Master of the Game

The following day, Tony took an apartment in Greenwich Village. There were no more sociable dinners with his mother. He kept his relationship with Kate on an impersonal, businesslike basis. From time to time Kate made conciliatory overtures, which Tony ignored.

Kate’s heart ached. But she had done what was right for Tony. Just as she had once done what was right for David. She could not have let either of them leave the company. Tony was the one human being in the world Kate loved, and she watched as he became more and more insular, drawing deep within himself, rejecting everyone. He had no friends. Where once he had been warm and outgoing, he was now cool and reserved. He had built a wall around himself that no one was able to breach. He needs a wife to care for him, Kate thought. And a son to carry on. I must help him. I must.

Brad Rogers came into Kate’s office and said, “I’m afraid we’re in for some more trouble, Kate.”

“What’s happened?”

He put a cable on her desk. “The South African Parliament has outlawed the Natives’ Representative Council and passed the Communist Act.”

Kate said, “My God!” The act had nothing to do with communism. It stated that anyone who disagreed with any government policy and tried to change it in any way was guilty under the Communist Act and could be imprisoned.

“It’s their way of breaking the black resistance movement,” she said. “If—” She was interrupted by her secretary.

“There’s an overseas call for you. It’s Mr. Pierce in Johannesburg.”

Jonathan Pierce was the manager of the Johannesburg branch office. Kate picked up the phone. “Hello, Johnny. How are you?”

“Fine, Kate. I have some news I thought you’d better be aware of.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve just received a report that the police have captured Banda.”

Kate was on the next flight to Johannesburg. She had alerted the company lawyers to see what could be done for Banda. Even the power and prestige of Kruger-Brent, Ltd., might not be able to help him. He had been designated an enemy of the state, and she dreaded to think what his punishment would be. At least she must see him and talk to him and offer what support she could.

When the plane landed in Johannesburg, Kate went to her office and telephoned the director of prisons.

“He’s in an isolation block, Mrs. Blackwell, and he’s allowed no visitors. However, in your case, I will see what can be done…”

The following morning, Kate was at the Johannesburg prison, face to face with Banda. He was manacled and shackled, and there was a glass partition between them. His hair was completely white. Kate had not known what to expect—despair, defiance—but Banda grinned when he saw her and said, “I knew you’d come. You’re just like your daddy. You can’t stay away from trouble, can you?”

“Look who’s talking,” Kate retorted. “Bloody hell! How do we get you out of here?”

“In a box. That’s the only way they’re going to let me go.”

“I have a lot of fancy lawyers who—”

“Forget it, Kate. They caught me fair and square. Now I’ve got to get away fair and square.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t like cages, I never did. And they haven’t built one yet that can keep me.”

Kate said, “Banda, don’t try it. Please. They’ll kill you.”

“Nothing can kill me,” Banda said. “You’re talking to a man who lived through sharks and land mines and guard dogs.” A soft gleam came into his eyes. “You know something, Kate? I think maybe that was the best time of my life.”

When Kate went to visit Banda the next day, the superintendent said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Blackwell. We’ve had to move him for security reasons.”

“Where is he?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

When Kate woke up the following morning, she saw the headline in the newspaper carried in with her breakfast tray. It read: REBEL LEADER KILLED WHILE TRYING TO ESCAPE PRISON. She was at the prison an hour later, in the superintendent’s office.

“He was shot during an attempted prison break, Mrs. Black-well. That’s all there is to it.”

You’re wrong, thought Kate, there’s more. Much more. Banda was dead, but was his dream of freedom for his people dead?

Two days later, after making the funeral arrangements, Kate was on the plane to New York. She looked out the window to take one last look at her beloved land. The soil was red and rich and fertile, and in the bowels of its earth were treasures beyond man’s dreams. This was God’s chosen land, and He had been lavish in his generosity. But there was a curse upon the country. I’ll never come back here again, Kate thought sadly. Never.

One of Brad Rogers’s responsibilities was to oversee the Long-Range Planning Department of Kruger-Brent, Ltd. He was brilliant at finding businesses that would make profitable acquisitions.

One day in early May, he walked into Kate Blackwell’s office. “I’ve come across something interesting, Kate.” He placed two folders on her desk. “Two companies. If we could pick up either one of them, it would be a coup.”

“Thanks, Brad. I’ll look them over tonight.”

That evening, Kate dined alone and studied Brad Rogers’s confidential reports on the two companies—Wyatt Oil & Tool and International Technology. The reports were long and detailed, and both ended with the letters NIS, the company code for Not Interested in Selling, which meant that if the companies were to be acquired, it would take more than a straightforward business transaction to accomplish it. And, Kate thought, they’re well worth taking over. Each company was privately controlled by a wealthy and strong-minded individual, which eliminated any possibility of a takeover attempt. It was a challenge, and it had been a long time since Kate had faced a challenge. The more she thought about it, the more the possibilities began to excite her. She studied again the confidential balance sheets. Wyatt Oil & Tool was owned by a Texan, Charlie Wyatt, and the company’s assets included producing oil wells, a utility company and dozens of potentially profitable oil leases. There was no question about it, Wyatt Oil & Tool would make a handsome acquisition for Kruger-Brent, Ltd.

Kate turned her attention to the second company. International Technology was owned by a German, Count Frederick Hoffman. The company had started with a small steel mill in Essen, and over the years had expanded into a huge conglomerate, with shipyards, petrochemical plants, a fleet of oil tankers and a computer division.

As large as Kruger-Brent, Ltd., was, it could digest only one of these giants. She knew which company she was going after. NIS, the sheet read.

We’ll see about that, Kate thought.

Early the following morning, she sent for Brad Rogers. “I’d love to know how you got hold of those confidential balance sheets,” Kate grinned. “Tell me about Charlie Wyatt and Frederick Hoffman.”

Brad had done his homework. “Charlie Wyatt was born in Dallas. Flamboyant, loud, runs his own empire, smart as hell. He started with nothing, got lucky in oil wildcatting, kept expanding and now he owns about half of Texas.”

“How old is he?”

“Forty-seven.”

“Children?”

“One daughter, twenty-five. From what I hear, she’s a raving beauty.”

“Is she married?”

“Divorced.”

“Frederick Hoffman.”

“Hoffman’s a couple of years younger than Charlie Wyatt. He’s a count, comes from a distinguished German family going back to the Middle Ages. He’s a widower. His grandfather started with a small steel mill. Frederick Hoffman inherited it from his father and built it into a conglomerate. He was one of the first to get into the computer field. He holds a lot of patents on microprocessors. Every time we use a computer, Count Hoffman gets a royalty.”

“Children?”

“A daughter, twenty-three.”

“What is she like?”

“I couldn’t find out,” Brad Rogers apologized. “It’s a very buttoned-up family. They travel in their own little circles.” He hesitated. “We’re probably wasting our time on this, Kate. I had a few drinks with a couple of top executives in both companies. Neither Wyatt nor Hoffman has the slightest interest in a sale, merger or joint venture. As you can see from their financials, they’d be crazy even to think about it.”

That feeling of challenge was there in Kate again, tugging at her.

Ten days later Kate was invited by the President of the United States to a Washington conference of leading international industrialists to discuss assistance to underdeveloped countries. Kate made a telephone call, and shortly afterward Charlie Wyatt and Count Frederick Hoffman received invitations to attend the conference.

Kate had formed a mental impression of both the Texan and the German, and they fitted her preconceived notions almost precisely. She had never met a shy Texan, and Charlie Wyatt was no exception. He was a huge man—almost six feet four inches—with enormous shoulders and a football player’s body that had gone to fat. His face was large and ruddy, and his voice loud and booming. He came off as a good ol’ boy—or would have if Kate had not known better. Charlie Wyatt had not built his empire by luck. He was a business genius. Kate had talked to him for less than ten minutes when she knew that there was no way this man could be persuaded to do anything he did not want to do. He was opinionated, and he had a deep stubborn streak. No one was going to cajole him, threaten him or con him out of his company. But Kate had found his Achilles’ heel, and that was enough.

Frederick Hoffman was Charlie Wyatt’s opposite. He was a handsome man, with an aristocratic face and soft brown hair tinged with gray at the temples. He was punctiliously correct and filled with a sense of old-fashioned courtesy. On the surface, Frederick Hoffman was pleasant and debonair; on the inside Kate sensed a core of steel.

The conference in Washington lasted three days, and it went well. The meetings were chaired by the Vice-President, and the President made a brief appearance. Everyone there was impressed with Kate Blackwell. She was an attractive, charismatic woman, head of a corporate empire she had helped build, and they were fascinated, as Kate meant them to be.

When Kate got Charlie Wyatt alone for a moment, she asked innocently, “Is your family with you, Mr. Wyatt?”

“I brought my daughter along. She has a little shoppin’ to do.”

“Oh, really? How nice.” No one would have suspected that Kate not only knew his daughter was with him, but what kind of dress she had bought at Garfinckel’s that morning. “I’m giving a little dinner party at Dark Harbor Friday. I’d be pleased if you and your daughter would join us for the weekend.”

Wyatt did not hesitate. “I’ve heard a lot about your spread, Mrs. Blackwell. I’d sure like to see it.”

Kate smiled. “Good. I’ll make arrangements for you to be flown up there tomorrow night.”

Ten minutes later, Kate was speaking to Frederick Hoffman. “Are you alone in Washington, Mr. Hoffman?” she asked. “Or is your wife with you?”

“My wife died a few years ago,” Frederick Hoffman told her. “I’m here with my daughter.”

Kate knew they were staying at the Hay-Adams Hotel in Suite 418. “I’m giving a little dinner party at Dark Harbor. I would be delighted if you and your daughter could join us tomorrow for the weekend.”

“I should be getting back to Germany,” Hoffman replied. He studied her a moment, and smiled. “I suppose another day or two won’t make much difference.”

“Wonderful. I’ll arrange transportation for you.”

It was Kate’s custom to give a party at the Dark Harbor estate once every two months. Some of the most interesting and powerful people in the world came to these gatherings, and the get-togethers were always fruitful. Kate intended to see to it that this one was a very special party. Her problem was to make sure Tony attended. During the past year, he had seldom bothered to show up, and when he did he had made a perfunctory appearance and left. This time it was imperative that he come and that he stay.

When Kate mentioned the weekend to Tony, he said curtly, “I c-can’t make it. I’m leaving for C-canada Monday and I have a lot of w-work to clean up before I go.”

“This is important,” Kate told him. “Charlie Wyatt and Count Hoffman are going to be there and they’re—”

“I know who they are,” he interrupted. “I t-talked to Brad Rogers. We haven’t got a p-prayer of acquiring either one of those companies.”

“I want to give it a try.”

He looked at her and asked, “W-which one are you after?”

“Wyatt Oil and Tool. It could increase our profits as much as fifteen percent, perhaps more. When the Arab countries realize they have the world by the throat, they’re going to form a cartel, and oil prices will skyrocket. Oil is going to turn into liquid gold.”

“What about International T-t-technology?”

Kate shrugged. “It’s a good company, but the plum is Wyatt Oil and Tool. It’s a perfect acquisition for us. I need you there, Tony. Canada can wait a few days.”

Tony loathed parties. He hated the endless, boring conversations, the boastful men and the predatory women. But this was business. “All right.”

All the pieces were in place.

The Wyatts were flown to Maine in a company Cessna, and from the ferry were driven to Cedar Hill House in a limousine. Kate was at the door to greet them. Brad Rogers had been right about Charlie Wyatt’s daughter, Lucy. She was strikingly beautiful. She was tall, with black hair and gold-flecked brown eyes, set in almost perfect features. Her sleek Galanos dress outlined a firm, stunning figure. She had, Brad informed Kate, been divorced from a wealthy Italian playboy two years earlier. Kate introduced Lucy to Tony and watched for her son’s reaction. There was none. He greeted both the Wyatts with equal courtesy and led them into the bar, where a bartender was waiting to mix drinks.

“What a lovely room,” Lucy exclaimed. Her voice was unexpectedly soft and mellow, with no trace of a Texas accent. “Do you spend much time here?” she asked Tony.

“No.”

She waited for him to go on. Then, “Did you grow up here?”

“Partly.”

Kate picked up the conversation, adroitly smoothing over Tony’s silence. “Some of Tony’s happiest memories are of this house. The poor man is so busy he doesn’t get much chance to come back here and enjoy it, do you, Tony?”

He gave his mother a cool look and said, “No. As a matter of fact, I should be in C-canada—”

“But he postponed it so he could meet both of you,” Kate finished for him.

“Well, I’m mighty pleased,” Charlie Wyatt said. “I’ve heard a lot about you, son.” He grinned. “You wouldn’t want to come to work for me, would you?”

“I don’t think that’s q-quite what my mother had in mind, Mr. Wyatt.”

Charlie Wyatt grinned again. “I know.” He turned to look at Kate. “Your mother’s quite a lady. You should have seen her rope and hog-tie everybody at that White House meetin’. She—” He stopped as Frederick Hoffman and his daughter, Marianne, entered the room. Marianne Hoffman was a pale version of her father. She had the same aristocratic features and she had long, blond hair. She wore an off-white chiffon dress. Next to Lucy Wyatt she looked washed out.

“May I present my daughter, Marianne?” Count Hoffman said. “I’m sorry we’re late,” He apologized. “The plane was delayed at La Guardia.”

“Oh, what a shame,” Kate said. Tony was aware that Kate had arranged the delay. She had had the Wyatts and the Hoffmans flown up to Maine in separate planes, so that the Wyatts would arrive early and the Hoffmans late. “We were just having a drink. What would you like?”

“A Scotch, please,” Count Hoffman said.

Kate turned to Marianne. “And you, my dear?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

A few minutes later, the other guests began to arrive, and Tony circulated among them, playing the part of the gracious host. No one except Kate could have guessed how little the festivities meant to him. It was not, Kate knew, that Tony was bored. It was simply that he was completely removed from what was happening around him. He had lost his pleasure in people. It worried Kate.

Two tables had been set in the large dining room. Kate seated Marianne Hoffman between a Supreme Court justice and a senator at one table, and she seated Lucy Wyatt on Tony’s right at the other table. All the men in the room—married and unmarried—were eyeing Lucy. Kate listened to Lucy trying to draw Tony into conversation. It was obvious that she liked him. Kate smiled to herself. It was a good beginning.

The following morning, Saturday, at breakfast, Charlie Wyatt said to Kate, “That’s a mighty pretty yacht you’ve got sittin’ out there, Mrs. Blackwell. How big is it?”

“I’m really not quite sure.” Kate turned to her son. “Tony, how large is the Corsair?”

His mother knew exactly how large it was, but Tony said politely, “Eighty f-feet.”

“We don’t go in much for boats in Texas. We’re in too much of a hurry. We do most of our travelin’ in planes.” Wyatt gave a booming laugh. “Guess maybe I’ll try it and get my feet wet.”

Kate smiled. “I was hoping you would let me show you around the island. We could go out on the boat tomorrow.”

Charlie Wyatt looked at her thoughtfully and said, “That’s mighty kind of you, Mrs. Blackwell.”

Tony quietly watched the two of them and said nothing. The first move had just been made, and he wondered whether Charlie Wyatt was aware of it. Probably not. He was a clever businessman, but he had never come up against anyone like Kate Blackwell.

Kate turned to Tony and Lucy. “It’s such a beautiful day. Why don’t you two go for a sail in the catboat?”

Before Tony could refuse, Lucy said, “Oh, I’d love that.”

“I’m s-sorry,” Tony said curtly. “I’m expecting s-some overseas calls.” Tony could feel his mother’s disapproving eyes on him.

Kate turned to Marianne Hoffman. “I haven’t seen your father this morning.”

“He’s out exploring the island. He’s an early riser.”

“I understand you like to ride. We have a fine stable here.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Blackwell. I’ll just wander around, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” Kate turned back to Tony. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind about taking Miss Wyatt for a sail?” There was steel in her voice.

“I’m s-sure.”

It was a small victory, but it was a victory nevertheless. The battle was joined, and Tony had no intention of losing it. Not this time. His mother no longer had the power to deceive him. She had used him as a pawn once, and he was fully aware she was planning to try it again; but this time she would fail. She wanted the Wyatt Oil & Tool Company. Charlie Wyatt had no intention of merging or selling his company. But every man has a weakness, and Kate had found his: his daughter. If Lucy were to marry into the Blackwell family, a merger of some kind would become inevitable. Tony looked across the breakfast table at his mother, despising her. She had baited the trap well. Lucy was not only beautiful, she was intelligent and charming. But she was as much of a pawn in this sick game as Tony was, and nothing in the world could induce him to touch her. This was a battle between his mother and himself.

When breakfast was over, Kate rose. “Tony, before your phone call comes in, why don’t you show Miss Wyatt the gardens?”

There was no way Tony could refuse graciously. “All right.” He would make it short.

Kate turned to Charlie Wyatt. “Are you interested in rare books? We have quite a collection in the library.”

“I’m interested in anything you want to show me,” the Texan said.

Almost as an afterthought, Kate turned back to Marianne Hoffman. “Will you be all right, dear?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you, Mrs. Blackwell. Please don’t worry about me.”

“I won’t,” Kate said.

And Tony knew she meant it. Miss Hoffman was of no use to Kate, and so she dismissed her. It was done with a light charm and a smile, but beneath it was a single-minded ruthlessness that Tony detested.

Lucy was watching him. “Are you ready, Tony?”

“Yes.”

Tony and Lucy moved toward the door. They were not quite out of earshot when Tony heard his mother say, “Don’t they make a lovely couple?”

The two of them walked through the large, formal gardens toward the dock where the Corsair was tied up. There were acres and acres of wildly colored flowers staining the summer air with their scent.

“This is a heavenly place,” Lucy said.

“Yes.”

“We don’t have flowers like these in Texas.”

“No?”

“It’s so quiet and peaceful here.”

“Yes.”

Lucy stopped abruptly and turned to face Tony.

He saw the anger in her face. “Have I said something to offend you?” he asked.

“You haven’t said anything. That’s what I find offensive. All I can get out of you is a yes or a no. You make me feel as though I’m—I’m chasing you.”

“Are you?”

She laughed. “Yes. If I could only teach you to talk, I think we might have something.”

Tony grinned.

“What are you thinking?” Lucy asked.

“Nothing.”

He was thinking of his mother, and how much she hated losing.

Kate was showing Charlie Wyatt the large, oak-paneled library. On the shelves were first editions of Oliver Goldsmith, Laurence Sterne, Tobias Smollett and John Donne, along with a Ben Jonson first folio. There was Samuel Butler and John Bun-yan, and the rare 1813 privately printed edition of Queen Mab. Wyatt walked along the shelves of treasures, his eyes gleaming. He paused in front of a beautifully bound edition of John Keats’s Endymion.

“This is a Roseberg copy,” Charlie Wyatt said.

Kate looked at him in surprise. “Yes. There are only two known copies.”

“I have the other one,” Wyatt told her.

“I should have known,” Kate laughed. “That ‘good ol’ Texas boy’ act you put on had me fooled.”

Wyatt grinned. “Did it? It’s good camouflage.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“Colorado School of Mining, then Oxford on a Rhodes Scholarship.” He studied Kate a moment. “I’m told it was you who got me invited to that White House conference.”

She shrugged. “I merely mentioned your name. They were delighted to have you.”

“That was mighty kind of you, Kate. Now, as long as you and I are alone, why don’t you tell me exactly what’s on your mind?”

Tony was at work in his private study, a small room off the main downstairs hallway. He was seated in a deep armchair when he heard the door open and someone come in. He turned to look. It was Marianne Hoffman. Before Tony could open his mouth to make his presence known, he heard her gasp.

She was looking at the paintings on the wall. They were Tony’s paintings—the few he had brought back from his apartment in Paris, and this was the only room in the house where he would allow them to be hung. He watched her walk around the room, going from painting to painting, and it was too late to say anything.

“I don’t believe it,” she murmured.

And Tony felt a sudden anger within him. He knew they were not that bad. As he moved, the leather of his chair creaked, and Marianne turned and saw him.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

Tony rose. “That’s quite all right.” His tone was rude. He disliked having his sanctuary invaded. “Were you looking for something?’

“No. I—I was just wandering around. Your collection of paintings belongs in a museum.”

“Except for these,” Tony heard himself saying.

She was puzzled by the hostility in his voice. She turned to look at the paintings again. She saw the signature. “You painted these?”

“I’m sorry if they don’t appeal to you.”

“They’re fantastic!” She moved toward him. “I don’t understand. If you can do this, why would you ever want to do anything else? You’re wonderful. I don’t mean you’re good. I mean you’re wonderful.”

Tony stood there, not listening, just wanting her to get out.

“I wanted to be a painter,” Marianne said. “I studied with Oskar Kokoschka for a year. I finally quit because I knew I never could be as good as I wanted to be. But you!” She turned to the paintings again. “Did you study in Paris?”

He wished she would leave him alone. “Yes.”

“And you quit—just like that?”

“Yes.”

“What a pity. You—”

“There you are!”

They both turned. Kate was standing in the doorway. She eyed the two of them a moment, then walked over to Marianne. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Marianne. Your father mentioned that you like orchids. You must see our greenhouse.”

“Thank you,” Marianne murmured. “I’m really—”

Kate turned to Tony. “Tony, perhaps you should see to your other guests.” There was a note of sharp displeasure in her voice.

She took Marianne’s arm, and they were gone.

There was a fascination to watching his mother maneuver people. It was done so smoothly. Not a move was wasted. It had started with the Wyatts arriving early and the Hoffmans arriving late. Lucy being placed next to him at every meal. The private conferences with Charlie Wyatt. It was so damned obvious, and yet Tony had to admit to himself that it was obvious only because he had the key. He knew his mother and the way her mind worked. Lucy Wyatt was a lovely girl. She would make a wonderful wife for someone, but not for him. Not with Kate Black-well as her sponsor. His mother was a ruthless, calculating bitch, and as long as Tony remembered that, he was safe from her machinations. He wondered what her next move would be.

He did not have to wait long to find out.

They were on the terrace having cocktails. “Mr. Wyatt has been kind enough to invite us to his ranch next weekend,” Kate told Tony. “Isn’t that lovely?” Her face radiated her pleasure. “I’ve never seen a Texas ranch.”

Kruger-Brent owned a ranch in Texas, and it was probably twice as big as the Wyatt spread.

“You will come, won’t you, Tony?” Charlie Wyatt asked.

Lucy said, “Please do.”

They were ganging up on him. It was a challenge. He decided to accept it. “I’d be d-delighted.”

“Good.” There was real pleasure on Lucy’s face. And on Kate’s.

If Lucy is planning to seduce me, Tony thought, she is wasting her time. The hurt done to Tony by his mother and Dominique had implanted in him such a deep distrust of females that his only association with them now was with high-priced call girls. Of all the female species, they were the most honest. All they wanted was money and told you how much up front. You paid for what you got, and you got what you paid for. No complications, no tears, no deceit.

Lucy Wyatt was in for a surprise.

Early Sunday morning, Tony went down to the pool for a swim. Marianne Hoffman was already in the water, wearing a white maillot. She had a lovely figure, tall and slender and graceful. Tony stood there watching her cutting cleanly through the water, her arms flashing up and down in a regular, graceful rhythm. She saw Tony and swam over to him.

“Good morning.”

“Morning. You’re good,” Tony said.

Marianne smiled. “I love sports. I get that from my father.” She pulled herself up to the edge of the pool, and Tony handed her a towel. He watched as she unselfconsciously dried her hair.

“Have you had breakfast?” Tony asked.

“No. I wasn’t sure the cook would be up this early.”

“This is a hotel. There’s twenty-four-hour service.”

She smiled up at him. “Nice.”

“Where is your home?”

“Mostly in Munich. We live in an old schloss—a castle—outside the city.”

“Where were you brought up?”

Marianne sighed. “That’s a long story. During the war, I was sent away to school in Switzerland. After that, I went to Oxford, studied at the Sorbonne and lived in London for a few years.” She looked directly into his eyes. “That’s where I’ve been. Where have you been?”

“Oh, New York, Maine, Switzerland, South Africa, a few years in the South Pacific during the war, Paris…” He broke off abruptly, as though he were saying too much.

“Forgive me if I seem to pry, but I can’t imagine why you stopped painting.”

“It’s not important,” Tony said curtly. “Let’s have breakfast.”

They ate alone on the terrace overlooking the sparkling sweep of the bay. She was easy to talk to. There was a dignity about her, a gentleness that Tony found appealing. She did not flirt, she did not chatter. She seemed genuinely interested in him. Tony found himself attracted to this quiet, sensitive woman. He could not help wondering how much of that attraction was due to the thought that it would spite his mother.

“When do you go back to Germany?”

“Next week,” Marianne replied. “I’m getting married.”

Her words caught him off guard. “Oh,” Tony said lamely. “That’s great. Who is he?”

“He’s a doctor. I’ve known him all my life.” Why had she added that? Did it have some significance?

On an impulse, Tony asked, “Will you have dinner with me in New York?”

She studied him, weighing her answer. “I would enjoy that.”

Tony smiled, pleased. “It’s a date.”

They had dinner at a little seashore restaurant on Long Island. Tony wanted Marianne to himself, away from the eyes of his mother. It was an innocent evening, but Tony knew that if his mother learned about it, she would find some way to poison it. This was a private thing between him and Marianne, and for the brief time it existed, Tony wanted nothing to spoil it. Tony enjoyed Marianne’s company even more than he had anticipated. She had a quick, sly sense of humor, and Tony found himself laughing more than he had laughed since he left Paris. She made him feel lighthearted and carefree.

When do you go back to Germany?

Next week…I’m getting married.

During the next five days, Tony saw a great deal of Marianne. He canceled his trip to Canada, and he was not certain why. He had thought it might be a form of rebellion against his mother’s plan, a petty vengeance, but if that had been true in the beginning, it was no longer true. He found himself drawn to Marianne more and more strongly. He loved her honesty. It was a quality he had despaired of ever finding.

Since Marianne was a tourist in New York, Tony took her everywhere. They climbed the Statue of Liberty and rode the ferry to Staten Island, went to the top of the Empire State Building, and ate in Chinatown. They spent an entire day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and an afternoon at the Frick Collection. They shared the same tastes. They carefully avoided speaking of any personal things, and yet both were conscious of the powerful sexual undercurrent between them. The days spilled into one another, and it was Friday, the day Tony was to leave for the Wyatt Ranch.

“When do you fly back to Germany?”

“Monday morning.” There was no joy in her voice.

Tony left for Houston that afternoon. He could have gone with his mother in one of the company planes, but he preferred to avoid any situation where he and Kate would be alone together. As far as he was concerned, his mother was solely a business partner: brilliant and powerful, devious and dangerous.

There was a Rolls-Royce to pick up Tony at the William P. Hobby Airport in Houston, and he was driven to the ranch by a chauffeur dressed in Levi’s and a colorful sport shirt.

“Most folks like to fly direct to the ranch,” the driver told Tony. “Mr. Wyatt’s got a big landin’ strip there. From here, it’s ‘bout an hour’s drive to the gate, then another half hour before we git to the main house.”

Tony thought he was exaggerating, but he was wrong. The Wyatt Ranch turned out to be more of a town than a ranch. They drove through the main gate onto a private road, and after thirty minutes they began to pass generator buildings and barns and corrals and guest houses and servants’ bungalows. The main house was an enormous one-story ranch house that seemed to go on forever. Tony thought it was depressingly ugly.

Kate had already arrived. She and Charlie Wyatt were seated on the terrace overlooking a swimming pool the size of a small lake. They were in the midst of an intense conversation when Tony appeared. When Wyatt saw him, he broke off abruptly in the middle of a sentence. Tony sensed that he had been the subject of their discussion.

“Here’s our boy! Have a good trip, Tony?”

“Yes, th-thank you.”

“Lucy was hopin’ you’d be able to catch an earlier plane,” Kate said.

Tony turned to look at his mother. “Was sh-she?”

Charlie Wyatt clapped Tony on the shoulder. “We’re puttin’ on a whoppin’ barbecue in honor of you and Kate. Everybody’s flyin’ in for it.”

“That’s very k-kind of you,” Tony said. If they’re planning to serve fatted calf, he thought, they’re going to go hungry.

Lucy appeared, wearing a white shirt and tight-fitting, well-worn jeans, and Tony had to admit she was breathtakingly lovely.

She went up to him and took his arm. “Tony! I was wondering if you were coming.”

“S-sorry I’m late,” Tony said. “I had some b-business to finish up.”

Lucy gave him a warm smile. “It doesn’t matter, as long as you’re here. What would you like to do this afternoon?”

“What do you have to offer?”

Lucy looked him in the eye. “Anything you want,” she said softly.

Kate Blackwell and Charlie Wyatt beamed.

The barbecue was spectacular, even by Texas standards. Approximately two hundred guests had arrived by private plane, Mercedes or Rolls-Royce. Two bands were playing simultaneously in different areas of the grounds. Half a dozen bartenders dispensed champagne, whiskey, soft drinks and beer, while four chefs busily prepared food over outdoor fires. There was barbecued beef, lamb, steaks, chicken and duck. There were bubbling earthen pots of chili, and whole lobsters; crabs and corn on the cob were cooking in the ground. There were baked potatoes and yams and fresh peas in the pod, six kinds of salads, homemade hot biscuits, and corn bread with honey and jam. Four dessert tables were laden with freshly baked pies, cakes and puddings, and a dozen flavors of homemade ice cream. It was the most conspicuous waste Tony had ever seen. It was, he supposed, the difference between new money and old money. Old money’s motto was, If you have it, hide it. New money’s motto was, If you have it, flaunt it.

This was flaunting on a scale that was unbelievable. The women were dressed in daring gowns, and the display of jewelry was blinding. Tony stood to one side watching the guests gorging themselves, calling out noisily to old friends. He felt as though he were attending some mindless, decadent rite. Every time he turned around, Tony found himself confronted with a waiter carrying a tray containing large crocks of beluga caviar or pâté or champagne. It seemed to Tony that there were almost as many servants as guests. He listened to conversations around him.

“He came out here from New York to sell me a bill of goods, and I said, ‘You’re wastin’ your time, mister. No good oil deal gets east of Houston…’”

“You gotta watch out for the smooth talkers. They’re all hat and no cattle…”

Lucy appeared at Tony’s side. “You’re not eating.” She was watching him intently. “Is anything wrong, Tony?”

“No, everything’s fine. It’s quite a party.”

She grinned. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, pardner. Wait until you see the fireworks display.”

“The fireworks display?”

“Uh-huh.” She touched Tony’s arm. “Sorry about the mob scene. It’s not always like this. Daddy wanted to impress your mother.” She smiled. “Tomorrow they’ll all be gone.”

So will I, Tony thought grimly. It had been a mistake for him to come here. If his mother wanted the Wyatt Oil & Tool Company so badly, she would have to figure out some other way to get it. His eyes searched the crowd for his mother, and he saw her in the middle of an admiring group. She was beautiful. She was almost sixty years old, but she looked ten years younger. Her face was unlined, and her body was firm and trim, thanks to exercise and daily massage. She was as disciplined with herself as with everyone around her, and in a perverse way, Tony admired her. To a casual onlooker, Kate Blackwell seemed to be having a marvelous time. She was chatting with the guests, beaming, laughing. She’s loathing every moment of this, Tony thought. There isn’t anything she won’t suffer to get what she wants. He thought of Marianne and of how much she would have hated this kind of senseless orgy. The thought of her was a sudden ache in him.

I’m marrying a doctor. I’ve known him all my life.

Half an hour later when Lucy came looking for Tony, he was on his way back to New York.

He called Marianne from a telephone booth at the airport. “I want to see you.”

There was no hesitation. “Yes.”

Tony had not been able to get Marianne Hoffman out of his thoughts. He had been alone for a long time, but he had not felt lonely. Being away from Marianne was a loneliness, a feeling that a part of him was missing. Being with her was a warmth, a celebration of life, a chasing away of the ugly dark shadows that had been haunting him. He had the terrifying feeling that if he let Marianne go, he would be lost. He needed her as he had never needed anyone in his life.

Marianne met him at his apartment, and as she walked in the door, there was a hunger in Tony that he had thought forever dead. And looking at her, he knew the hunger was hers, too, and there were no words for the miracle of it.

She went into his arms, and their emotion was an irresistible riptide that caught them both up and swept them away in a glorious explosion, an eruption, and a contentment beyond words. They were floating together in a velvety softness that knew no time or place, lost in the wondrous glory and magic of each other. Later they lay spent, holding each other, her hair soft against his face.

“I’m going to marry you, Marianne.”

She took his face in her hands and looked searchingly into his eyes. “Are you sure, Tony?” Her voice was gentle. “There’s a problem, darling.”

“Your engagement?”

“No. I’ll break it off. I’m concerned about your mother.”

“She has nothing to do with—”

“No. Let me finish, Tony. She’s planning for you to marry Lucy Wyatt.”

“That’s her plan.” He took her in his arms again. “My plans are right here.”

“She’ll hate me, Tony. I don’t want that.”

“Do you know what I want?” Tony whispered.

And the miracle started all over again.

It was another forty-eight hours before Kate Blackwell heard from Tony. He had disappeared from the Wyatt Ranch without an explanation or good-bye and had flown back to New York. Charlie Wyatt was baffled, and Lucy Wyatt was furious. Kate had made awkward apologies and had taken the company plane back to New York that night. When she reached home, she telephoned Tony at his apartment. There was no answer. Nor was there any answer the following day.

Kate was in her office when the private phone on her desk rang. She knew who it was before she picked it up.

“Tony, are you all right?”

“I’m f-fine, Mother.”

“Where are you?”

“On my h-honeymoon. Marianne Hoffman and I were m-married yesterday.” There was a long, long silence. “Are you there, M-mother?”

“Yes. I’m here.”

“You might s-say congratulations, or m-much happiness or one of those c-customary phrases.” There was a mocking bitterness in his voice.

Kate said, “Yes. Yes, of course, I wish you much happiness, Son.”

“Thank you, M-mother.” And the line went dead.

Kate replaced the receiver and pressed down an intercom button. “Would you please come in, Brad?”

When Brad Rogers walked into the office, Kate said, “Tony just called.”

Brad took one look at Kate’s face and said, “Jesus! Don’t tell me you did it!”

“Tony did it,” Kate smiled. “We’ve got the Hoffman empire in our lap.”

Brad Rogers sank into a chair. “I can’t believe it! I know how stubborn Tony can be. How did you ever get him to marry Marianne Hoffman?”

“It was really very simple,” Kate sighed. “I pushed him in the wrong direction.”

But she knew it was really the right direction. Marianne would be a wonderful wife for Tony. She would dispel the darkness in him.

Lucy had had a hysterectomy.

Marianne would give him a son.