Michael Ridpath: See No Evil

‘I need to know,’ said Todd.

Cornelius stared at his son. Todd stared back.

Edwin coughed. ‘I really must be going,’ he said, carefully placing his half-drunk tomato juice on a side table. ‘I’ll be late.’ He murmured goodbyes to Todd and Kim and left.

There was silence for a moment or two. They all sipped their drinks. Kim and Todd could distinctly hear Edwin go back up the stairs to Cornelius’s study. The dinner engagement was an excuse, but one they were quite happy to accept.

Cornelius could hear his eldest son too. ‘Edwin and I have been working on an interesting deal,’ he said.

‘Uh huh,’ said Todd, with the barest hint of polite curiosity.

‘It’s still very much at the confidential stage, but I can talk to you about it since you are family.’

‘No, please,’ Todd said. ‘I know how careful you have to be about that kind of thing these days.’

Cornelius forced a smile. ‘I’d like to tell you about it. Tell both of you. It’s important to all of us.’ Todd didn’t demur. Cornelius could see that he had awakened his son’s attention. ‘It’s The Times .’

‘You’re going to buy The Times? ’

‘That’s the idea. I was talking to Bloomfield Weiss just now about the financing.’ Cornelius leaned back in his armchair watching his son’s reaction.

‘That will be quite a coup if you get it.’

‘Oh, we’ll get it,’ Cornelius said. ‘And you’re right, it’s just what Zyl News needs.’

Todd smiled grudgingly at his father and raised his glass. ‘Well, good luck. I’ll watch what happens with interest.’

‘I was hoping you would do rather more than watch.’

‘You mean...’

‘I’d like you to come back. It’s five years since you worked for me. We miss you.’

Todd shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I enjoy teaching, I like the school, I’ve made my career choice and I want to stick with it.’

‘Todd, I’m a realist, I know this is likely to be my last big deal. But it will be a good one. Zyl News will become one of the top newspaper groups in the world. And when I retire I want a van Zyl to run it.’

‘What about Edwin? He has much more experience than me.’

‘It’s not experience that’s needed,’ Cornelius said. ‘You can hire that. It’s imagination. Vision. I had it. You have it. I saw you when you were working for me. You definitely have it. But I’m afraid Edwin doesn’t.’

‘I’m flattered, Dad, but really. I don’t want to work in newspapers. I want to teach kids.’

Cornelius tensed. He leaned forward in his chair. Todd was still. There was a hint of fear in his face. It took a lot of courage to stand up to Cornelius van Zyl.

‘Can you leave us for a moment, Kim?’ Cornelius said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kim glanced at her husband. ‘Stay,’ he said. ‘Please stay.’

‘I’d like to speak to you in private,’ Cornelius said.

‘You’re going to talk to me about what I do with my life,’ Todd said. ‘Kim’s part of my life. I want her to hear it.’

‘Very well,’ said Cornelius, glancing at Kim. Kim stared back, politeness replaced by defiance. ‘A teacher’s salary can’t be very high these days.’

‘It isn’t,’ said Todd.

‘And I understand you’ve given up your management consulting?’

‘For the time being,’ Kim said, with steel in her voice.

‘So you will have to rely on your trust fund to provide for you and Kim and your children in the future—’

‘Stop right there,’ Kim said.

‘I’m talking to my son.’

‘You’re not talking to him, you’re bribing him. You’re trying to buy him!’

Cornelius glared at his daughter-in-law. ‘I’m merely pointing out the harsh economic realities of the world.’

‘No, you’re not. You’re trying to make him do what you want him to do, rather than what he wants to do. Well, you can’t. His life, our life, isn’t for sale.’

‘Kim...’ Todd said.

‘This is between Todd and me,’ Cornelius said.

‘You asked Todd whether he wanted to work for you. That was a very generous offer, but he said no, as you knew he would. End of story. There’s nothing more to be said.’

‘Young lady, I will decide what needs to be said. This is the family business we’re talking about, something I have spent most of my life building up. If I want my son to take it over then that’s my prerogative.’

‘No, don’t you see?’ said Kim, her voice rising in frustration. ‘That’s the whole point. It’s his prerogative, not yours.’

Cornelius turned to his son. ‘Tell your wife to shut the fuck up.’

A hostile silence snapped shut on the room. Todd looked from his wife to his father. The agitation left him as he came to a decision. Slowly he drew himself to his feet. ‘I think we won’t be staying for dinner. In fact we won’t be staying here at all.’

His father stood up and faced him. Even at seventy-two, father was about an inch taller than son. ‘You will stay here,’ he growled.

Todd blinked. For a moment it seemed as if he would crack, but the moment passed. ‘Come on, Kim,’ he said, and turned for the door.

‘I was serious about the trust fund,’ Cornelius said. ‘If you walk out of that door you will regret it. Believe me.’

‘Goodnight, Dad,’ Todd said, and he and Kim were gone.

Cornelius picked up his crystal glass of brandy and Coke and flung it at the fireplace, where it shattered into a hundred fragments. It was a long, long time since he had been so angry.

The following Tuesday the weather was good, a small high-pressure system dallying over East Anglia for a couple of days. Todd and Kim drove up from London and arrived at the airfield before twelve, Todd excited, Kim apprehensive.

Calder left them sitting on a bench in the sunshine as he ran through a thorough ‘A’ check on the Yak, examining the wings and fuselage, checking the oil and fuel levels, the instruments, the controls and the tyres and making sure the maintenance log was up to date. The aircraft belonged to a retired advertising executive who lived in Burnham Market. He had spent tens of thousands restoring it, and despite its age it was in very good nick. He was happy for Calder to fly it, for a hirer’s fee of course, and Calder had logged about twelve hours. It was fun, but there were only two seats, one in front, one behind. There was no room for Kim.

She looked concerned. ‘Are you sure this thing is safe?’ she asked Calder. ‘It looks like it’s made of Meccano. And it was manufactured in Russia, wasn’t it? Won’t it just fall apart?’

‘It hasn’t yet, and it’s been flying for fifty years. Of course it’s safe. All these aircraft are thoroughly maintained and checked. It’ll be fine.’

‘I don’t know.’ She glanced at her husband, who was untangling his headset.

‘You told me you trusted Alex,’ he said.

Kim turned to Calder. ‘I did. You promise you’ll be all right?’ She looked him straight in the eye.

For a second Calder hesitated. Then he smiled. ‘Of course we’ll be safe. No stunts, I promise.’

He installed Todd in the rear seat and in a few minutes they were up in the sky, washed clear by the previous few days’ rain. The mighty 700-horsepower radial engine growled. The Yak felt to Calder like a giant locomotive as it powered through the air.

‘Have you ever flown a small plane before?’ Calder called over the intercom to Todd.

‘Yeah, back in South Africa. My sister has a pilot’s licence and she used to take me up. But I’ve never been in anything like this.’

Calder opened the throttle and increased speed to 220 knots. He called up RAF Marham, his old station, for a flight information service. Although the Yak was fast for a general aviation aircraft, it was nothing like the Tornados he had flown over this same stretch of land twelve years before when he was in the air force. He often saw aircraft from his old squadron, No. 13, speeding along the coast, sometimes alone, sometimes in twos or fours. At first the sight had been almost painful, bringing back memories of the kind of flying he could no longer do, skimming at 600 miles an hour fifty feet above the North Sea, ducking and weaving through the Welsh mountains, spinning and twisting 30,000 feet above the English countryside. But now he had become accustomed to it and admired the stout war machines as they went about their business.