the massive headland of the Robberg that thrust out into the sea across
the bay.
The playroom was scattered with the litter of last night's party, twenty
house guests and as many others from the big holiday homes along the
dunes had left their mark, spied beer, choked ashtrays and records
thrown carelessly from their covers.
Mitzi picked her way through the debris and climbed the circular
staircase to the guest rooms. She checked David's door, found it open,
and went in. The bed was untouched, but his denims and sweat shirt were
thrown across the chair and his shoes had been kicked off carelessly.
Mitzi grinned, and went through on to the balcony. it hung high above
the beach, level with the gulls which were already dawn-winging for the
scraps that the sea had thrown up during the night.
Quickly Mitzi hoisted the gown up around her waist, climbed up onto the
rail of the balcony and stepped over the drop to the rail of the next
balcony in line. She jumped down, drew the curtains aside and went into
Marion's bedroom.
Marion was her best friend. Secretly she knew that this happy state of
affairs existed chiefly because she, Mitzi, provided a foil for Marion's
petite little body and wide-eyed doll-like beauty, and was a source of
neverending gifts and parties, free holidays and other good things.
She looked so pretty now in sleep, her hair golden and soft as it fanned
out across David's chest. Mitzi transferred all her attention to her
cousin, and felt that sliding sensation in her breast and the funny warm
liquid sensation at the base of her belly as she looked at him. He was
seventeen years old now, but already he had the body of a grown man.
He was her most favourite person in all the world, she thought. He's so
beautiful, so tall and straight and beautiful, and his eyes can break
your heart.
The couple on the bed had thrown aside their covering in the warmth of
the night, and there was hair on David's chest now, thick and dark and
curly, there was muscle in arm and leg, and breadth across the
shoulders.
David, she called softly, and touched his shoulder.Wake up. His eyes
opened, and he was awake instantly, his gaze focused and aware.
mitz? What is it?Get your pants on, warrior. My papa's on the
line."God. David sat up, dropping Marion's head on to the pillow. What
time is it? Late, Mitzi told him. You should set the alarm when you go
visiting. Marion mumbled a protest and groped for the sheets as David
jumped from the bed.
Where's the phone? In my room, but you can take it on the extension in
yours. She followed him across the balcony railing, and curled up on
David's bed while he picked up the receiver and with the extension cord
trailing behind him began pacing the thick carpet restlessly.
Uncle Paul? David spoke. How are you? Mitzi groped in the pocket of
her gown and found a Gauloise. She lit it with her gold Dunhill, but at
the third puff David turned aside from his pacing, grinned at her, took
the cigarette from between her lips and drew deeply upon it.
Mitzi pulled a face at him to disguise the turmoil that his nakedness
stirred within her, and selected another cigarette for herself.
He'd die if he knew what I was thinking, she told herself, and derived a
little comfort from the thought.
David finished his conversation and cradled the receiver before turning
to her.
He's not coming. I know.
But he is sending Barney up in the Lear to fetch me.
Big pow-wow.
It figures, Mitzi nodded, then began a convincing imitation of her
father. We have to start thinking about your future now, my boy. We
have to train you to meet the responsibilities with which destiny has
entrusted you.
David chuckled and rummaged for his running shorts in the drawer of his
bureau.I suppose I'll have to tell him now."Yes, Mitzi agreed. You sure
will have to do that.David pulled up his shorts and turned for the
door.Pray for me, doll.
You'll need more than prayer, warrior, said Mitzi comfortably.
The tide had swept the beach smooth and firm, and no other feet had
marked it this early. David ran smoothly, long strides leaving damp
footsteps in a chain behind him.
The sun came up casting a soft pink sheen on the sea, and touching the
Outeniqua mountains with flame, but David ran unseeing. His thoughts
were on the impending interview with his guardian.
It was a time of crisis in his life, high school completed and many
roads open. He knew the one he had chosen would draw violent
opposition, and he used these last few hours of solitude to gather and
strengthen his resolve.
A conclave of gulls, gathered about the body of a stranded fish, rose in
cloud as he ran towards them, their wings catching the low sun as they
hovered then dropped again when he passed.
He saw the Lear coming before he heard it. It was low against the dawn,
rising and dropping over the towering bulk of the Robberg. Then
swiftly, coming in on a muted shriek, it streaked low along the beach
towards him.
David stopped, breathing lightly even after the long run, and raised
both arms above his head in salute. He saw Barney's head through the
Perspex canopy turned towards him, the flash of his teeth as he grinned
and the hand raised, returning his salute as he went by.
The Lear turned out to sea, one wingtip almost touching the wave crests,
and it came back at him. David stood on the exposed beach and steeled
himself as the long sleek nose dropped lower and lower, aimed like a
javelin at him.
Like some fearsome predatory bird it swooped at him and at the last
possible instant David's nerve broke and he flung himself on to the wet
sand. The jet blast lashed him as the Lear rose and turned inland for
the airfield.
Son of a bitch, muttered David as he stood up brushing damp sand from
his bare chest, and imagined Barney's amused chuckle.
I taught him good, thought Barney, sprawled in the copilot's seat of the
Lear as he watched David ride the delicate line of altitude where skill
gave way to chance.
Barney had put on weight since he had been eating Morgan bread, and his
paunch peeked shyly over his belt. The beginning of jowls bracketed the
wide downturned mouth that gave him the air of a disgruntled toad, and
the cap of hair that covered his skull was sparser and speckled with
salt.
Watching David fly, he felt the small warmth of his affection for him
that his sour expression belied. Three years he had been chief pilot of
the Morgan group and he knew well to whose intervention he owed the
post.
It was security he had now, and prestige. He flew great men in the most
luxuriously fitted machines, and when the time came for him to go out to
pasture he knew the grazing would be lush. The Morgan group looked
after its own.
This knowledge sat comfortably on his stomach as he watched his protege
handle the jet.
Extended low flying like this required enormous concentration, and
Barney watched in vain for any relaxation of it in his pupil.
The long golden beaches of Africa streamed steadily beneath them,
punctuated by rock promontories and tiny resorts and fishing villages.
Delicately the Lear followed the contours of the coastline, for they had
spurned the direct route for the exhilaration of this flight.
Ahead of them stretched another strip of beach but as they howled low
along it they saw that this one was occupied.
A pair of tiny feminine figures left the frothy surf and ran
panic-stricken to where towels and discarded bikinis lay above the
high-water mark. White buttocks contrasted sharply with a coffee-brown
tan, and they laughed delightedly.
Nice change for you to see them running away, David, Barney grinned as
they left the tiny figures far behind and bore onwards into the south.
From Cape Agulhas they turned inland, climbing steeply over the mountain
ranges, then David eased back on the throttles and they sank down beyond
the crests towards the city, nestling under its mountain.
As they walked side by side towards the hangar, Barney looked up at
David who now topped him by six inches.
Don't let him stampede you, boy, he warned. You've made your decision.
See you stick to it. David took his British racing green M.G. over De
Wool Drive, and from the lower slopes of the mountain looked down to
where the Morgan building stood four-square amongst the other tall
monuments to power and wealth.
David enjoyed its appearance, clean and functional like an aircraft's
wing, but he knew that the soaring freedom of its lines was deceptive.
It was a prison and fortress.
He swung off the freeway at an interchange and rode down to the
foreshore, glancing up at the towering bulk of the Morgan building again
before entering the ramp that led to the underground garages beneath it.
When he entered the executive apartments on the top floor, he passed
along the row of desks where the secretaries, hand-picked for their
looks as well as their skill with a typewriter, sat in a long row. Their
lovely faces opened into smiles like a garden of exotic blooms as David
greeted each of them. Within the Morgan building he was treated with
the respect due the heir apparent.
Martha Goodrich, in her own office that guarded the inner sanctum,
looked up from her typewriter, severe and businesslike.
Good morning, Mister David. Your uncle is waiting and I do think you
could have worn a suit You're looking good, Martha. You've lost weight
and I like your hair like that. It worked, as it always did.
Her expression softened.
Don't you try buttering me up, she warned him primly. I'm not one of
your floozies. Paul Morgan was at the picture window looking down over
the city spread below him like a map, but he turned quickly to greet
David.
Hello, Uncle Paul. I'm sorry I didn't have time to change. I thought
it best to come directly That's fine, David. Paul Moron flicked his
eyes over David's floral shirt open to the navel, the wide tooled
leather belt, white slacks and open sandals. On him they looked good,
Paul admitted reluctantly. The boy wore even the most outlandish modern
clothes with a furious grace.
It's good to see you. Paul smoothed the lapels of his own dark
conservatively-cut suit and looked up at his nephew. Come in. Sit
down, there, the chair by the fireplace. As always, he found that David
standing emphasized his own lack of stature. Paul was short and heavily
built in the shoulders, thick muscular neck and square thrusting head.
Like his daughter, his hair was coarse and wiry and his features
squashed and puglike.
All the Morgans were built that way. It was the proper course of
things, and Davids exotic appearance was out side the natural order. It
was from his mother's side, of course. All that dark hair and flashing
eyes, and the temperament that went with it.
Well, David. First off, I want to congratulate you on your final
results. I was most gratified, Paul Morgan told him gravely, and he
could have added - I was also mightily relieved. David Morgan's
scholastic career had been a tempestuous affair. Pinnacles of
achievement followed immediately by depths of disgrace from which only
the Morgan name and wealth had rescued him.
There had been the business with the games master's young wife. Paul
never did find out the truth of the matter, but had thought it
sufficient to smooth it over by donating a new organ to the school
chapel and arranging a teaching scholarship for the games master to a
foreign university. Immediately thereafter David had won the coveted
Wessels prize for mathematics, and all was forgiven, until he decided to
test his house-master's new sports car, without that gentleman's
knowledge, and took it into a tight bend at ninety miles an hour. The
car was unequal to the test, and David picked himself up out of the
wreckage and limped away with a nasty scratch on his calf. It had taken
all Paul Morgan's weight to have the house-master agree not to cancel
David's appointment as head of house. His prejudices had finally been
overcome by the replacement of his wrecked car with a more expensive
model, and the Morgan group had made a grant to rebuild the ablution
block of East House.
The boy was wild, Paul knew it well, but he knew also that he could tame
him. Once he had done that he would have forged a razor-edged tool. He
possessed all the attributes that Paul Morgan wanted in his successor.
The verve and confidence, the bright quick mind and adventurous spirit,
but above all he possessed the aggressive attitude, the urge to compete
that Paul defined as the killer instinct.
Thank you, Uncle Paul, David accepted his uncle's congratulations
warily. They were silent, each assessing the other. They had never
been easy in the other's company, they were too different in many ways,
and yet in others too much alike. Always it seemed that their interests
were in conflict.
Paul Morgan moved across to the picture windows, so that the daylight
back-lit him it was an old trick of his to put the other person at a
disadvantage.
Not that we expected less of you, of course, he laughed, and David
smiled to acknowledge the fact that his uncle had come close to levity.
And now we must consider your future. David was silent.
The choice open to you is wide, said Paul Morgan, and then went on
swiftly to narrow it. Though I do feel business science and law at an
American University is what it should be. With this obvious goal in
mind I have used my influence to have you enrolled in my old college,
Uncle Paul, I want to fly, said David softly, and Paul Morgan paused.
His expression changed fractionally.
We are making a career decision, my boy, not expressing preferences for
different types of recreation."No, sir. I mean I want to fly, as a way
of life."Your life is here, within the Morgan group. It is not
something in which you have freedom of action I don't agree with you,
sir.
Paul Morgan left the window and crossed to the fire place. He selected
a cigar from the humidor on the mantel, and while he prepared it he
spoke softly, without looking at David.
Your father was a romantic, David. He got it out of his system by
charging around the desert in a tank. It seems you have inherited this
romanticism from him. He made it sound like some disgusting disease. He
came back to where David sat. Tell me what you propose. 'I have
enlisted in the air force, sir. 'You've done it? You've signed? 'Yes,
sir. 'How long? 'Five years. Short service commission. Five years -
Paul Morgan whispered, well, David, I don't know what to say. You know
that you are the last of the Morgans. I have no son. It will be sad to
see this vast enterprise without one of us at the helm. I wonder what