Master of the Game

There was a fire burning in Eve that was so fierce she could not put it out. It was not sex alone: That was only a small part of it. It was a rage to live, a need to do everything, be everything. Life was a lover, and Eve was desperate to possess it with all she had in her. She was jealous of everyone. She went to the ballet and hated the ballerina because she herself was not up there dancing and winning the cheers of the audience. She wanted to be a scientist, a singer, a surgeon, a pilot, an actress. She wanted to do everything, and do it better than anyone else had ever done it. She wanted it all, and she could not wait.

Across the valley from L’Institut Fernwood was a boys’ military school. By the time Eve was seventeen, nearly every student and almost half the instructors were involved with her. She flirted outrageously and had affairs indiscriminately, but this time she took proper precautions, for she had no intention of ever getting pregnant again. She enjoyed sex, but it was not the act itself Eve loved, it was the power it gave her. She was the one in control. She gloated over the pleading looks of the boys and men who wanted to take her to bed and make love to her. She enjoyed teasing them and watching their hunger grow. She enjoyedthe lying promises they made in order to possess her. But most of all, Eve enjoyed the power she had over their bodies. She could bring them to an erection with a kiss, and wither them with a word. She did not need them, they needed her. She controlled them totally, and it was a tremendous feeling. Within minutes she could measure a man’s strengths and weaknesses. She decided men were fools, all of them.

Eve was beautiful and intelligent and an heiress to one of the world’s great fortunes, and she had had more than a dozen serious proposals of marriage. She was not interested. The only boys who attracted her were the ones Alexandra liked.

At a Saturday-night school dance, Alexandra met an attentive young French student named Rene Mallot. He was not handsome, but he was intelligent and sensitive, and Alexandra thought he was wonderful. They arranged to meet in town the following Saturday.

“Seven o’clock,” Rene said.

“I’ll be waiting.”

In their room that night, Alexandra told Eve about her new friend. “He’s not like the other boys. He’s rather shy and sweet. We’re going to the theater Saturday.”

“You like him a lot, don’t you, little sister?” Eve teased.

Alexandra blushed. “I just met him, but he seems—Well, you know.”

Eve lay back on her bed, hands clasped behind her head. “No, I don’t know. Tell me. Did he try to take you to bed?”

“Eve! He’s not that kind of boy at all. I told you…he’s—he’s shy.”

“Well, well. My little sister’s in love.”

“Of course I’m not! Now I wish I hadn’t told you.”

“I’m glad you did,” Eve said sincerely.

When Alexandra arrived in front of the theater the following Saturday, Rene was nowhere in sight. Alexandra waited on the street corner for more than an hour, ignoring the stares of passers-by, feeling like a fool. Finally she had a bad dinner alone in a small café and returned to school, miserable. Eve was not in their room. Alexandra read until curfew and then turned out the lights. It was almost two A.M. when Alexandra heard Eve sneak into the room.

“I was getting worried about you,” Alexandra whispered.

“I ran into some old friends. How was your evening—divine?”

“It was dreadful. He never even bothered to show up.”

“That’s a shame,” Eve said sympathetically. “But you must learn never to trust a man.”

“You don’t think anything could have happened to him?”

“No, Alex. I think he probably found somebody he liked better.”

Of course he did, Alexandra thought. She was not really surprised. She had no idea how beautiful she was, or how admirable. She had lived all her life in the shadow of her twin sister. She adored her, and it seemed only right to Alexandra that everyone should be attracted to Eve. She felt inferior to Eve, but it never occurred to her that her sister had been carefully nourishing that feeling since they were children.

There were other broken dates. Boys Alexandra liked would seem to respond to her, and then she would never see them again. One weekend she ran into Rene unexpectedly on the streets of Lausanne. He hurried up to her and said, “What happened? You promised you would call me.”

“Call you? What are you talking about?”

He stepped back, suddenly wary. “Eve…?”

“No, Alexandra.”

His face flushed. “I—I’m sorry. I have to go.” And he hurried away, leaving her staring after him in confusion.

That evening when Alexandra told Eve about the incident, Eve shrugged and said, “He’s obviously fou. You’re much better off without him, Alex.”

In spite of her feeling of expertise about men, there was one male weakness of which Eve was unaware, and it almost proved to be her undoing. From the beginning of time, men have boasted of their conquests, and the students at the military school were no different. They discussed Eve Blackwell with admiration and awe.

“When she was through with me, I couldn’t move…”

“I never thought I’d have a piece of ass like that…”

“She’s got a pussy that talks to you…”

“God, she’s like a tigress in bed!”

Since at least two dozen boys and half a dozen teachers were praising Eve’s libidinous talents, it soon became the school’s worst-kept secret. One of the instructors at the military school mentioned the gossip to a teacher at L’Institut Fernwood, and she in turn reported it to Mrs. Collins, the headmistress. A discreet investigation was begun, and the result was a meeting between the headmistress and Eve.

“I think it would be better for the reputation of this school if you left immediately.”

Eve stared at Mrs. Collins as though the lady were demented. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you have been servicing half the military academy. The other half seems to be lined up, eagerly waiting.”

“I’ve never heard such terrible lies in my whole life.” Eve’s voice was quivering with indignation. “Don’t think I’m not going to report this to my grandmother. When she hears—”

“I will spare you the trouble,” the headmistress interrupted. “I would prefer to avoid embarrassment to L’Institut Fernwood, but if you do not leave quietly, I have a list of names I intend to send to your grandmother.”

“I’d like to see that list!”

Mrs. Collins handed it to Eve without a word. It was a long list. Eve studied it and noted that at least seven names were missing. She sat there, quietly thinking.

Finally she looked up and said imperiously, “This is obviously some kind of plot against my family. Someone is trying to embarrass my grandmother through me. Rather than let that happen, I will leave.”

“A very wise decision,” Mrs. Collins said dryly. “A car will drive you to the airport in the morning. I’ll cable your grandmother that you’re coming home. You’re dismissed.” Eve turned and started for the door, then suddenly thought of something. “What about my sister?”

“Alexandra may remain here.”

When Alexandra returned to the dormitory after her last class, she found Eve packing. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going home.”

“Home? In the middle of the term?”

Eve turned to face her sister. “Alex, don’t you really have any idea what a waste this school is? We’re not learning anything here. We’re just killing time.”

Alexandra was listening in surprise. “I had no idea you felt that way, Eve.”

“I’ve felt like this every damn day for the whole bloody year. The only reason I stuck it out was because of you. You seemed to be enjoying it so much.”

“I am, but—”

“I’m sorry, Alex. I just can’t take it any longer. I want to get back to New York. I want to go home where we belong.”

“Have you told Mrs. Collins?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“How did she take it?”

“How did you expect her to take it? She was miserable—afraid it would make her school look bad. She begged me to stay.”

Alexandra sat down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. This has nothing to do with you.”

“Of course it has. If you’re that unhappy here—” She stopped. “You’re probably right. It is a bloody waste of time. Who needs to conjugate Latin verbs?”

“Right. Or who gives a fig about Hannibal or his bloody brother, Hasdrubal?”

Alexandra walked over to the closet, took out her suitcase and put it on the bed.

Eve smiled. “I wasn’t going to ask you to leave here, Alex, but I’m really glad we’re going home together.”

Alexandra pressed her sister’s hand. “So am I.”

Eve said casually, “Tell you what. While I finish packing, call Gran and tell her we’ll be on the plane home tomorrow. Tell her we can’t stand this place. Will you do that?”

“Yes.” Alexandra hesitated. “I don’t think she’s going to like it.”

“Don’t worry about the old lady,” Eve said confidently. “I can handle her.”

And Alexandra had no reason to doubt it. Eve was able to make Gran do pretty much what she wanted. But then, Alexandra thought, how could anyone refuse Eve anything?

She went to make the phone call.

Kate Blackwell had friends and enemies and business associates in high places, and for the last few months disturbing rumors had been coming to her ears. In the beginning she had ignored them as petty jealousies. But they persisted. Eve was seeing too much of the boys at a military school in Switzerland. Eve had an abortion. Eve was being treated for a social disease.

Thus, it was with a degree of relief that Kate learned that her granddaughters were coming home. She intended to get to the bottom of the vile rumors.

The day the girls arrived, Kate was at home waiting for them. She took Eve into the sitting room off her bedroom. “I’ve been hearing some distressing stories,” she said. “I want to know why you were thrown out of school.” Her eyes bored into those of her granddaughter.

“We weren’t thrown out,” Eve replied. “Alex and I decided to leave.”

“Because of some incidents with boys?”

Eve said, “Please, Grandmother. I’d rather not talk about it.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to. What have you been doing?”

“I haven’t been doing anything. It is Alex who—” She broke off.

“Alex who what?” Kate was relentless.

“Please don’t blame her,” Eve said quickly. “I’m sure she couldn’t help it. She likes to play this childish game of pretending to be me. I had no idea what she was up to until the girls started gossiping about it. It seems she was seeing a lot of—of boys—” Eve broke off in embarrassment.

“Pretending to be you?” Kate was stunned. “Why didn’t you put a stop to it?”

“I tried,” Eve said miserably. “She threatened to kill herself. Oh, Gran, I think Alexandra is a bit”—she forced herself to say the word—“unstable. If you even discuss any of this with her, I’m afraid of what she might do.” There was naked agony in the child’s tear-filled eyes.

Kate’s heart felt heavy at Eve’s deep unhappiness. “Eve, don’t. Don’t cry, darling. I won’t say anything to Alexandra. This will be just between the two of us.”

“I—I didn’t want you to know. Oh, Gran,” she sobbed, “I knew how much it would hurt you.”

Later, over tea, Kate studied Alexandra. She’s beautiful outside and rotten inside, Kate thought. It was bad enough that Alexandra was involved in a series of sordid affairs, but to try to put the blame on her sister! Kate was appalled.

During the next two years, while Eve and Alexandra finished school at Miss Porter’s, Eve was very discreet. She had been frightened by the close call. Nothing must jeopardize the relationship with her grandmother. The old lady could not last much longer—she was seventy-nine!—and Eve intended to make sure that she was Gran’s heiress.

For the girls’ twenty-first birthday, Kate took her granddaughters to Paris and bought them new wardrobes at Coco Chanel.

At a small dinner party at Le Petit Bedouin, Eve and Alexandra met Count Alfred Maurier and his wife, the Countess Vivien. The count was a distinguished-looking man in his fifties, with iron-gray hair and the disciplined body of an athlete. His wife was a pleasant-looking woman with a reputation as an international hostess.

Eve would have paid no particular attention to either of them, except for a remark she overheard someone make to the countess. “I envy you and Alfred. You’re the happiest married couple I know. How many years have you been married? Twenty-five?”

“It will be twenty-six next month,” Alfred replied for her. “And I may be the only Frenchman in history who has never been unfaithful to his wife.”

Everyone laughed except Eve. During the rest of the dinner, she studied Count Maurier and his wife. Eve could not imagine what the count saw in that flabby, middle-aged woman with her crepey neck. Count Maurier had probably never known what real lovemaking was. That boast of his was stupid. Count Alfred Maurier was a challenge.

The following day, Eve telephoned Maurier at his office. “This is Eve Blackwell. You probably don’t remember me, but—”

“How could I forget you, child? You are one of the beautiful granddaughters of my friend Kate.”

“I’m flattered that you remember, Count. Forgive me for disturbing you, but I was told you’re an expert on wines. I’m planning a surprise dinner party for Grandmother.” She gave a rueful little laugh. “I know what I want to serve, but I don’t know a thing about wines. I wondered whether you’d be kind enough to advise me.”

“I would be delighted,” he said, flattered. “It depends on what you are serving. If you are starting with a fish, a nice, light Chablis would be—”

“Oh, I’m afraid I could never remember all this. Would it be possible for me to see you so that we could discuss it? If you’re free for lunch today…?”

“For an old friend, I can arrange that.”

“Oh, good.” Eve replaced the receiver slowly. It would be a lunch the count would remember the rest of his life.

They met at Lasserre. The discussion on wines was brief. Eve listened to Maurier’s boring discourse impatiently, and then interrupted. “I’m in love with you, Alfred.”

The count stopped dead in the middle of a sentence. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said I’m in love with you.”

He took a sip of wine. “A vintage year.” He patted Eve’s hand and smiled. “All good friends should love one another.”

“I’m not talking about that kind of love, Alfred.”

And the count looked into Eve’s eyes and knew exactly what kind of love she was talking about. It made him decidedly nervous. This girl was twenty-one years old, and he was past middle age, a happily married man. He simply could not understand what got into young girls these days. He felt uneasy sitting across from her, listening to what she was saying, and he felt even uneasier because she was probably the most beautiful, desirable young woman he had ever seen. She was wearing a beige pleated skirt and a soft green sweater that revealed the outline of a full, rich bosom. She was not wearing a brassiere, and he could see the thrust of her nipples. He looked at her innocent young face, and he was at a loss for words. “You—you don’t even know me.”

“I’ve dreamed about you from the time I was a little girl. I imagined a man in shining armor who was tall and handsome and—”

“I’m afraid my armor’s a little rusty. I—”

“Please don’t make fun of me,” Eve begged. “When I saw you at dinner last night, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I haven’t been able to think of anything else. I haven’t slept. I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind for a moment.” Which was almost true.

“I—I don’t know what to say to you, Eve. I am a happily married man. I—”

“Oh, I can’t tell you how I envy your wife! She’s the luckiest woman in the world. I wonder if she realizes that, Alfred.”

“Of course she does. I tell her all the time.” He smiled nervously, and wondered how to change the subject.

“Does she really appreciate you? Does she know how sensitive you are? Does she worry about your happiness? I would.”

The count was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. “You’re a beautiful young woman,” he said. “And one day you’re going to find your knight in shining, unrusted armor, and then—”

“I’ve found him and I want to go to bed with him.”

He looked around, afraid that someone might have overheard. “Eve! Please!”

She leaned forward. “That’s all I ask. The memory will last me for the rest of my life.”

The count said firmly, “This is impossible. You are placing me in a most embarrassing position. Young women should not go around propositioning strangers.”

Slowly, Eve’s eyes filled with tears. “Is that what you think of me? That I go around—I’ve known only one man in my life. We were engaged to be married.” She did not bother to brush the tears away. “He was kind and loving and gentle. He was killed in a mountain-climbing accident. I saw it happen. It was awful.”

Count Maurier put his hand over hers. “I am so sorry.”

“You remind me so much of him. When I saw you, it was as though Bill had returned to me. If you would give me just one hour, I would never bother you again. You’d never even have to see me again. Please, Alfred!”

The count looked at Eve for a long time, weighing his decision.

After all, he was French.

They spent the afternoon in a small hotel on Rue Sainte-Anne. In all his experience before his marriage, Count Maurier had never bedded anyone like Eve. She was a hurricane, a nym-phet, a devil. She knew too much. By the end of the afternoon, Count Maurier was completely exhausted.

As they were getting dressed, Eve said, “When will I see you again, darling?”

“I’ll telephone you,” Maurier said.

He did not plan ever to see this woman again. There was something about her that was frightening—almost evil. She was what the Americans so appropriately called bad news, and he had no intention of becoming involved further with her.

The matter would have ended there, had they not been seen coming out of the hotel together by Alicia Vanderlake, who had served on a charity committee with Kate Blackwell the previous year. Mrs. Vanderlake was a social climber, and this was a heaven-sent ladder. She had seen newspaper photographs of Count Maurier and his wife, and she had seen photographs of the Blackwell twins. She was not sure which twin this was, but that was not important. Mrs. Vanderlake knew where her duty lay. She looked in her private telephone book and found Kate Blackwell’s number.

The butler answered the telephone. “Bonjour.”

“I would like to speak with Mrs. Blackwell, please.”

“May I tell her who is calling?”

“Mrs. Vanderlake. It’s a personal matter.”

A minute later, Kate Blackwell was on the phone. “Who is this?”

“This is Alicia Vanderlake, Mrs. Blackwell. I’m sure you’ll remember me. We served on a committee together last year and—”

“If it’s for a donation, call my—”

“No, no,” Mrs. Vanderlake said hastily. “It’s personal. It’s about your granddaughter.”

Kate Blackwell would invite her over to tea, and they would discuss it, woman to woman. It would be the beginning of a warm friendship.

Kate Blackwell said, “What about her?”

Mrs. Vanderlake had had no intention of discussing the matter over the telephone, but Kate Blackwell’s unfriendly tone left her no choice. “Well, I thought it my duty to tell you that a few minutes ago I saw her sneaking out of a hotel with Count Alfred Maurier. It was an obvious assignation.”

Kate’s voice was icy. “I find this difficult to believe. Which one of my granddaughters?”

Mrs. Vanderlake gave an uncertain laugh. “I—I don’t know. I can’t tell them apart. But then, no one can, can they? It—”

“Thank you for the information.” And Kate hung up.

She stood there digesting the information she had just heard. Only the evening before they had dined together. Kate had known Alfred Maurier for fifteen years, and what she had just been told was entirely out of character for him, unthinkable. And yet, men were susceptible. If Alexandra had set out to lure Alfred into bed…

Kate picked up the telephone and said to the operator, “I wish to place a call to Switzerland. L’Institut Fernwood at Lausanne.”

When Eve returned home late that afternoon, she was flushed with satisfaction, not because she had enjoyed sex with Count Maurier, but because of her victory over him. If I can have him so easily Eve thought, I can have anyone. I can own the world. She walked into the library and found Kate there.

“Hello, Gran. Did you have a lovely day?”

Kate stood there studying her lovely young granddaughter. “Not a very good one, I’m afraid. What about you?”

“Oh, I did a little shopping. I didn’t see anything more I really wanted. You bought me everything. You always—”

“Close the door, Eve.”

Something in Kate’s voice sent out a warning signal. Eve closed the large oak door.

“Sit down.”

“Is something wrong, Gran?”

“That’s what you’re going to tell me. I was going to invite Alfred Maurier here, but I decided to spare us all that humiliation.”

Eve’s brain began to spin. This was impossible! There was no way anyone could have found out about her and Alfred Maurier. She had left him only an hour earlier. “I—I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“Then let me put it bluntly. You were in bed this afternoon with Count Maurier.”

Tears sprang to Eve’s eyes. “I—I was hoping you’d never find out what he did to me, because he’s your friend.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “It was terrible. He telephoned and invited me to lunch and got me drunk and—”

“Shut up!” Kate’s voice was like a whiplash. Her eyes were filled with loathing. “You’re despicable.”

Kate had spent the most painful hour of her life, coming to a realization of the truth about her granddaughter. She could hear again the voice of the headmistress saying, Mrs. Blackwell, young women will be young women, and if one of them has a discreet affair, it is none of my business. But Eve was so blatantly promiscuous that for the good of the school…

And Eve had blamed Alexandra.

Kate started to remember the accidents. The fire, when Alexandra almost burned to death. Alexandra’s fall from the cliff. Alexandra being knocked out of the boat Eve was sailing, and almost drowning. Kate could hear Eve’s voice recounting the details of her “rape” by her English teacher. Mr. Parkinson said he wanted to discuss my English work with me. He asked me to come to his house on a Sunday afternoon. When I got there, he was alone in the house. He said he wanted to show me something in the bedroom. I followed him upstairs. He forced me onto the bed, and he…

Kate remembered the incident at Briarcrest when Eve was accused of selling marijuana and the blame had been put on Alexandra. Eve had not blamed Alexandra, she had defended her. That was Eve’s technique—to be the villain and play the heroine. Oh, she was clever.

Now Kate studied the beautiful, angel-faced monster in front of her. I built all my future plans around you. It was you who was going to take control of Kruger-Brent one day. It was you I loved and cherished. Kate said, “I want you to leave this house. I never want to see you again.”

Eve had gone very pale.

“You’re a whore. I think I could live with that. But you’re also deceitful and cunning and a psychopathic liar. I cannot live with that.”

It was all happening too fast. Eve said desperately, “Gran, if Alexandra has been telling you lies about me—”

“Alexandra doesn’t know anything about this. I just had a long talk with Mrs. Collins.”

“Is that all?” Eve forced a note of relief in her voice. “Mrs. Collins hates me because—”

Kate was filled with a sudden weariness. “It won’t work, Eve. Not anymore. It’s over. I’ve sent for my lawyer. I’m disinheriting you.”

Eve felt her world crumbling around her. “You can’t. How—how will I live?”

“You will be given a small allowance. From now on, you will live your own life. Do anything you please.” Kate’s voice hardened. “But if I ever hear or read one word of scandal about you, if you ever disgrace the Blackwell name in any way, your allowance will stop forever. Is that clear?”

Eve looked into her grandmother’s eyes and knew this time there would be no reprieve. A dozen excuses sprang to her lips, but they died there.

Kate rose to her feet and said in an unsteady voice, “I don’t suppose this will mean anything to you, but this is—this is the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.”

And Kate turned and walked out of the room, her back stiff and straight.

Kate sat in her darkened bedroom alone, wondering why everything had gone wrong.

If David had not been killed, and Tony could have known his father…

If Tony had not wanted to be an artist…

If Marianne had lived…

If. A two-letter word for futility.

The future was clay, to be molded day by day, but the past was bedrock, immutable. Everyone I’ve loved has betrayed me, Kate thought. Tony. Marianne. Eve. Sartre said it well: “Hell is other people.” She wondered when the pain would go away.

If Kate was filled with pain, Eve was filled with fury. All she had done was to enjoy herself in bed for an hour or two, and her grandmother acted as though Eve had committed some unspeakable crime. The old-fashioned bitch! No, not old-fashioned: senile. That was it. She was senile. Eve would find a good attorney and have the new will laughed out of court. Her father and grandmother were both insane. No one was going to disinherit her. Kruger-Brent was her company. How many times had her grandmother told her that one day it would belong to her. And Alexandra! All this time Alexandra had been undermining her, whispering God-knows-what poison into their grandmother’s ears. Alexandra wanted the company for herself. The terrible part was that now she would probably get it. What had happened this afternoon was bad enough, but the thought of Alexandra gaining control was unbearable. I can’t let that happen, Eve thought. I’ll find a way to stop her. She closed the snaps on her suitcase and went to find her sister.

Alexandra was in the garden reading. She looked up as Eve approached.

“Alex, I’ve decided to go back to New York.”

Alexandra looked at her sister in surprise. “Now? Gran’s planning a cruise to the Dalmatian coast next week. You—”

“Who cares about the Dalmatian coast? I’ve been thinking a lot about this. It’s time I had my own apartment.” She smiled. “I’m a big girl now. So I’m going to find the most divine little apartment, and if you’re good, I’ll let you spend the night once in a while.” That’s just the right note, Eve thought. Friendly, but not gushy. Don’t let her know you’re on to her.

Alexandra was studying her sister with concern. “Does Gran know?”

“I told her this afternoon. She hates the idea, of course, but she understands. I wanted to get a job, but she insisted on giving me an allowance.”

Alexandra asked, “Would you like me to come with you?”

The goddamned, two-faced bitch! First she forced her out of the house, and now she was pretending she wanted to go with her. Well, they’re not going to dispose of little Eve so easily. I’ll show them all. She would have her own apartment—she would find some fabulous decorator to do it—and she would have complete freedom to come and go as she pleased. She could invite men up to her place and have them spend the night. She would be truly free for the first time in her life. It was an exhilarating thought.

Now she said, “You’re sweet, Alex, but I’d like to be on my own for a while.”

Alexandra looked at her sister and felt a deep sense of loss. It would be the first time they had ever been parted. “We’ll see each other often, won’t we?”

“Of course we will,” Eve promised. “More than you imagine.”