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.
