The Snow Tiger / Night of Error (2 page)

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 Ballard’s 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 Ballard’s 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
Ballard’s 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 Ballard’s 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 mother’s 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 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 the powder to blow ‘em to hell. They’re conniving, they’re unscrupulous and they’re crooked, and they’re 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. I’m an old man and they’ve taken over. It’s 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.’

Ian’s voice was tight. ‘Let’s leave my mother out of this.’

Ben held up his hand placatingly. ‘I like your loyalty, Ian, even though I think it’s misplaced. You’re not a bad son of your father just as he wasn’t 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 that’s gone by. It’s enough that I got you out of Hukahoronui. Did I do right there?’

Ian’s voice was low. ‘I’ve never thanked you for that. I’ve 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 didn’t like to see it wasted.’ He chuckled. ‘Bread cast on the waters, boy; bread cast on the waters.’ He leaned forward. ‘You see, lad; I’ve come for repayment.’

Ian felt his throat constrict. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ll please an old man by taking this job in Hukahoronui. Mind, you don’t have to take it – you’re a free agent. But I’d be pleased if you did.’

‘Do I have to make up my mind now?’

Ben’s voice was sardonic. ‘Do you want to talk it over with your mother?’

‘You’ve 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 she’s a whining, puling woman, old before her time because she’s always been afraid of the world and of living, and she’s trying to do the same to another man.’ Ben was harsh. ‘Why do you think I call you “boy” and “lad” when you’re a grown man of thirty-five? Because that’s all you are yet. For Christ’s sake, make a decision of your own for once in your life.’

Ian was silent. At last he said, ‘All right, I’ll go to Hukahoronui.’

‘Alone – without her?’

‘Alone.’

Ben did not appear to be elated; he merely nodded his head gravely. He said, ‘There’s quite a town there now. I doubt if you’d recognize it, it’s grown so much. I was there a couple of years ago before my damned doctor said I shouldn’t travel any more. The place even has a mayor. The first mayor’s name was John Peterson. Quite a power in the community the Petersons are.’

‘Oh Jesus!’ said Ian. ‘Are they still there?’

‘What would you expect? Of course they’re still there. John, Eric and Charles – they’re still there.’

‘But not Alec.’ Ian appeared to be addressing the back of his hands.

‘No – not Alec,’ Ben agreed.

Ian looked up. ‘You’re really asking for something, aren’t you? What the hell do you expect of me? You know damned well that putting a Ballard into Huka is like putting a detonator into a stick of dynamite.’

Ben’s eyebrows rose. ‘The Petersons being the dynamite, I presume.’ He leaned forward. ‘I’ll tell you what I want. I want you to run that bloody mine better than it’s been run up to now. It’s a tough job I’ve handed you. That old fool,
Fisher, couldn’t keep control – that’s one thing. For another, Dobbs, the mine manager, is a chronic fence-sitter – and, for number three – Cameron, the engineer, is a worn-out American has-been who is holding on with his fingertips because he knows it’s the last job he’ll ever have and he’s scared witless that he’ll lose it. You have to put some backbone into that lot.’

Ben leaned back in his chair. ‘Of course,’ he said musingly, ‘the Petersons won’t welcome you with open arms. It’s not likely, is it, when it’s a family tradition of theirs that they were robbed of the mine? A lot of poppycock, of course, but that’s what they believe – and, Ian, always remember that men are not governed by facts but by what they believe.’ He nodded. ‘Yes, I can see you might have trouble with the Petersons.’

‘You can stop needling,’ said Ian Ballard. ‘I said I’d go.’

The old man made as if to rise, then paused. ‘There is one thing. If anything serious should happen – to Ballard Holdings or to me – get in touch with Bill Stenning.’ He thought awhile. ‘On second thoughts, don’t bother. Bill will get in touch with you fast enough.’