A Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons story

By Marion Woods

Chapter One: Boston, May 2036

09:45 a.m. and the elevator door slid back with a quiet hum to reveal a tall, fair-haired man, his handsome face spoilt by an expression of petulance. He stalked across the open plan floor towards the heavy wooden doors and pushed through without speaking to any one of the half dozen employees in the office. Several of them exchanged wary glances and began to calculate how long it was before they could legitimately go to lunch.

At the far end of the plush, carpeted enclave he had entered, an older man, slightly taller, whose fair hair had turned to a silvery-white, looked up from the conversation he was having with a dark-haired, bespectacled woman, and gave a smug grin.

“Good afternoon, John.”

John Svenson glared back and muttered, “Hello, Dad.”

“Oversleep?” Stefan Svenson asked, noting the dark patches beneath his son’s blue eyes and the bloody nick above his collar from a too hasty shave.

“Sleep?” John gave a hollow laugh. “What the hell’s sleep? Do you know how many times we had to get up to that little… tyrant last night?”

Stefan plucked a number out of the air. “Four.”

“Four? You are joking! Seven… seven times Sarah went and tried to settle him down. In the end she stayed in his room and they slept on the divan. If you think I look bad, you should see Sal.”

“But I’d guess she doesn’t have a series of important meetings today? Never mind, they say the first three years are the worst…” Stefan commented, successfully hiding his amusement.

His son groaned and turned to look at the woman at the desk. “A coffee, Miss Jarrett, if you would be so kind.”

“Certainly, Mr John.” She stood and walked towards the small kitchenette.

“Seriously, Dad, I can’t go on like this for much longer. I’m just not sleeping nights.” John ran his fingers through his fair hair and grimaced. “No-one tells you about times like this before you have the kids.”

“Teeth,” Stefan reflected sagely, “are a pain on the way in and a pain on the way out.”

John Svenson gave his father a look of abject misery and threw his briefcase onto a chair. “It’s no good, I have told Sarah, we have to get a Nanny – a nurse, whatever…even if the kid won’t sleep nights, we still have to. So let’s pay someone to do the waking up for us – we can afford it.”

“And what did Sarah say?”

“Oh, she went on about maternal instincts and nurturing. She seems to think she’s failing him if she isn’t there 24 - 7 and it will scar him for life. I tell her that’s nonsense. He’s too young to care who’s rocking the crib.”

“I bet that went down well,” Stefan muttered.

“She accused me of trying to solve every problem by throwing money at it.” The bewilderment was obvious in John’s voice as he nodded thanks for the coffee and took a gulp.

“Well, it’s her first and she’s young,” Stefan reasoned. “Why don’t you ask your mom to talk to her? Maybe we could have Adam over a weekend or something?”

John looked at him with dawning hope. “Would you? D’you know how long it’s been since we… had some time alone?”

Stefan grinned. “About nine months, at least…”

His son had the grace to blush slightly.

Stefan’s grin broadened. It had been no surprise to him or his wife that their son was out of his depth with a young wife and child. John had been bursting with pride when the child had been a boy, but the reality of having a baby in the house had come as a complete shock to the newly-wedded man. As long as the child - a blond-haired moppet – had lain quietly, gurgling on cue and disappearing whenever he needed feeding or changing, John had had nothing but enthusiasm for the whole business. Now the boy was teething, making his misery felt throughout the house and disrupting the lives of his parents by exercising his healthy lungs day and night, and John wasn’t so keen.

“I hoped to get to work on the Tompkins papers today; do you reckon this meeting will last all morning?”

Stefan nodded. “There was an e-mail from Tokyo – but I guess you won’t have seen that. Take the time to read it – I want you up to speed before the meeting starts.”

John nodded. “Okay.” He glanced at Miss Jarrett. “Would you please get me information on an agency for nursery-maids, or nannies? I want to get this sorted before I drop with exhaustion.”

“What about Sarah?”

“She’ll thank me for it, once she’s had a good night’s sleep again,” John said.

“You reckon?” Stefan pursed his lips and kept his doubts to himself. John would have to solve his own problems now.

By late afternoon, the meeting was over, and the Svensons – father and son – could feel satisfied that they had made the best deal they could have expected. Stefan looked across at his son with something akin to awe; John was a tough negotiator and his command of his subject was total. He had been the driving force in the discussions and it was to him that the majority of the credit for the deal belonged. He was, Stefan reflected, a natural at it and the thought of leaving the business in his hands gave his father no concern. Under John’s control, SvenCorp could only grow and thrive.

However, he knew his son, and the man was almost exhausted. John always put 100% of himself into whatever he was doing – at work or at home – and it worried Stefan to see his son’s tiredness. Surely, he thought, there must be some way to alleviate the pressure on John?

As he wandered back into his office, he remembered a letter he had received a few weeks ago, and asked his PA to find it for him. It had been from the son of his cousin, Nils Svenson, who had finally settled down somewhere in upstate New York and married a local woman. They had one son – Eric – a few years younger than John. Stefan had last seen the child when he was about four years old and he had attended his cousin’s funeral. Nils – always a reckless driver - had managed to get himself killed in a car accident, leaving his wife and young son with a heavy mortgage and a pile of debts.

Stefan had intended to help the widow and her child, but his offer had been rudely rejected. Nevertheless, he had set up a trust for the boy – ‘for college fees’ as he told the belligerent widow, and left the door open for a future rapprochement. He had heard nothing from either of them, although the money from the trust fund had been drawn on when the boy reached eighteen. He must be about… twenty-three years old now, Stefan thought, as he took the letter from the folder Miss Jarrett gave him, and hopefully, he has more sense than either of his parents and will let bygones be bygones.

There had been a ‘feud’ between the two branches of the Svenson family for the best part of a century and it had been centred - as these things often are – on money.

SvenCorp had always been a family firm, growing slowly but inexorably over the decades from the thriving trading company Stefan’s grandfather had inherited. Stefan knew his own tenure of the company was a fluke – his father’s elder brother, Carl Svenson, had sold his stake in the company to his younger brother, Henrik, in order to pursue his own, ultimately unsuccessful, dreams in business. Once Henrik Svenson had absolute control of the family business, he had laid down strict rules designed to prevent Carl’s children from demanding a share in the company’s wealth. Henrik, who had never seen eye to eye with his feckless brother, was not a very forgiving man – a trait that had, unfortunately, resurfaced in his grandson – John.

In the years that followed, Henrik had turned the company around, moving from trade into finance with a deftness that astounded those who did not know him. He had made his fortune, and the Svensons moved from a comfortably well-off family into the league of the super-rich, in three generations. Stefan knew his own limitations; he was a competent and easy-going man, for whom the cut and thrust of the business world held only a minor appeal. But his father had taught him well and his grasp of business was instinctive and rarely at fault. He had steered the company through some hard times and it had emerged stronger than ever, becoming an influential player in the world of finance.

Outside of work, Stefan preferred what he considered to be a modest enough life-style, but it was a ‘modesty’ few could afford. He devoted himself to his other interests and the welfare of his small family. He had raised his two children to be hard working, honest citizens, and recognised in John the makings of a businessman who might outstrip even his grandfather’s achievements. His son certainly had the same single-mindedness so reminiscent of the late Henrik Svenson.

Therefore, it had come rather as a bolt from the blue when his serious-minded, twenty-three year old son had met, and fallen hopelessly in love with, the teenage daughter of the chairman of a small firm SvenCorp was doing business with. It had been an even greater surprise when – sometime later - John had suddenly announced he was getting married to Sarah Ellis. Expecting a long period of engagement, Stefan had been astounded to find the date was a matter of weeks away and the news that he was to be a grandfather – which followed hot on the heels of the wedding - had taken his breath away. But by the time his strapping grandson arrived, some six months later, he was beyond surprising.

He shook his head over the vagaries of family life and turned his attention to the letter in his hand.

Carl’s grandson, Eric, had recently graduated from a reputable business school. He had contacted Stefan, ostensibly to thank him for his generous support during his education, and to congratulate his cousin on the birth of his first grandson. He concluded his letter with the statement that he would welcome a chance to become involved in the family firm, should there be any capacity Stefan might think it suitable for him to undertake. Stefan had been considering the matter, without reference to John – for whom the regulations laid down by his Grandpa Henrik were law – and it now seemed to him that Eric could lift the tedious and the mundane from his gifted son, without compromising the ideal of family. John could not carry the load alone, and his sister and her husband were not interested in the company. Until Adam was of an age to assist his father, Eric could be a useful adjutant.

Stefan resolved to invite the man in for a meeting and dictated the reply there and then.

~oo0oo~

One week later Eric Svenson arrived at the SvenCorp offices and presented himself at the reception desk. The security guards looked him up and down with some suspicion; he did not conform to the family blueprint. He was of average height, stockily built, with a pale complexion liberally covered with freckles and hair which had an undeniably red tinge to it. His eyes were a strange mixture of hazel-green and grey. He wore metal-rimmed glasses, a good quality suit and brightly polished black shoes, yet still managed to look a little dowdy and uncomfortable. They sent him up to the executive offices with benign smiles, which to Eric’s nervous eyes carried more than a hint of amusement.

Stefan was rather surprised at the sight of the man he met at the elevator door and half-wondered if it really was Eric.

“Welcome to Boston, Eric,” he said with a convivial smile, courteously extending his hand.

“It is very good of you to see me… Mr Svenson,” Eric faltered, shaking the proffered hand.

“Call me Stefan – we are family, after all.” Stefan gave the young man another reassuring smile as he led the way into his office. “After I received your letter, I began to think it was time to heal this breach between us all. What may have had relevance to our parents and grandparents should not carry the same weight with us and I would like to think that we can move on. I was sorry to hear that your mother had passed away last year… she must have had a pretty bad time of it. I always hoped she would get in touch with me again, once she had recovered from the shock of your father’s death… I was sorry she did not.”

Privately, Eric thought he ought to be grateful his mother had not contacted them.

Stefan continued, “My son has the day off today – it’s our wedding anniversary, mine and Karen’s - and these things need to be acknowledged – at least they do if you want to avoid an earful from your wife! However, I expect him here shortly with his family, as we are all going to lunch – Karen is meeting up with our daughter, Kristina, and her husband, and meeting us at the restaurant. Perhaps you would like to join us?”

“I don’t want to intrude…” Eric gave a thin lipped smile as he glanced around the office with its understated plush décor of leather chairs and solid wooden desks and the confident assertion of wealth in the modern art on the walls. He suspected the suit his cousin was wearing cost more than every item of clothing he possessed. He had spent his last savings on the new suit and shoes he was wearing… shoes that were rubbing his heels raw. He knew he had no legal claim to any of this wealth, but he couldn’t help thinking that, out of fairness, Stefan ought to give him a good job and a decent salary. After all, he was a Svenson too.

Stefan waved the doubts away with an expressive gesture. “I would like you to meet my son – John - and then, if you like the idea, the two of you might work together? I know John is in need of some assistance, especially right now, with the youngster disrupting everything so much. If you and John can see eye to eye, then I think we can sort out the remuneration package to everyone’s satisfaction, Eric. SvenCorp likes to think of itself as a generous employer.”

“I am sure it is, Stefan. That would give me the greatest satisfaction. I look forward to it.”

Stefan sat back in his chair and skilfully began to make the young man talk about himself. Eric could not be expected to know how expertly his cousin used his charismatic personality to gain an advantage over his business associates in the course of brokering deals. Many a businessman had discovered that what had sounded like a mutually beneficial contract, when Stefan explained it over a friendly luncheon, was not quite as mutual as he remembered once it was signed and Stefan had moved on to his next business opportunity. The strange thing was that no-one ever really blamed Stefan for this inconsistency. It was almost as if they were unwilling to believe that such an open and charming man might be deliberately skating over the less palatable parts of any deal.

This was partly due to the contrast of doing business with Henrik – and latterly, John – Svenson, where it was more akin to being hauled up before a particularly severe and single-minded headmaster: woe betide you if you did not know your facts. No-one was ever surprised that a contract with SvenCorp negotiated with Stefan’s father or – increasingly – his son, was weighted in favour of the finance house.

Between them, the Svensons made a formidable combination, and SvenCorp was flourishing on the strength of it.

Charming the rather naive Eric was child’s play to an old hand like Stefan, and it was not long before the young man relaxed and unwittingly revealed far more than he realised or intended.

It did not take long for Stefan to evaluate the man before him. He was earnest, not overly ambitious and a little lacking in the self-confidence that had always formed such a solid bedrock in the Svenson psyche. Accordingly, he had an uneasy feeling that he ought to be of more consequence than he knew himself to be. He was never going to rival John’s flair for business, but he would be a safe pair of hands and, as such, would probably be an ideal man to manage the long-running accounts that cluttered John’s busy schedules.

Pleased that he had found a solution to the problem of his son’s heavy workload, Stefan considered that now all he had to do was talk John into accepting the help he had procured for him. He grimaced inwardly at the thought that he would have to pull rank on his son – John often needed convincing that he couldn’t do everything himself.

They gradually became aware of the distant sound of disruption beyond the heavy doors of the office. With a genuine display of delighted expectation, Stefan went to open them, beckoning Eric to follow. Eric trailed after him, trying not to hobble.

The inner office was full of secretaries cooing over a baby, who was crawling with determination towards the executive washroom.

“Adam,” Stefan called in delight, and he hunkered down, smiling, as he opened his arms to the child.

Without slowing, the baby changed direction and headed for the familiar voice. Stefan swept him up and swung him over his head as his grandson chortled and tried to grab his hair.

“Hi Steve, mind him today - he’s in hair-pulling mode. He’s very proud of himself and seems to want to celebrate by yanking everyone’s hair out at the roots.” The speaker was a young woman, who looked coolly elegant in a practical shirt-dress and low heeled court shoes. She was tall and slim and her long, light-brown hair was prudently pinned back in a plait.

Stefan acknowledged the warning and smiled at her. He had had profound doubts about the viability of his son’s relationship with the young Sarah Ellis, but he had to acknowledge that, despite her youth, Sarah had made a success of things, notwithstanding the less than ideal circumstances that had resulted in their marriage. What was more, she managed her irascible husband with a deftness that was not easily apparent. John adored her and was under her thumb to an extent that would have surprised many of the businessmen who only saw the hard-headed tycoon. Stefan liked her immensely and had no doubt that she was good for his son. Now she came across and kissed her father-in-law’s cheek, rescuing her son from his arms.

“What’s he got to be so proud of?” Stefan asked her with an amused smile, as he caught the baby’s hand and pretended to chew on the fingers, sending the little boy into a paroxysm of giggles.

Sarah Svenson gently opened her son’s mouth and pointed to the tiniest white tooth poking through the gum. “We have another tooth!”

“Just one?” Stefan laughed.

“I know, after all the aggravation we’ve had you’d expect the full set – but no, just the one. All the fuss must be because these teeth are going to be just the best teeth we can possibly have, aren’t they, Babes?” She grinned and kissed her son’s reddened cheeks.

The baby squirmed and when she put him down, he set off again at speed in the direction his father had gone. As he approached the door to the washroom it swung open and half a dozen female voices shrilled, “Mind the baby!” as John Svenson did a quick double step and just managed to avoid his son.

“Adam,” he growled, as, unperturbed, the baby pulled himself upright by holding onto his father’s trouser leg, squealing with delight as he bounced up and down a few times on his sturdy legs. Suddenly he let go, sat down heavily and rolled over to start crawling away, back to his laughing mother.

“John,” Stefan called, over the murmured admiration for his grandson’s antics, “come and meet Eric. This is my late cousin Nils’s son. I’ve invited him to lunch with us all.”

John‘s head went back and antagonism flooded into his eyes, turning them an icy-blue. He gave his father a covert glance and received a bland smile from Stefan. Unwilling to challenge his father in view of the assembled staff, he obediently shook Eric’s hand, dropping it as soon as he could, as if scalded by the touch.

Feeling very much on the periphery of this family group, Eric studied the men his mother had always insisted were robbing him of his share of the fortune that was his by rights.

John was an even more impressive man than his father, with a hawk-like face and piercing eyes, currently boring into Eric with a hostility the younger man found unsettling. He had serious doubts that he would ever be able to ‘see eye to eye’ with such a man. However, if he was to get a position in the company he would have to work with him – Stefan was quite clear about that – and Eric had every intention of working for SvenCorp, and sharing in the good-life his cousins enjoyed.

Sarah didn’t know the full story of the feud between the Svensons, but she knew enough to deplore her husband’s reaction to the unprepossessing newcomer. She felt a surge of pity for the stranger.

Like most people, she had found the Svensons intimidating at first, as had her parents. They had been delighted when their firm won a lucrative contract from the finance house, and had happily accepted Stefan’s invitation to the company’s Independence Day party, which had accompanied the signing of the deal. It was there that she had first met John and their lives had become inextricably linked.

Her parents had not been enthusiastic when John had first asked her out, arguing that, at fifteen, she was way too young to be seriously involved with a twenty-three year old man. But John was good-looking and sophisticated and she’d been flattered both by his persistence and by his attention. She had argued that she had the right to date whom she liked and John had promised he would take care of her – so what was the problem? Her parents, faced with the obstinacy of both the young people, had finally capitulated, and, on the occasion of her sixteenth birthday, John had started taking his young girlfriend for wonderful nights out on the town.

Rather to Sarah’s surprise, he had behaved with scrupulous self-control towards her and it had not taken her long to realise that she held all the cards in their relationship. With all the heartlessness that only an egotistical teenager can employ, she had abused this power over him, treating him very casually, until even John’s iron determination had faltered, and reluctantly, he had told her that he was going to end their relationship, because he felt that she did not really care for him.

Feigning an indifference she did not feel, Sarah had tried to pass the separation off as unimportant, but once he had gone she quickly began to appreciate how much she missed having him around, and not only because the expensive nights out and generous presents stopped. She missed his company, the way he made her feel special and cherished in his presence. It had been a hard lesson to learn, but she was a quick study and soon realised that she might have made a disastrous mistake.

They had not spoken for six months, during which time she had struggled to concentrate on her school work and spent far too much time moping about at home. Finally, her mother persuaded her to go out one evening to a friend’s party and quite unexpectedly John had been there – looking rather out of place amongst the carefree party-goers. She had seized the chance to approach him, although she had had little expectation that he would welcome her company. She’d been surprised at his reaction and the warmth with which he had greeted her and the hope had begun to grow that they might be able to rekindle their relationship. When he had agreed to ‘give things another try’, she had been ecstatic.

John, who had taken the whole experience very badly, was far more guarded about his feelings this time, so it had taken months before she had plucked up the courage to tell him that she was very passionately in love with him. Even then, she had not been sure he still felt the same way about her, until he admitted that he had missed her so much he had taken to going to parties where he stood a chance of meeting her, in the hope she might be there and might want to see him again…

She looked at her husband as he stood beside his father, and sensing her gaze, he turned to her with a smile and a look in his blue eyes that sent pleasant shivers up her spine…. She had first seen that look on the night they had confessed the true depth of their feelings for each other - the very same night that they had… she felt herself blushing and to hide her embarrassment, she turned to their guest and said, with expansive friendliness,

“Hello, Eric. I’m Sarah - John’s wife – I am very pleased to meet you.”

Her smile was so warm that Eric felt a blush sweeping up from his neck. He took her hand and shook it in a daze. The young woman smiling at him was one of the most attractive he had ever seen. She had a joie de vivre about her that contrasted with her husband’s sombre personality.

How could someone as charming as her ever have agreed to marry a man like John Svenson? he thought and suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the baby on the floor under a desk investigating the electric wires from a computer.

“Mrs Svenson,” he stammered, “I think you had better stop the baby doing that….”

Sarah swivelled, and with a cry of dismay, rescued her son from under the desk. “Say hello to your cousin Eric, Adam,” she encouraged the disgruntled child, holding him out towards Eric. Adam grabbed Eric’s hair and tugged. “Stop it - you naughty boy!” she chided, and untangled the hair from the surprisingly tenacious fingers. “Sorry, Eric,” she smiled apologetically.

“It’s okay,” he lied, basking in her approving smile. “He’s a bonny little chap, isn’t he…?”

Across the room, Stefan was justifying his decision to his still censorious son. “I hoped you and Eric might work together on all these new accounts we’ve been building.” He turned to draw Eric into his conversation. “Now that the situation in Europe has been resolved, there’s plenty of work there for the shrewd businessman, Eric. European companies are looking to break into the American markets – and we pride ourselves on being at the forefront of that movement.”

“Steve,” Sarah pleaded, turning to include her husband in her reproach, “we are going out to lunch as a family - not as a business. The first one that mentions work, from now on, can change Adam next time round - and I mean it!”

“She does, as well,” John said, with obvious pride in his wife. “And, believe me, that is not a job you want to volunteer for.”

“Let’s go, or we’ll be late.” Sarah hefted Adam onto her left hip and gave Eric another brilliant smile as he stepped forward to take the changing bag from her. “Why, thank you, Eric. You see, John, that’s how you could be useful around the place. Then there would be no need for us to have a nanny…” she added, obviously continuing an ongoing argument

John gave his cousin a sharp glance and purposefully moved to his wife’s side. “Lead the way, Sal.”

Eric Svenson followed them out with a feeling that maybe things in his life were looking up after all.

Chapter Two: Boston, March 2053

The atmosphere at the breakfast table was edgy. With their mother away visiting relatives in California, there was no-one to stand between the children and the unpredictable temper of their father. John Svenson was reading the business pages of the paper as his children ate their breakfasts in wary silence.

Only Peter, sitting closest to his father and trying to read the sports pages lying beneath his father’s elbow whilst spreading peanut butter on his toast, seemed unaware of the impending storm. Katherine was wolfing her muesli, hopeful of getting away before the hurricane hit, whilst little David was nervously swirling his spoon around in the chocolate-flavoured milk in his bowl, inadvertently splashing the white-linen tablecloth with brown freckles.

The door opened and Adam strolled in. Kate sighed and hoped her father was too pre-occupied with the latest business scandal to notice the time. Her eldest brother sat down opposite her and poured himself juice from the jug, reaching for a slice of toast with a wink at her. She gave him a nervous smile and rolled her eyes towards their father. Adam raised an eyebrow in question and Kate made a surreptitious throat-cutting gesture with her hand and nodded towards him. Her brother grimaced in response and wondered what he had done now to be in the firing line.

“Good morning, Adam,” John said curtly over his paper, “nice of you to join us.”

“Good morning, sir. Sorry I’m late…”

“You missed the arrival of the post,” John said levelly. “There is a letter for you.”

Adam nodded and swallowed his mouthful of toast. “Really?” he made an exaggerated search of his place at the table. “I don’t see it…” John held up a long envelope and waved it. “Ah, that’ll be why then. Davy, pass me the letter will you, please?” He nudged his youngest brother, causing the spoon to slip and a whole tsunami of chocolate milk to cascade over the tablecloth.

“David!” his father growled. The little boy’s face crumpled.

“Hey, it was my fault; I jogged his arm. S’okay, Davy, use this napkin to mop it up. It didn’t go on your clothes, did it? Can’t have you going into school all chocolaty, Mom’d flip!”

David turned his blue eyes on his brother and gave a grateful smile.

“Come on, Davy, let’s get our stuff ready,” Kate suggested. “Permission to leave the table, please, sir?”

John growled assent and the two youngest Svensons raced for the door as decorously as they could. The remaining three family members sat at the table in silence.

Peter took another slice of toast.

“What are you planning to do today, Adam?” John asked.

“I have classes at 2.30 and then I thought I might go over to see Billy Cabot. He’s got a new car…”

“Before your classes, I want to see you. In my office, here. 10.00 is the most convenient time. I have an important meeting at 12.30, downtown.”

Peter glanced across with a smug grin. Adam guessed he knew what was coming – if he wasn’t obliquely responsible for it to begin with.

“May I have some idea what you want to see me about?” he asked with as much composure as he could muster.

John Svenson stood and dropped the letter on the table. “That,” he said succinctly. He folded his napkin and walked out of the dining room, calling for his PA as he crossed the hall.

Adam reached for the letter and glanced at the postmark. Great, fantastic, I am a dead man walking… he thought as he slit the envelope. The letter bore the banner of the World Aeronautic Society and invited him for an interview, with a view to entering the cadet training scheme. The final paragraph informed him that, as he was under 18, a covering letter had been sent to his parents, as he would need permission to begin the course. He was torn between a desire to whoop with delight and foreboding. His father must have received his letter at the same time and would, therefore, be fully aware of his eldest son’s disobedience.

“Are you deep in the shit,” Peter said gleefully. He wiped his mouth and made to leave the table. “You were told to drop the idea – you knew he’d go postal about it.”

“Don’t you have a school for the mentally challenged to go to?” Adam snarled. “You know, I am sure they’ll award you your certificate in stating the frigging obvious any day now…”

Peter gave a derisive snort. “Well, what do you know? My big, strong, brilliant brother is about to shit himself over a chat with his daddy…”

“Drop dead, you God-forsaken troll!” It was too close to being true for Adam to ignore.

He hadn’t expected so prompt a response to his application and he’d banked on his mother being back before the letter arrived. Still, he was old enough to know he shouldn’t expect her to fight all of his battles. He would just have to speak to his father and explain his actions and his intentions. It shouldn’t be too difficult - man to… whatever his father was….

At ten o’clock precisely, John Svenson cleared his desk and sat with a clean blotter before him and the computer screen minimised to avoid distractions. He knew from past experience that sessions like this with his eldest son were never easy.

He watched the boy enter the room and walk towards him with an insouciance that bordered on rudeness. He’d be eighteen this summer and he was starting to fill out. Already over six feet tall, the broad shoulders and long legs which had made him seem such a gangling youth, now held the promise of strength and stamina. He was growing into an impressive man. John studied at his son’s face as he approached the desk. It was reminiscent of his own father’s, with pale blue eyes that verged on grey, a wide mouth, with a thin upper lip and full lower one so indicative of Adam’s proverbial obstinacy. But he had inherited the straight nose of the Ellis family, rather than the high-bridged nose of the Svensons. At least the boy is immune to flattery, if his reaction to the panegyric that sycophantic society journalist wrote recently is anything to go by… he thought.

John drew a deep breath and filled his lungs, ready to face his son’s expected defiance. He loved this boy with a profound emotion he had never recaptured with his other children – dear though they were to him. He could still recall the surge of pride he’d experienced when they put his firstborn son into his arms. He’d looked at his young wife, lying exhausted and exultant on her hospital bed, and felt something akin to adoration, so great was his gratitude to her for providing him with this precious link to the future.

As the boy had grown, revealing a bright, intelligent mind, he‘d made exhaustive plans for his education, for he expected great things from his son. He’d been pleased with his scheme for introducing Adam to the complex satisfaction to be gained from understanding the arcane world of finance. Together they’d dissected the annual report of the Daily Planet, prepared Bruce Wayne’s tax return and considered the financial advantages of charitable status for Professor Xavier’s school, despite Sarah’s pleas to ‘leave the boy alone’. Even now, he recalled those golden hours with pleasure, although he now realised that Adam’s smiling participation had been mere compliance with his father’s wishes, and not enthusiasm for the subject. Over the years, he had watched with helpless bewilderment as his son had inexorably grown away from him.

Most people would say ‘here is a son any man could be proud of’ and I am proud of him - Heaven only knows how proud! I’d be only too ready to demonstrate my pride - and my love - if Adam would only conform! How could this most promising of boys have turned out so stubborn, arrogant and selfish? he thought petulantly.

For Adam, this well-trodden path brought memories of a childhood spent trying to live up to his father’s expectations. He had gladly joined in the exercises about the intricacies of financial management, because it had guaranteed him several uninterrupted hours of his father’s attention. He knew he had his mother’s unconditional love and that his grandfather understood how he might see a life beyond the confines of the financial markets as more attractive – but it was his father’s approval he wanted, his love he needed to be reassured of.

With increasing maturity had come the realisation that this deception of compliance was not going to survive the growing surety he had that working for the family business was the last thing he wanted to do. An apparently limitless physical energy, a boundless curiosity and a love of adventure and change, were hardly the prerequisites of a desk-bound entrepreneur, at least in Adam’s opinion. Yet despite his attempts to explain this to his father, John Svenson remained wilfully blind to the truth.

He stood before his father’s desk, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his blue denim jeans, an expression of apparent unconcern on his face.

“Well?” John began, staring down the unspoken challenge.

“Well what?”

“What have you to say for yourself?”

Adam feigned ignorance. “About what?”

“Don’t treat me as a fool, boy! You have been making enquiries about taking a commission in the WAS – again!”

“So, what if I have? It does no harm to make enquires.”

“In case you have forgotten, young man, you are still under age, so they have sent me the forms to give my approval. I see no reason for me to give it, do you?”

“I thought I could do some of the cadet training courses and gain more flying experience…“

“You can fly down at the club whenever you like,” John interrupted. “That commits you to nothing.”

“Sure, little planes, but if I passed the first level course I could get to fly jets…” A spark of pure exhilaration flashed in his eyes, and his face radiated with an enthusiasm he never showed for financial matters.

“Why would you want to fly jets? If you need to travel we have the SvenCorp machines...”

“I’m not talking about those piddling, little executive jets – I’m talking of the new commercial jets or the military…”

“No – I will not agree to it. You will get yourself killed as like as not, and you should be concentrating on your studies anyway, not zooming round the skies pretending to be Lindbergh.”

Adam tried one last desperate appeal. “Dad, please, just sign the forms. If they’re not back before the deadline I will miss this year’s intake. You’ve known I’ve wanted to do this for years and last year you said that if I did well at Harvard you’d consider it this year… I got straight ‘A’s, Dad - and now you are reneging on that promise! Look, this doesn’t commit me to anything except the basic training, and maybe they won’t want to keep me on. A lot of kids try for WAS, and most don’t make it, so they’ll probably take one look at me in training and say ‘scram, buster!’ But I have to do this, Dad, I have to try.”

“No, you don’t. There is a position waiting for you with the company. You can join me when your finals are over – as we planned…”

“As you planned,” Adam protested. “All my life there’s been this unspoken directive that said ‘you will do this, because your father says so’. Well, this time I want to try something of my own.”

“It is ridiculous to turn your back on the advantages of working with the company, Adam, just to go flying planes! I thought it would cure you of that, once and for all, when we got you flying lessons and your pilot’s license.”

“Yeah, like giving liquor to an alcoholic,” Adam responded sullenly. “Dad, try to understand, please. I need to do this.”

“Rubbish. You need to take stock of your life, young man, and realise - sooner rather than later - that your future lies with your family, not with a bunch of no-hopers flying clapped-out planes.”

“I want to be a test pilot, Dad. The planes would be proto-types.”

“A pure irrelevance,” John snapped. “I forbid you to do this, Adam. Why waste the time of those people when you won’t be joining their flying circus anyway?”

“I will, if they want me to.”

“You will not!” John reiterated. “Not while you live in this house.”

“Oh, right! You want me to leave? Sounds great to me – I’ll go!”

“Don’t be foolish. Where would you go?”

“There are hotels.”

“And what would you use for money?”

“I have an allowance!”

“Not if you leave this house, you don’t.”

“Fine - I don’t care. I can get a job...”

“Doing what, exactly?” his father asked scathingly. “You’ve never had to lift a finger for yourself.”

“Whatever someone will pay me to do.” As Adam’s sense of injustice deepened and he struggled to keep his dignity before his father, his voice sank to little more than a hiss.

“Don’t be so damned stupid!” John said with asperity.

“I’ll manage.” Adam’s voice was now barely above a whisper.

“And what will you do when you fail your Harvard courses because you’ve been mucking around with planes?”

“That would make you happy, wouldn’t it? You’d like to see me fail. Then you think I would have to work for you because no-one else would want me. Well, I wouldn’t work for you – I’d rather sweep streets first!”

“Oh, stop it, you’re making me weep,” John mocked.

“You have never cared what I wanted, have you? Well, now I am a man in my own right…”

“A man? Hah! Hardly…”

“A man in my own right,” his son asserted with vehemence, “and not just some proto-financier you bred in your own image! I don’t want to be in The Company – I wouldn’t want it if it stood between me and starvation – can’t you understand that?”

“No, I cannot! The company you despise so much has put the gourmet food in your mouth and the designer clothes on your back – not to mention, bought you flying lessons and a plane of your own!” John raged at this unheard of sedition. “It has given you all the comforts a person could want and a lifestyle few could ever dream of!”

“I am sick of the company and of hearing about its miraculous prowess! I will make it simple, Dad – pay attention - I do not want to be a financier, a banker nor anything else that deals with pushing money from one place to another. I want to fly planes and if the WAS don’t want me I will try the airlines or the Air Force or a freight service. I will NOT work in the frigging company!”

“Get out of here - before I do something I might regret - you ungrateful, selfish, brat!” John roared.

Shaking with a frustrated rage, such as he had never experienced before, Adam turned on his heels and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

John sank back into his chair and glanced ruefully at the photograph of his wife, alongside the computer monitor. “Well,” he said, “I think that went well - considering - don’t you?” He dropped his head into his hands. “What am I going to do with him, Sal?”

Miss Lorraine O’Callaghan watched Adam storm upstairs and heard the bedroom door slam. There was nothing very unusual with that. Her employer and his eldest son locked horns regularly and she had learned the best thing to do was ignore it. This occasion, although loud and obviously vicious, had been comparatively brief, given that she could remember times when Mrs Svenson had had to separate the pair before murder was committed.

She continued with her work and only glanced up as she heard the upstairs door slam again, and the sound of feet running down the stairs. Here we go again, it’s a wonder the hinges on the doors in this house hold out as long as they do, she thought cynically.

Across the hallway she could see Adam, a camping back-pack across his shoulders, emerging from the coat cupboard with his leather jacket. He strode over to the main door, flung it open and strode out into the rain, leaving the door open. Moments later, his motorcycle kicked into life and roared down the drive.

John Svenson stormed out of his office. “Who was that?” he demanded.

“Mr Adam,” she replied as non committally as she could.

“Where was he going?”

“He didn’t mention.”

John Svenson threw a pile of papers on her desk. “I want these ready as soon as possible.” He gazed with some concern towards the door. “Damn that kid, he won’t listen to sense… when he comes back, tell him he’s grounded – for a month!”

“Mr Svenson, I can’t do that!” Lorrie protested, but he wasn’t listening, and he turned and slammed his office door behind him. She pursed her lips. “Miserable old tyrant,” she muttered

She glanced through the papers – there were numerous obvious mistakes – quite unlike his usual efficiency. The old man was rattled and that was unusual. He got angry easily enough, but it was normally a calculated anger, with a cutting edge of sarcastic disapproval that made weaker beings quake. Obviously, whatever they’d been arguing about had been important – to them both – because, come to think of it, it wasn’t like Adam to flounce around like that, either.

Perhaps my initial assessment of the incident was wrong? she thought. After a few minutes consideration, she picked up the phone to dial Los Angeles.

“This is Lorraine O’Callaghan, from Mr Svenson’s private office, in Boston. I am really sorry to be disturbing you so early in the morning, but is your sister still staying with you? I really need to speak urgently with Mrs Svenson…”

Moments later she was explaining the situation to an increasingly horrified Sarah.

~oo0oo~

Sarah’s unexpected arrival back in Boston in the early hours of the next day gave John a momentary stab of panic. He hadn’t had any sleep, preferring to wait up for the return of his son – who, to his increasing consternation, did not come home. He had rung the local hospitals, but not their friends and relatives – he was too proud to admit his son had walked out - but he took consolation from the fact that the boy was not hospitalised. He’d not been looking forward to telling Sarah that Adam was… missing, in fact, he’d been deliberately putting it off. His growing anxiety had caused him to snap even more than was usual at the younger children, so much so that they – including Peter, normally his faithful shadow - had been avoiding him since the evening meal, when the dining table had been dominated by an empty place setting.

One look at his wife’s face as she marched into his office - just as he was winding up a complex telephone conversation with his agent in Australia - was enough to tell him that someone else had already informed her of the situation.

Her hand reached out to break the connection as she stared with displeasure at her husband. He pushed her hand away and said, “Well, pursue it, Grocott, and keep me informed. I’ll expect a report by e-mail. I have to go, something has cropped up…”

“You’re damned right something has cropped up! Where’s Adam?”

John hung up the phone. “Hello, Sal, nice to have you back so soon. Nothing wrong, I hope?”

“Where is Adam?” she demanded, brushing off his embrace.