Stone Cold by Norman Moss

the police. Fortunately, they came within minutes. They caught the thief as he was getting away, and I got the diamond back.
    “Well, I thought that was that. I was about to start a film but they said they would have to get another actor because of that scar. You know, I was supposed to be good-looking. That was part of my selling point. Some magazine called me the second sexiest bachelor in Hollywood, or something daft like that.
    “I told the producers they could cover it with make-up but they said it wouldn’t be the same, that people would see it off the set, all sorts of things. So I waited for the scar to heal. It was supposed to heal but somehow it didn’t. I wasn’t being offered any more parts. Yes, someone offered me a minor part as a scar-faced villain, but that wasn’t for me. I was unemployed.
    “I had what doctors called a nervous breakdown. I spent some time with a psychotherapist. But after a while, I came to realize that he could nae help me. My crisis was a spiritual one. This scar that would not heal was with me forever, because I had strayed from the true path.”
    He paused. I asked, “It was God’s punishment?” I wanted to know. Belief in a God that rewards and punishes has always puzzled me, it seems so simplistic.
    “Punishment, yes, but also a gift !” He said this last vehemently. “Something to remind me where I had strayed to, and something to prevent me continuing on that path. Don’t you see? I couldn’t follow the old way of life with that scar. And it was a reminder that would always be with me if I were tempted again. It took me a long time to realize this, and to understand what I should do. I left Hollywood, and left behind the life I was leading. I came here, and I returned to the faith of my fathers, and to the place of my fathers. My life is here now.”
    He stopped. He had finished his story. I was moved. I am not religious but I am always moved by the passionate sincerity of a decent man.
    But I had to press him further. “That’s an interesting story, and one I’ll remember. Thank you.” I paused, and then, “The diamond. You sold it through Azamouth Frères. Could you tell me who you bought it from?”
    “I bought it from a dealer in London. “
    “Do you know who the previous owner was?”
    “Yes, as it happens, I do know. He was in California also. That’s how I first heard about it.”
    “He was in Hollywood?”
    “No, he’s a man called Tom Kinsella. He’s nothing to do with films. He’s a Silicon Valley millionaire. One of those teenagers who play with computers and make millions.” This was the first hint of worldly humour in his conversation.
    “You don’t happen to know how I could reach him, do you?”
    “When I bought the diamond, I remember, someone told me he was living on a yacht in Marina del Rey. That’s all I know.”
    “Tom Kinsella in Marina del Rey. Thank you.”
    That part of the conversation was at an end, but I had appreciated his story. I said, “If you don’t mind my asking, do you ever miss the old life?”
    He thought about this for a while. “Yes, bits of it. Occasionally, I miss the work. Being on set, being at the centre of it all. Some of the industry talk. But I was wasting my life. So much of what went with it was polluting my mind and my body.
    “Now I have a life here. I have friends, I attend a Bible study group. I take classes at the Sunday school sometimes. And I’m not a monk. My Uncle Albert and Aunt Margaret are coming on a visit later this week. Uncle Albert will tell me funny stories about the family that I’ve heard a dozen times before, but I’m fond of him. And soon I’ll find some useful work to do. No, the life here is the life for me.”
    He stood up and said, “Well, I’ve told you more than I tell most people, Mr Root.”
    “Thank you, I’ve found it very interesting,” I said truthfully. “And I’m glad I was able to help you with your security,” I added, reminding him.
    I had done