The River of Diamonds

Rhennin muttered, Three-sided fight now. I wonder what sob-stuff she's going to put over about dear old Dad.'

The Judge's ascetic, inquisitorial face held little promise for that line of approach.

The orderly intoned, 'You are Mary Caldwell and the evidence you shall give…'

She raised her black-gloved hand — which perfectly set off her elegant suit — and was duly sworn.

'Your age, Miss Caldwell?' Mennin asked.

Her voice was slightly husky, deeper than usual in a woman.. The hazel eyes were flecked with amber. 'Thirty-three.'

'Where were you born?'

She looked amused; I liked the smile. 'Do you really want to know?'

The fudge's voice was edged. 'Miss Caldwell…'

'In a train.'

'In a train?'

'In the desert south of here. The engine driver was trying to make his best time to the nearest railhead; my mother…'

'Yes, Miss Caldwell. Your occupation?'

'Diamond sorter.'

The best diamond sorters are Bushmen because of their keen eyesight. I had not heard of a woman sorter before. Certainly she wasn't dressed out of a sorter's pay.

Rhennin said in an aside to me, 'Looks as though Caldwell must have left money after all, despite his jinx.'

Mennin said, 'Isn't that a somewhat unusual occupation for a woman?'

She was defensive. 'I've trained for it, although I've never actually done it. For a number of years I have been a companion to my mother, who is an invalid.'

Shelborne was slumped forward, chin in hand, eyes fixed on Mary Caldwell.

Mennin said formally, 'My lord, the application I am making to this court is that the undersea prospecting rights of the Sperrgebiet seaboard rightly belong to Caldwell's widow, Mrs Kathleen Caldwell, at present resident in Cape Town and, as you have heard, a permanent invalid, and therefore unable to attend this hearing. My client contests the validity both of the claim of Frederick Shelborne and that of the Mazy Zed organization as counter to rights already accorded by the former German Government. We contest this cession made at Strandloper's Water on grounds that it was made under dubious circumstances.'

'Why then did you not cross-examine Mr Shelborne?'

Mennin smiled.

The reason is simple, my lord. Mr Shelborne had the document — the original — for which my client has been searching for many years. The best we were able to do was to produce a sworn copy from the records of the former German authorities. Mr Shelborne was good enough to produce irrefutable proof of my client's claim.'

The fudge said, 'Very well. Now, Miss Caldwell, why cannot your mother attend?'

She fumbled in her handbag. 'I have a medical certificate here. She has had a stroke and is not able to speak, or properly comprehend.'

The fudge nodded and Mennin asked, 'Your late father, the famous Mr Caldwell, made your mother his sole legatee and, one presumes, after her death yourself?'

'Not quite. My mother inherited nothing of value from my father.'

I could see the fudge's disbelief.

'May I explain. My father went away on his last adventure leaving us poor. We were living at a place called Kleinzee…'

Kleinzee! It was one of the great strikes of the diamond coast!

'We had a house, more of a shack really. My father went away. My mother has told me that a few days later she wanted some lime to whitewash the house; we

couldn't afford to buy paint. She searched in the veld for some likely rock to grind up. She kicked up a piece. It came away — full of diamonds. It was a diamond matrix.

The ground was next to our shack. Its owner made my mother a grant — a very handsome grant — for her lifetime. He soon became a millionaire. It ceases when she dies.'

'So, Miss Caldwell, the ill-luck which had dogged your father all his life once more had come into play?'

'Yes. He was recalled from what is now Oranjemund — four years before Merensky's strike — when he was on the point of making the discovery of discoveries. He'd found diamonds here…'

'And from what you have just told the court, he missed another fabulous fortune on his very doorstep at Kleinzee by going off into the unknown?'

She looked a little tired. 'Yes. His bad luck was proverbial. There was also The Cliffs, near Port Nolloth. He…'

She made a little defeatist gesture. Shelborne's hand on his chin twitched and he coughed asthmatically. His face seemed even more gaunt.

Mennin went on: 'Mr Shelborne, having been a close companion of your father's on many expeditions, must have been well known to your family?'

She looked puzzled. 'No. My mother never mentioned such a person.'

'Did he ever come to your home at Kleinzee?'

'I was a few months old when he went away, and I never heard of the name when a child.'

'After your father's… ah… final disappearance he did not show up?'

'No. My lord, all this is new to me. I have been told that the newspapers were full of the disappearance of my father. For months — even years later — there were articles about him. He was a name associated almost romantically with diamonds and I think people somehow expected him to come back, crowned with luck, you might say. Luck had eluded him so desperately all his life.'

Mennin said, 'Yes the only man who could have shed light on your father's disappearance was — we have his own words for it — training to become a master mariner, and then later crossing deserts in the remotest corners of the globe?'

She nodded and shot a glance at Shelborne, who was staring at the floor.

'Nevertheless, today, more than three decades later, he comes forward with a paper signed by your father ceding him the undersea prospecting rights. For half a lifetime he has done nothing about these rights except drop a few dredges and buoys with grease traps…'

'Ask questions, Mr Mennin — do not put words into the witness's mouth.'

'As your lordship pleases. Now, Miss Caldwelclass="underline" do you remember what your father looked like?'

The Judge intervened. 'Mr Mennin, the witness could not have been a year old at the time of her father's disappearance.'

'I was about to say, my lord, that I naturally have no personal recollection of him. My mother, however, described him as big and dark.'

'Bearded or clean-shaven?'

She dug again in her bag. 'Here is a photograph of my father and mother, taken in Port Nolloth a few weeks after my birth. You'll see, he was bearded, with a shock of thick black hair. My mother said he could run down a buck in the desert, he was so strong.'

'After your father vanished, your mother never had any further communication from him?'

'None.'

Mennin, having created his impression, handed her over to Shardelow to cross-examine.

'Miss Caldwell, you are Mary Caldwell, are you not?'

She looked puzzled. 'Yes, of course.'

'Can you prove it?'

'You're implying that I am an impostor…'

'I said nothing of the kind. I merely asked, can you prove your identity?'

The judge leaned forward. The inquisitor disappeared momentarily. In its place was a rare kindliness which illuminated the medieval face. 'Can you produce a birth or baptismal certificate, Miss Caldwell? — something which would identity you positively?'

'I expect so, my lord.'

Shardelow was too clever to weaken his own case through a lengthy verbal duel. 'That is all, my lord.'

'All, Mr Shardelow?'

'Yes. The opposition of the Mazy Zed project by these two witnesses stems, in fact, from the same fundamental premise, and I propose to treat them as one. Perhaps one further question, though: did you ever undertake sea-bed prospecting, Miss Caldwell?'

She laughed, easily, warmly. 'Of course not.'

Shardelow seemed pleased, though for different reasons. 'No, of course not.' He sat down.