As he spoke Ballard took off, and McGill followed leisurely, keeping an eye on the less experienced skier and noting any faults for future instruction. All went well until he noted that Ballard was swinging to the left and towards slightly steeper ground where shadows lay. He increased speed, calling out as he did so, Keep to the right, Ian. Keep to the main slope.
Even as he shouted he saw Ballard apparently trip, a slight hesitation in the smooth downward movement. Then the whole slope started to slide taking Ballard with it. McGill skidded to a halt, his face pale, and kept his eyes on Ballard who was now plunging out of control. He saw him throw away his right stick and then Ballard was hidden in a swirl of powder snow. A rumble filled the air with the noise of soft thunder.
Ballard had got rid of his sticks but found himself in a world of mad instability. He managed to release his right ski but then found himself upside down and rotating violently. He struck out vigorously with his arms, sternly repressing the rising tide of panic within him, and tried to remember McGills instructions. Suddenly he felt an excruciating pain in his left thigh; his foot was being twisted outwards inexorably until it felt as though his leg was being unscrewed from the hip.
He nearly passed out from the pain but, after a sharp intensification, the pain eased a little. The tumbling motion ceased and he remembered what McGill had said about making an air space about his mouth, so he brought up his left hand across his face. Then all motion stopped and Ballard was unconscious.
All that had taken a little over ten seconds and Ballard had been carried not much over a hundred feet.
McGill waited until there was no further snow movement and then skied to the edge of the disturbed scar of tumbled snow. He scanned it quickly then, jabbing his sticks into the snow, he removed his skis. Carrying one stick and one ski he walked carefully into the avalanche area and began to quarter it. He knew from experience that now time was of the utmost importance; in his mind he could see the graph he had been shown a few days earlier at the local Parsenndienst Station the length of time buried plotted against the chance of survival.
It took him half an hour to explore the area and he found nothing but snow. If he did not find Ballard he would have to begin probing with little chance of success. One man could not probe that area in the time available and the best bet was to go to find expert help including an avalanche dog.
He reached the lower edge of the slide and looked up indecisively, then he squared his shoulders and began to climb upwards again through the centre of the slide. He would make one quick five-minute pass and if he did not find anything by the time he reached the top he would head back to the ski lodge.
He went upwards slowly, his eyes flickering from side to side, and then he saw it a tiny fleck of blood red in the shadow of a clod of snow. It was less than the size of his little fingernail but it was enough. He dropped on one knee and scrabbled at the snow and came up with a length of red cord in his hand. He hauled on one end which came free, so he tackled the other.
The cord, tearing free from the snow, led him twenty feet down the slope until, when he pulled, he came up against resistance and the cord was vertical. He started to dig with his hands. The snow was soft and powdery and was easy to clear, and he came across Ballard at a little more than three feet deep.
Carefully he cleared the snow from around Ballards head, making sure first that he was breathing and second that he could continue to breathe. He was pleased to see that Ballard had followed instructions and had his arm across his face. When he cleared the lower half of Ballards body he knew that the leg, from its impossible position, was broken and he knew why. Ballard had not been able to release his left ski and, by the churning action of the snow, the leverage of the ski had twisted Ballards leg broken.
He decided against trying to move Ballard, judging that he might do more harm than good, so he took off his anorak and tucked it closely around Ballards body to keep him warm. Then he retrieved his skis and set off down to the road below where he was lucky enough to stop a passing car.
Less than two hours later Ballard was in hospital.
Six weeks later Ballard was still bed-ridden and bored. His broken leg was a long time in healing, not so much because of the broken bone but because the muscles had been torn and needed time to knit together. He had been flown to London on a stretcher, whereupon his mother had swooped on him and carried him to her home. Normally, when in London, he lived in his own small mews flat, but even he saw the force of her arguments and succumbed to her ministrations. So he was bedridden and bored in his mothers house and hating every minute of it.
One morning, after a gloom-laden visit from his doctor who prophesied further weeks of bed-rest, he heard voices raised in argument coming from the floor below. The lighter tones were those of his mother but he could not identify the deeper voice. The distant voices rose and fell in cadences of antagonism, continuing for a quarter of an hour, and then became louder as the running fight ascended the stairs.
The door opened and his mother came into the room, lips pursed and stormy in the brow. Your grandfather insists on seeing you, she said curtly. I told him youre not well but he still insists hes as unreasonable as ever. My advice is not to listen to him, Ian. But, of course, its up to you youve always done as you pleased.
Theres nothing wrong with me besides a bad leg. He regarded his mother and wished, not for the first time, that she would show more sign of dress sense and not be so dowdy. Does he give me any option?
He says if you dont want to see him hell go away.
Does he, by God? He must have been touched by an angels wing. Im almost inclined to test this improbability. Sending Ben Ballard from a closed door was fit for inclusion in the Guinness Book of Records. Ian sighed. Youd better show him in.
I wish you wouldnt.
Bring him in, Mother; theres nothing wrong with me.
Youre as pig-headed as he is, she grumbled, but went to the door.
Ian had not seen old Ben for a year and a half and he was shocked at the transformation in the man. His grandfather had always been dynamic and bristling with energy but now he looked every day of his eighty-seven years. He came into the room slowly, leaning heavily upon a blackthorn stick; his cheeks were hollow and his eyes sunk deep into his head so that his normally saturnine expression was rendered skull-like. But there was still a faint crackle of authority as he turned his head and said snappily, Get me a chair, Harriet.
A small snort escaped her but she placed a chair next to the bed and stood by it. Ben lowered himself into it creakily, planted the stick between his knees and leaned on it with both hands. He surveyed Ian, his eyes sweeping the length of the bed from head to foot and then back to the head. A sardonic grin appeared. A playboy, hey! One of the jet-set! I suppose you were at Gstaad.
Ian refused to be drawn: he knew the old mans methods. Nothing so grand.
Ben grinned widely like a shark. Dont tell me you went on a package tour. One of his fingers lifted to point to the leg. It trembled slightly. Is it bad, boy?
It could have been worse it could have been taken off.
Must you say such things? Harriets voice was pained.
Ben chuckled softly, and then his voice hardened. So you went skiing and you couldnt even do that right. Was it on company time?
No, said Ian equably. And you know it. It was my first holiday for nearly three years.
Humph! But youre lying in that bed on company time.
Ians mother was outraged. Youre heartless!
Shut up, Harriet, said the old man without turning his head. And go away. Dont forget to close the door behind you.
Ill not be bullied in my own home.
Youll do as I say, woman. I have to talk business with this man.
Ian Ballard caught his mothers eye and nodded slightly. She made a spitting sound and stormed out of the room. The door slammed behind her. Your manners havent improved, Ian said flatly.
Bens shoulders shook as he wheezed with laughter. Thats why I like you, boy; no one else would have said that to my face.
Its been said often enough behind your back.
What do I care about whats said? Its what a man does that matters. Bens hands tightened momentarily upon his stick. I didnt mean what I said about you lying in bed on company time because youre not. We couldnt wait until youre up and about. Youve been replaced.
Fired!
In a manner of speaking. Therell be a job for you when youre fit enough. I think its a better job, but I doubt if you will.
That depends on what it is, said Ian cautiously.
Nearly four years ago we opened a mine in New Zealand gold. Now that the price of gold has gone up its beginning to pay its way and the prospects are good. The managing director is an old idiot called Fisher who was brought in for local reasons, but hes retiring next month. The stick thumped on the floor. The man is senile at sixty-five can you imagine that?
Ian Ballard was cautious when the Greeks came bearing gifts. So?
So do you want the job?
There had to be a catch. I might. When do I have to be out there?
As soon as possible. I suggest you go by sea. You can rest your leg as well on board a ship as here.
Would I have sole responsibility?
The managing director is responsible to the Board you know that.
Yes, and I know the Ballard set-up. The Board dances on strings pulled from London. I have no wish to be office boy to my revered uncles. I dont know why you let them get away with what theyre doing.
The old mans hands whitened as he clutched the knob on top of the blackthorn. You know I have no say in Ballard Holdings any more. When I set up the Trust I relinquished control. What your uncles do is their business now.
And yet you have a managing directorship in your gift?
Ben offered his sharklike grin. Your uncles are not the only ones who can pull strings from time to time. Mind you, I cant do it too often.
Ian thought about it. Where is the mine?
South Island. Bens voice was studiedly casual. Place called Hukahoronui.
No! It was torn from Ian involuntarily.
Whats the matter? Scared to go back? Bens upper lip drew back showing his teeth. If you are then youre no good blood of mine.
Ian took a deep breath. Do you know what it means? To go back? You know how I loathe the place.
So you were unhappy there that was a long time ago. Ben leaned forward, bearing down heavily on the stick. If you turn down this offer youll never be happy again I can guarantee it. And it wont be because of anything Ill do, for therell be no recriminations on my part. Its what youll have to live with inside yourself thatll do the trick. For the rest of your life youll wonder about it.
Ian stared at him. Youre an old devil.
The old man chuckled deep in his throat. Thats as may be. Young Ian, now listen you to me. I had four sons and three of them arent worth the powder to blow em to hell. Theyre conniving, theyre unscrupulous and theyre crooked, and theyre making Ballard Holdings into a stink in the City of London. Ben drew himself up. God knows I was no angel in my time. I was rough and tough, I drove a hard bargain and maybe I cut a corner when it was needed, but that was in the nature of the times. But nobody ever accused Ben Ballard of being dishonest and nobody ever knew me to go back on my word. With me it was a word and a handshake, and that was recognized in the City as an iron-clad contract. But nobody will take your uncles words not any more. Anyone dealing with them must hire a regiment of lawyers to scrutinize the fine print.
He shrugged. But there it is. They run Ballard Holdings now. Im an old man and theyve taken over. Its in the nature of things, Ian. His voice became milder. But I had a fourth son and I hoped for a lot from him, but he was ruined by a woman, just as she damned near ruined you before I had the wit to jerk you out of that valley in New Zealand.
Ians voice was tight. Lets leave my mother out of this.
Ben held up his hand placatingly. I like your loyalty, Ian, even though I think its misplaced. Youre not a bad son of your father just as he wasnt a bad son of mine not really. The trouble was I handled the matter badly at the time. He looked blindly into the past, then shook his head irritably. But thats gone by. Its enough that I got you out of Hukahoronui. Did I do right there?
Ians voice was low. Ive never thanked you for that. Ive never thanked you for that or for anything else.
Oh, you got your degree and you went to the Johannesburg School of Mines and from there to Colorado; and after that the Harvard Business School. You have a good brain and I didnt like to see it wasted. He chuckled. Bread cast on the waters, boy; bread cast on the waters. He leaned forward. You see, lad; Ive come for repayment.
Ian felt his throat constrict. What do you mean?
Youll please an old man by taking this job in Hukahoronui. Mind, you dont have to take it youre a free agent. But Id be pleased if you did.
Do I have to make up my mind now?
Bens voice was sardonic. Do you want to talk it over with your mother?
Youve never liked her, have you?
She was a whining, puling schoolmarm, afraid of the world, who dragged a good man down to her crawling level. Now shes a whining, puling woman, old before her time because shes always been afraid of the world and of living, and shes trying to do the same to another man. Ben was harsh. Why do you think I call you boy and lad when youre a grown man of thirty-five? Because thats all you are yet. For Christs sake, make a decision of your own for once in your life.
Ian was silent. At last he said, All right, Ill go to Hukahoronui.
Alone without her?
Alone.
Ben did not appear to be elated; he merely nodded his head gravely. He said, Theres quite a town there now. I doubt if youd recognize it, its grown so much. I was there a couple of years ago before my damned doctor said I shouldnt travel any more. The place even has a mayor. The first mayors name was John Peterson. Quite a power in the community the Petersons are.