Paragon

This is the prologue of the Conway Saga Series, approximately 9 years before Brad Conway ever met the woman with whom he fell head over heels in love. He was now the owner of the vast estate, still living with back pain from the accident which had killed his parents, an accident that should have kept him confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Yet he was adamant that he and the almighty God had an ‘understanding’, never exactly explaining what he meant by that unbelievable statement. But making him widely known as London's 'miracle man'.

It was quiet now. The chaos that had reigned in the mansion for over an hour seemed to have subsided at last. Of course, that was because Brad had ordered all of them to bed. Even Mark, who was sixteen already and had made it clear that he was no longer a child! He had gone willingly enough, though Brad was not sure whether that was because he accepted his elder brother's authority, or whether he was just too scared to refuse!

As he carried his coffee through to the study, Brad was aware of a gnawing ache somewhere in his right shoulder. He set the mug down on the dark mahogany desk, and rubbed the painful spot. He supposed it served him right if he had hurt himself, but he knew that his father would have handled the situation in much the same way, had he been alive. Joseph Conway had been a great believer in the adage, 'Spare the rod and spoil the child'. Ian would not have got away scot-free. He would have been severely punished for smacking his little sister in a fit of temper.

However, Brad was painfully aware that he had botched the whole thing! If Ian had not added to his offense by his impertinence and the obscene language, he may well have been able to get away with a verbal 'telling off'. After all, Brad had no wish to use the strap that his father had kept for the purpose of occasionally needing to 'train' his children. But Ian had openly challenged his elder brother's authority when he had screamed defiantly, "You can't tell me what to do," and had followed that outburst with a string of profanities that had left them all open-mouthed in shock.

Brad had really had no choice. In any case, by that time his own temper was no longer under control. He had literally dragged his young brother into the study, snatched the strap from its place on the back of the door, and deposited six hard, stinging, and extremely painful strokes on the boy's rear end.

It hadn't surprised him when Ian had run from the study, yelling so loud that the whole estate had probably heard him.

"I hate you! You're not my father! I hate you - you monster!"

Brad slumped down into the chair behind the desk, scowling at the blank sheet of paper in his electric typewriter. Yes, he thought. He felt like a monster! And when he had emerged from the study in Ian's wake, the looks that his siblings had given him had confirmed that they thought he had acted like one, too.

He sighed heavily. Usually, he did his best work when he was under stress, but writing held no joy for him at the moment. He could only think about the pandemonium in the house that he had caused by trying to prove his newly acquired authority. Even Mrs. Prince, the faithful housekeeper who had been there for as long as he could remember, had emerged from her supervision of the kitchen staff, to find out what all the shouting was about.

She had calmed little Jessica, dried her tears, and listened while each of the children in turn gave their version of the whole unhappy episode, until the sordid story finally came out. Then she had fixed Brad with one of her frankly disapproving stares designed to make him feel like a schoolboy. He had raised his chin in a gesture of defiance. She had not asked for his version.

"Don't give me that look, Nanny!" he had said coldly. "I am now the head of this family, and the sooner everyone accepts that, the better!"

He was sorry now that he had spoken to the housekeeper that way. She had been with them since he was a boy, long before his father had married the lovely lady who had helped him develop from the amazing child prodigy he was, to the talented pianist he had become. The lady that he had come to love as the only mother he could remember.

Mrs. Prince had automatically stepped in to take care of the children after the dreadful accident had cruelly robbed them of both of their parents. The same accident that had left Brad with such a serious spinal injury that it was almost inevitable that he would never walk again! Especially with his added allergies, inherited from his biological mother. Sheer determination, an unshakeable faith in God, and a strong sense of responsibility had helped him fight the hardest battle in all of his twenty-two years, and here he was, only eight months later, trying to take up his position as head of the Conway dynasty.

He had made a terrible mess of things tonight, he decided. Though the outcome would have been the same, and Ian would probably have received just as severe a hiding, his father would certainly have never lost his temper. Joseph Conway had been a wonderful, loving husband and father, strict, and yet slow to any form of anger. A veritable paragon of virtue!

Brad ran his fingers through his mop of thick dark hair. He needed to work! He needed to allow his imagination free reign as he created another best seller! That would take his mind off his problems, and open up a doorway into escapism. But when the paper in the typewriter remained blank, he realised that he did not really want to escape. What he wanted to do was sort out the mess he had caused. Right now! His father would not have waited until the morning. But, then again, his father would never have allowed things to get to such a stage in the first place!