Master of the Game by Sidney Sheldon

“Whiskey. The best you have.”

“Yes, sir.” He poured the drink. “You’re new in town?”

“Yes.”

“Just passin’ through, are you?”

“No. I’ve heard this is a good town for a man looking for investments.”

The bartender’s eyes lighted up. “You couldn’t find better! A man with a hundred—A man with money can do real well for hisself. Matter of fact, I might be of some service to you, sir.”

“Really? How is that?”

Smit leaned forward, his tone conspiratorial. “I know the man who runs this town. He’s chairman of the Borough Council and head of the Citizen’s Committee. He’s the most important man in this part of the country. Name of Salomon van der Merwe.”

Jamie took a sip of his drink. “Never heard of him.”

“He owns that big general store across the street. He can put you on to some good deals. It’d be worth your while to meet him.”

Jamie McGregor took another sip of his drink. “Have him come over here.”

The bartender glanced at the large diamond ring on Jamie’s finger, and at his diamond stickpin. “Yes, sir. Can I tell him your name?”

“Travis. Ian Travis.”

“Right, Mr. Travis. I’m sure Mr. van der Merwe will want to meet you.” He poured out another drink. “Have this while you’re waitin’. It’s on the house.”

Jamie sat at the bar sipping the whiskey, aware that everyone in the saloon was watching him. Men had departed from Klipdrift wealthy, but no one of such obvious wealth had ever arrived there before. It was something new in their experience.

Fifteen minutes later, the bartender was back, accompanied by Salomon van der Merwe.

Van der Merwe walked up to the bearded, white-haired stranger, held out his hand and smiled. “Mr. Travis, I’m Salomon van der Merwe.”

“Ian Travis.”

Jamie waited for a flicker of recognition, a sign that Van der Merwe found something familiar about him. There was nothing. But then, why should there be? Jamie thought. There was nothing left of that naive, idealistic, eighteen-year-old boy he had been. Smit obsequiously led the two men to a corner table.

As soon as they were seated, Van der Merwe said, “I understand you’re looking for some investments in Klipdrift, Mr. Travis.”

“Possibly.”

“I might be able to be of some service. One has to be careful. There are many immoral people around.”

Jamie looked at him and said, “I’m sure there are.”

It was unreal, sitting there carrying on a polite conversation with the man who had cheated him out of a fortune and then tried to murder him. His hatred for Van der Merwe had consumed him for the last year, his thirst for vengeance was all that had sustained him, kept him alive. And now Van der Merwe was about to feel that vengeance.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Mr. Travis, how much money were you planning on investing?”

“Oh, around a hundred thousand pounds to begin with,” Jamie said carelessly. He watched Van der Merwe wet his lips. “Then perhaps three or four hundred thousand more.”

“Er—you should be able to do very well with that, very well, indeed. With the right guidance, of course,” he added quickly. “Do you have any idea what you might want to invest in?”

“I thought I’d look around and see what opportunities there were.”

“That’s very wise of you.” Van der Merwe nodded sagely. “Perhaps you would like to come to dinner tonight and we can discuss it? My daughter’s an excellent cook. It would be an honor to have you.”

Jamie smiled. “I’d enjoy that, Mr. van der Merwe.” You have no idea how much I’d enjoy that, he thought.

It had started.

 

 

The journey from the diamond fields of Namib to Cape Town had been uneventful. Jamie and Banda had hiked inland to a small village where a doctor treated Jamie’s arm, and they had gotten a lift on a wagon bound for Cape Town. It was a long, difficult ride, but they were oblivious to the discomfort. At Cape Town, Jamie checked into the ornate Royal Hotel on Plein Street—“Patronized by HRH, the Duke of Edinburgh”—and was escorted to the Royal Suite.