Diamonds Forever......Until

Diamonds Forever… Until

I didn’t ask to be born. In fact, I had no say in the matter. The love of two people decided they wanted to have a child. I lay there with no capacity to understand, but with an innate need for food and water to survive. This was given to me by what I soon learned were warm and loving hands. If for some reason this nourishment was not available, I developed a cry to make myself heard. These were my very early years. I soon understood I belonged to a happily married couple who treated me as a son to be loved and cherished. It was not long before I felt safe and warm in their company.

Within a few months, I was anxious to discover the world around me. When springtime came, weather permitting, my world was a large and beautiful garden with lawns and flower beds to explore. I adored hiding in the foliage when my mother left me in the care of the housemaid. That pleasure changed the day I got stung by a bee. I learned a lesson for life: be respectful of the space of others, whether people or insects. The garden had a swimming pool that had been fenced off to protect me, though I longed to explore it more closely. My mother often played with me on the lawns; my father seldom did, as in the daytime he left for his workshop. I remember he was often absent… travelling.

We lived in a large house with several staircases leading to upper floors calling out to be discovered. My parents had two other people living with us, a cook and a housemaid, both of whom I learned to love as part of my close family. When I began to stumble about on wobbly legs, I found my father’s study. To my surprise, the room was littered with drawings—not the ones seen in the picture books I read with my mother, but of objects like the ones I saw on my mother's clothes or around her neck and wrists. When I could put a few words together, I asked my mother why Dad's study was full of odd drawings.

“Darling, that’s a long story,” she said. “But the short answer is that he is a jeweler who trades in precious stones and sometimes designs modern jewelry.” I just nodded my head, though I didn't quite understand.

The next major milestone in our family was the birth of a baby girl—my sister and a future playmate. For her first three years, I played the big brother, introducing her to our world. I must have been about six when my father decided to take me with him on his daily habit of disappearing to his workshop. In an act of boasting, I told my sister I was now a grown-up and could not play with her that day.

My father's workshop was a treasure trove of delights. Before I was allowed to touch anything, I was introduced to his three top employees at a hand-shaking session and given a brief speech about what the workshop represented. While my father spoke, I carefully looked around the room. It was a comfortable, large space with wood paneling on the walls and high ceilings. There were four large desks surrounding a long table placed in the center of the room.The desks held several instruments and papers. The table in the middle was littered with an assortment of many-colored stones.

What was most impressive was the back wall. There was a very large and imposing safe surrounded by huge cupboards with many small drawers. Thisroom was my father’s—and no doubt his trusted associates'—inner sanctum. To get here, we had passed through a few rooms where a number of people were diligently working.

Once my father finished speaking, I asked him if I could touch the stones on the table. The layout of these multicolored stones reminded me of the pictures in one of my favorite books about pirates. As I approached the table, one cluster of stones set my heart fluttering with excitement. It was the brilliance of the light that shone through them. It had a disturbing effect on my emotions; their beauty was overwhelming. My father saw my face and said:

“These are diamonds, the centerpiece of our collection. The first diamond was discovered in India some 2,000 years ago. Today, they are mostly mined in South Africa. I see you are instantly attached to their beauty. I hope one day you will replace me in running this family business that has been in our name for three generations.”

I returned from the visit a bundle of enthusiasm. I rushed to show my mother the pictures in my pirate book, explaining I had actually touched the stones. In my mind, the king of all gems was the diamond. That night, so that I could appreciate diamonds next to human skin, my mother wore a diamond necklace. I went to sleep still seeing the magnificent light patterns playing on her throat.

Over the next few years, I often went to my father’s premises and was shamefully spoiled by his staff. The desire to become an expert in the world of luxury jewelry was firmly implanted in my soul. After a privileged high school education, I went to university to study luxury brand management and international business. Once university life was over, my father generously gave me and a friend a six-month vacation to explore the museums and wonders of continental Europe. We arrived back full of stories and photographs that dominated two family dinners.

Two days later, I stepped into my father’s office. I knew it was the right decision; the diamond fever still ran through my blood as it had all those years ago. The next few months were a stressful time under the eagle eye of my father. I realized I had a lot to learn: who we traded with, taking trips to South Africa and Antwerp, and the constant study of important sales throughout the world. I soon learned that diamonds of the past century were often more valuable, as many craftsmen of those times had skills superior to modern ones. The real beauty in a pure diamond lies in how it is cut. My father knew of only two craftsmen capable of cutting raw diamonds as they did years ago.

It was also a time when the market was being flooded with diamonds—laboratory-generated.These diamonds were becoming increasingly difficult to detect from the real thing. They did not have quite the brilliance and sparkle of a diamond from the earth. The attraction was their pricing, which was several levels below that of a real diamond. We all agreed that the firm would never deal in this fake market and would only concentrate our efforts on the upper tier of the luxury market. We created a company motto: “Worship nature's gift… a diamond for eternity.” Any discussion of the fake market deeply unsettled my father.

As the years went by, I was given more responsibility, including the mandate to travel alone to South Africa to purchase diamonds through our trusted agent there. On one of my trips, I took my sister, who was now a well-known model specializing in evening gowns and fine jewelry. Sometimes she showed our father’s creations. She had also opened a jewelry shop that was showing signs of success.

On this particular visit, we were invited to an outdoor film set during the filming of Blood Diamond. The film revealed an underground market controlled by unsavory men. Since our company only traded in a controlled and well-administered market, the scenes we saw were an eye-opener. We witnessed cruelty, poverty, and a complete ignorance of the law. My sister and I agreed it was our responsibility to help stamp out these activities. We returned home pleased with our purchases but disturbed by the grim reality behind the film. We realized with sadness that the increasing demand was being corrupted by a few people intent on making profits by selling below market value using diamonds obtained illegally. I persuaded my father to join a group organized to deal with this problem.

Six months later, I was back in South Africa. As was often the case, I enjoyed the hospitality of our agent. When selecting the diamonds, I noticed a particularly fine example, one I was sure my father could use for an outstanding brooch. In my enthusiasm, I bought it at what I thought was an inflated price. When I showed it to my father, he immediately agreed on the design. Two weeks later, when I walked into my office, there was a brooch of exceptional workmanship highlighting the diamond I had suggested. As I sat down to admire the work of art, my father popped his head around the door.

“Wonderful brooch, n’est-ce pas? Now, price it for sale.”

Three weeks later, one of my father's oldest clients walked into the office looking for a birthday present for his wife. Once he saw the brooch, the sale was made. When he came to paying he did, in a cheeky way, ask my father if flagrant inflation was affecting his trade.

It must have been a month later when the same client came storming into the office shouting.

“My wife and I have never been so embarrassed as we were last night,” he cried.“We were out with friends at an intimate birthday party and everybody was admiring the brooch. One of the guests, who is a reputed jeweler, asked to see the brooch more closely. He took from his pocket a loupe and shined a light on the diamond.”

He then related the conversation that had followed.

“Is it presumptuous for me to ask you where you bought this brooch?” the guest had asked.

“No, at Harding and Son—a jeweler where for many years I have bought jewelry for my wife and daughters.”

“That's odd,” the man replied. “They are a firm with a long-standing reputation. One of the finest in the business. But I must say, I have never seen a fake diamond so beautifully cut. In my judgment, the diamond is synthetic.”

The client looked at my father, his face red. “The happy party ended for us in a disaster.”

“My dear Henri,”my father said, “after all these years, how could you imagine we trade in fake diamonds? The stone was purchased in South Africa by my son through our agent, whom we have known since the beginning of time. I could not imagine it being a fake. Have you got the brooch on you?”

“Yes, here it is.”

“Wait a minute; I will run a test.”

He called me over and explained the situation. He then asked me to verify that it was not a fake. Ten minutes later, I returned with an ashen face.

“Father, we have examined the stone from all angles. It is undoubtedly a beautifully cut stone by a master craftsman, but it is a fake. How it escaped our notice is a mystery. I relied on our agent; we never had any reason to suspect he might be substituting fakes for real diamonds. I also verified all the other diamonds I bought—they are all real. This particular diamond was the most expensive. I don’t know what to say.”

“Henri, I have a million apologies,” my father said. “I feel like performing hara-kiri. It is totally our responsibility. We will, of course, replace the diamond. In addition, to help appease your dear wife, I will give her a diamond bracelet.”

“Matthew,” Henri replied, “our world of yesterday has changed to a world driven by money. This incident will be soon forgotten. In my book, everybody is entitled to occasional errors.”

When Henri left, I sat with my father, who looked like an animal deeply wounded in the throes of fighting for its life. He told me he could see the generations of his family sitting in judgment, claiming he had let the family name be blemished. I felt he was taking the incident far too seriously, especially since I was the purchaser.

In front of my father, I called our agent in South Africa and put the call on speakerphone.

“Hello, is that Jonathan?”

“Yes, I am here with my father.

Carlos’s assistant in a frantic voice said. “ Thank God you called Carlos has been missing for four days. We are all very worried. The police are searching for him.There are rumors he is mixed up with some very bad people over gambling debts.”

“We never knew he was a gambler.”

“Yes, after his wife died, he went to pieces for a while. Last year he seemed better, but...”

“Well, when they find him, please be sure you ask him to call me.”

“Please give our love to your father. I will let you know when I have news.”

The line went dead. My father’s only remark was: “That call might explain things. One never really knows what lurks in the heart of man.”

Over the next two months, my father fell into a deep depression. He seldom came to the office, preferring his study at home. Designing new jewelry was beyond his capabilities.

Then, early one spring morning, I poked my head into his study to say good morning. There he was, with his head on his desk and a revolver in his right hand. Blood had stained the papers lying on the blotter. The revolver had a silencer attached to its barrel.

They never found Carlos.