Master of the Game (24 page)

“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 his 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 Véfour. 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 E1 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!

Tony arrived home four weeks later, and Kate was at the airport to meet him. He looked fit and handsome, and Kate
felt a surge of pride. “Hello, my love. How are you?”

“I’m f-f-fine, M-m-mother. How are y-y-you?”

On his vacations at home, Tony eagerly looked forward to examining the new paintings his mother had acquired while he was away. He was awed by the masters, and enchanted by the French Impressionists: Monet, Renoir, Manet and Morisot. They evoked a magic world for Tony. He bought a set of paints and an easel and went to work. He thought his paintings were terrible, and he still refused to show them to anyone. How could they compare with the exquisite masterpieces?

Kate told him, “One day all these paintings will belong to you, darling.”

The thought of it filled the thirteen-year-old boy with a sense of unease. His mother did not understand. They could never be truly his, because he had done nothing to earn them. He had a fierce determination somehow to earn his own way. He had ambivalent feelings about being away from his mother, for everything around her was always exciting. She was at the center of a whirlwind, giving orders, making incredible deals, taking him to exotic places, introducing him to interesting people. She was an awesome figure, and Tony was inordinately proud of her. He thought she was the most fascinating woman in the world. He felt guilty because it was only in her presence that he stuttered.

Kate had no idea how deeply her son was in awe of her until one day when he was home on vacation he asked, “M-m-mother, do you r-r-run the world?”

And she had laughed and said, “Of course not. What made you ask such a silly question?”

“All my f-friends at school talk about you. Boy, you’re really s-something.”

“I am something,” Kate said. “I’m your mother.”

Tony wanted more than anything in the world to please Kate. He knew how much the company meant to her, how much she planned on his running it one day, and he was filled with regret, because he knew he could not. That was not what he intended to do with his life.

When he tried to explain this to his mother, she would laugh, “Nonsense, Tony. You’re much too young to know what you want to do with your future.”

And he would begin to stammer.

The idea of being a painter excited Tony. To be able to capture beauty and freeze it for all eternity; that was something worthwhile. He wanted to go abroad and study in Paris, but he knew he would have to broach the subject to his mother very carefully.

They had wonderful times together. Kate was the chatelaine of vast estates. She had acquired homes in Palm Beach and South Carolina, and a stud farm in Kentucky, and she and Tony visited all of them during his vacations. They watched the America’s Cup races in Newport, and when they were in New York, they had lunch at Delmonico’s and tea at the Plaza and Sunday dinner at Lüchow’s. Kate was interested in horse racing, and her stable became one of the finest in the world. When one of Kate’s horses was running and Tony was home from school, Kate would take him to the track with her. They would sit in her box and Tony would watch in wonder as his mother cheered until she was hoarse. He knew her excitement had nothing to do with money.

“It’s winning, Tony. Remember that. Winning is what’s important.”

They had quiet, lazy times at Dark Harbor. They shopped at Pendleton and Coffin, and had ice-cream sodas at the Dark Harbor Shop. In summer they went sailing and hiking and visited art galleries. In the winter there was skiing and skating and sleigh riding. They would sit in front of a fire in the large fireplace in the library, and Kate would tell her son all the old family stories about his grandfather and Banda, and about the baby shower Madam Agnes and her girls gave for Tony’s grandmother. It was a colorful family, a family to be proud of, to cherish.

“Kruger-Brent, Limited, will be yours one day, Tony. You’ll run it and—”

“I d-don’t want to r-run it, Mother. I’m not interested in big business or p-power.”

And Kate exploded. “You bloody fool! What do you know about big business or power? Do you think I go around the world spreading evil? Hurting people? Do you think Kruger-Brent is some kind of ruthless money machine crushing anything that gets in its way? Well, let me tell you something, Son. It’s the next best thing to Jesus Christ. We’re the resurrection, Tony. We save lives by the hundreds of thousands. When we open a factory in a depressed community or country, those people can afford to build schools and libraries and churches, and give their children decent food and clothing and recreation facilities.” She was breathing hard, carried away by her anger. “We build factories where people are hungry and out of work, and because of us they’re able to live decent lives and hold up their heads. We become their saviors. Don’t ever again let me hear you sneer at big business and power.”

All Tony could say was, “I’m s-s-sorry, M-m-mother.”

And he thought stubbornly:
I’m going to be an artist
.

When Tony was fifteen, Kate suggested he spend his summer vacation in South Africa. He had never been there. “I can’t get away just now, Tony, but you’ll find it a fascinating place. I’ll make all the arrangements for you.”

“I was s-sort of h-hoping to spend my vacation at Dark Harbor, M-mother.”

“Next summer,” Kate said firmly. “This summer I would like you to go to Johannesburg.”

Kate carefully briefed the company superintendent in Johannesburg, and together they laid out an itinerary for Tony. Each day was planned with one objective in view: to make this trip as exciting as possible for Tony, to make him realize his future lay with the company.

Kate received a daily report about her son. He had been taken into one of the gold mines. He had spent two days in the diamond fields. He had been on a guided tour of the Kruger-Brent plants, and had gone on a safari in Kenya.

A few days before Tony’s vacation ended, Kate telephoned the company manager in Johannesburg. “How is Tony getting along?”

“Oh, he’s having a great time, Mrs. Blackwell. In fact, this morning he asked if he couldn’t stay on a little longer.”

Kate felt a surge of pleasure. “That’s wonderful! Thank you.”

When Tony’s vacation was over, he went to Southampton, England, where he boarded a Pan American Airways System plane for the United States. Kate flew Pan American whenever possible. It spoiled her for other airlines.

Kate left an important meeting to greet her son when he arrived at the Pan American terminal at the newly built La Guar-dia Airport in New York. His handsome face was filled with enthusiasm.

“Did you have a good time, darling?”

“South Africa’s a f-fantastic country, M-mother. Did you know they f-flew me to the Namib Desert where grandfather s-stole those diamonds from Great-grandfather v-van der Merwe?”