Billy Cunningham was a part of the Cunningham clan; his father, uncle, brother and assorted cousins jointly owned a fair slice of Texas they ran beef, drilled for oil, were into shipping, newspapers, radio and television, hotels, supermarkets and other real estate, and owned moderate tracts of downtown Dallas and Houston. The Cunningham Corporation was a power to be reckoned with in Texas, and Prince Billy was in the Bahamas to see what he could see.

I had first met him at Harvard Business School where, like me, he was being groomed for participation in the family business, and we had kept in touch, meeting at irregular intervals. When he telephoned just before Christmas asking to meet me on my own ground I said, "Sure. You'll be my guest."

"I want to pick your brains," he said.

"I might have a proposition for you."

That sounded interesting. The Cunningham Corporation was the kind of thing I was trying to build West End Securities into, though I had a long way to go. I had a notion that the Cunninghams were in a mind for expansion and Billy was coming to look over the chosen ground. I would rather cooperate than have them as competitors because they were a tough crowd, and I hoped that was what Billy had in mind. We fixed a date.

I met him at Freeport International Airport where he arrived in a company jet decked in the Cunningham colours. He had not changed much; he was tall, broad-shouldered and blond, with a deep tan and gleaming teeth. The Cunninghams seemed to run to film star good looks, those of them I had met. There was nothing about him to indicate he was American, no eccentricity of style which might reasonably be expected of a Texan. Texans are notorious, even in the United States, for their unselfconscious and nostalgic frontier rig. If he ever wore them, then Billy had left his ten- gallon hat, string tie and high-healed boots at home, and was dressed in a lightweight suit of obviously English cut. Being a Cunningham he would probably order them casually by the half-dozen from Huntsman ofSavile Row.

"How's the boy?" he said as we shook hands.

"I don't think you've met Debbie this is my little cousin."

Deborah Cunningham was as beautiful as the Cunningham menfolk were handsome; a tall, cool blonde.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Cunningham."

She smiled.

"Debbie, please."

"Tell me," said Billy.

"How long is the runway?"

That was a typical Billy Cunningham question; he had an insatiable curiosity and his questions, while sometimes apparently irrelevant, always had a bearing on his current train of thought. I said, "The last time I measured it came to 11,000 feet."

"Just about handle everything," he commented. He turned and watched the Cunningham Jet Star take off, then said, "Let's move."

I drove them through Freeport on my way to the Royal Palm Hotel. I was proud of the Royal Palm; for my money it was the best hotel in the Bahamas. Of course, it had been my money that had built it, and I was looking forward to seeing Billy's reaction. On the way I said, "Is this your first time in the Bahamas, Debbie?"

"Yes."

"Mine, too," said Billy. That surprised me, and I said so.

"Just never gotten around to it." He twisted in his seat.

"Which way is Freeport?"

"Right here. You're in downtown Freeport." He grunted in surprise, and I knew why. The spacious streets, lawns and widely separated low-slung buildings were like no other city centre he had seen.

"It shows what you can do when you build a city from scr atch. Twenty years ago this was all scrubland."

"Oh, look!" said Debbie.

"Isn't that a London bus?"

I laughed.

"The genuine article. There seems to be a mystique about those all over the English-speaking world I've seen them at Niagara, too. I think the London Transport Board makes quite a profit out of selling junk buses as farming tourist attractions."

In the foyer of the Royal Palm Billy looked around with an experienced eye. The Cunningham Corporation ran its own hotels and knew how they ticked. He glanced upwards and gave a long, slow whistle. The foyer rose the entire height of the hotel, a clear eight storeys with the bedrooms circling it on mezzanines.

"Wow!" he said.

"Isn't that a lot of wasted space?"

I smiled; even the Cunninghams had a lot to learn.

"It might be in a city hotel, but this is a resort hotel. There's a difference."

Jack Fletcher, the hotel manager, was standing by and I introduced him to the Cunninghams. He booked them in with as few formalities as possible, then said, "Here are your room keys Mr. Cunningham, Miss Cunningham." He gave Billy another key.

"Your car's in the garage."

I said, "Find another car for Miss Cunningham; she might like to do some sightseeing by herself " Hey! " said Billy.

"No need for that."

I shrugged.

"No sweat; we run a car hire company and the season hasn't topped out yet. We have a few cars spare."

He took me by the elbow and led me to one side.

"I'd like to talk with you as soon as possible."

"You always were in a hurry."

"Why not? I get things done that way. Say, fifteen minutes?"

"I'll be in the bar." He nodded in satisfaction.

He was down in ten minutes and strode into the bar at a quick clip.

After ordering him a drink I said, "Where's Debbie?"

Billy smiled crookedly.

"You know women; she'll take a while to prettify herself." He accepted the bourbon on the rocks.

"Thanks."

"Your room all right?"

"Fine." He frowned.

"But I still say you're wasting a hell of a lot of space."

"You're thinking in terms of city downtown hotels. Space is cheap here and the clientele is different." I decided to push.

"What are you here for. Billy? You mentioned a proposition."

"Well, we have a few dollars going spare and we're looking for somewhere to invest. What's your idea of the future of the Bahamas?"

"My God, Billy, but you have a nerve! You want to come in here as a competitor and you're asking my advice?"

He laughed.

"You won't lose out on it. You've already said a couple of things that have set me thinking. We think we know how to run hotels back home, but it might be different here. Maybe we could set up a partnership of sorts and use your local expertise."

"A consortium?" He nodded, and I said contemplatively, "A few dollars. How few would they be?"

"About forty million few."

The bartender was standing close by, polishing an already over-polished glass. I said, "Let's go and sit at that corner table."

We took our drinks and sat down.

"I think the future of the Bahamas is pretty good. Do you know much of our recent history?"

"I've done my homework." He gave me a swift and concise resume.

I nodded.

"That's about it. You Americans are now coming to the realization that Pindling isn't an ogre and that he runs a fairly stable and conservative government. He's safe. Now, let's come to your hotels and the way you run them. Your clientele consists of businessmen and oil men, fast on their feet and on the move. They want fast service and good service, and they're here today and gone tomorrow. Because your land values in the city are so enormous you pack them in tight and charge them the earth because you have to. If you didn't the operation wouldn't pay; it would be more profitable to sell up and move into some other business. Have I got it right?"

"Just about. Those guys can pay, anyway; we don't get many complaints."

I waved my arm.

"What do you think of this place?"

"Very luxurious."

I smiled.

"It's intended to look that way; I'm glad you think it succeeds. Look, Billy; your average tourist here isn't a jet- setter and he doesn't have all that many dollars to spend. He's a man and his wife, and maybe his kids, from Cleveland, Ohio. Perhaps he's done one trip to Europe, but he can't go again because Europe is too damned expensive these days and the dollar is bloody weak. So he comes here because he's going foreign and economizing at the same time. Big deal."