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factory, assuming he had one, to spring into life and stimulate
some growth. Jez remained silent. His heart gave a surge
when his father produced his cheque-book and wrote out a
cheque.
'Thanks, Dad, that's great,' Jez blurted, taking the cheque.
Til get the money out of my account on Saturday.'
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'No you won't. You leave it in there. Look upon that as
an early birthday present, and not a word to your mother.'
Jez thanked him profusely and shot up to his bedroom,
almost hugging himself in delight. In any other circumstances
he would have felt guilty about deceiving his father,
but not where the Sabre spaceplane was concerned.
17
Paul Santos was never one to thump the table at a meeting,
but there were times when those who had to deal with him
wished that he were a little more demonstrative and a little
less intransigent. When Paul refused to budge on a point
his customary charm disappeared, his French bloody
mindedness surfaced and he could be as unyielding as the
Arc de Triomphe.
'No,' he repeated.
Sir Andrew Hobson, chairman of British Airways, was
always ill at ease when having to deal with this disconcerting
Frenchman who spoke English as though he had been to
Sandhurst. He looked to his colleagues for support, but they
studiously avoided his gaze. It was their way of telling him
that he had picked this confrontation with Paul Santos and
he could pull his own chestnuts out of the fire. Outside the
office, London traffic went about its droning bustle.
'Mr Santos, it is customary for the passengers on an
inaugural service's first flight to be specially invited. Heads
of the big travel companies; tour operator chiefs. People
who are important to the future success of the Sabre.'
Paul shook his head. 'The people who are important to
the success of the Sabre, Sir Andrew, are the bourgeoisie the
millions of ordinary men and women who will choose to
fly in it over the next two decades. Not a handful of
worthies and members of the aristocracy. I have said all
along that I do not wish the Sabre to become a plush conveyance
for privileged merchant princes as happened with
Concorde.'
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Hobson grunted dismissively. 'There was no choice with
Concorde, Mr Santos. Air France and BA had to operate
within a restrictive framework of international air fare
agreements.'
'Which, thankfully, no longer exist,' Paul pointed out.
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Hobson nodded. 'True. But whatever happens, all Sabre
operators will have to offer a one-class first-class service.
We've agreed that.'
'That I have accepted,' Paul replied. 'But for the inaugural
service I must insist on the appropriate contract clause being
adhered to.'
Hobson's eyebrows signalled a message across the table to
David Morgan, his recently appointed manager of space
flight operations: what contract clause?
Paul saw the gesture and interpreted it correctly. 'I'm
referring to the clause that says the inaugural flight shall
consist wholly of fare-paying passengers.'
Hobson shrugged. He disliked this sort of lawyer
mentality nit-picking. 'All that means is that we'll be paying
their fares. So what?'
Paul was unperturbed by the other man's hostility. 'The
French and English contracts have identical meanings, Sir
Andrew. Fare-paying passengers means that each passenger
pays his or her own fare at the normal rate for a first-class
London-Sydney flight. This is something that I have insisted
on as part of the loan contract. It is not an unreasonable
clause, bearing in mind that you and Air France have yet to
place definite orders.' He smiled, his charm breaking
through. 'Sabre Industries does what it's good at - flying
VIPs around on free trips to sell the Sabre. And you do what
you're good at, which is selling seats. You'll have to forgive
me, Sir Andrew, but I've given way on so many issues lately.
For example, much against my instinct and wishes, the
Sabre's cabin is going to look like the interior of a school
bus. Therefore please understand if I refuse to give way on
this. It is very important to me.'
The chairman of the world's favourite airline wasn't going
to give in that easily. 'But this is ridiculous! So what do we
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do? We advertise the flight and you know what will happen?
We'll be flooded with people wanting to buy tickets. Our
agents and offices will be inundated with needless and
expensive work! For every seat we'll have to cope with a
thousand applications!'
'More like ten thousand,' said Morgan, and received a
baleful glare as a reward for his observation.
That would be excellent,' said Paul. 'With a little showmanship,
you could turn the problem to your advantage.
Hold a big gala draw for the seats. Sell the rights to a TV
company. You'd get more publicity that way, and you'd be
earning revenue from day one.' He smiled and glanced at his
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