspan Road and came to a halt before the Kimberley Club, the horses panting in the early-spring heat, the coachman covered with dust, the outriders weary from holding their precarious perch. The trip from Cape Town had been accomplished in six days, a record, and its toll was apparent on all passengers and crew. With instructions to Pickering to proceed with the carriage to Market Square and handle the luggage, Rhodes got down stiffly and marched into the club, followed by those who had been awaiting him. He walked through the half-deserted bar and into their usual meeting room beyond, taking his place at the head of the table, quite as if he had not been gone for the past three months on a most delicate mission for the company to London. The others seated themselves around the table while Rhodes considered each one in turn, his face a stone façade. The others glanced at each other uneasily as they waited. At last Rhodes smiled, a wide smile, almost an elfin grin, a most unusual expression on that normally dour face.

“I got the money,” he said quietly, but with great effect on his companions.

There was a general atmosphere of relief at his words; their faces began to relax. The smiles became general.

“How much?” Dr. Jameson asked.

“Whatever it takes to accomplish our mission, up to five million pounds. That’s for complete control, of course, not just for this stage. I believe that together with our own funds it should be more than ample.” The smile was removed from Rhodes’ face as if holding it that long had begun to become painful. He got down to serious business. “We cannot afford to fail this time! There is too much at stake! The Rothschilds would become most concerned if we did, and we shall need them in the future if my plans mature as I expect them to. Besides, I have worked on these Jew bankers for nearly four years to reach this point, and I have no intention of letting this opportunity slip through my fingers at the last moment! Is that understood?”

There was silence. Rhodes nodded and went on.

“Good. Barnato took over the Central Company when Robinson went bankrupt as a result of that most suspicious explosion which I am sure we are all convinced was due not to an act of God but to an act of Barnato, even though nothing was ever proven. He outbid us for the French Company by a whopping three hundred thousand pounds, all, I am convinced, earned on the illicit diamond market. He combined Barnato-Central with the French Company to form Kimberley Mines, and that covers the entire Big Hole. I’m repeating this although I know you know the facts as well as I do, because I want you all to realize the full importance of the operation we are about to start. It is absolutely essential that we wrest the control of Kimberley Mines, the richest mine in the diamond fields, from this man!” He leaned back in his chair, his hooded eyes searching the faces about the table for some sign of disagreement, of possible rebellion, prepared to instantly put it down.

“D’you have any specific plans?” Rudd asked. He was tilted back in his chair as usual, a huge cigar stuck at a jaunty angle between his teeth, speaking about the clouds of smoke, seemingly unimpressed with the intensity of Rhodes’ tone.

Rhodes frowned as if he did not understand the question. “We discussed all this before my trip. Our agents in London and Paris have been alerted to the situation. They are merely awaiting our telegraphed and coded instructions. In Cape Town I spoke with our man there; he will start the ball rolling when I tell him to. London and Paris will act when word from Cape Town comes through.”

“And here in Kimberley?” Beit asked.

Rhodes managed to make his face inscrutable, although it was an effort. “In Kimberley we hope to do the best we can; possibly even better than elsewhere. The big blocks of stock — the blocks the Barnatos don’t own personally — will have to come from London and Paris, obviously, from the large investors. This does not mean, of course, that we can afford to fail to pick up every last share we can get anywhere. And I mean anywhere!” He leaned forward, dropping his voice for emphasis. “What we cannot afford to do — and I cannot stress this too highly! — is to be cheap. To try to get control and save money at the same time! We must bid the shares to a point where any stockholder who does not sell would have to be considered foolhardy.”

Rudd frowned. He removed his cigar from his mouth as if to be sure no one could claim not to have understood his words. “I know that was the original scheme,” he said, “but what I meant was, do you have any further plans? New plans?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Rudd said, as if merely asking for logic, “that as long as Barnato holds on to fifty-one per cent of the shares, he can even sell whatever number he has over that amount and make a fortune. And still retain control of the company. We will have spent that fortune, and while I’m sure investment in Kimberley Mines will prove to be quite profitable, it won’t have gotten us any further ahead in our principal aim of getting control.”

Rhodes smiled faintly. “Don’t worry about that end of the matter, Charles. Let that problem remain with me.”

Rudd’s frown increased. “D’you think you can get Barnato to sell more than fifty per cent? I mean, I know there are many shares in the market, but certainly Barnato still retains a majority.”

Rhodes’ smile remained fixed, a sly smile. “I said leave it to me.” Rudd did not look satisfied, but fell silent. Rhodes looked around, awaiting any further questions. There were none. “All right, gentlemen,” he said. “I cabled London from Cape Town saying that I had arrived at the Cape and I gave tomorrow as my probable time of arrival here in Kimberley. I asked that the Rothschild credits be issued through their London and Paris branches the day after tomorrow. That will be a Friday. I therefore suggest we start our little adventure as soon as the Exchange opens in Cape Town on Monday morning. This is several hours later than London time, I realize, but I wish the first purchases to appear to just be some local speculation and nothing more; the confusion will be that much greater when London and Paris pick up that speculation and start the real bidding. It should cause some comment on the floors of the exchanges.” He smiled broadly at this vast understatement, and came to his feet. “Gentlemen, I’ve had a long and arduous journey. If you will excuse me…”