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 you’re not well but he still insists – he’s as unreasonable as ever. My advice is not to listen to him, Ian. But, of course, it’s up to you – you’ve always done as you pleased.’
‘There’s 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 don’t want to see him he’ll go away.’
‘Does he, by God? He must have been touched by an angel’s wing. I’m 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. ‘You’d better show him in.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t.’
‘Bring him in, Mother; there’s nothing wrong with me.’
‘You’re 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 man’s methods. ‘Nothing so grand.’
Ben grinned widely like a shark. ‘Don’t 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?’ Harriet’s voice was pained.
Ben chuckled softly, and then his voice hardened. ‘So you went skiing and you couldn’t 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 you’re lying in that bed on company time.’
Ian’s mother was outraged. ‘You’re heartless!’
‘Shut up, Harriet,’ said the old man without turning his head. ‘And go away. Don’t forget to close the door behind you.’
‘I’ll not be bullied in my own home.’
‘You’ll do as I say, woman. I have to talk business with this man.’
Ian Ballard caught his mother’s eye and nodded slightly. She made a spitting sound and stormed out of the room. The door slammed behind her. ‘Your manners haven’t improved,’ Ian said flatly.
Ben’s shoulders shook as he wheezed with laughter. ‘That’s why I like you, boy; no one else would have said that to my face.’
‘It’s been said often enough behind your back.’
‘What do I care about what’s said? It’s what a man does that matters.’ Ben’s hands tightened momentarily upon his stick. ‘I didn’t mean what I said about you lying in bed on company time – because you’re not. We couldn’t wait until you’re up and about. You’ve been replaced.’
‘Fired!’
‘In a manner of speaking. There’ll be a job for you when you’re fit enough. I think it’s 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 it’s 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 he’s 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 don’t know why you let them get away with what they’re doing.’
The old man’s 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 can’t do it too often.’
Ian thought about it. ‘Where is the mine?’
‘South Island.’ Ben’s voice was studiedly casual. ‘Place called Hukahoronui.’
‘No!’ It was torn from Ian involuntarily.
‘What’s the matter? Scared to go back?’ Ben’s upper lip drew back showing his teeth. ‘If you are then you’re 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 you’ll never be happy again – I can guarantee it. And it won’t be because of anything I’ll do, for there’ll be no recriminations on my part. It’s what you’ll have to live with inside yourself that’ll do the trick. For the rest of your life you’ll wonder about it.’
Ian stared at him. ‘You’re an old devil.’
The old man chuckled deep in his throat. ‘That’s as may be. Young Ian, now listen you to me. I had four sons and three of them aren’t worth
