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
your father would have thought of this 'That's hitting low, Uncle Paul.
I don't think so, David. I think you are the one who is cheating. Your
trust fund is a huge block of Morgan shares, and other assets given to
you, on the unstated understanding that you assume your duties and