Master of the Game motg-1

by Sidney Sheldon

  Kate was invited to dine with kings and queens and presidents, all seeking her favor, her goodwill. A new Kruger-Brent factory could mean the difference between poverty and riches. Power. The company was alive, a growing giant that had to be fed, and sometimes sacrifices were necessary, for the giant could not be shackled. Kate understood that now. It had a rhythm, a pulse, and it had become her own.

  In March, a year after they had moved to New York, Kate fell unwell. David persuaded her to see a doctor. "His name is John Harley. He's a young doctor with a good reputation."

  Reluctantly, Kate went to see him. John Harley was a thin, serious-looking young Bostonian about twenty-six, five yean younger than Kate.

  "I warn you," Kate informed him, "I don't have time to be sick." "I'll bear that in mind, Mrs. Blackwell. Meanwhile, let's have a look at you."

  Dr. Harley examined her, made some tests and said, "I'm sure it's nothing serious. I'll have the results in a day or two. Give me a call on Wednesday."

  Early Wednesday morning Kate telephoned Dr. Harley. have good news for you, Mrs. Blackwell," he said cheerfully "You're going to have a baby."

  It was one of the most exciting moments of Kate's life. She could not wait to tell David.

  She had never seen David so thrilled. He scooped her up in his strong arms and said, "It's going to be a girl, and she'll look exactly like you." He was thinking, This is exactly what Kate needs. Now she'll stay home more. She'll be more of a wife.

  And Kate was thinking, It will be a boy. One day he'll take over Kruger-Brent.

  As the time for the birth of the baby drew nearer, Kate worked shorter hours, but she still went to the office every day.

  "Forget about the business and relax," David advised her.

  What he did not understand was that the business was Kate's relaxation.

  The baby was due in December. 'I'll try for the twenty-fifth," Kate promised David. "He'll be our Christmas present."

  It's going to be a perfect Christmas, Kate thought. She was head of a great conglomerate, she was married to the man she loved and she was going to have his baby. If there was irony in the order of her priorities, Kate was not aware of it.

  Her body had grown large and clumsy, and it was getting more and more difficult for Kate to go to the office, but whenever David or Brad Rogers suggested she stay home, her answer was, "My brain is still working." Two months before the baby was due, David was in South Africa on an inspection tour of the mine at Pniel. He was scheduled to return to New York the following week.

  Kate was at her desk when Brad Rogers walked in unannounced. She looked at the grim expression on his face and said, "We lost the Shannon deal!"

  "No. I— Kate, I just got word. There's been an accident. A mine explosion."

  She felt a sharp pang. "Where? Was it bad? Was anyone killed?"

  Brad took a deep breath. "Half a dozen. Kate— David was with them."

  The words seemed to fill the room and reverberate against the paneled walls, growing louder and louder, until it was a scream-ing in her ears, a Niagara of sound that was drowning her, and she felt herself being sucked into its center, deeper and deeper, until she could no longer breathe.

  And everything became dark and silent.

  The baby was born one hour later, two months premature. Kate named him Anthony James Blackwell, after David's father. I'll love you, my son, for me, and I'll love you for your father. One month later the new Fifth Avenue mansion was ready, and Kate and the baby and a staff of servants moved into it. Two castles in Italy had been stripped to furnish the house. It was a showplace, with elaborately carved sixteenth-century Italian walnut furniture and rose-marble floors bordered with sienna-red marble. The paneled library boasted a magnificent eighteenth-century fireplace over which hung a rare Holbein. There was a trophy room with David's gun collection, and an art gallery that Kate filled with Rembrandts and Vermeers and Velazquezes and Bellinis. There was a ballroom and a sun room and a formal dining room and a nursery next to Kate's room, and uncounted bedrooms. In the large formal gardens were statues by Rodin, Augustus Saint-Gaudens and Maillol. It was a palace fit for a king. And the king is growing up in it, Kate thought happily.

  In 1928, when Tony was four, Kate sent him to nursery school. He was a handsome, solemn little boy, with bis mother's gray eyes and stubborn chin. He was given music lessons, and when he was five he attended dancing school. Some of the best times the two of them spent together were at Cedar Hill House in Dark Harbor. Kate bought a yacht, an eighty-foot motor sailer she named the Corsair, and she and Tony cruised the waters along the coast of Maine. Tony adored it. But it was the work that gave Kate her greatest pleasure.

  There was something mystic about the company Jamie McGregor had founded. It was alive, consuming. It was her lover, and it would never die on a winter day and leave her alone. It would live forever. She would see to it. And one day she would give it to her son.

  The only disturbing factor in Kate's life was her homeland. She cared deeply about South Africa. The racial problems there were growing, and Kate was troubled. There were two political camps: the verkramptes—the narrow ones, the pro-segregationists—and the verligtes—the enlightened ones, who wanted to improve the position of the blacks. Prime Minister James Hert-zog and Jan Smuts had formed a coalition and combined their power to have the New Land Act passed. Blacks were removed from the rolls and were no longer able to vote or own land. Millions of people belonging to different minority groups were disrupted by the new law. The areas that had no minerals, industrial centers or ports were assigned to coloreds, blacks and Indians.

  Kate arranged a meeting in South Africa with several high government officials. "This is a time bomb," Kate told them. "What you're doing is trying to keep eight million people in slavery."

  "It's not slavery, Mrs. Blackwell. We're doing this for their own good."

  "Really? How would you explain that?"

  "Each race has something to contribute. If the blacks mingle with the whites, they'll lose their individuality. We're trying to protect them."

  "That's bloody nonsense," Kate retorted. "South Africa has become a racist hell"

  "That's not true. Blacks from other countries come thousands of miles in order to enter this country. They pay as much as fifty-six pounds for a forged pass. The black is better off here than anywhere else on earth."

  "Then I pity them," Kate retorted.

  "They're primitive children, Mrs. Blackwell. It's for their own good."

  Kate left the meeting frustrated and deeply fearful for her country.

  Kate was also concerned about Banda. He was in the news a good deal. The South African newspapers were calling him the scarlet pimpernel, and there was a grudging admiration in their stories. He escaped the police by disguising himself as a laborer, a chauffeur, a janitor. He had organized a guerrilla army and he headed the police's most-wanted list. One article in the Cape Times told of his being carried triumphantly through the streets of a black village on the shoulders of demonstrators. He went from village to village addressing crowds of students, but every time the police got wind of his presence, Banda disappeared. He was said to have a personal bodyguard of hundreds of friends and followers, and he slept at a different house every night. Kate knew that nothing would stop him but death.

  She had to get in touch with him. She summoned one of her veteran black foremen, a man she trusted. "William, do you think you can find Banda?"

  "Only if he wishes to be found."

  "Try. I want to meet with him."

  "I'll see what I can do."

  The following morning the foreman said, "If you are free this evening, a car will be waiting to take you out to the country."

  Kate was driven to a small village seventy miles north of Johannesburg. The driver stopped in front of a small frame house, and Kate went inside. Banda was waiting for her. He looked exactly the same as when Kate had last seen him. And he must be sixty years old, Kate thought. He had been on the run
from the police for years, and yet he appeared serene and calm.

  He hugged Kate and said, "You look more beautiful every time I see you."

  She laughed. "I'm getting old. I'm going to be forty in a few years."

  'The years sit lightly on you, Kate."

  They went into the kitchen, and while Banda fixed coffee, Kate said, "I don't like what's happening, Banda. Where is it going to lead?"

  "It will get worse," Banda said simply. "The government will not allow us to speak with them. The whites have destroyed the bridges between us and them, and one day they will find they need those bridges to reach us. We have our heroes now, Kate. Nehemiah Tile, Mokone, Richard Msimang. The whites goad us and move us around like cattle to pasture."

  "Not all whites think like that," Kate assured him. "You have friends who are fighting to change things. It will happen one day, Banda, but it will take time."

  'Time is like sand in an hourglass. It runs out."

  "Banda, what's happened to Ntame and to Magena?"

  "My wife and son are in hiding," Banda said sadly. "The police are still very busy looking for me."

  "What can I do to help? I can't just sit by and do nothing. Will money help?"

  "Money always helps."

  "I will arrange it. What else?"

  'Pray. Pray for all of us."

  The following morning, Kate returned to New York.

  When Tony was old enough to travel, Kate took him on busi-ness trips during his school holidays. He was fond of museums, and he could stand for hours looking at the paintings and statues of the great masters. At home, Tony sketched copies of the paintings on the wall, but he was too self-conscious to let his Bother see his work.

  He was sweet and bright and fun to be with, and there was a shyness about him that people found appealing. Kate was proud of her son. He was always first in his class. "You beat all of them, didn't you, darling?" And she would laugh and hold him fiercely in her arms.

  And young Tony would try even harder to live up to his mother's expectations.

  In 1936, on Tony's twelfth birthday, Kate returned from a trip to the Middle East. She had missed Tony and was eager to see him. He was at home waiting for her. She took him in her arms and hugged him. "Happy birthday, darling! Has it been a good day?" "Y-yes, m-ma'am. It's b-b-been wonderful." Kate pulled back and looked at him. She had never noticed him stutter before. "Are you all right, Tony?" "F-fine, thank you, M-mother."

  "You mustn't stammer," she told him. "Speak more slowly."

  "Yes, M-mother."

  Over the next few weeks, it got worse. Kate decided to talk to Dr. Harley. When he finished the examination, John Harley said, "Physically, there's nothing wrong with the boy, Kate. Is he under any kind of pressure?"

  "My son? Of course not. How can you ask that?"

  "Tony's a sensitive boy. Stuttering is very often a physical manifestation of frustration, an inability to cope."

  "You're wrong, John. Tony is at the very top of all the achievement tests in school. Last term he won three awards. Best all-around athlete, best all-around scholar and best student in the arts. I'd hardly call that unable to cope."

  "I see." He studied her. "What do you do when Tony stammers, Kate?"

  "I correct him, of course."

  "I would suggest that you don't. That will only make him more tense."

  Kate was stung to anger. "If Tony has any psychological problems, as you seem to think, I can assure you it's not because of bis mother. I adore him. And he's aware that I think he's the most fantastic child on earth."

  And that was the core of the problem. No child could live up to that. Dr. Harley glanced down at his chart. "Let's see now. Tony is twelve?"

  "Yes."

  "Perhaps it might be good for him if he went away for a while. Maybe a private school somewhere."

  Kate just stared at him.

  "Let him be on his own a bit. Just until he finishes high school. They have some excellent schools in Switzerland."

  Switzerland! The idea of Tony being so far away from her was appalling. He was too young, he was not ready yet, he— Dr. Harley was watching her. "I'll think about it," Kate told him.

  That afternoon she canceled a board meeting and went home early. Tony was in his room, doing homework.

  Tony said, "I g-g-got all A's t-today, M-mother."

  "What would you think of going to school in Switzerland, darling?" And his eyes lit up and he said, "M-m-may I?"

  Six weeks later, Kate put Tony aboard a ship. He was on his way to the Institute Le Rosey in Rolle, a small town on the shore of Lake Geneva. Kate stood at the New York pier and watched until the huge liner cut loose from the tugboats. Bloody hell! I'm going to miss him. Then she turned and walked back to the limousine waiting to take her to the office.

  Kate enjoyed working with Brad Rogers. He was forty-six, two years older than Kate. They had become good friends through the years, and she loved him for his devotion to Kruger-Brent. Brad was unmarried and had a variety of attractive girl friends, but gradually Kate became aware that he was half in love with her. More than once he made studiously ambiguous remarks, but she chose to keep their relationship on an impersonal, business level. She broke that pattern only once.

  Brad had started seeing someone regularly. He stayed out late every night and came into morning meetings tired and distracted, his mind elsewhere. It was bad for the company. When a month went by and his behavior was becoming more flagrant, Kate decided that something had to be done. She remembered how close David had come to quitting the company because of a woman. She would not let that happen with Brad.

  Kate had planned to travel to Paris alone to acquire an import-export company, but at the last minute she asked Brad to accompany her. They spent the day of their arrival in meetings and that evening had dinner at the Grand Vefour. Afterward, Kate suggested that Brad join her in her suite at the George V to go over the reports on the new company. When he arrived, Kate was waiting for him in a filmy negligee.

  "I brought the revised offer with me," Brad began, "so we—"

  "That can wait," Kate said softly. There was an invitation in her voice that made him look at her again. "I wanted us to be alone, Brad."

  "Kate—"

  She moved into his arms and held him close.

  "My God!" he said. "I've wanted you for so long."

  "And I you, Brad."

  And they moved into the bedroom.

  Kate was a sensual woman, but all of her sexual energy had long since been harnessed into other channels. She was completely fulfilled by her work. She needed Brad for other reasons.

  He was on top of her, and she moved her legs apart and felt his hardness in her, and it was neither pleasant nor unpleasant.

  "Kate, I've loved you for so long ..."

  He was pressing into her, moving in and out in an ancient, timeless rhythm, and she thought, They're asking too bloody much for the company. They're going to hold out because they know I really want it.

  Brad was whispering words of endearment in her ear.

  I could call off the negotiations and wait for them to come back to me. But what if they don't? Do I dare risk losing the deal?

  His rhythm was faster now, and Kate moved her hips, thrusting against his body.

  No. They could easily find another buyer. Better to pay them what they want. I'll make up for it by selling off one of their subsidiaries.

  Brad was moaning, in a frenzy of delight, and Kate moved faster, bringing him to a climax.

  I'll tell them I've decided to meet their terms.

  There was a long, shuddering gasp, and Brad said, "Oh, God, Kate, it was wonderful. Was it good for you, darling?"

  "It was heaven."

  She lay in Brad's arms all night, thinking and planning, while he slept. In the morning when he woke up, she said, "Brad, that woman you've been seeing—"

  "My God! You're jealous!" He laughed happily. "Forget about her. I'll never see her again, I promise."


  Kate never went to bed with Brad again. When he could not understand why she refused him, all she said was, "You don't know how much I want to, Brad, but I'm afraid we wouldn't be able to work together any longer. We must both make a sacrifice." And he was forced to live with that.

  As the company kept expanding, Kate set up charitable foundations that contributed to colleges, churches and schools. She kept adding to her art collection. She acquired the great Renaissance and post-Renaissance artists Raphael and Titian, Tintoretto and El Greco; and the baroque painters Rubens, Caravaggio and Vandyck.

  The Blackwell collection was reputed to be the most valuable private collection in the world. Reputed, because no one outside of invited guests was permitted to see it. Kate would not allow it to be photographed, nor would she discuss it with the press. She had strict, inflexible rules about the press. The personal life of the Blackwell family was off limits. Neither servants nor employees of the company were permitted to discuss the Blackwell family. It was impossible, of course, to stop rumors and speculation, for Kate Blackwell was an intriguing enigma—one of the richest, most powerful women in the world. There were a thousand questions about her, but few answers.

  Kate telephoned the headmistress at Le Rosey. "I'm calling to find out how Tony is."

  "Ah, he is doing very well, Mrs. Blackwell. Your son is a superb student. He—"

  "I wasn't referring to that. I meant—" She hesitated, as though reluctant to admit there could be a weakness in the Blackwell family. "I meant his stammering."

  "Madame, there is no sign of any stammering. He is perfectly fine.'

  Kate heaved an inward sigh of relief. She had known all along that it was only temporary, a passing phase of some kind. So much for doctors!