The Cadillac swung in and parked in a visitors slot against the hangar
wall, and a boy sprang from the rear door with boyish enthusiasm, spoke
briefly with the coloured chauffeur, then hurried towards Barney.
He moved with a lightness that was strange for an adolescent. There was
no stumbling over feet too big for his body, and he carried himself
tall. Barney's envy curdled as he watched the young princeling
approach.
He hated these pampered darlings, and it was his particular fate that he
must spend so much of his working day in their company. Only the very
rich could afford to instruct their children in the mysteries of flight.
He was reduced to this by the gradual running down of his body, the
natural attrition of time. Two years previously, at the age of
forty-five, he had failed the strict medical on which his position of
senior airline captain depended, and now he was going down the other
side of the hill, probably to end as a typical fly-burn, steering tired
and beaten-up heaps on unscheduled and shady routes for unlicensed and
unprincipled charter companies.
The knowledge made him growl at the child who stood before him. Master
Morgan, I presume?
Yes, Sir, but you may call me David. The boy offered his hand and
instinctively Barney took it, immediately wishing he had not. The hand
was slim and dry, but with a hard grip of bone and sinew.
Thank you, David. Barney was heavy on irony. And you may continue to
call me 'Sir'.
He knew the boy was fourteen years old, but he stood almost level with
Barney's five-foot-seven. David smiled at him and Barney was struck
almost as by a physical force by the boy's beauty. It seemed as though
each detail of his features had been wrought with infinite care by a
supreme artist. The total effect was almost unreal, theatrical. It
seemed indecent that hair should curl and glow so darkly, that skin
should be so satiny and delicately tinted, or that eyes possess such
depth and fire.
Barney became aware that he was staring at the boy, that he was falling
under the spell that the child seemed so readily to weave, and he turned
away abruptly.
Come on. He led the way through his office with its fly-blown nude
calendars and handwritten notices carrying terse admonitions against
asking for credit, or making right-hand circuits.
What do you know about flying? he asked the boy as they passed through
the cool gloom of the hangar where gaudily coloured aircraft stood in
long rows, and out again through the wide doors into the bright mild
winter sunshine.
Nothing, Sir. The admission was refreshing, and Barney felt his mood
sweeten slightly.
But you want to learn?
Oh, yes Sir! The reply was emphatic and Barney glanced at him. The
boy's eyes were so dark as to be almost black, only in the sunlight did
they turn deep indigo blue.
All right then, let's begin. The aircraft was waiting on the concrete
