Free Wings of the Morning by Julian Beale

which seemed larger than David
remembered. They sat facing each other across the table which centred in the room. Sol became suddenly earnest and produced from under his arm a well used folder which he announced as being the
source of all necessary information on Kirchoff and Son.
    ‘Davy’, he said, ‘the guiding principles of any business, be it ICI or a market stall, is that you must have a product which people want to buy, and secondly, you must cherish
your customers. Everything else flows from these two commandments. Now in our case, you might think that the product is to be found within these pages’, and he riffled through a kaleidoscope
of ploughs, tractors and trailers interspersed with endless obscure widgets. ‘But it’s not. All these products are important for sure but for us, Davy, our business is the total service
which we provide to bring these things to our customers all over the world.’
    David felt patronised. ‘Sol,’ he replied, ‘I already know that your business is in export trading. You don’t have to make a mystery out of it.’
    ‘Fair enough and I stand rebuked,’ he shot back with a disarming grin, ‘and yet that’s my very point. I don’t seek to make a mystery. I just want you to understand
my philosophy, which is that if you look after the customer, he will in turn look after us.’ He laid emphasis on that final word, ‘us’, and then he sat back in his chair to look
David in the eye. Both of them knew what was coming next.
    ‘Davy’, he said, ‘I’m going to suggest that it’s time for both of us to take a little gamble. You need a job. You don’t really know what. You have been
imagining that you will go to work one day for some big shot colossus where you’ll wear sharp suits and eat one day in the senior staff canteen. You’ve never dreamt of throwing in your
lot with some little Jewish outfit. What will the family say?’
    ‘I don’t have a family.’
    ‘Sure. I know that. And I didn’t say it to offend. But you know what I mean, Davy. You come to work for Kirchoff and Son, and tongues will wag. No?’
    ‘I understand what you’re saying well enough, but I’m not troubled by that. I’ve always had to buck a few trends. What I don’t know is why you want me. I’m
untried and untested. What is it that I’ve got to offer?’
    Sol said, ‘We need help, Davy. We need some more firepower. Look here,’ and he bunched himself forward on his chair, ‘we have an excellent small company which is set and ready
to expand. But I’m growing a little old and tired before my time. There’s reason for that and I’m content that Martin has told you about our family history. I can’t go on as
I am forever.’
    There was a silence between them, a lull over which washed the background rumble of the conversation which was engrossing Martin and King and the rattle of the secretary’s typewriter.
Finally, Sol continued.
    ‘And there’s another matter which is all to do with Martin. I’m glad you know already that he’s not my son in the strict meaning. But in terms of love and companionship,
he’s everything to me. Even so, Martin is his own person. He has his own characteristics, his own skills and his own strengths. He’s an individual. I can’t do without him, but
equally, Martin can’t replace me.
    He needs help you see. He needs the courage and confidence which flows from having a friend and confidant to share the triumphs and tribulations. But also, Davy, this business has to have a lead
salesman, a champion who will get out there to proclaim our cause and to shout about our qualities. Of course, Martin is himself one such quality, but he will never say so, not to himself and much
less to a customer.’
    It made sense. David could see that there was a role for him in this burgeoning enterprise, and the prospect gave him a surge of excitement. He was hugging this to himself when he became
conscious that the background noises downstairs had