Sidney Sheldon’s Mistress of the Game. Tilly Bagshawe
didn’t even look up.
‘Max. His name is Max.’
It was a simple name, short, but to Eve it suggested strength. The boy would need strength if he was going to fulfill his purpose and avenge his mother.
Eve had conceived Keith Webster’s child for one reason and one reason only. Because she needed an accomplice. Someone who she could mould in her own image, feed with her own hatred and send out into the world to do all the things that she, a prisoner in her own home, could no longer do for herself.
Max would make Keith Webster pay for what he’d done to her.
Max would bring Kruger-Brent back to her.
Max would worship and adore and obey her, the way that men had always worshiped, adored and obeyed her, before Keith had robbed her of her looks.
‘Knock knock.’
Keith appeared at the door, bearing a huge bouquet of roses. Handing them to a nurse, he kissed Eve perfunctorily on the top of the head before taking his son in his arms.
‘He’s … he’s beautiful.’ His voice was choked. When he looked up, Eve saw that there were tears of joy streaming down his face. ‘Thank you, Eve. Thank you my darling. You’ve no idea what this … what he means to me.’
Eve smiled knowingly.
‘You’re welcome, Keith.’
And she sank into a contented, dreamless sleep.
Robbie Templeton felt a familiar, churning sensation in the pit of his stomach as he walked through the revolving doors of the Kruger-Brent building on Park Avenue.
‘Good morning, Mr Robert.’
‘Nice to see you again Mr Robert.’
‘Is your father expecting you?’
Everybody knew him. The receptionists, in their gray flannel company uniforms, the security guards, even José, the janitor. Robert Templeton was Kate Blackwell’s great-grandson, fifteen years old, with the world at his feet. One day he would take his place as CEO and Chairman.
So they said.
Robbie had been coming to this building with his mother since he was a little boy. The impressive, marble-floored atrium with its six-foot flower arrangements and walls smothered with priceless modern art, Basquiats and Warhols and Lucien Freuds, was Robbie’s playroom. He’d played peek-a-boo in the elevators and hide-and-seek down the long, corporate corridors. He’d swung his legs and spun around in Kate Blackwell’s swivel chair until he was too dizzy to stand.
All his life he’d tried to love the place. Tried to feel the passion and nostalgia that everyone assumed he’d been born with. But it was no good. Walking through the familiar revolving doors today felt the same as it always did: like walking through the gates of hell.
His mind wandered back to his seventh birthday. His great-grandmother, Kate, had promised him a birthday treat.
‘Something wonderful, Robert. It’ll be just the two of us.’
He remembered being so overcome with excitement, he couldn’t sleep the night before. Something wonderful. A private visit to FAO Schwartz? All he could eat at Chuck. E. Cheese’s? Disneyland?
When Kate lead him through the doors of the boring office building, he assumed she must have left something behind there. An umbrella, perhaps? Or her Mickey Mouse ears?
‘No my darling,’ she told him, her rheumy old eyes alight with a passion he couldn’t comprehend. ‘This is your surprise. Do you know where we are?’
Robbie nodded miserably. They were at Daddy’s office. He’d been here hundreds of times with Mommy, and it always made him feel weird. It was too big. And empty. When you shouted real loud, the walls threw your voice back at you. Though he couldn’t have explained it, he’d always had the feeling that the office made his daddy sad too. Neither of them really belonged here.
But his great-grandmother saw things differently.
‘This is our kingdom, Robert! Our palace. One day, when I’m gone and you’re all grown up, this will all be yours. All of it.’
She squeezed his hand. Robbie wondered where she was planning on going, and how long she’d be. He loved his great-grandmother, even if she did have crazy ideas about boring old office buildings being palaces. He hoped she wouldn’t be gone too long.
It was a Sunday, and the building was deserted. Leading him into the elevator, Kate pressed the button for the twentieth floor. Soon they were in her office. Installing Robbie in the leather-backed swivel chair behind her desk, Kate sank into the armchair in the corner, the one usually reserved for visiting dignitaries, ambassadors, presidents and kings.
Robbie could hear her voice now.
‘Close your eyes, Robert. I’m going to tell you a tale.’
It was the first time that Robbie had heard the whole story of Kruger-Brent, Limited, the company that had made his family wealthy, and famous, and different from everybody else’s family. Even at seven, Robbie Templeton knew he was different from the other kids. Even at seven, he wished with all his heart that it weren’t so.
Today, of course, Robbie Templeton knew the Legend of Kruger-Brent by heart. It was as much a part of him as the blood in his veins and the hair on his head. He knew all about Jamie McGregor, Kate’s father. About how he had come to South Africa from Scotland in the late eighteen-hundreds, penniless but determined, and founded the most profitable diamond mining business in the world. Jamie had been cheated by a local merchant, Salomon Van der Merwe. With the help of Van der Merwe’s brave black servant, Banda, Jamie had taken his revenge; first by stealing the perfect, twenty-carat diamond on which the Kruger-Brent empire was founded, and then by impregnating Van der Merwe’s daughter, Margaret – Kate Blackwell’s mother.
The name of the company Jamie founded was a further insult to the merchant who had not only cheated him but tried to have him killed. Kruger and Brent were the names of the two Afrikaaner guards who had chased Jamie and Banda as they fled for their lives, their pockets weighed down with Van der Merwe’s diamonds.
Kate herself had no memories of her father, who died when she was very young. But it was clear from the hushed, reverend tones in which she spoke of him that in her eyes, Jamie McGregor was nothing short of a God. She loved to tell Robert how much he looked like his great-great-grandfather. And indeed, if the portrait of Jamie McGregor that hung in Cedar Hill House was anything to go by, the resemblance was striking.
Robbie knew his great-grandmother meant it as a compliment. But he wished she’d stop saying it all the same.
After Jamie McGregor’s death, Kruger-Brent was run for two decades by his friend and right-hand man, another Scot named David Blackwell. Kate fell in love with David. Despite being twenty years her senior, and at one point engaged to another woman, David ended up marrying her. As so often in her life, Kate had seen something she wanted and refused to rest until she made it her own.
David Blackwell was the second great love of Kate’s life.
The first was Kruger-Brent, Limited.
When David was killed in a mine explosion shortly after the war, everyone had expected his young, pregnant widow to grieve for a year or so and then marry again. But it never happened. Having lost one love, Kate Blackwell devoted the rest of her long life to the other. Kruger-Brent became her sun and her moon, her lover, her obsession, her world. Under Kate’s chairmanship, the company grew from being a successful African diamond business to a global giant, with holdings in copper, steel, petrochemicals, plastics, telecoms, aerospace, real estate and software. The company had offices in every sector in every market in every corner of the globe.