The Snow Tiger

Eleven

The Press gallery was jammed as Harrison led Eric Peterson through his evidence. Dan Edwards had shamelessly bought space for himself by bringing in two cub reporters and then sending them away when the proceedings began. But it was to no avail; protests from other reporters soon led to the seats being occupied, and Edwards was compelled to scrawl his shorthand in as cramped conditions as anyone else.

Harrison made a note on his pad, and raised his eyes. ‘So we arrive at the point when Dr McGill left, having delivered his bad news. What happened then, Mr Peterson?’

Eric Peterson shrugged. ‘Well, the meeting went on for a long time. In all honesty I have to say that some of us were not convinced of the gravity of the situation. You must remember that this whole thing had been jumped on us suddenly — had taken us by surprise, if you like. After all, if someone steps up to you and says, “The end of the world is at hand!” you’re going to need a lot of proof before you believe him.’

‘I appreciate your position,’ said Harrison. ‘Can you give some specific examples of the views of members of the council?’

‘Well, my brother argued that, even if McGill was anywhere near right, we didn’t want to start a panic. I agreed with that and so did Matt Houghton, the mayor. Phil Warrick didn’t seem to have any views at all. He just blew along with the wind and agreed with everybody. Mrs Samson wanted to go all out with preparations for evacuation right there and then.’

‘What position did the mine management take?’

‘Mr Ballard agreed with Mrs Samson. Mr Quentin said he didn’t think there was any danger — he said it was all a lot of hot air. Mr Cameron tended to go along with Mr Ballard.’ Peterson clasped his hands before him. ‘You must realize that any decision concerning the town had to be made by the council. It wasn’t up to the mine management to tell the town what to do. Dr McGill had told us there was no immediate hazard from the west slope, and to some of us there seemed to be no reason for going off half-cocked on a project that might cost the town a lot of money and wasted time.’

‘And lose votes if nothing happened,’ remarked Edwards cynically.

‘Well, as I said, there was a lot of talk and we went round in circles for some time. Eventually Matt Houghton came up with an idea. He said that maybe there was something in what McGill had said, but he’d like a second opinion. He said he’d telephone Christchurch and get some advice.’

‘To whom was he going to speak?’

‘That was the rub. He didn’t know and neither did anyone else. Mr Cameron suggested he talk to someone in the Forestry Department — he said they’d probably know about avalanche conditions. Someone else, I forget who, suggested the Department of Civil Defence. It was decided he’d try both. Mrs Samson said the police should be notified and that was agreed to.’

‘Did the mine management make any concrete suggestions?’

‘We had the offer of transport — trucks and suchlike. Also bulldozers.’

‘Who made that offer?’

Peterson glanced sideways at Ballard. He hesitated, then said, ‘I don’t remember. It may have been Mr Cameron.’

Ballard smiled thinly.

‘And what happened then?’

‘The meeting broke up and it was decided we’d meet at eleven the next morning, even though it was Sunday.’

‘I see.’ Harrison looked around. ‘Has anyone any further questions to ask Mr Peterson?’

Smithers raised his hand. ‘I represent the Ministry of Civil Defence. Was a telephone call in fact made to the Civil Defence authorities?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘Why not?’

‘I talked with Matt Houghton after the meeting. He was a bit wavery about things. He said he’d do what he always did before making a decision. He said he’d sleep on it.’

‘And the police — were they notified?’

‘That was a bit difficult. Arthur Pye was away; he was up at the head of the valley investigating a case of sheep worrying.’

‘Who is Arthur Pye?’

‘Our policeman. Hukahoronui is only a small place — we just had the one policeman.’

‘Do you mean to tell me that when you discussed notifying the police it was your intention to tell Constable Pye?’ said Smithers incredulously.

‘Well, he’d know what to do about telling his superiors,’ said Peterson defensively.

‘So nobody outside Hukahoronui knew of the situation?’

‘I suppose that is correct.’

‘And in Hukahoronui the knowledge was confined to a handful of people.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Smithers consulted his note-pad. ‘You say that when it was decided to get a second opinion on Dr McGill’s diagnosis of the situation nobody knew whom to consult.’ He lifted his head and looked at Peterson with an air of disbelief. ‘Did no one on the council read the directives which were sent out by my Ministry?’

‘We get a lot of stuff from the Government.’ Peterson shrugged. ‘I didn’t read it all myself.’

‘Apparently no one on the council read it.’ Smithers took a deep breath. ‘Mr Peterson, you were a councillor and a responsible official. Would you not agree that preparations for a crisis in your community were conspicuous by their absence? I am not speaking of avalanches only — we do live in an earthquake prone country, a major reason for the existence of the Ministry of Civil Defence.’

‘May I object?’ said Lyall quickly.

Harrison looked up from his notes. ‘What is your objection?’

‘I would like to point out that the township of Hukahoronui was relatively new and the population was largely composed of recent immigrants to the valley. In such a situation the degree of community spirit would naturally be less than in a longer established community.’

‘Mr Lyall, is that your objection? You seem to be answering for the witness.’

‘It is not my objection, Mr Chairman. My objection is that it is improper for Mr Smithers to ask such a loaded question of Mr Peterson. He is usurping the function of this Commission, which is to decide whether the state of affairs implicit in his question was actually the case.’

‘A thin point, but valid nevertheless,’ conceded Harrison. ‘But it would have come better with the accompanying speech of extenuation. Mr Smithers, your last question was out of order. Have you any further questions?’

‘None that I would care to ask this witness,’ said Smithers curtly.

‘Then you may step down, Mr Peterson, on the understanding that you may be recalled.’

Peterson left the witness chair with an air of relief, and Harrison bent forward to have a word with Reed. He then sat back in his chair, and said, ‘Mr Cameron, the engineer of the Hukahoronui Mining Company, has been hospitalized for many months due to the injuries he received in the disaster. However, he has notified the Commission that he feels well enough to give evidence at this time and he is now present. Will you come forward, Mr Cameron?’

There was a low murmur as Cameron limped across the hall leaning heavily on the arm of a male nurse. He had lost a lot of weight and was now almost emaciated; his cheeks were sunken and his hair, pepper and salt at the time of the avalanche, was now quite white. He looked an old man.

He sat in the witness chair and the male nurse drew up another chair behind him. Reed said, ‘What is your full name?’

‘Joseph McNeil Cameron.’

‘And your occupation, Mr Cameron?’

‘I was a mining engineer,’ said Cameron flatly. ‘Specifically for the Hukahoronui Mining Company at the material times under investigation by this Commission.’ His voice was strong if slow.

‘Mr Cameron,’ said Harrison, ‘if at any time you feel unable to continue, please do not hesitate to say so.’

‘Thank you, Mr Chairman.’

‘I understand that you have evidence to give about the events of the evening of the day you had the meeting with the council. That would be the Saturday evening, would it not?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Cameron. ‘There was a dinner-dance at the Hotel D’Archiac that night. I had invited Mr Ballard and Dr McGill to be my guests. My daughter, Stacey, was also present — she was on vacation from the States at that time and was due to go back the following week. There was a certain amount of table-hopping during the dinner and it was then I learned that the mayor had not made the telephone calls. That, combined with a new and most disturbing report from Dr McGill, worried all of us very much.’

‘Could you go into that in more detail?’ said Harrison.

‘Why, yes. We were just starting dinner...’

McGill inspected the menu. ‘Colonial goose,’ he said. ‘That sounds good.’

Ballard chuckled. ‘Don’t expect poultry.’

‘I was going to order that,’ said Stacey Cameron. She was a tall, dark girl with typical American svelte good looks. McGill had measured her with a knowledgeable eye and classed her as a long-stemmed American beauty, Californian variety. She said, ‘What is it if it isn’t a bird?’

‘A Texas nightingale isn’t a bird, either, honey,’ said Cameron. ‘It’s a donkey. This is a similar New Zealand joke.’

Stacey was horrified. ‘You mean it’s horse meat?’

‘No,’ said Ballard. ‘It’s hogget and stuffing.’

‘Now you’ve lost me,’ complained McGill. ‘What’s hogget?’

‘Midway between lamb and mutton. There are millions of sheep in New Zealand and just about as many ways of cooking the animal. Colonial goose is a colonial joke, but it’s not bad.’

‘A trap for the unwary tourist,’ commented McGill. ‘Talking of that, when are you going back to the States, Stacey?’

‘Just ten days left,’ she said with a sigh.

‘I’ve been trying to talk her into staying,’ said Cameron.

‘Why don’t you?’ Ballard asked her.

‘I’d like to,’ she said regretfully. ‘If only to look after this crazy man.’ She leaned over and patted her father’s hand. ‘But I have a boss back in San Francisco who’s depending on me — I wouldn’t want to let him down.’

Cameron said, ‘No one is indispensable. How long would it take you to cut free?’

She thought about it. ‘Maybe six months.’

‘Then what about it?’

‘I’ll consider it,’ she said. ‘Really I will.’

Over dinner Cameron yarned about some of the practical difficulties they had run into when getting the mine going. ‘The trouble was mainly with the people. The folks around here weren’t very enthusiastic at first. They’d got pretty set in their ways and didn’t like change. All except old man Peterson, of course, who saw the possibilities.’

‘That reminds me,’ said McGill. ‘What’s with the Petersons? And how many of them are there, for God’s sake?’

‘Three brothers,’ said Ballard. ‘John, Eric and Charlie. The old man died last year.’

Cameron said, ‘John has the brains, Eric has the drive, and Charlie has the muscle and precious little else. If Charlie-boy had twice the brains he has now he’d be a half-wit. The Petersons own the Supermarket and the filling station, they have a half share in this hotel, run a couple of farms — things like that. Charlie wants to develop Huka as a ski resort but he’s finding it tough sledding; his brothers don’t think the time is ripe for it. Old Peterson saw the possibilities and his boys are carrying on where he left off.’

‘You forgot Liz,’ said Stacey. ‘She’s over there — fourth table along.’

Ballard turned his head. He had not seen Liz Peterson since his return to the valley and his image was still of a freckled, gawky girl with pigtails and skinned knees. What he saw was something quite different and he drew in his breath.

Liz Peterson was a rarity — a really beautiful girl whose loveliness did not depend on the adventitious aid of cosmetics. Her beauty lay deeper than the surface of her skin — in the bone structure of her skull, in the sheen of good health and youth, in the smooth and controlled movements of her body. She was beautiful in the way a healthy young animal is beautiful and she had the unconscious arrogance that can be seen in a thoroughbred racehorse or a fine hunting dog.

‘By God!’ he said. ‘She’s grown up.’

Cameron chuckled. ‘It tends to happen.’

‘Why haven’t I seen her around?’

‘She’s been visiting in North Island; just got back this week,’ said Cameron. ‘She had dinner with us on Monday. Stacey was quite impressed, and it really takes something to impress my girl.’

‘I like Liz,’ said Stacey. ‘She has a mind of her own.’

Ballard looked studiously at his plate. ‘Any of the Petersons married yet?’

‘John is — and Eric’s engaged.’

‘Charlie?’

‘No — he hasn’t had to — not yet; but it’s been a close call once or twice from what I hear. As for Liz, she should have been married long ago but Charlie has a way of scaring the young men. He looks after his sister like a hen with one chick.’

McGill said, ‘The Petersons don’t like you, Ian. What was all that about this morning?’

‘An old quarrel,’ said Ballard shortly. He glanced at Cameron. ‘Know about it, Joe?’

‘I’ve heard,’ said Cameron. ‘Something about the Ballards cheating the Petersons out of the mine.’

‘That’s the way the Petersons tell it,’ agreed Ballard. ‘Not John — he’s too sensible; but Eric tends to drive it into the ground a bit. What happened was that my father had a row with my grandfather and emigrated to New Zealand. Although he’d left the family, he was still enough of a Ballard to be interested in gold when he found it on his land. He knew there wasn’t enough sign to start a serious operation, the price of gold being what it was, but when he made his will before he joined the army he left the land to my mother, but the mineral rights he left to my grandfather.’

‘In spite of the fact that they’d quarrelled?’ asked McGill.

‘He was a Ballard. What would my mother do with mineral rights? Anyway, after he died my mother had to sell the land — she couldn’t farm it herself. She sold most of it — that’s the west slope — to old Peterson, who neglected to check if he had the mineral rights. I don’t know if he cared about that one way or the other, but when my grandfather bought the rest of the land from my mother — the bit at the bottom of the slope — and started to exploit the mineral rights under Peterson land then all hell broke loose. Accusations of bad faith were tossed around like confetti. The Petersons have always been convinced it was a deep-laid plot on the part of the Ballards. Actually, of course, it was nothing of the kind, but because my name is Ballard I’m stuck with it.’

‘When you put it that way it doesn’t sound too bad,’ said Cameron. ‘All the same, I’m not surprised that the Petersons are riled.’

‘I don’t see why they should be,’ said Ballard. ‘The only people making a profit out of the mine are the Petersons; the mine brought prosperity to this valley and the Petersons are creaming it off. The Ballards certainly aren’t making a profit. You’ve seen the operating figures, Joe, and you know the company is just breaking even.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen if we have to put in extensive avalanche protection. I’ve been trying to get hold of Crowell all day but he’s not available.’

‘Who is he?’ asked McGill.

‘Chairman of the company. He lives in Auckland.’

‘I’ve been thinking of avalanche protection,’ said McGill meditatively. ‘I’ve got some figures for you, Joe. When you design the avalanche gallery over the mine portal allow for an impact pressure of ten tons a square foot.’

Cameron flinched. ‘That much?’ he asked incredulously.

‘I’ve been talking to people who witnessed the 1943 slide. From all accounts it was an airborne powder avalanche, and so was the 1912 slide, according to Turi Buck. The next may not be any different.’

‘Airborne powder! What’s that?’

‘This is no time for a lecture on avalanche dynamics. All you need to know is that it’s fast and it packs a hell of a wallop.’

Ballard said, ‘The 1943 avalanche turned a hundred acres of big trees into firewood.’

Cameron put down his fork. ‘Now I know why you’re worried about the town.’

‘I wish to hell the council was as worried as I am,’ said McGill bleakly.

Cameron looked up. ‘Here comes Matt Houghton. If you tell him what you’ve just told me maybe he’ll become as scared as I am.’ As Houghton came up, his bald head gleaming, Cameron pulled out a chair. ‘Sit down, Matt. What did the Civil Defence people have to say?’

Houghton sat down heavily. ‘I haven’t had time to talk to them yet. We’ll be posting signs on the slope; Bobby Fawcett’s scouts are making them and they’ll be putting them up tomorrow. Got any stakes we can use, Joe?’

‘Sure,’ said Cameron, but his voice was abstracted. He was looking at McGill.

Ballard leaned forward. ‘What do you mean, Matt — you didn’t have time? I thought it was agreed...’

Houghton flapped his hands. ‘It’s Saturday, Ian,’ he said plaintively, and shrugged. ‘And tomorrow is Sunday. We probably won’t be able to get through to them until Monday.’

Ballard looked baffled. ‘Matt, do you really think that Civil Defence Headquarters closes down at weekends? All you have to do is to lift the bloody telephone.’

‘Take it easy, Ian. I have enough trouble with the Petersons. Charlie takes the line that no one can prevent him from walking — or skiing — on his own land.’

‘For Christ’s sake! Is he out of his mind?’

Houghton sighed. ‘You know Charlie. It’s that old feud getting in the way.’

‘What the hell did I have to do with buying and selling mineral rights? I was only a kid at the time.’

‘It’s not that; it’s the other thing. Charlie was Alec’s twin, you know.’

‘But that was nearly twenty-five years ago.’

‘Long memories, Ian; long memories.’ Houghton rubbed his jaw. ‘That stuff you told us about your training — you know, Johannesburg and Harvard. Eric was inclined to disbelieve you.’

‘So he thinks I’m a liar as well as a coward,’ said Ballard sourly. ‘What does he think it takes to be in charge of a company like this?’

‘He did mention a rich grandfather,’ said Houghton wryly.

He dropped his eyes under Ballard’s steady stare. Ballard said, ‘I’m expecting a call from old Crowell. You can talk to him if you like. He’ll tell you my qualifications.’ His voice was chilly.

‘Take it easy — I believe you. You’ve made a success of your life, and that’s all that matters.’

‘No, it isn’t, Matt. What matters is that bloody snow on the slope above this town, and I don’t want any ancient history getting in the way. I’m going to make sure the right thing is done, and if the Petersons get in my way I won’t go around them — I’ll go through them. I’ll smash them.’

Houghton gave him a startled look. ‘My God, but you’ve changed!’

‘Turi Buck said it first — I’ve grown up,’ said Ballard tiredly.

There was an embarrassed silence at the table. McGill, who had been quietly watchful, said, ‘I don’t know what that was all about, Mr Houghton, but I can tell you this. The situation is now more serious than that I outlined at our meeting this morning. I’ve taken more samples from the slope and the stability is deteriorating. I’ve also been talking to people about previous avalanches, with the result that I’ve just notified Mr Cameron to prepare for something hitting the mine very hard indeed. I have to tell you that also applies to the town.’

Houghton was affronted. ‘Why the hell didn’t you talk like that this morning instead of pussyfooting around with scientific quibbles? This morning you said the hazard was potential.’

McGill was exasperated. ‘I sometimes wonder if we talk the same language,’ he snapped. ‘The hazard still is potential and it will be until something happens and then it’ll be actual hazard and too goddam late to do anything about it. What do you want me to do? Go up on the slope and trigger it just to prove to you that it can happen?’

Ballard said, ‘Go back to your council and tell them to stop playing politics. And tell the Petersons from me that no one votes for dead men.’ His voice was like iron. ‘You can also tell them that if they don’t do something constructive by midday tomorrow I’ll go over their heads — I’ll call a public meeting and put it to the people direct.’

‘And telephone Civil Defence as soon as you can,’ added McGill.

Houghton took a deep breath and stood up. His face was red and shiny with sweat. ‘I’ll do the best I can,’ he said, and walked away.

Ballard stared after him. ‘I wonder if this is a good time to get drunk?’

Twelve

‘Did Mr Ballard drink heavily that night?’ asked Lyall.

Cameron’s lips compressed and then he relaxed. ‘Not more than most,’ he said easily. ‘It was a party, you must remember. For instance, he didn’t drink as much as me.’ As an apparent afterthought he added, ‘Or as much as your clients there.’

Lyall said sharply, ‘I must protest. The witness cannot be allowed to make gratuitous innuendoes of that nature.’

Harrison was trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. ‘It appears to me that Mr Cameron was merely trying to put Mr Ballard’s drinking in the scale of things. Is that not so, Mr Cameron?’

‘It was a party in a small town,’ said Cameron. ‘Sure, there was drinking. Some of the boys from the mine got pretty smashed. Some of the town folk, too. I was a bit rosy myself towards the end. But Mr Ballard was nowhere near drunk. I don’t think he’s really a drinking man. But he had a few.’

‘I think that answers Mr Lyall’s question. Go on, Mr Cameron.’

‘Well, at about eleven-thirty that night Mr Ballard again tackled the mayor about whether he’d telephoned anybody — Civil Defence or whatever — and Houghton said he hadn’t. He said he didn’t see that a few hours would make any difference and he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself in the middle of the night by ringing up some caretaker and asking him damn silly questions.’

Harrison looked across at Ballard. ‘Mr Cameron, it would be improper to ask you why Mr Ballard, at this point, did not make the call himself. Mr Ballard is here to answer for himself, as I am sure he will. But, if there was this urgency, why did you not make the call?’

Cameron looked embarrassed. ‘We’d been told, quite bluntly, to keep our noses out of town business. And up to that time we thought the call had been made. When we found it hadn’t we thought the likelihood of getting anyone at Civil Defence who could tell us what we wanted to know was slight. Another thing was that Mr Ballard still hoped to co-operate with the council, and if he made the call they’d think he’d gone over their heads on what they would consider to be town business. Relations between mine and town might be permanently damaged.’

‘What did Dr McGill think of this?’

‘He wasn’t around at the time; he’d gone out to check the weather. But afterwards he said that Mr Ballard was a damned fool.’ Cameron scratched his cheek. ‘He said I was a damned fool, too.’

‘It seems that Dr McGill is the only person to come out of this with any credit,’ observed Harrison. ‘There appears to have been a lot of buck-passing for reasons which pale into insignificance when one considers the magnitude of the disaster.’

‘I agree,’ said Cameron frankly. ‘But Dr McGill was the only person who had any conception of the magnitude of the trouble which faced us. When he told me to prepare for an impact pressure of ten tons a square foot I thought he was coming it a bit strong. I accepted his reasoning but at the back of my mind I didn’t really believe it. I think that Mr Ballard was in the same case, and he and I are technical men.’

‘And because the members of the council were not technical men do you think that excuses their dilatory conduct?’

‘No,’ said Cameron heavily. ‘We were all guilty to a greater or lesser degree. It does not excuse our conduct, but it goes a long way towards explaining it.’

Harrison was silent for a long time, then he said gently, ‘I’ll accept that, Mr Cameron. What happened next?’

‘Mr Ballard and I stayed at our table talking and doing a little drinking. If Mr Ballard did any drinking that night it was then that he did it. He hadn’t had more than two drinks up to then.’

Cameron talked with Ballard for some time, maybe twenty minutes, and then they were joined by Stacey Cameron. Ballard cocked an ear towards the dance floor; it was late enough for the jigging rock rhythms to have been replaced by the night-club shuffle. ‘Dance?’ he suggested.

Stacey grimaced. ‘Thanks all the same, but no thanks. I’ve been danced off my feet tonight.’ She sat down and flexed her toes, then looked up at him. ‘Liz Peterson wants to know if you think she has smallpox.’

He blinked. ‘What!’

‘She seems to think that you’re ignoring her. She could be right, at that.’

Ballard smiled slightly. ‘I’d forgotten she existed until tonight.’

‘Well, you know she exists now. Why don’t you ask her for a dance? She’s sitting this one out.’

Ballard’s jaw dropped, and then he smiled. ‘Well, for God’s sake, why not?’ He drained his glass and felt the lump of whisky hit bottom with a thud. ‘I’ll give it a whirl.’ He left, heading for the dance floor.

‘Are you crazy?’ demanded Cameron. ‘Don’t you know that Ballard and the Petersons get on like the Hatfields and McCoys? What are you trying to do — start a war?’

‘They’ve got to start talking to each other reasonably sometime,’ said Stacey. ‘Huka isn’t big enough for them to ignore each other forever.’

Cameron looked unconvinced. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘Dad, what’s all this about an avalanche?’

‘What avalanche?’

‘Don’t talk to me as though I were a half-wit,’ said Stacey. ‘The avalanche you were discussing over dinner.’

‘Oh, that one!’ said Cameron with an ill-assumed air of surprise. ‘Nothing to it. Just some precautions McGill wants us to take.’

‘Precautions,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘That’s not what I understood by the way Ian was reaming out Houghton.’ She looked past her father. ‘Here’s Mike now. How’s the weather, Mike?’

‘Heavy snow setting in.’ McGill checked his watch. ‘Nearly midnight. How long do these shindigs go on?’

‘The dancing will stop dead on midnight,’ said Cameron. ‘Very religious guys, these New Zealanders. No dancing on Sunday.’

McGill nodded. ‘I won’t be sorry to get to bed.’ He stretched. ‘What did the Civil Defence crowd have to say?’

‘Houghton didn’t call.’

‘He didn’t!’ McGill grabbed Cameron by the arm. ‘What have you done about it? Did Ian try?’ Cameron shook his head. ‘Then he’s a goddamned fool — and so are you. Where’s the telephone?’

‘There’s one in the lobby,’ said Cameron. ‘Look, Mike, there’ll be no one there at this time of night qualified to tell you anything.’

‘Tell me — hell!’ said McGill. ‘I’m going to tell them. I’m going to raise the alarm.’

He walked away rapidly with Cameron on his heels. As they skirted the dance floor there was a shout and a sudden disturbance. McGill jerked his head sideways and saw Charlie Peterson with his hand on Ballard’s shoulder. ‘Just what we need,’ he said disgustedly. ‘Come on, Joe,’ and crossed the floor to where the two men bristled at each other.

Ballard had been dancing with Liz Peterson when he felt the heavy thud of Charlie’s meaty hand on his shoulder and felt himself spun round. Charlie’s face was sweaty and his eyes were red-rimmed. Alcohol fumes came from him as he whispered hoarsely, ‘Stay away from my sister, Ballard.’

Liz’s face flamed. ‘Charlie, I told you...’

‘Shut up!’ His hand bore heavily on Ballard’s shoulder. ‘If I catch you with her again I’ll break your back.’

‘Take your hand off me,’ said Ballard.

Some of the ferocity left Charlie and he grinned genially. ‘Take it off yourself — if you can.’ His thumb ground viciously into the muscle at the top of Ballard’s arm.

‘Stop this nonsense,’ said Liz. ‘You get crazier every day.’

Charlie ignored his sister and increased the pressure on Ballard. ‘What about it? You won’t get into trouble with your momma — she’s not here.’

Ballard seemed to droop. His arms hung down in front of him, crossed at the wrists, and suddenly he brought them up sharply, hitting Charlie’s arm at the elbow with considerable force and thus breaking free.

Charlie lunged forward but Cameron grabbed one arm and twisted it behind Charlie’s back. It was done with expertise and it was evident that Cameron was no stranger to a rough house.

‘Break it up,’ said McGill. ‘This is a dance floor, not a boxing ring.’

Charlie pressed forward again but McGill put his hand flat on Charlie’s chest and pushed. ‘All right,’ said Charlie. ‘I’ll see you outside when you don’t have your friends to help you.’

‘Christ, you sound like a schoolboy,’ said McGill.

‘Let the bastard speak for himself,’ said Charlie.

In the distance a voice was raised. ‘Is Mr Ballard around? He’s wanted on the telephone.’

McGill jerked his head at Ballard. ‘Take your call.’

Ballard shrugged his shoulders into his rumpled jacket and nodded briefly. He walked past Charlie without so much as looking at him. Charlie twisted in Cameron’s grip and yelled, ‘You’ve not changed, you bastard. You still run scared.’

‘What’s going on here?’ someone demanded.

McGill turned to find Eric Peterson at his elbow. He took his hand off Charlie’s chest, and said, ‘Your kid brother has gone off his rocker.’

Eric looked at Liz. ‘What happened?’

‘The same thing that happens every time I get too close to a man,’ she said wearily. ‘But worse than usual this time.’

Eric said to Charlie coldly, ‘I’ve told you about this before.’

Charlie jerked his arm free of Cameron. ‘But it was Ballard!’ he pleaded. ‘It was Ballard.’

Eric frowned. ‘Oh!’ But then he said, ‘I don’t care who it was. You don’t make these scenes again.’ He paused. ‘Not in public.’

McGill caught Cameron’s eye and they both moved off in the direction of the lobby and found Ballard at the reception desk. The desk clerk was pointing. ‘There’s the phone.’

‘Who’d be ringing you?’ asked McGill.

‘Crowell, if I’m lucky.’

‘After you with the phone — I want to ring Christchurch.’ McGill turned to the desk clerk. ‘Have you a Christchurch telephone book?’

Ballard picked up the telephone as McGill flipped through the pages. ‘Ballard here.’

A testy voice said, ‘I have half a dozen message slips here asking me to ring you. I’ve just got in so it had better be important.’

‘It is,’ said Ballard grimly. ‘We’re in a bad situation here. We have reason to suppose that the mine — and the town — is in danger of destruction by avalanche.’

There was a blank silence broken only by a surge of music from the dance floor. Crowell said, ‘What!’

‘An avalanche,’ said Ballard. ‘We’re going to be in dead trouble.’

‘Are you serious?’

Ballard put his finger to his other ear to block out the noise of the music. ‘Of course I’m serious. I don’t joke about things like this. I want you to get on to the Ministry of Civil Defence to let them know about it. We may need help fast.’

‘But I don’t understand,’ said Crowell faintly.

‘You don’t have to understand,’ snapped Ballard. ‘Just tell them that the township of Hukahoronui is in danger of being blotted out.’

McGill’s finger marked a line in the telephone book. He looked up as someone ran past and saw Charlie Peterson heading for Ballard at a dead run. He dropped the book and jumped after him.

Charlie grabbed Ballard by the shoulder, and Ballard shouted, ‘What the hell...?’

‘I’m going to break you in half,’ said Charlie.

Lost in the uproar was a soft rumble of distant thunder. Ballard punched at Charlie, hampered by the telephone he held. From the wildly waving earpiece came the quacking sound of Crowell in Auckland. McGill laid hands on Charlie and hauled him away bodily.

Ballard, breathing heavily, put the telephone to his ear. Crowell said, ‘... going on there? Are you there, Ballard? What’s...?’

The line went dead.

McGill spun Charlie around and laid him cold with a right cross to the jaw just as all the lights went out.

Thirteen

‘After the lights went out things got pretty confused,’ said Cameron. He half turned in his chair and spoke to the nurse in a low voice. The nurse got up and poured him a glass of water, and when Cameron took it, his hand was shaking.

Harrison watched him carefully. ‘You’ve been giving evidence for quite a long time, Mr Cameron, and I think you should stand down for the moment. Since we are taking evidence chronologically the next witness should naturally be Mr Crowell. Thank you, Mr Cameron.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Cameron got to his feet painfully, assisted by the male nurse, and hobbled slowly across the hall.

Reed said, ‘Will Mr Crowell come forward?’

A short, stout man got to his feet and walked up to the rostrum with some reluctance. As he sat down he turned his head sideways to look at Rickman, who nodded reassuringly. Reed said, ‘What is your full name?’

Crowell licked his lips nervously, and coughed, ‘Henry James Crowell.’

‘And your occupation, Mr Crowell?’

‘I’m the chairman of several companies, including the Hukahoronui Mining Company.’

Harrison said, ‘Do you own shares in that company?’

‘I have a minority holding, yes.’

‘Mr Ballard was the managing director of that company, was he not?’

‘Yes.’

‘What were his responsibilities?’

Crowell frowned. ‘I don’t understand the question.’

‘Come, Mr Crowell. Surely Mr Ballard had duties which were defined.’

‘Of course, sir. He had the normal duties of a managing director — to see to the total interests of the company under the guidance of the board of directors.’

‘Which was headed by yourself.’

‘That is correct.’

‘You have been listening to evidence relating to a telephone call which you made to Mr Ballard. Did you, in fact, make that call?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘I had been away from home and arrived back late on the Saturday night. My secretary had left a list of messages from Mr Ballard to the effect that I should contact him. From the number and tenor of these messages I judged the matter to be urgent, so I telephoned him immediately.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He said something about an avalanche. I didn’t quite understand — he was very indistinct.’

‘Didn’t you ask him to explain further?’

‘Yes.’ Crowell’s hands twitched. ‘There was a lot of noise going on at his end — music and so forth. He wasn’t very coherent.’

Harrison regarded him thoughtfully, and then moved his eyes sideways. ‘Yes, Mr Smithers?’

‘Can the witness state whether or not Mr Ballard asked him to contact the Ministry of Civil Defence to warn them of impending danger at Hukahoronui?’

Harrison’s eyes returned to Crowell who wriggled in his seat. ‘He did say something along those lines, but there was a lot of noise on the line. A lot of shouting and screaming.’ He paused. ‘Then I was cut off.’

‘What did you do then?’ asked Harrison.

‘I talked it over with my wife.’

A ripple of amusement passed over the hall. Harrison knocked sharply with his gavel. ‘Did you contact the Ministry of Civil Defence?’

Crowell hesitated. ‘No, sir.’

‘Why not?’

‘I thought it was some sort of practical joke. With that music and uproar on the line... well, I thought...’ His voice tailed away.

‘You thought Mr Ballard was joking?’ queried Harrison.

Both Lyall and Rickman had their hands up. Harrison picked Rickman and nodded. ‘Did you think Mr Ballard was drunk?’ asked Rickman. Lyall grinned and hauled down his hand.

‘I did.’

‘When you said that Mr Ballard was incoherent that was what you meant, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Crowell. He smiled gratefully at Rickman.

‘You must not lead the witness,’ said Harrison mildly.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Chairman.’ Rickman smiled encouragingly at Crowell. ‘Who appointed Mr Ballard as managing director?’

‘The instruction came from London — from a majority shareholder.’

‘You had nothing to do with his appointment, then. Could we say that Mr Ballard was foisted upon you?’

‘As a minority shareholder I didn’t have much say in the matter.’

‘If you had had a say in the matter whom would you have picked as managing director?’

‘Mr Dobbs, who was mine manager.’

‘And who is now dead.’

Crowell bowed his head and said nothing.

‘That is all,’ said Rickman.

‘What did you think of Mr Ballard when you first met him?’ asked Harrison.

Crowell shrugged. ‘I thought he was a personable enough young man — perhaps a little too young for the job.’

‘Did you suspect him of any proclivities towards drunkenness or practical joking?’

‘They did not present themselves — then.’

‘But they did eventually? When?’

‘On that evening, Mr Chairman.’

Harrison sighed, exasperated at Crowell’s woolly-mindedness. ‘But we have heard evidence that Mr Ballard was neither drunk nor playing a practical joke. Why should you not believe what he said on that occasion?’

Crowell shook his head unhappily and looked towards Rickman, whose head was down as he busily scanned a sheet of paper. ‘I don’t know — it was just that it sounded that way.’

‘It has been suggested that Mr Ballard was “foisted” upon you.’ Harrison uttered the word as though it had a nasty taste. ‘Upon his appointment, did you make any complaint of any kind — to anyone?’

‘No.’

Harrison shook his head slowly as he regarded this most unsatisfactory witness. ‘Very well. I have no further questions He looked down from the rostrum. ‘Yes, Mr Ballard?’

‘I would like to ask some questions.’

‘I see that you still have no legal representation. Do you think that wise? You must have heard the saying that the man who argues his own case has a fool for a lawyer.’

Ballard smiled. ‘That may hold good in a law court, but, Mr Chairman, you have repeatedly said that this is not a court of law. I think I am quite capable of asking my own questions.’

Harrison nodded. ‘Very well, Mr Ballard.’

Ballard looked at Crowell. ‘Mr Crowell, two weeks after the disaster the board suspended me from my duties. Why?’

Rickman’s hand shot up. ‘Objection! What happened two weeks after the incident does not come within the scope of this inquiry.’

‘Mr Rickman has a point,’ said Harrison. ‘I cannot really see that this is helpful.’

Ballard stood up. ‘May I argue the point?’

‘Certainly.’

Ballard picked up a note-pad. ‘I took notes of your remarks when this inquiry began. You ruled that evidence given here may not be used in a future civil action. It seems to me that this inquiry may be the only public hearing possible.’

He turned a page. ‘On the second day Dr McGill said that the death-roll in the disaster was higher than need be. You overruled an objection to that on the grounds that this is not a court of law and the procedure is at your sole discretion.’

He looked up. ‘Mr Chairman, this inquiry is being widely reported in the Press, not only in New Zealand but also in the United Kingdom. Regardless of your findings, the public is going to blame someone for those unnecessary deaths. Now, certain imputations have been made about my character, my drinking habits and a supposed propensity for practical joking which, in my own interests, I cannot allow to pass unchallenged. I ask to be allowed to question Mr Crowell about these matters, and the fact that I was suspended from my duties a fortnight after the disaster certainly seems to me to be a legitimate reason for inquiry.’

Harrison conferred briefly with his two assessors, then said, ‘It is not the wish of this Commission that a man’s reputation be put lightly at stake. You may sit down, Mr Ballard, and continue your questioning of Mr Crowell.’

Rickman said warningly, ‘There may be grounds for appeal here, Mr Chairman.’

‘There may, indeed,’ agreed Harrison tranquilly. ‘You will find the procedure set out in the Commissions of Inquiry Act. Continue, Mr Ballard.’

Ballard sat down. ‘Why was I suspended from my duties, Mr Crowell?’

‘It was a unanimous decision of the board.’

‘That is not exactly answering my question, but we’ll let it pass for the moment. You said in evidence that you had nothing to do with my appointment, that you would rather have chosen another man, and that the instructions came from London. Do you usually take your instructions from London, Mr Crowell?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then where do you take your instructions from?’

‘Why, from...’ Crowell stopped short. ‘I do not take instructions, as you put it, I am chairman of the company.’

‘I see. Do you regard yourself as a sort of dictator?’

‘That is an insulting question.’

‘Maybe you might think so. All the same, I’d like you to answer it.’

‘Of course I’m not a dictator.’

‘You can’t have it both ways,’ said Ballard. ‘Either you take instructions or you do not. Which is it, Mr Crowell?’

‘As chairman I assist the board in making decisions. All decisions are made jointly.’

‘A most democratic process,’ commented Ballard. ‘But the decision to appoint me as managing director was not made jointly by the board, was it, Mr Crowell?’

‘The decision need not be unanimous,’ said Crowell. ‘As you have pointed out, this is a democratic process where the majority rules.’

‘But not so democratic as to be a one man, one vote system. Is it not a fact that he who controls most votes controls the company?’

‘That is the usual system.’

‘And you said in evidence that the instruction to appoint me came from a majority shareholder in London. Is that shareholder a member of the board?’

Crowell twitched nervously. In a low voice he said, ‘No, he is not.’

‘Then is it not a fact that your board of directors has no real power and is thus a democratic sham? Is it not a fact that the power to control the company lies elsewhere? In the City of London?’

‘That is a misreading of the situation,’ said Crowell sullenly.

‘Let us turn from my appointment to my suspension,’ said Ballard. ‘Did the instruction to suspend me also come from London?’

‘It may have done.’

‘Surely you know. You are the chairman of the board.’

‘But not concerned with the day to day running of the company.’

‘No,’ agreed Ballard. ‘That was the function of the managing director. You said so yourself in your evidence. Surely you are not suggesting that I suspended myself?’

Dan Edwards could not contain himself. There was a loud snigger from the Press gallery and Harrison looked up, frowning.

‘You are being ridiculous,’ said Crowell.

Ballard said drily, ‘Any ridiculousness inherent in this situation certainly does not emanate from me. There remains one alternative. Are you suggesting that the suspension of the managing director was a minor bit of day to day business that was beneath your notice as chairman?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then you will know where the idea of my suspension originated, won’t you?’

‘Now I come to think of it, the instruction for your suspension did come from London.’

‘I see. But that again is not an exact answer to the question. Is it not a fact that you communicated with London because the board is a puppet dancing to strings held in the City of London? Is it not a fact that a suggestion was made — by you — that the company was in danger of being in bad odour because of evidence to be given at this inquiry? And is it not a fact that you intimated that I, as a Johnny-come-lately, was an ideal person to shuffle the responsibility on to, and that it was then that the instruction was given — from London — that I be suspended?’

‘Objection!’ cried Rickman. ‘Mr Ballard cannot lead the witness in this way.’

‘I tend to agree,’ said Harrison. ‘Such a compendium cannot be permitted, Mr Ballard.’

‘I withdraw the question.’ Ballard knew, from the rustle in the Press gallery, that he had made his point where it mattered. ‘I shall return to the telephone conversation between Mr Crowell and myself. When you were cut off, what did you do? Oh yes; you talked it over with your wife, didn’t you? What was the substance of that conversation?’

‘I don’t remember.’ Crowell added irritably, ‘It was late at night and we were both very tired.’

‘When you were cut off, did you attempt to replace the call?’

‘No.’

‘No? Why not?’

‘You heard my evidence. I thought you were drunk.’

‘How long did you think I’d been drunk, Mr Crowell?’ asked Ballard softly.

Crowell looked startled and uncomprehending. ‘I don’t understand the question.’

‘It’s quite a simple question. Please answer it.’

‘I didn’t give it a thought.’

Ballard picked up a sheet of paper. ‘You said in evidence that your secretary had left a number of messages from me. You also said that you judged, from the number and tenor of those messages, that the matter was urgent. Did you think I’d been drunk all day? The first call I had was at eleven-thirty that morning.’

‘I told you. I didn’t give it a thought.’

‘Evidently not. So you did not try to call me back?’

‘No.’

‘And you did not try to communicate with the Ministry of Civil Defence?’

‘No.’

‘As a matter of interest, Mr Crowell, what did you do? After you had discussed it with your wife, I mean.’

‘I went to bed.’

‘You went to bed,’ repeated Ballard slowly. ‘Thank you, Mr Crowell. That will be all.’ He waited until Crowell was rising from the chair and was in a half crouch. ‘Oh, there is just one further thing. Did you come forward voluntarily to give evidence here, or were you subpoena’d?’

‘I object,’ said Rickman. ‘That has nothing to do with anything.’

‘I agree, Mr Rickman,’ said Harrison smoothly. ‘This Commission need not be instructed that Mr Crowell was subpoena’d — it already knows.’ He ignored the indescribable sound that came from Rickman, and continued blandly, ‘And now I think we shall adjourn for lunch.’

Fourteen

Over lunch in the restaurant near the Provincial Buildings, McGill said, ‘You’re doing all right, Ian. You got in some good stuff this morning.’

Ballard poured a glass of water. ‘I didn’t think Harrison would let me get away with it.’

‘Get away with it! God, he compounded with you. He ticked you off when he had to, but he didn’t stop you. I thought I’d split a gusset when he brought out the bit that Crowell had been subpoena’d. He agreed with Rickman and harpooned him in the same breath.’ McGill paused. ‘I don’t think Harrison likes Crowell.’

‘I don’t like him much myself.’

‘You’re not doing yourself much good with your family. That histrionic speech about the company dancing to strings pulled in the City of London won’t go down well with your uncles back home. Where did you learn to pull a trick like that?’

Ballard grinned. ‘Watching the Perry Mason Show.’ He shrugged. ‘It won’t make much difference. I’ve already decided to leave the Ballard Group.’

‘After a speech like that you’ll have to. I can’t see any Ballard company hiring you now. What will you do?’

‘Haven’t made up my mind yet. Something will turn up.’ He frowned. ‘I keep wondering what Stenning wants.’

‘Do you know him at all?’

‘Not well. The old man relied on him a lot, and I know why. He’s a tough old bird, about as ruthless as old Ben was himself. Ben told him what he wanted to do, and Stenning figured out a legal way of doing it. He’s as sharp as a tack.’

‘You say he’s old — how old?’

Ballard reflected. ‘He’ll be pushing seventy now, I suppose. He was much younger than Ben. One of the bright young men that Ben surrounded himself with in the early years.’

‘An old guy of seventy flying half way across the world,’ mused McGill. ‘Could be important, Ian.’

‘I can’t see how.’

McGill looked up. ‘Here comes someone else who is not doing herself much good with her family.’ He stood up. ‘Hi, Liz.’

Liz Peterson put her hand on Ballard’s shoulder. ‘Don’t get up, Ian. Hi, Mike.’

McGill drew up a chair for her and then sat down. He put out his hand and rubbed Liz’s dog behind the ears. ‘Hi, Victor; how’s the boy?’ The Alsatian lolled his tongue and his tail wagged vigorously.

‘I didn’t see you at the hearing this morning,’ said Ballard.

‘I was there. Wouldn’t miss it for anything. It’s just that I wasn’t sitting with the boys. I don’t like Lyall — he gives me the cold grues. Where’s Joe?’

‘Gone back to the hospital. Giving evidence this morning took it out of him.’

Liz tapped on the table. ‘My charming brother, Charlie, manufactures the bullets and Lyall fires them.’ She burlesqued Lyall’s accent. ‘“Did Mr Ballard drink heavily that night?” I damn near cheered when Joe fired that right back. It wounded Charlie to the heart.’

‘You’re not doing yourself much good with them,’ warned Ballard.

‘To hell with both of them,’ she said pleasantly. ‘I only stuck around because of Johnnie, and now he’s dead I’ll be leaving Huka. Maybe I’ll be leaving New Zealand.’

‘A fine pair you are,’ said McGill. ‘Don’t either of you believe in family ties at all?’

‘Not with that pair,’ said Liz. ‘I nearly gave Charlie a heart attack just now. I said that if anyone implied that Ian was drunk just once more I’d offer my services as your witness. I said that I can tell well enough when the man I’m dancing with is drunk, and that Ian wasn’t but that Charlie certainly was.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve never seen a man go red and white at the same time.’

‘I’d be careful, Liz,’ said Ballard soberly. ‘Charlie can be violent.’

‘Don’t I know it! I once had to crown him with a bottle. But I can handle him.’

McGill smiled satirically. ‘So unlike the home life of our own dear Queen,’ he observed.

Ballard said, ‘Thanks for the support, Liz. Ever since the avalanche I’ve been depressed, but now the depression is lifting. I’ve made a couple of decisions and now the way ahead seems a lot clearer. You’ve had a lot to do with it.’

‘I bring more than support, sir — I bring information. Rickman and Lyall are cooking up something together. I was driving past the company office just now when they both came out together, laughing fit to bust.’

‘Watch it, Ian,’ warned McGill. ‘It’ll be a pincer movement.’

‘Thanks, Liz,’ said Ballard.

She looked at her watch. ‘I think I’ll sit with the boys this afternoon. I might learn something more. See you at the hearing.’ She stood up. ‘Come on, Victor.’

As she walked away McGill said, ‘The prettiest spy I ever did see.’ He finished his coffee and looked around for the waitress. ‘We’d better be going, too. By the way, what are these couple of decisions you’ve made?’

‘You’ve heard one — I’m leaving the Ballard Group.’

‘And the other?’

‘I’m getting married,’ said Ballard placidly.

McGill paused, his wallet half way from his breast pocket. ‘Well, congratulations. Who’s the lucky girl?’

Ballard dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. ‘Liz Peterson — if she’ll have me.’

‘You must be insane,’ said McGill. ‘Who’d want Charlie as a brother-in-law?’

Fifteen

MacAllister was an electrical engineer, stolid and given to precise answers. When Harrison asked him when the power lines were cut, he answered, ‘Two minutes and seven seconds to midnight.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Professor Rolandson.

‘There is a recording device on the circuit breakers. When they kicked out the time was recorded.’

Harrison said, ‘What did you do?’

‘Established where the break was.’

From Rolandson: ‘How?’

‘I put a current on the line and measured the resistivity. That gave a rough idea of the distance to the break. I put it as a little short of Hukahoronui.’

‘And then?’

‘I rang my opposite number in Post Office Telephones and asked if he had the same trouble. He had, and he confirmed my findings. I then sent out an inspection crew.’

‘With what result?’

‘They rang me nearly two hours later to say that they had found the trouble. They said it was due to a fall of snow. A Post Office crew was also there and my men had used their portable telephone.’

‘They just said it was due to a fall of snow?’

‘Yes, sir. It didn’t seem reasonable to me that a fall of snow could cut the cables so I asked for further information. The entrance to the valley of Hukahoronui is by a cleft or gap, and my men said the gap was filled with snow to a height farther than they could see in the darkness. I know the place, sir, and I asked if the river which runs out of the valley was still flowing. My man said there was a little flow but not very much. I assumed there would be flooding on the other side of the snowfall so I immediately notified the police.’

‘Very quick-witted of you,’ remarked Harrison. ‘But why the police?’

‘Standard instructions, sir,’ said MacAllister stolidly.

‘Did you take further steps?’

‘Yes, sir. I went to the scene of the break in the cable. It was snowing quite heavily as I set out and conditions became worse as I proceeded. When I arrived at the break it was snowing very heavily — something like a blizzard. On my truck I had a spotlight but there was too much back reflection from the falling snow to show how high the blockage in the Gap was. I also investigated the flow of the river and found it to be minimal. I judged the situation serious enough to telephone the police again.’

‘And what was the reaction from the police?’

‘They noted the facts as I gave them, sir.’

‘Nothing more?’

‘They told me nothing more.’

‘You say you could not tell the height of the blockage. Obviously you could not tell the depth — how far back it extended into the Gap?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Did you take steps to find out?’

‘Not at that time. It was snowing heavily and it was dark. To investigate in those conditions would have been most dangerous. I would not climb up there myself, nor would I send anyone else. I judged it better to wait until daylight when we could see what we were doing.’

Harrison looked at Smithers. ‘It appears from the evidence of Mr MacAllister that this was the first occasion that anyone outside Hukahoronui had any inkling of trouble.’ He switched his gaze to Crowell who was sitting next to Rickman and amended his statement. ‘Or anyone who did something constructive about it, that is. Have you any questions, Mr Smithers?’

‘No, Mr Chairman. But I think the witness ought to be congratulated on the sensible steps he took — especially his quickness in passing on news of a potentially hazardous situation.’

‘I concur.’ Harrison turned to MacAllister. ‘To what time does your evidence take us?’

‘I made the second call to the police at three-thirty on the Sunday morning.’

‘Thank you. You may step down, Mr MacAllister, with the knowledge that you have done your duty well.’

MacAllister left the witness chair, and Harrison said, ‘I think it is time to get back to what happened in Hukahoronui after the lights were extinguished. We have just heard of a fall of snow which blocked the Hukahoronui Gap. I would like to hear Dr McGill’s professional views on that.’

McGill rose, walked to the witness chair, and set his briefcase on the floor. Harrison said, ‘You were present in the lobby of the Hotel D’Archiac when the lights went out?’

‘Yes, sir. As Mr Cameron said, there was a lot of confusion at that time. Mr Ballard was trying to talk to Mr Crowell and had difficulty in doing so because of the actions of Mr Charles Peterson. I went to his aid and it was about then that the lights went out. Mr Ballard said that the telephone had also gone dead.’

‘Did you hear the snow falling into the Gap?’

‘No. There was too much noise in the hotel.’

‘So what happened?’

‘The management of the hotel got busy and provided light. There were candles and kerosene lanterns ready for use. I was told that a breakdown of electricity supply was not uncommon, and there had been a similar occurrence only the previous month. Everybody took it as a matter of course. I asked about the dead telephone but no one seemed worried about that, either. The dance was over, anyway, so everybody went home.’

‘Including you?’

‘Yes. I went home with Mr Ballard and went to bed.’

McGill was woken from a sound sleep by Ballard. He awoke to darkness and automatically flicked at the switch of the bed-side lamp, but nothing happened. It was then he remembered about the power failure. Ballard was a deeper shadow in the darkness. McGill said, ‘What time is it?’

‘Five-thirty. Cameron just rang up with a funny story. It seems that one of his men, Jack Stevens, left early this morning to go to Christchurch to see his mother. He says he can’t get out of the valley.’

‘Why not?’

‘He says the Gap is closed off with snow. He says he can’t get through.’

‘What sort of car does he have?’

‘A Volkswagen.’

‘Well, it’s not surprising, is it? Look at what happened to those two Americans the other day. Is it still snowing?’

‘Very heavily.’

‘Well, there you are. It’s probably been snowing all night. I couldn’t guarantee to get through myself with a Land-Rover.’

‘According to Cameron, Jack says it’s not like that. He’s talking of a wall of snow so high he can’t see the top. I told Cameron to bring him here.’

McGill grunted. ‘Light that candle on the dressing-table, will you?’

Ten minutes later he was saying, ‘You’re sure, now. This is not just a deep drift across the road?’

‘I’ve told you it’s not,’ said Stevens. ‘It’s a bloody great wall of snow.’

‘I think I’d better go and look at it,’ said McGill.

Ballard said, ‘I’ll come with you.’ He looked at the telephone and then at Cameron. ‘If there’s no power how did you manage to ring me?’

Stevens said, ‘The exchange has a bank of batteries and an emergency diesel generator to top them up. We’re all right for local calls.’

McGill nodded. ‘Whatever happened at the Gap must have taken out the electricity cables and the telephone lines both.’ He picked up a heavy anorak. ‘Let’s get going.’

‘I’ll come, too,’ said Cameron.

‘No,’ said McGill. ‘I’ve just been handed an idea. Do you have diesel generators at the mine?’

‘Sure.’

‘Then you see that they’re in working order. I have a notion that we’re going to need power before long.’

‘That means me,’ said Stevens. ‘I’m the mine electrician.’ He winked at Cameron. ‘Do I get double time for Sunday work?’

Ballard left to put on ski pants and an anorak and then he joined McGill in the garage. He got behind the wheel of the Land-Rover and pushed the self-starter; it whined but the engine did not fire. ‘She’s cold,’ he said as he pushed again. He tried several times but still the engine did not take. ‘Confound the bloody thing.’

‘Take it easy,’ said McGill. ‘You’ve flooded her. Wait a couple of minutes.’ He pulled the anorak about him and then put on gloves. ‘What’s between you and Charlie Peterson? Last night he acted like a bull moose in rutting season.’

‘It’s an old story,’ said Ballard. ‘Not worth repeating.’

‘I think I’d better know. Look, Ian: the Petersons are forty per cent of the town council and that fool of a mayor, Houghton, will do whatever John Peterson tells him to do.’

‘John’s all right,’ said Ballard.

‘Maybe. But Eric is steamed up about the mine and he hates your guts. As for Charlie — I don’t know. There seems to be something else sticking in his craw. What did you do? Take away his girl or something like that?’

‘Of course not.’

‘If an old quarrel is getting in the way of co-operation with the council I’d better know about it. Charlie did enough damage last night.’

‘It goes back a long way.’

‘So tell,’ said McGill. ‘The snow in the Gap won’t go away if what Stevens says is true. We have the time.’

‘I never knew my father,’ said Ballard. ‘I was born in the January of 1939 in England, and I was brought here as a babe in arms. Something else also happened in ’39.’

‘The war?’

‘That’s it. My father had split with old Ben and he decided to leave England and farm here. He bought the land and then the war came and he joined the army. He was in the Western Desert with the New Zealand Division and I didn’t see him to recognize until he came back in 1943 when I was four years old. My mother wanted him to stay — a lot of the men who came back in ’43 refused to return to active service — and there was a bit of a quarrel between him and my mother. In the end it was academic because he was killed in the avalanche here. I saw it happen — and that’s all I got to know of my father.’

‘Not a lot.’

‘No. It hit my mother hard and she turned a bit peculiar. Not that she went round the bend or anything like that. Just peculiar.’

‘Neurotic?’

‘I suppose you could call it that.’

‘What form did it take?’

Ballard stared past the whirling snowflakes eddying in the wind beyond the open garage doors. ‘I think you could say she became over-protective as far as I was concerned.’

‘Was that what Charlie meant when he said she wouldn’t let you out in the snow for fear you’d catch cold?’

‘Something like that.’

‘He made another crack about you wouldn’t go on a slope steeper than a billiard table.’

Ballard sighed. ‘That was it. It was made worse because my mother was the schoolteacher here. She tried to run the farm herself but she couldn’t, so she sold off most of the land to old Peterson, just keeping the bit the house was on. To earn a living she took the job of schoolmistress. She was qualified for it. But there I was — in the middle. Over-protected and regarded as a teacher’s pet into the bargain.’

‘“Don’t go near the water until you learn how to swim,”’ quoted McGill.

‘You don’t know how true that was, Mike.’ There was an edge of bitterness in Ballard’s voice. ‘Like all kids everywhere we had our swimming hole over by the bluff behind the Petersons’ store. All the kids could swim well except me — all I could do was dog-paddle in the shallows and if my mother had known about that she’d have given me hell.’

He took out a packet of cigarettes and offered one to McGill who produced a lighter. Inhaling smoke, he said, ‘I was twelve when it happened. It was in the spring and Alec Peterson and I were down by the river. Alec was the fourth of the Peterson brothers. There was a lot of melt water coming down from the mountains — the river was full and flowing fast and the water was bloody cold, but you know what kids are. I dipped in and out of the shallows — more out than in — but Alec went farther out. He was tough for a ten-year-old, and a strong swimmer.’

‘Don’t tell me,’ said McGill. ‘He got into trouble.’

‘I think he got cramp,’ said Ballard. ‘Anyway, he let out a yell as he was swept out into the main stream. I knew I wouldn’t have a hope in hell of getting him out, but I knew that river. It swirled around the bluff and on the other side there was an eddy where anything floating usually came ashore. It was common knowledge among the kids that it was a good place to collect firewood. So I belted across the bluff, past the Peterson store as fast as I could run.’

He drew on the cigarette in a long inhalation. ‘I was right. Alec came inshore and I was able to wade in and grab him. But on his way around the bluff he’d bashed his head on a rock. His skull was cracked and his brains were leaking out and he was stone dead.’

McGill blew out his breath. ‘Nasty! But I don’t see how you could be blamed for anything.’

‘Don’t you? Well, I’ll tell you. Two other people heard Alec when he yelled but they were too far away to do anything. And they saw me running like hell. Afterwards they said they’d seen me running away and leaving Alec. The two witnesses were Alec’s brothers — Charlie and Eric.’

McGill whistled. ‘Now I’m beginning to see.’

‘They made my life a misery for the next four years. I went through hell, Mike. It wasn’t just the Petersons — they set all the other kids against me. Those were the loneliest years I’ve ever spent. I think I’d have gone nuts if it hadn’t been for Turi’s son Tawhaki.’

‘It must have been tough.’

Ballard nodded. ‘Anyway, when I was sixteen years old Ben appeared in the valley as though he’d dropped from the sky. That was when the preliminary exploration was made for the mine. He listened to the local gossip, took one look at me and another at my mother, and then they had a flaming row. He beat her down, of course; very few people could withstand Ben. The upshot of it was that I went back to England with him.’

‘And your mother?’

‘She stayed on for a few years — until the mine started — then she went back to England, too.’

‘And latched on to you again?’

‘More or less — but I’d learned the score by then. I’d cut the apron strings.’ Ballard flicked his cigarette butt out into the snow.

There was a brief silence before McGill said, ‘I still don’t get it. Grown men don’t behave like Charlie’s behaving because of something that happened when they were kids.’

‘You don’t know Charlie,’ said Ballard. ‘John’s all right and, apart from what he believes about the mine, so is Eric. But for one thing, Charlie and Alec were very close — Alec was Charlie’s twin. And for another, while you can’t call Charlie retarded, he’s never really grown up — he’s never matured. Only last night you said he sounded like a schoolboy.’

‘Yeah.’ McGill stroked the side of his cheek. He had not shaved and it made a scratching sound. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you told me. It makes things a lot clearer.’

‘But there’s nothing much any of us can do about it.’ Ballard prodded at the starter again and the engine caught with a steady throb. ‘Let’s go up to the Gap.’

He drove into town, and as they were passing the Supermarket, McGill pointed to a car just pulling out. ‘Looks as though he’s leaving, too.’

‘That’s John Peterson.’ Ballard accelerated to get ahead and then waved Peterson down.

As Peterson drew alongside McGill wound down the side window. ‘Going far, Mr Peterson?’

John said, ‘I’ve an early business appointment in Christchurch tomorrow, so I thought I’d leave early and get in a couple of rounds of golf there today.’ He laughed as he waved at the snow. ‘Not much chance of golf here, is there?’

‘You may be disappointed,’ said McGill. ‘Our information is that the Gap is blocked.’

‘Blocked? Impossible!’

‘We’re just going to have a look. Maybe you’d like to tag along behind.’

‘All right. But I think you’ll find yourself mistaken.’

McGill closed the window. ‘As the White Queen said — I can think of six impossible things before breakfast. Carry on, Ian.’

They drove up the road that rose towards the Gap and which paralleled the river. As the headlights’ beam swept across the ravine which the river had cut McGill said, ‘Jack Stevens could be right. Have you ever seen the river as full as that?’

‘I’ll tell you when we come to the next bend.’ At the next corner Ballard stopped the car. The beam from the headlights played in calm waters which swirled in smooth eddies. ‘I’ve never seen it so high. The ravine is more than thirty feet deep here.’

‘Let’s get on.’ McGill turned in his seat. ‘Peterson is still with us.’

Ballard drove as far as he could until he was stopped by a cliff which suddenly appeared from out the darkness — a cliff which had no right to be there. ‘My God!’ he said. ‘Just look at it!’

McGill opened the door of the car and got out. He walked towards the wall of snow and was silhouetted in the headlights. He prodded at the snow and then looked upwards, shaking his head. With a wave of his hand he gestured for Ballard to join him.

Ballard got out of the car just as John Peterson drew alongside. Together they walked to where McGill was standing and beating his gloved hands together. Peterson looked at the piled snow. ‘What caused it?’

McGill said blandly, ‘What you are seeing, Mr Peterson, is the end result of an avalanche. Not a big one, but not a small one, either. Nobody will be leaving Hukahoronui for quite some time — at least, not in a car.’

Peterson stared upwards, holding his hand above his head to stop snow driving into his eyes. ‘There’s a lot of snow there.’

‘Avalanches tend to have a lot of snow in them,’ said McGill drily. ‘If the slope above the town gives way there’ll be a hell of a lot more snow than you see here.’

Ballard walked over to one side and looked at the river. ‘There’ll be floods in the valley if the water keeps backing up.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said McGill. ‘The water is deep here and there’ll be considerable pressure at the bottom. It will soon drill a hole through this lot — I’d say before the day is over. That will leave a snow bridge over the river, but it won’t help any to clear the road.’

He went back to the snow wall and took out a handful of snow and examined it. ‘Not too dry but dry enough.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Peterson.

‘Nothing. Just being technical.’ He thrust his hand under Peterson’s nose, palm upwards. With the forefinger of his left hand he stirred the snow around. ‘Soft, harmless stuff, isn’t it? Just like lamb’s wool.’ His fingers closed on the snow, making a fist. ‘There was a man in my line of business called Zdarsky,’ he said conversationally. ‘He was a pioneer working before the First World War. Zdarsky said, “Snow is not a wolf in sheep’s clothing — it is a tiger in lamb’s clothing.”’

He opened his fist. ‘Look at that, Mr Peterson. What is it?’

In the palm of his gloved hand lay a lump of hard ice.

‘So that was the first avalanche,’ said Harrison.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And it meant that no vehicles could leave or enter the valley?’

‘That is correct.’

‘So what happened next?’

McGill said, ‘It had been my intention to persuade the town council that the best course of action was to evacuate the population of the valley until the danger had receded. This was now impossible.’

‘You say impossible. Surely the obstacle could be climbed.’

‘It could be climbed by the fit and active, of course; but what of the elderly, the handicapped and the children? But at least one member of the town council was now convinced that avalanches were something to be reckoned with in Hukahoronui. He was now ready to go back to town and throw his full weight into implementing any action I recommended. Mr John Peterson had been the first mayor and his words and actions would count for a lot. We went back to the town to get some action going.’

Harrison nodded and made a note. ‘What was the name of the man you quoted to Mr Peterson? How do you spell it?’

‘Z-D-A-R-S-K-Y, Matthias Zdarsky. He was an Austrian and an early pioneer in snow studies.’ McGill hesitated. ‘I have an anecdote which may have some bearing on what I quoted to Mr Peterson.’

‘Proceed,’ said Harrison. ‘As long at it does not take us too far from our purpose here.’

‘I don’t think it does. A couple of years ago I was in Western Canada as a technical adviser on avalanche protection. There was a cartographic draughtsman who had been given the job of drawing a map of the area showing all the sites of avalanche hazard. It was a long job but he had nearly finished when, one day when he got back from lunch he found that some joker had written in medieval lettering on each avalanche site the words “Here be Tygers”, just as on an old map.’

He smiled slightly. ‘The draughtsman didn’t think much of it as a joke, but the boss of his department took the map, had it framed, and hung it on the wall of his office as a reminder to everyone about avalanche hazard. You see, everyone in the game knows about Matthias Zdarsky and what happened to him.’

‘An interesting anecdote,’ said Harrison. ‘And perfectly relevant. At the risk of wasting more time I would like to know what did happen to Zdarsky.’

‘He was in the Austrian army during the First World War. At that time both sides — Austrians and Italians — were using avalanches as weapons in the Dolomites and the Tyrol. It’s said that eighty thousand men died in avalanches during the war. In 1916 Zdarsky was going to the rescue of twenty-five Austrian soldiers who had been caught in an avalanche when he himself was caught in one. He was lucky enough to be rescued alive but that’s about all you can say. He had eighty broken bones and dislocations, and it was eleven years before he could ski again.’

The hall was hushed. Presently Harrison said, ‘Thank you, Dr McGill.’ He looked up at the clock. ‘I think we will now adjourn for the weekend. This hearing will recommence at ten in the morning on Monday.’ He tapped lightly with the gavel ‘The hearing is now adjourned.’

Sixteen

Next morning Ballard went to the hospital to visit Cameron. He tried to do this as often as possible to keep the old man company and cheer him up. It was a fact that Cameron now was an old man; his experience in the avalanche had almost killed both spirit and body. McGill said, ‘I’ll go to see him tomorrow. I have things to do at Deep Freeze Headquarters.’

‘I’ll be out that way this afternoon,’ said Ballard. ‘I’m picking up Stenning at Harewood. Want a lift back?’

‘Thanks,’ said McGill. ‘Ask for me in the office.’

Ballard found Cameron out of bed but in a wheelchair with a blanket tucked around him in spite of the fact that it was a hot day. He was talking to Liz Peterson when Ballard walked into the room. ‘Hi!’ said Liz. ‘I’ve just been telling Joe how Mike tried to freeze our blood when he gave evidence yesterday.’

‘Yes, I think he made Harrison shiver a bit.’ Privately he thought it tactless to describe the sufferings of an avalanche victim such as Zdarsky to one who had himself been caught in an avalanche, and he wondered how much Liz had said. ‘How are you feeling, Joe?’

‘A bit better this morning. I could have stayed yesterday afternoon in spite of my damn fool doctor.’

‘You do as he says,’ Ballard advised. ‘What do you think, Liz?’

‘I think Joe should do as he likes. Doctor doesn’t always know best.’

Cameron laughed. ‘Oh, it’s good to have a pretty girl here — especially when she’s on my side. But you really shouldn’t be here, Liz.’ He nodded towards the window. ‘You should be out there, enjoying the sunshine. On a tennis court, maybe.’

‘I’ve got plenty of time for tennis, Joe,’ she said. ‘The rest of my life. Are they looking after you well here?’

‘Okay, I guess — but it’s just like any other hospital. The food is terrible — they have too many dieticians and too few cooks.’

‘We’ll have something sent in,’ said Ballard. ‘Won’t we Liz?’

She smiled. ‘I’m not bad at home cooking.’

They stayed until Cameron sent them off, saying that young people must have something better to do than to sit around in hospitals. Outside, in the sunshine, Ballard said, ‘Doing anything in particular, Liz?’

‘Not really.’

‘What about having lunch with me?’

She hesitated fractionally, but said, ‘I’d like that.’

‘We’ll go in my car. I’ll bring you back on my way to the airport this afternoon. I’m meeting someone.’

‘It’ll cost you lunch for two. I’ll have to bring Victor. I can’t leave him in my car.’

‘Sure.’

She laughed. ‘Love me — love my dog.’

As Ballard started the engine of his car, he said, ‘Did you mean what you said yesterday — about leaving New Zealand?’

‘I’ve been thinking about it.’

‘Where would you go?’

‘England, I suppose — at first anyway. Then perhaps America. You’ve travelled around a bit, haven’t you? I’ve always wanted to travel — to see things.’

He drove out of the hospital grounds. ‘Yes, I’ve been places, but they’ve always been working trips. I’ll tell you one thing — I certainly never expected to come back to New Zealand.’

‘Then why did you?’

Ballard sighed. ‘My grandfather wanted me to. He was a forceful old bird.’

‘He was! I didn’t know he was dead.’

‘He died a few days ago.’

‘Oh, Ian! I am sorry.’

‘So am I, in a way. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but I’ll miss him. Now that he’s gone I won’t be staying with the Ballard group. In fact, I’ve just about made that impossible.’

‘It’s like Mike says — neither of us get on with our relatives.’ Liz laughed. ‘I had a row with Charlie last night. Someone saw us in the restaurant yesterday and split to Charlie.’

‘Don’t get into trouble because of me, Liz.’

‘I’m tired of Charlie’s tantrums. I’m a grown woman and I’ll meet whoever I like. I told him so last night.’ She rubbed the side of her face reflectively.

Ballard glanced sideways and caught the action. ‘He hit you?’

‘Not for the first time, but it’s going to be the last.’ She saw the expression on Ballard’s face. ‘Not to worry, Ian. I can defend myself. I’m reckoned to be a pretty aggressive tennis player and those smash services develop the muscles.’

‘So you hit him back. I doubt if that would make much of an impression on Charlie.’

She grinned impishly. ‘I happened to be holding a plateful of spaghetti at the time.’ When Ballard burst out laughing she added, ‘Eric socked him, too. We’re quite a happy family, we Petersons.’

He turned the car into the hotel car park. As they walked into the foyer he said, ‘The grub’s not bad here; they serve quite a good lunch. But what about a drink first?’

‘Something long and cold,’ she agreed.

‘We’ll have it by the pool,’ he said. ‘This way.’ Suddenly he stiffened and halted in his stride.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘The forces are rallying. It’s Cousin Francis. Now where the devil did he spring from?’

A youngish man in a business suit stepped in front of them. ‘Morning, Ian,’ he said, abruptly and unsmilingly.

‘Good morning, Frank,’ said Ballard. ‘Miss Peterson, this is my cousin, Frank Ballard.’

Frank Ballard gave her a curt nod. ‘I want to talk to you, Ian.’

‘Sure. We’re just going to have drinks by the pool. Join us.’

Frank shook his head. ‘In private.’

‘All right. After lunch, then.’

‘No, I haven’t the time. I’m catching a plane back to Sydney almost immediately. It’ll have to be now.’

‘Don’t mind me,’ said Liz. ‘I’ll wait for you by the pool. Come on, Victor.’ She walked away without waiting for an answer.

Frank said, ‘What about your room?’

‘All right.’ Ballard led the way. They walked in silence until they reached the room. As he closed the door Ballard said, ‘What brings you from Australia, Frank?’

Frank swung around. ‘You bloody well know what brings me. Why the hell did you put old Crowell through the hoops the way you did yesterday? He was on the phone to me, crying on my shoulder long distance.’

Ian smiled. ‘Just trying to elicit a bit of truth.’

There was no answering smile from Frank. ‘Now look here, Ian. You’re getting the company into a right mess. A fine bloody managing director you are.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting that Crowell suspended me from duty? Or is what you’ve just said an offer of the job back?’

‘You flaming idiot! The suspension was only until the Inquiry was over. If you’d have used your brains and kept quiet everything would have been all right, and you’d be back in the saddle next week. As it is, I’m not so sure. You’ve been throwing so much mud at the company that I’m not sure you’re fit for the position.’

Ian sat on the bed. ‘If I’d kept quiet I’d be a dead duck, and you know it. Between the company and the Petersons I wouldn’t stand a chance. Did you really think I’d stand still and let you make a patsy out of me?’

‘This is a Ballard company,’ said Frank furiously. ‘We take care of our own. Have you no family feeling?’

‘You’d take care of me like a fox takes care of a rabbit,’ snapped Ian.

‘If that’s what you think, I’m sorry.’ Frank’s finger shot out. ‘When the inquiry starts again on Monday you’d better keep quiet. No more appeals to the grandstand like those you’ve been making. If you promise to do that then maybe there’ll still be a job for you in the Group. I doubt if I’ll be able to swing the managing directorship of Hukahoronui — my old man’s hopping mad — but I still think I can guarantee some kind of job.’

‘Thanks,’ said Ian ironically. ‘But I’m underwhelmed by your generosity. You know what I think of the Group — I’ve never made a secret of it.’

‘For Christ’s sake!’ burst out Frank. ‘You know how big we are. We just have to pass the word around and you’ll never get a job in mining again. Look, you don’t even have to do anything — just stop asking damn fool questions in public.’

Ian stood up. ‘Don’t push me, Frank,’ he warned.

‘I haven’t even started yet. For God’s sake, be reasonable, Ian. Do you know how much the share price of the company has dropped since yesterday? All this adverse publicity is having an effect even in London. We’re dropping money fast.’

‘I bleed for you.’

‘You know we’re going to float a new issue of Hukahoronui shares. What chance do you think we’ll have if you continue to hold up the chairman of the board as a bloody fool?’

‘The foolishness of Crowell is none of my doing — he’s a self-made idiot. That’s why you have him there — because he’ll jump when he’s told. You ought to be getting rid of Crowell, not me.’

‘You’re impossible,’ said Frank disgustedly. ‘We’re not getting rid of you.’

‘No,’ agreed Ian. ‘I’m leaving under my own power, and in my own way. I don’t take easily to blackmail, Frank, and the way you’re going you’re likely to cook your own goose.’

Frank looked up and said sharply, ‘What do you mean?’

‘Have you considered the composition of the Commission of Inquiry? There’s Harrison, the chairman, and his two assessors, both experts in their fields. Rolandson knows about snow, and French is from the Department of Mines. He hasn’t said much yet.’

‘So?’

‘So any more pressure from you and I’ll start asking questions about conditions in that mine, and by the time I’m through French will write a report that’ll curl your hair — a report that the shareholders won’t like at all. Then you’ll see something really happen to the share price.’

‘You’re being really hard-nosed about this, aren’t you? Why, Ian?’

‘Do you have to ask after what you’ve been doing? I don’t like being manipulated, Frank. I don’t like being pushed around. I’m no Crowell. And another thing: the day before I was fired — and let’s give it the right name, Frank; none of this bull about suspension — I saw the result of the latest assay. Rich pickings, Frank, my boy; very rich pickings. But can you tell me why those results haven’t been given to the shareholders?’

‘That’s none of your bloody business.’

‘It might be if I buy some shares. Not that I will, of course. That mine is going to make someone a fortune, but the way you’ll set it up I don’t think the ordinary shareholders will see much of it.’

‘Nobody will make anything if you get on your hind legs and start asking damn fool questions about avalanche defences,’ said Frank sourly. ‘Good God, do you know how much it will cost us if this bloody Commission goes the wrong way?’

Ian stared at him. ‘What do you mean — the wrong way? Were you thinking of not putting in avalanche defences?’

‘Hell, there’s only an avalanche every thirty years or so. By the time the next one comes the mine will be worked out.’

Ian took a deep breath. ‘You damned fool! That was when the trees were still on the west slope. Now they’re gone there’s likely to be a fall in any period of heavy snow.’

‘All right.’ Frank flapped his hand impatiently. ‘We’ll re-afforest the slope. That’ll cost less than the snow rakes your friend McGill wants to have.’

‘Frank, do you know how long it takes for a tree to grow? I thought you lot were bad enough but now I know the depth of your greed.’ Ballard’s voice was hard. ‘And I suggest we bring this conversation to a sudden halt.’ He crossed to the door and threw it open.

Frank hesitated. ‘Think again, Ian.’

Ian jerked his head. ‘Out!’

Frank walked forward. ‘You’ll regret it.’

‘How’s Uncle Steve?’

‘He’s not going to like the answer I take back to Sydney.’

‘He should have come himself and not sent a half-wit to do his dirty work. He’s too intelligent to think threats would have any effect — he’d have tried a bribe, if I know him. Tell him from me that that wouldn’t have worked, either. Maybe you’ll be able to keep a whole skin that way.’

Frank paused outside the door, and turned. ‘You’re finished, Ian. I hope you know that.’

Ian closed the door in his face.

As he drove Liz back to the hospital to pick up her car he said, ‘Sorry about the gloomy lunch, Liz. I have a few things on my mind.’

‘It was a bit glum,’ she agreed. ‘What’s the matter? Trouble with the family? You were all right until you saw your cousin.’

He did not answer immediately but pulled the car off the road and parked by the kerb. He turned to face her, and said, ‘We both seem to have trouble that way. When were you thinking of going to England, Liz?’

‘I haven’t thought that far ahead.’

‘I’ll be going as soon as the inquiry is over. Why don’t you come with me?’

‘My God!’ she said. ‘Charlie would have kittens. Is this by way of being a proposal, Ian?’ She smiled. ‘Or do I come as your mistress?’

‘That’s up to you. You can take it either way.’

Liz laughed. ‘Shakespeare didn’t write this script. I know we’re like the Montagues and Capulets, but Romeo never made an offer like that.’ She put her hand on his. ‘I like you, Ian, but I’m not sure I love you.’

‘That’s the problem,’ he said. ‘We haven’t known each other long enough. Just two or three days at Huka, rudely interrupted by a disaster, and a week here. Love doesn’t flourish under those conditions, especially when overlooked by brother Charlie.’

‘Don’t you believe in love at first sight?’

‘I do,’ said Ballard. ‘Evidently you don’t. It happened to me at the dance on the night everything started. Look, Liz: when I get on that plane I won’t be coming back to New Zealand. I’d hate it like hell if I never saw you again. Maybe you don’t love me, but it would be nice if you gave it a fighting chance.’

‘Propinquity!’ she said. ‘A lovely word. Do you think it works?’

‘What have you got to lose?’

She looked pensively through the windscreen, staring at nothing. Presently she said, ‘If I do go to England with you — and I’m not saying right now that I will — but if I do there’ll be no strings. I’m my own woman, Ian; a very private person. That’s something Charlie can never understand. So if I come it will be my choice, and if after a while I leave you, it will be my choice again. Do you understand?’

He nodded. ‘I understand.’

‘And let me tell you something else, just to clear up something which may have been on your mind. Eric is against the Ballards on principle — it’s not just you. But with Charlie it definitely is you. Now, I was only two when Alec died; I never knew him — not to remember. And you were twelve then, and now you’re thirty-five. A person at twelve and a person at thirty-five are two different people, not to be confused with each other as Charlie does. I don’t know the rights and wrongs of Alec’s death — and I don’t care. I’ll be going to England with a man, not a boy.’

‘Thanks,’ said Ballard. ‘Thanks, Liz.’

‘Not that I’ve said I’m going with you yet,’ she warned. ‘I’ll have to think about it. As to the question you asked — what have I got to lose?’ She patted his knee. ‘The answer, my dear Ian, is my virginity!’

Seventeen

Ballard dropped Liz at the hospital and went on to Deep Freeze Headquarters. He did not find McGill at the office but finally ran him down at the Officers’ Club where he was talking shop. Ballard said, ‘I thought I’d pick you up first. Old Stenning will have travelled a long way and he’ll be tired, so I thought I wouldn’t keep him waiting around.’

‘Sure,’ said McGill. ‘I’ll come right along. When is he due in?’

‘In fifteen minutes, if the plane’s on time.’

They drove to Harewood Airport, two minutes away, and stood chatting on the concourse while they waited. McGill said, ‘I’ve never met a millionaire’s lawyer. Will you recognize Stenning when you see him?’

Ballard nodded. ‘He’s a tall, thin chap with white hair. Looks a bit like Bertrand Russell.’

The aircraft was on time and, as the passengers streamed through the terminal, Ballard said, ‘There he is,’ and McGill saw a tall, old man with the face of an ascetic. Ballard stepped forward. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Stenning.’ They shook hands. ‘This is Mike McGill, a friend. He’s come to carry the suitcases. I don’t think they’ll be long in coming.’

Stenning smiled. ‘Are you the Dr McGill who has been giving evidence at the Inquiry?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘If you’re carrying suitcases you’ve come down in the world.’

‘The luggage is coming now,’ said Ballard. Stenning pointed out his cases, and Ballard said, ‘Let’s get this stuff out to the car, Mike.’ As they left the terminal he said to Stenning, ‘I’ve booked you a room at the hotel where I’m staying. It’s quite comfortable.’

‘Just point me towards a bed,’ said Stenning. ‘I find it difficult to sleep on aircraft. How is the Inquiry going?’

‘I’ve kept the newspapers for you. It’s getting good coverage in Christchurch.’

Stenning grunted. ‘Good! I’ve been in aircraft for two days so I’ve fallen behind with the news. I’m looking forward to discussing the disaster with you, Dr McGill.’

‘Any time I’m not in court, Mr Stenning.’

At the hotel McGill tactfully made himself scarce while Ballard showed Stenning his room. Stenning said, ‘I’m not as resilient as I used to be, Ian. I’m going to bed. Your grandfather would have said a thing or two about that, were he here. At my age he was an assiduous globe-trotter.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry he’s gone.’

‘Yes,’ said Ballard. ‘So am I.’

Stenning regarded him curiously. ‘Are you?’ he asked in a sceptical tone. ‘If you’d have said the other thing I wouldn’t have been surprised — or shocked. Your grandfather was a hard man to get on with. In my opinion he didn’t treat you very well.’

Ballard shrugged. ‘I’ll miss him all the same.’

‘So will I, Ian. So will I. Now, if you’ll excuse a tired old man...’

‘Have you eaten? I can get something sent in.’

‘No — I just want my bed.’

Ballard indicated a cupboard. ‘I laid in some drinks. There’s whisky, gin and brandy — with the trimmings.’

‘A kindly thought. A whisky before bed will go down very well. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ian.’

Ballard left him and found McGill having a beer by the pool. McGill raised an eyebrow. ‘Well?’

‘Nothing,’ said Ballard. ‘He didn’t say a damned thing.’

McGill frowned. ‘I’ll tell you something,’ he said. ‘He sure as hell didn’t fly thirteen thousand miles to discuss a disaster with Mike McGill.’

Stenning was absent from breakfast next morning. McGill buttered a slice of toast. ‘He doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. Just like a lawyer; they work to a different sort of time from the rest of us.’

‘I had a visit from one of my relatives yesterday,’ said Ballard. ‘My cousin Frank.’ He told McGill what had happened.

McGill whistled. ‘You Ballards play rough. Can he do what he threatened to do? Have you blackballed in the industry?’

‘I doubt it. He might like to think he can. He could certainly make life bloody difficult.’

‘How come Frank was in Sydney? Very convenient, wasn’t it?’

‘The Ballard Group has interests in many countries, including Australia. It’s not unusual to find a member of the family popping up almost anywhere. I think my Uncle Steve, Frank’s father, is also in Sydney. That’s what Frank implied.’

McGill helped himself to marmalade. ‘Goddamn convenient, all the same. Crowell knew they were in Australia because he blew the whistle on you. Frank came running fast enough.’

They talked desultorily until McGill had finished his coffee. ‘I’m going to the hospital to see Joe. If Stenning has anything important to say he won’t want me around.’ He went away leaving Ballard to finish his breakfast alone.

Ballard read the Sunday papers by the pool, concentrating first on the account of the Inquiry. That did not take long, and he went on to the rest of the news which did not take long, either. He felt restless and thought of going to see Liz, but he did not want to leave the hotel without having seen Stenning. He went to his room and put on swimming trunks and worked out his frustration in several lengths of the pool.

It was eleven-thirty before Stenning appeared, carrying several newspaper clippings. ‘Good morning, Ian,’ he said briskly.

‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Like a babe. Only to be expected, of course. I had breakfast in my room. Where’s Dr McGill?’

‘He’s gone to see Joe Cameron, the mine engineer. He’s still in hospital.’

The clippings fluttered in Stenning’s hand. ‘So I gathered.’ He looked around. ‘We could do worse than have a chat here. Very nice place.’

Ballard unfolded another garden chair. ‘The town is all right, too. Christchurch prides itself on being more English than England.’

Stenning sat down. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing it.’ He regarded the clippings, then folded them and put them into his pocket. ‘You’re having quite a time at this Inquiry. I don’t think your family is going to like the things you’ve been saying.’

‘I know they don’t like it,’ said Ballard. ‘I had a visit from Frank yesterday. He wants me to shut up.’

‘What did you do?’ asked Stenning interestedly.

‘I showed him the door.’

Stenning did not comment but he looked pleased in an indefinable way which Ballard could not place. ‘You know, I was more than your grandfather’s lawyer. I was also his friend.’

‘I know he placed a lot of trust in you.’

‘Trust,’ said Stenning, and smiled. ‘Trust — that’s what I want to talk about. What do you know about the way your grandfather organized his affairs — I mean his financial affairs?’

‘Practically nothing,’ said Ballard. ‘I knew that he put all, or most, of his money into some kind of trust a few years ago. He made it quite clear that I was not going to inherit, so I didn’t take much interest. It was nothing to do with me.’

Stenning nodded. ‘Yes, it was a little over seven years ago. Do you know anything about estate duties in the United Kingdom?’

‘Death duties? Nothing much.’

‘Then I shall enlighten you. A man may give his money away — to his family usually — to a charitable foundation, as Ben did. However, if he dies within seven years of the transaction having taken place then his gift is assessed for estate duty just as if he hadn’t made it at all. If he dies after seven years have elapsed then the gift escapes the tax.’

‘I had heard about that,’ Ballard smiled. ‘I didn’t worry too much about it, myself. I don’t have much to leave, and I’ve no one to leave it to.’

Stenning shook his head. ‘Every man must make provision for the unknown future,’ he said in a lawyerly way. ‘Ben died after the seven-year period.’

‘Therefore the foundation doesn’t have to pay the tax.’

‘Precisely. But it was a near-run thing. For one thing, the government changed the law and Ben squeezed in just under the deadline. For another he died just two weeks after the seven years were up. In fact, he nearly didn’t make it at all. Do you remember him coming to see you just before you came to New Zealand?’

‘Yes. It was when he offered me the job in Hukahoronui.’

‘The effort nearly killed him,’ said Stenning. ‘The next day he took to his bed and never left it again.’

‘He sent me his stick,’ said Ballard. ‘I had a bad leg at the time. He said he wouldn’t need the stick again.’

‘He didn’t.’ Stenning looked at the sky contemplatively. ‘It was very important to Ben that he should see you at that time. The breaking of your leg was a minor disaster — you couldn’t go to see him, so the mountain had to go to Mahomet. It was so important to him that he put at risk a very large sum of money — and more beside.’

Ballard frowned. ‘I don’t see how it could have been important. All he did was to twist my arm into taking the job at Hukahoronui — and look how that’s turned out.’ His voice was bitter.

‘An avalanche wasn’t part of Ben’s plans — but it came in useful.’ Stenning laughed as he saw the bafflement on Ballard’s face. ‘You think I’m talking in riddles? Never mind; all will be made clear. Let us look at the charitable foundation. Ben gave it all his personal fortune except what he needed to live on until his death, which wasn’t much. Ben was not a man to flaunt prestige symbols; he had no Rolls Royce, for example. His needs were few and his life austere. But the foundation got a lot of money.’

‘I could see how it might.’

‘It does good work. The money or, rather, the interest on the money, supports several laboratories working mostly in the fields of mining safety and health. Very good and necessary work, indeed.’

‘My God!’ said Ballard in astonishment. ‘Do the trustees know how the Ballard Group works? Every safety regulation is normally bent, or broken if they think they can get away with it. That’s like giving with one hand and taking with the other.’

Stenning nodded. ‘That perturbed Ben, but there was nothing he could do about it at the time for reasons you shall see. Now let us take a look at the trustees. There are five.’ He ticked them off on his fingers. ‘There’s your uncle Edward, your cousin Frank, Lord Brockhurst, Sir William Bendell and myself. I am the Chairman of the Board of Trustees of the Ballard Foundation.’

‘I’m surprised that two of the family are trustees. From what Ben said the last time I saw him he had no great regard for them.’

‘Ben made them trustees for tactical reasons. You’ll see what I mean when I come to the nub. You’re right, of course, in your assessment of Ben’s attitude to the family. He had four sons, one of whom died here in New Zealand, and the other three turned out in a way he couldn’t stomach. He had no great regard for any of his grandchildren, either, except one.’ Stenning jabbed forward a thin forefinger. ‘You.’

‘He had funny ways of showing it,’ said Ballard wryly.

‘He’d seen how his sons had turned out and he knew that whatever else he was good at he was not a good father. So he saw to your education and left you strictly alone. He watched you, of course, and he liked what he saw. Now consider — what could Ben do a few years ago when he contemplated what was likely to happen to his personal fortune? He wouldn’t give it to his family whom he didn’t like, would he?’

‘Not on the face of it.’

‘No,’ said Stenning. ‘Anyway, as Ben saw it they already had enough. In all honesty, could he give it to you? How old were you then?’

‘Seven years ago? Twenty-eight.’

Stenning leaned back. ‘I rather think that when Ben and I first talked about setting this thing up you were twenty-six. Just a fledgling, Ian. Ben couldn’t see himself putting so much money and power — and money is power — into the hands of one so young. Besides, he wasn’t too sure of you. He thought you were immature for your years. He also thought your mother had something to do with that.’

‘I know. He was scathing about her at our last meeting.’

‘So he set up the Ballard Foundation. And he had to do two things: he had to make sure that he retained essential control — and he had to live for seven years. He did both. And he watched you like a hawk because he wanted to see how you turned out.’

Ballard grimaced. ‘Did I come up to expectations?’

‘He never found out,’ said Stenning. ‘He died before the Hukahoronui experiment was completed.’

Ballard stared at him. ‘Experiment! What experiment?’

‘You were being tested,’ said Stenning. ‘And this is how it went. You were now thirty-five; you were more than competent at any job you’d been given, and you knew how to handle men. But Ben had a feeling that you have a soft centre and he discovered a way to find out if this was indeed so.’ He paused. ‘I gather that you and the Peterson family have never got on too well together.’

‘An understatement,’ said Ballard.

Stenning’s face was firm. ‘Ben told me that the Petersons had walked all over you when you were a boy. He sent you to Hukahoronui to see if the same thing would happen.’

‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ Ballard was suddenly angry. ‘I knew he had a power complex, but who the hell did he think he was? God? And what the devil was it all for?’

‘You can’t be as naive as that,’ said Stenning. ‘Look at the composition of the Board of Trustees.’

‘All right; I’m looking. Two Ballards, yourself and two others. What about it?’

‘This about it. Old Brockhurst, Billy Bendell and I are all old friends of Ben. We had to have two of the family on the board so they wouldn’t smell a rat. If they had suspected what Ben was up to they’d have found a way to shove their oar in and wreck Ben’s plan. Any half-way criminal lawyer could have found a way of torpedoing the Foundation before Ben died. But for seven years the three of us have been playing the Ballards on a length of line so the boat wouldn’t be rocked. We’ve been playing along with the two Ballards on the board, only forcing our hand in things which didn’t matter too much to them. They think it’s going to continue in this way — but it’s not.’

‘I don’t see what this has got to do with me.’

Stenning said evenly, ‘Ben wanted you on the Board of Trustees.’

Ballard gaped at him. ‘So?’

‘So it’s arranged like this. The board is self-perpetuating. If a member retires there is a vote to elect his replacement and — this is important — the retiring member has a vote. Brockhurst is nearly eighty and has only held on to please Ben. When he retires you’ll have his vote, you’ll have Billy Bendell’s vote, and you’ll have my vote — and that’s a majority and there’s nothing the Ballards can do about it.’

Ballard was silent for a long time. Presently he said, ‘This is all very well, but I’m not an administrator, at least, not of the trustee kind. I suppose there’d be an honorarium, but I have a living to earn. You’re offering me a job for a retired business man. I don’t want to run a charitable fund, no matter how big.’

Stenning shook his head sadly. ‘You still don’t get the point. Ben set up the foundation for one reason and one reason only — to prevent his fortune from being dissipated and to keep the Ballard Group intact but out of the hands of his sons.’ He took an envelope from his pocket. ‘I have here the share quotations of the companies in the Ballard Group as at the middle of last week.’

He extracted a sheet of paper from the envelope. ‘It’s astonishing what can be put on to a small sheet of paper like this.’ He bent his head. ‘The total value of the shares is two hundred and thirty-two million pounds. The holdings of the Ballard family — that is your uncles and all your cousins — is about fourteen million pounds. The holding of the Ballard Foundation is forty-one million pounds, and the Foundation is by far the largest shareholder.’

He slipped the paper back into the envelope. ‘Ian, who-ever can swing most votes on the Board of Trustees controls the Ballard Foundation, and whoever controls the Foundation controls the Ballard Group of companies. For seven years we’ve been waiting for you to come into your inheritance.’

Ballard felt as though the wind had been knocked from him. He stared blindly into the shimmering pool and knew that the dazzle in his eyes did not come only from the sunlight reflected from water. That wonderful, egotistical, crazy old man! He rubbed his eyes and was aware of wetness. Stenning had been saying something. ‘What was that?’

‘I said there’s a snag,’ said Stenning.

‘I suppose it’s inevitable.’

‘Yes.’ A fugitive smile chased across Stenning’s face. ‘Ben knew he was dying. Two days before he died he extracted a promise from me to come out here and see the results of the Hukahoronui experiment — to see if the Petersons were still walking over you. As Ben’s friend — and his lawyer — I feel bound to honour his last wish and to do what he would want to do himself were he alive.’

‘So it’s not settled.’

‘I’ve been reading the newspaper accounts of the Inquiry with great interest. You’ve been putting up a good fight, Ian, but it seems to me that the Petersons are still walking over you. Ben considered that the man who cannot defend himself is not the man to control the Ballard Group — and I must say I tend to agree with him. The exercise of so much power demands steel in a man.’

‘That’s the second shock you’ve handed me today,’ said Ballard softly.

‘Not that I’m going on newspaper reports,’ said Stenning. I’m too much of a lawyer to believe all I read. You’ll get a fair judgment, Ian; but out of respect for Ben it must be an honest one.’

‘And you are my judge. My sole judge?’

Stenning inclined his head. ‘Ben relied on me a lot, but the last task he set me is the hardest burden I have had to bear. Still, I can’t run away from it.’

‘No,’ said Ballard pensively. ‘I don’t suppose you can.’ He thought of his own eagerness to escape from Hukahoronui when he was a boy of sixteen. The urge to run away from the oppressions of the Petersons had been overwhelming. ‘I’d like to go away and think about this for a while.’

‘Very understandable,’ said Stenning. ‘Will I see you at lunch?’

‘I don’t know.’ Ballard stood up and picked up his towel. ‘Mike McGill will be around. You can ask him about the avalanche.’

He walked across the lawn to his room.