II
I’ve been, I suppose, a very wicked man,” said Simeon Lee.
He was leaning back in his chair. His chin was raised and with one finger he was stroking his
jaw reflectively. In front of him a big fire glowed and danced. Beside it sat Pilar, a little screen of
papier-mâché held in her hand. With it she shielded her face from the blaze. Occasionally she
fanned herself with it, using her wrist in a supple gesture. Simeon looked at her with satisfaction.
He went on talking, perhaps more to himself than to the girl, and stimulated by the fact of her
presence.
Yes,” he said. “I’ve been a wicked man. What do you say to that, Pilar
Pilar shrugged her shoulders. She said
All men are wicked. The nuns say so. That is why one has to pray for them.
Ah, but I’ve been more wicked than most.” Simeon laughed. “I don’t regret it, you know.
No, I don’t regret anything. I’ve enjoyed myself . . . every minute! They say you repent when you
get old. That’s bunkum. I don’t repent. And as I tell you, I’ve done most things . . . all the good
old sins! I’ve cheated and stolen and lied . . . lord, yes! And women—always women! Someone
told me the other day of an Arab chief who had a bodyguard of forty of his sons—all roughly the
same age! Aha! Forty! I don’t know about forty, but I bet I could produce a very fair bodyguard if
I went about looking for the brats! Hey, Pilar, what do you think of that? Shocked
Pilar stared.
No, why should I be shocked? Men always desire women. My father, too. That is why wives
are so often unhappy and why they go to church and pray.
Old Simeon was frowning.
I made Adelaide unhappy,” he said. He spoke almost under his breath, to himself. “Lord
what a woman! Pink and white and pretty as they make ’em when I married her! And afterwards
Always wailing and weeping. It rouses the devil in a man when his wife is always crying . . .
She’d no guts, that’s what was the matter with Adelaide. If she’d stood up to me! But she never
did—not once. I believed when I married her that I was going to be able to settle down, raise a
family—cut loose from the old life. . . .
His voice died away. He stared—stared into the glowing heart of the fire.
Raise a family . . . God, what a family!” He gave a sudden shrill pipe of angry laughter.
Look at ’em—look at ’em! Not a child among them—to carry on! What’s the matter with them
Haven’t they got any of my blood in their veins? Not a son among ’em, legitimate or illegitimate.
Alfred, for instance—heavens above, how bored I get with Alfred! Looking at me with his dog’s
eyes. Ready to do anything I ask. Lord, what a fool! His wife, now—Lydia—I like Lydia. She’s
got spirit. She doesn’t like me, though. No, she doesn’t like me. But she has to put up with me for
that nincompoop Alfred’s sake.” He looked over at the girl by the fire. “Pilar—remember
nothing is so boring as devotion.
She smiled at him. He went on, warmed by the presence of her youth and strong femininity.
George? What’s George? A stick! A stuffed codfish! a pompous windbag with no brains and
no guts—and mean about money as well! David? David always was a fool—a fool and a dreamer.
His mother’s boy, that was always David. Only sensible thing he ever did was to marry that solid
comfortable-looking woman.” He brought down his hand with a bang on the edge of his chair.
Harry’s the best of ’em! Poor old Harry, the wrong ‘un! But at any rate he’s alive
Pilar agreed.
Yes, he is nice. He laughs—laughs out loud—and throws his head back. Oh, yes, I like him
very much.
The old man looked at her.
You do, do you, Pilar? Harry always had a way with the girls. Takes after me there.” He
began to laugh, a slow wheezy chuckle. “I’ve had a good life — a very good life. Plenty of
everything.
Pilar said
In Spain we have a proverb. It is like this
Take what you like and pay for it, says God.
Simeon beat an appreciative hand on the arm of his chair.
That’s good. That’s the stuff. Take what you like . . . I’ve done that—all my life—taken
what I wanted. . . .
Pilar said, her voice high and clear, and suddenly arresting
And you have paid for it
Simeon stopped laughing to himself. He sat up and stared at her. He said, “What’s that you
say
I said, have you paid for it, Grandfather
Simeon Lee said slowly
I—don’t know. . . .
Then, beating his fist on the arm of the chair, he cried out with sudden anger
What makes you say that, girl? What makes you say that
Pilar said
I—wondered.
Her hand, holding the screen, was arrested. Her eyes were dark and mysterious. She sat, her
head thrown back, conscious of herself, of her womanhood.
Simeon said
You devil’s brat . . .
She said softly
But you like me, Grandfather. You like me to sit here with you.
Simeon said: “Yes, I like it. It’s a long time since I’ve seen anything so young and beautiful
It does me good, warms my old bones . . . And you’re my own flesh and blood . . . Good for
Jennifer, she turned out to be the best of the bunch after all
Pilar sat there smiling.
Mind you, you don’t fool me,” said Simeon. “I know why you sit here so patiently and listen
to me droning on. It’s money — it’s all money . . . Or do you pretend you love your old
grandfather
Pilar said: “No, I do not love you. But I like you. I like you very much. You must believe
that, for it is true. I think you have been wicked, but I like that too. You are more real than the
other people in this house. And you have interesting things to say. You have travelled and you
have led a life of adventure. If I were a man I would be like that, too.
Simeon nodded.
Yes, I believe you would . . . We’ve gypsy blood in us, so it’s always been said. It hasn’t
shown much in my children—except Harry—but I think it’s come out in you. I can be patient
mind you, when it’s necessary. I waited once fifteen years to get even with a man who’d done me
an injury. That’s another characteristic of the Lees—they don’t forget! They’ll avenge a wrong if
they have to wait years to do it. A man swindled me. I waited fifteen years till I saw my chance
and then I struck. I ruined him. Cleaned him right out
He laughed softly.
Pilar said
That was in South Africa
Yes. A grand country.
You have been back there, yes
I went back last five years after I married. That was the last time.
But before that? You were there for many years
Yes.
Tell me about it.
He began to talk. Pilar, shielding her face, listened.
His voice slowed, wearied. He said
Wait, I’ll show you something.
He pulled himself carefully to his feet. Then, with his stick, he limped slowly across the
room. He opened the big safe. Turning, he beckoned her to him.
There, look at these. Feel them, let them run through your fingers.
He looked into her wondering face and laughed.
Do you know what they are? Diamonds, child, diamonds.
Pilar’s eyes opened. She said as she bent over
But they are little pebbles, that is all.
Simeon laughed.
They are uncut diamonds. That is how they are found—like this.
Pilar asked incredulously
And if they were cut they would be real diamonds
Certainly.
They would flash and sparkle
Flash and sparkle.
Pilar said childishly
O-o-o, I cannot believe it
He was amused.
It’s quite true.
They are valuable
Fairly valuable. Difficult to say before they are cut. Anyway, this little lot is worth several
thousands of pounds.
Pilar said with a space between each word
Several—thousands—of—pounds
Say nine or ten thousands—they’re biggish stones, you see.
Pilar asked, her eyes opening
But why do you not sell them, then
Because I like to have them here.
But all that money
I don’t need the money.
Oh—I see,” Pilar looked impressed.
She said
But why do you not have them cut and made beautiful
Because I prefer them like this.” His face was set in a grim line. He turned away and began
speaking to himself. “They take me back—the touch of them, the feel of them through my fingers
It all comes back to me, the sunshine, and the smell of the veldt, the oxen—old Eb—all the
boys—the evenings. . . .
There was a soft tap on the door.
Simeon said: “Put ’em back in the safe and bang it to.
Then he called: “Come in.
Horbury came in, soft and deferential.
He said: “Tea is ready downstairs.
