Master of the Game (15 page)

She looked up, and Jamie was standing there. “Collect your things,” he ordered. “You’re getting off the train.”

He still thinks he can buy me
, Margaret thought. “How much are you offering this time?”

Jamie looked down at his son, peacefully asleep in Margaret’s arms. “I’m offering you marriage.”

They were married three days later in a brief, private ceremony. The only witness was David Blackwell.

During the wedding ceremony, Jamie McGregor was filled with mixed emotions. He was a man who had grown used to controlling and manipulating others, and this time it was he who had been manipulated. He glanced at Margaret. Standing next to him, she looked almost beautiful. He remembered her passion and abandon, but it was only a memory, nothing more, without heat or emotion. He had used Margaret as an instrument of vengeance, and she had produced his heir.

The minister was saying, “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Jamie leaned forward and briefly touched his lips to Margaret’s cheek.

“Let’s go home,” Jamie said. His son was waiting for him.

When they returned to the house, Jamie showed Margaret to a bedroom in one of the wings.

“This is your bedroom,” Jamie informed her.

“I see.”

“I’ll hire another housekeeper and put Mrs. Talley in charge
of Jamie. If there’s anything you require, tell David Blackwell.”

Margaret felt as though he had struck her. He was treating her like a servant. But that was not important.
My son has a name. That is enough for me
.

Jamie did not return home for dinner. Margaret waited for him, then finally dined alone. That night she lay awake in her bed, aware of every sound in the house. At four o’clock in the morning, she finally fell asleep. Her last thought was to wonder which of the women at Madam Agnes’s he had chosen.

If Margaret’s relationship with Jamie was unchanged since their marriage, her relationship with the townspeople of Klipdrift underwent a miraculous transformation. Overnight, Margaret went from being an outcast to becoming Klipdrift’s social arbiter. Most of the people in town depended for their living in one way or another on Jamie McGregor and Kruger-Brent, Ltd. They decided that if Margaret van der Merwe was good enough for Jamie McGregor, she was good enough for them. Now when Margaret took little Jamie for an outing, she was met with smiles and cheery greetings. Invitations poured in. She was invited to teas, charity luncheons and dinners and urged to head civic committees. When she dressed her hair in a different way, dozens of women in town instantly followed suit. She bought a new yellow dress, and yellow dresses were suddenly popular. Margaret handled their fawning in the same manner she had handled their hostility—with quiet dignity.

Jamie came home only to spend time with his son. His attitude toward Margaret remained distant and polite. Each morning at breakfast she played the role of happy wife for the servants’ benefit, despite the cool indifference of the man sitting across the table from her. But when Jamie had gone and she could escape to her room, she would be drenched in perspiration. She hated herself. Where was her pride? Because Margaret knew she still loved Jamie.
I’ll always love him
, she thought.
God help me
.

Jamie was in Cape Town on a three-day business trip. As he came out of the Royal Hotel, a liveried black driver said, “Carriage, sir?”

“No,” Jamie said. “I’ll walk.”

“Banda thought you might like to ride.”

Jamie stopped and looked sharply at the man. “Banda?”

“Yes, Mr. McGregor.”

Jamie got into the carriage. The driver flicked his whip and they started off. Jamie sat back in his seat, thinking of Banda, his courage, his friendship. He had tried many times to find him in the last two years, with no success. Now he was on his way to meet his friend.

The driver turned the carriage toward the waterfront, and Jamie knew instantly where they were going. Fifteen minutes later the carriage stopped in front of the deserted warehouse where Jamie and Banda had once planned their adventure into the Namib.
What reckless young fools we were
, Jamie thought. He stepped out of the carriage and approached the warehouse. Banda was waiting for him. He looked exactly the same, except that now he was neatly dressed in a suit and shirt and tie.

They stood there, silently grinning at each other, then they embraced.

“You look prosperous,” Jamie smiled.

Banda nodded. “I’ve not done badly. I bought that farm we talked about. I have a wife and two sons, and I raise wheat and ostriches.”

“Ostriches?”

“Their feathers bring in lots of money.”

“Ah. I want to meet your family, Banda.”

Jamie thought of his own family in Scotland, and of how much he missed them. He had been away from home for four years.

“I’ve been trying to find you.”

“I’ve been busy, Jamie.” Banda moved closer. “I had to see you to give you a warning. There’s going to be trouble for you.”

Jamie studied him. “What kind of trouble?”

“The man in charge of the Namib field—Hans Zimmerman—he’s
bad. The workers hate him. They’re talking about walking out. If they do, your guards will try to stop them and there will be a riot.”

Jamie never took his eyes from Banda’s face.

“Do you remember I once mentioned a man to you—John Tengo Javabu?”

“Yes. He’s a political leader. I’ve been reading about him. He’s been stirring up a
donderstorm.”

“I’m one of his followers.”

Jamie nodded. “I see. I’ll do what has to be done,” Jamie promised.

“Good. You’ve become a powerful man, Jamie. I’m glad.”

“Thank you, Banda.”

“And you have a fine-looking son.”

Jamie could not conceal his surprise. “How do you know that?”

“I like to keep track of my friends.” Banda rose to his feet. “I have a meeting to go to, Jamie. I’ll tell them things will be straightened out at the Namib.”

“Yes. I’ll attend to it.” He followed the large black man to the door. “When will I see you again?”

Banda smiled. “I’ll be around. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

And Banda was gone.

When Jamie returned to Klipdrift, he sent for young David Blackwell. “Has there been any trouble at the Namib field, David?”

“No, Mr. McGregor.” He hesitated. “But I have heard rumors that there might be.”

“The supervisor there is Hans Zimmerman. Find out if he’s mistreating the workers. If he is, put a stop to it. I want you to go up there yourself.”

“I’ll leave in the morning.”

When David arrived at the diamond field at the Namib, he spent two hours quietly talking to the guards and the workers.
What he heard filled him with a cold fury. When he had learned what he wanted to know, he went to see Hans Zimmerman.

Hans Zimmerman was a goliath of a man. He weighed three hundred pounds and was six feet, six inches tall. He had a sweaty, porcine face and red-veined eyes, and was one of the most unattractive men David Blackwell had ever seen. He was also one of the most efficient supervisors employed by Kruger-Brent, Ltd. He was seated at a desk in his small office, dwarfing the room, when David walked in.

Zimmerman rose and shook David’s hand. “Pleasure to see you, Mr. Blackwell. You should have told me you was comin’.”

David was sure that word of his arrival had already reached Zimmerman.

“Whiskey?”

“No, thank you.”

Zimmerman leaned back in his chair and grinned. “What can I do for you? Ain’t we diggin’ up enough diamonds to suit the boss?”

Both men knew that the diamond production at the Namib was excellent. “I get more work out of my kaffirs than anyone else in the company,” was Zimmerman’s boast.

“We’ve been getting some complaints about conditions here,” David said.

The smile faded from Zimmerman’s face. “What kind of complaints?”

“That the men here are being treated badly and—”

Zimmerman leaped to his feet, moving with surprising agility. His face was flushed with anger. “These ain’t men. These are kaffirs. You people sit on your asses at headquarters and—”

“Listen to me,” David said. “There’s no—”

“You listen to
me
! I produce more fuckin’ diamonds than anybody else in the company, and you know why? Because I put the fear of God into these bastards.”

“At our other mines,” David said, “we’re paying fifty-nine shillings a month and keep. You’re paying your workers only fifty shillings a month.”

“You complainin’ ‘cause I made a better deal for you? The only thing that counts is profit.”

“Jamie McGregor doesn’t agree,” David replied. “Raise their wages.”

Zimmerman said sullenly, “Right. It’s the boss’s money.”

“I hear there’s a lot of whipping going on.”

Zimmerman snorted. “Christ, you can’t hurt a native, mister. Their hides are so thick they don’t even feel the goddamned whip. It just scares them.”

“Then you’ve scared three workers to death, Mr. Zimmerman.”

Zimmerman shrugged. “There’s plenty more where they came from.”

He’s a bloody animal
, David thought.
And a dangerous one
. He looked up at the huge supervisor. “If there’s any more trouble here, you’re going to be replaced.” He rose to his feet. “You’ll start treating your men like human beings. The punishments are to stop immediately. I’ve inspected their living quarters. They’re pigsties. Clean them up.”

Hans Zimmerman was glaring at him, fighting to control his temper. “Anything else?” he finally managed to say.

“Yes. I’ll be back here in three months. If I don’t like what I see, you can find yourself a job with another company. Good day.” David turned and walked out.

Hans Zimmerman stood there for a long time, filled with a simmering rage.
The fools
, he thought.
Uitlanders
. Zimmerman was a Boer, and his father had been a Boer. The land belonged to them and God had put the blacks there to serve them. If God had meant them to be treated like human beings, he would not have made their skins black. Jamie McGregor did not understand that. But what could you expect from an
uitlander
, a native-lover? Hans Zimmerman knew he would have to be a little more careful in the future. But he would show them who was in charge at the Namib.

Kruger-Brent, Ltd., was expanding, and Jamie McGregor was away a good deal of the time. He bought a paper mill in Canada
and a shipyard in Australia. When he was home, Jamie spent all his time with his son, who looked more like his father each day. Jamie felt an inordinate pride in the boy. He wanted to take the child with him on his long trips, but Margaret refused to let him.

“He’s much too young to travel. When he’s older, he can go with you. If you want to be with him, you’ll see him here.”

Before Jamie had realized it, his son had had his first birthday, and then his second, and Jamie marveled at how the time raced by. It was 1887.

To Margaret, the last two years had dragged by. Once a week Jamie would invite guests to dinner and Margaret was his gracious hostess. The other men found her witty and intelligent and enjoyed talking to her. She knew that several of the men found her very attractive indeed, but of course they never made an overt move, for she was the wife of Jamie McGregor.

When the last of the guests had gone, Margaret would ask, “Did the evening go well for you?”

Jamie would invariably answer, “Fine. Good night,” and be off to look in on little Jamie. A few minutes later, Margaret would hear the front door close as Jamie left the house.

Night after night, Margaret McGregor lay in her bed thinking about her life. She knew how much she was envied by the women in town, and it made her ache, knowing how little there was to envy. She was living out a charade with a husband who treated her worse than a stranger. If only he would notice her! She wondered what he would do if one morning at breakfast she took up the bowl that contained his oatmeal especially imported from Scotland and poured it over his stupid head. She could visualize the expression on his face, and the fantasy tickled her so much that she began to giggle, and the laughter turned into deep, wrenching sobs.
I don’t want to love him any more. I won’t. I’ll stop, somehow, before I’m destroyed…

By 1890, Klipdrift had more than lived up to Jamie’s expectations. In the seven years he had been there, it had become a full-fledged boomtown, with prospectors pouring in from every part of the world. It was the same old story. They came by coach
and in wagons and on foot. They came with nothing but the rags they wore. They needed food and equipment and shelter and grubstake money, and Jamie McGregor was there to supply it all. He had shares in dozens of producing diamond and gold mines, and his name and reputation grew. One morning Jamie received a visit from an attorney for De Beers, the giant conglomerate that controlled the huge diamond mines at Kimberley.

“What can I do for you?” Jamie asked.

“I’ve been sent to make you an offer, Mr. McGregor. De Beers would like to buy you out. Name your price.”

It was a heady moment. Jamie grinned and said, “Name
yours
.”

David Blackwell was becoming more and more important to Jamie. In the young American Jamie McGregor saw himself as he once had been. The boy was honest, intelligent and loyal. Jamie made David his secretary, then his personal assistant and, finally, when the boy was twenty-one, his general manager.

To David Blackwell, Jamie McGregor was a surrogate father. When David’s own father suffered a heart attack, it was Jamie who arranged for a hospital and paid for the doctors, and when David’s father died, Jamie McGregor took care of the funeral arrangements. In the five years David had worked for Kruger-Brent, Ltd., he had come to admire Jamie more than any man he had ever known. He was aware of the problem between Jamie and Margaret, and deeply regretted it, because he liked them both.
But it’s none of my business
, David told himself.
My job is to help Jamie in any way I can
.

Jamie spent more and more time with his son. The boy was five now, and the first time Jamie took him down in the mines, young Jamie talked of nothing else for a week. They went on camping trips, and they slept in a tent under the stars. Jamie was used to the skies of Scotland, where the stars knew their rightful places in the firmament. Here in South Africa, the constellations were confusing. In January Canopus shone brilliantly overhead,
while in May it was the Southern Cross that was near the zenith. In June, which was South Africa’s winter, Scorpio was the glory of the heavens. It was puzzling. Still, it was a very special feeling for Jamie to lie on the warm earth and look up at the timeless sky with his son at his side and know they were part of the same eternity.