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things going wrong. It had never failed him. He was a quiet man, but could fight as hard and dirty as Julius Heyderman if he had to; he prepared himself for battle. The same instinct whispered to him that their loss of the mine in Archangel had come back to haunt him.
    The boardroom of the London office was a strange anachronism in an ultra-modern building. It was a long room with a low ceiling, and the walls were panelled in genuine sixteenth-century linenfold panelling. The table was a magnificent single-piece Elizabethan refectory, fourteen feet long, and the chairs were of the same period. With some regard for comfort, they had cushions and seats of crimson velvet. Overhead, there was an early Dutch brass chandelier, a museum piece in itself, like the Persian carpet on the floor, and the superbly carved oak court cupboard, which was full of liquor. The room was dark and restful; everything in it had cost a fortune and it was an exact copy of old Jan Heyderman’s office in Johannesburg when he was at the height of his power. When his grandson Julius succeeded, he had stripped the original boardroom down to its walls and had it redecorated by one of the most advanced designers in the Union. Julius didn’t want people coming to his boardroom and thinking of his grandfather.
    All the directors were there, sitting on each side of the narrow table. In front of each there was a note pad, pen and pencils, a small bottle of mineral water and a crystal glass, and the print-out minutes of the last meeting. In the middle of the table, where Julius would sit in a rather larger chair than the others, there was a small decanter of whisky and a jug of water. For the last few minutes the door had been opening; first to come in was Dick Kruger, and then James Hastings; they nodded to each other and were spared the trouble of talking because Ray Andrews arrived, followed by David Wasserman, and for a minute or two the conversation was general. It paused as Arthur appeared; he looked round him and went over to David Wasserman. He was always very courteous to people.
    â€˜Very good of you to make the trip, David,’ he said. ‘I hope Clara’s not too tired.’
    The old man shrugged and smiled. ‘You know Clara – business never tired her yet. I left her sleeping like a baby.’
    â€˜Gentlemen,’ Arthur said, ‘Julius will be here in a moment; I suggest we sit down.’
    He went to the end of the table; he had mineral water in front of him like everyone else. He watched the rest of the Board taking their places. Senior men like Kruger and Wasserman were on his right and left, Ray Andrews sat next to the other director, Johnson who was European Sales Director and a mining engineer, then, nearer the end, sat Hastings. There were two empty places; they were waiting for the Chairman, Heyderman. When Julius came in everybody looked up. Then they stood up, casually, so as not to make it appear more than a wish to give the Chairman a personal welcome, but he walked past them without stopping and Reece was behind him, pulling out his chair. Reece sat down on Heyderman’s left. If there had ever been any doubt how close Reece was to the Chairman, it was answered now.
    â€˜Good morning, gentlemen.’ Julius Heyderman looked round the room and nodded to them all. He seemed even browner and fitter than when they had last seen him, a handsome, blue-eyed giant, with the trim athletic figure of a young man. He always wore blue; it was almost a trademark. The sky-blue shirt and dark blue suit were part of the Heyderman image, part of the legend of the international sportsman, crack shot, champion water-skier, scratch golfer. The legend was quite true. Everything Julius did had to be done better than anyone else; he had always lived to the limit of his capacity, and he worked at the same pace as he played games. Everyone in the room seemed to shrink by comparison. James Hastings watched him intently; here