The Curse of the Blood Diamond Part 2 Chapter 9

For the first hour of the reception she hardly saw him. He was constantly engaged in conversation and didn’t once look around to see where his bride might be. Hector was quite tipsy when the time came for speeches.

“I prised her from Hamlet’s clutches,” he said as titters rippled though the crowd. Esson felt humiliated, but she smiled weakly at his attempts at humour. He took another gulp of his whisky.

He regaled them with the “edges” he would “smooth out” in his new bride. Like another Shakespearean bridegroom, he would tame her. The audience was howling with laughter.

He took another gulp. Esson had never seen him so affected by his drink and she didn’t like it. It frightened her. This was not the Hector she had exchanged her vows with. He spoke
differently, with a cutting edge to his words. He even looked different, eyes glittering in his angular face, all vulnerability banished.

“Esson, as many of you know, was rather partial to men’s clothing…” he lifted an eyebrow. With the exception of the bride, the entire reception found this amusing. Most of them had
probably mocked her choice of clothing among themselves. They had almost certainly gossiped over her independence and “liberal ways”.

“That you should land up with Hector,” several of them commented to Esson after the speeches. “Now isn’t that ironic.”

“I appear to be the only one failing to appreciate the irony,” Esson responded to a neighbour, Mrs Anna Braithwaite, who had always been warm to her.

“Hector is what they call ‘a man’s man’, my dear. He likes to get his way; always been like that. When he was a little boy, we thought he might favour Royston. But the older he gets, the more he favours Frances. Speak of the devil…”

Hector still appeared to be drinking heavily. Esson could detect no slur to his speech, nor unsteadiness to his gait. Yet he was different. He ushered a young woman toward her.

“This is my wife, Esson Shaw, and this is Elizabeth McGraw, formerly of the dance troupe from Baghdad,” he laughed. Not knowing how else to respond to this introduction, Elizabeth
laughed along.

Esson greeted the attractive woman, relieved that the reception included one or two less-than-titled folk. “Have I not met you before?”

“We have, at the Moulin d’Afrique.”

“Of course.”

“Come, my dears, it is such a beautiful evening,” Hector interjected. “Let us head upstairs to admire the sunset from our virgin bedroom. It offers an unbeatable view over Johannesburg.”

Esson was unsure whether this was good idea; in fact she had been unsure of everything since Hector had started drinking this evening. She didn’t like the way he looked at her – almost with avarice, she thought. And without a shred of the vulnerability she had seen in the church.

The bridal wing had been closed off from the reception and the peace was comforting. Richly decorated in the finest orange and red silks and velvets – Esson had been permitted to express herself in the boudoir décor - the room was warm and exotic, with a fire burning in the black marble fireplace. It was spring, but the evenings were still chilly. Fires would continue to burn in the Shaw home for a few more weeks.

On the mantelpiece above the fireplace was a crystal decanter filled with Cognac – Hector’s favourite drink.

“Let us toast my bride,” he said, retrieving three glasses from a hand-carved Chinese cabinet; its handles ivory mermaids. “Two mermaids for my mermaids. ...To my bride.”
 
“To your bride,” Elizabeth repeated. Esson was feeling absolutely clear, so she accepted a cognac. Watching Hector grow increasingly affected by his drink, she had hardly touched her champagne, out of sheer anxiety. She was used to absinthe, and knew she could carry her drink. But as she sipped cautiously on the Cognac, she felt the room began to swirl.
 
“Come and sit with me, Esson. You seem a little unsteady.”

Hector spoke kindly, patting the large four-poster bed.

“Elizabeth, would you mind dancing for us?” his voice retained its kindly tone.

“Mr Shaw I’m not sure…”

“Come, come now.”

“But Mr Shaw, I have none of my dancing clothes, nor my dancing shoes.”

“Then take off your clothes and your shoes and dance barefoot and naked for us.”

“Hector, no!” Esson was not only alarmed, but was feeling altogether queer.

“Have you suddenly become prudish now that you are my wife? You have seen the dancers many times at the Moulin d’Afrique, have you not?”

“Hector, this is inappropriate,” Esson implored, feeling as though she might faint.

“Inappropriate to whom? It will whet our appetite, my dear bride, of that you can be sure.”

“Off with those clothes, then,” he ordered Elizabeth.

“Please no, Mr Shaw.”

“Elizabeth, I am ordering you to dance, not asking you. Should you refuse, I will withdraw the funds I provide for you to live in the manner to which you have become accustomed.”

“What are you saying?” Esson cried.

“I help her out,” was all he offered and Esson felt too weak to respond.

Elizabeth asked if she might use Esson’s bathroom to undress.

“No, you will undress in front of us,” Hector ordered.

Elizabeth obeyed, but Esson could see she was frightened.

When Hector once reached out his arm, Elizabeth flinched. Esson clutched the blood diamond, desperately trying to remain conscious.

“I want something Eastern,” he demanded.

The naked Elizabeth began dancing and Hector was instantly aroused. He pulled Esson closer and began stroking her hair.

“What do you say we remove our clothes too, my beautiful.”

“Hector, no!” But she felt too dizzy to move.

“Come closer,” he ordered Elizabeth. “Come dance for my wife.”

“I cannot do this, Sir.” Elizabeth was weeping.

Hector leapt up from the bed and grabbed her by the hair.

“Come closer, I said ...Now kiss my wife.”

Esson struggled to the edge of the bed.

“Kiss her. NOW!” Hector ordered, pulling Elizabeth closer with one hand while pinning Esson to the bed with the other.

Elizabeth, weeping, looked apologetically into Esson’s eyes and lightly kissed her on the lips.

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. Hold her down.”

Elizabeth hesitated. “I said, hold her down, you insolent whore.” His eyes grew dark with violence.

Elizabeth took Esson’s limp arms and pinned her to the bed as Hector slipped off his trousers. Esson was seconds from unconsciousness when he forced himself inside her, while lunging at Elizabeth’s breasts.

Copyright Ranulph Moore

A PDF download of Blood Diamond is available in our shop.

Ranulph Moore describes himself as an explorer, who became a writer to purge himself of the adventures that were crowding his life. He says he has seen it all, in a life spent observing the lives of others. He will travel anywhere – as long as he can make a decent cup of tea and launder a linen jacket. He describes Africa as one of his great loves. He has spent time in every country on the continent. If he can’t find a good champagne, he has been known to resort to gin. He has homes in Paris, Jura and Cape Town. At present, he lives in Madagascar, where he is researching his latest book.

Read an interview with Ranulph Moore.