sidney sheldon - Master of the Game

dishes. She set the dining-room table again and again before she was satisfied with the candles and flowers. She wanted this to be a perfect evening.

Jamie did not come home for dinner. Nor did he come home all night. Margaret sat in the library waiting for him until three o'clock in the morning, and then she went to her bed, alone.

When Jamie returned home the following evening, he nodded politely to Margaret and walked on to his son's room. Margaret stood staring after him in stunned bewilderment, and then slowly turned to look at herself in the mirror. The mirror told her that she had never looked as beautiful, but when she looked closer she could not recognize the eyes. They were the eyes of a stranger.

"Well, I have some wonderful news for you, Mrs. McGregor," Dr. Teeger beamed. "You're going to have a baby."

Margaret felt the shock of his words and did not know whether to laugh or cry. Wonderful news? To bring another child into a loveless marriage was impossible. Margaret could no longer bear the humiliation. She would have to find a way out, and even as she was thinking it, she felt a sudden wave of nausea that left her drenched in perspiration.

Dr. Teeger was saying, "Morning sickness?"

"A bit."

He handed her some pills. 'Take these. They'll help. You're in excellent condition, Mrs. McGregor. Not a thing to worry about. You run along home and tell the good news to your husband."

"Yes," she said dully. "I'll do that."

They were at the dinner table when she said, "I saw the doctor today. I'm going to have a baby."

Without a word, Jamie threw down his napkin, arose from his chair and stormed out of the room. That was the moment when

Margaret learned she could hate Jamie McGregor as deeply as she could love him.

It was a difficult pregnancy, and Margaret spent much of the time in bed, weak and tired. She lay there hour after hour, fantasizing, visualizing Jamie at her feet, begging for forgiveness, making wild love to her again. But they were only fantasies. The reality was that she was trapped. She had nowhere to go, and even if she could leave, he would never allow her to take her son with her.

Jamie was seven now, a healthy, handsome boy with a quick mind and a sense of humor. He had drawn closer to his mother, as though somehow sensing the unhappiness in her. He made little gifts for her in school and brought them home, and Margaret would smile and thank him and try to lift herself out of her depression. When young Jamie asked why his father stayed away nights and never took her out, Margaret would reply, "Your father is a very important man, Jamie, doing important things, and he's very busy."

What's between his father and me is my problem, Margaret thought, and I'll not have Jamie hating his father because of it.

Margaret's pregnancy became more and more apparent. When she went out on the street, acquaintances would stop her and say, "It won't be long now, will it, Mrs. McGregor? Fll bet it's going to be a fine boy like little Jamie. Your husband must be a happy man."

Behind her back, they said, "Poor thing. She's lookin' peaked—she must have found out about the whore he's taken as his mistress ..."

Margaret tried to prepare young Jamie for the new arrival. "You're going to have a new brother or sister, darling. Then you'll have someone to play with all the time. Won't that be nice?"

Jamie hugged her and said, "It will be more company for you, Mother."

And Margaret fought to keep back the tears.

The labor pains began at four o'clock in the morning. Mrs. Talley sent for Hannah, and the baby was delivered at noon. It was a healthy baby girl, with her mother's mouth and her father's chin, and black hair curling around her little red face. Margaret named her Kate. It's a good, strong name, Margaret thought. And she's going to need her strength. We all are. I've got to take the children away from here. I don't know how yet, but I must find a way.

David Blackwell burst into Jamie McGregor's office without knocking, and Jamie looked up in surprise. "What the hell—?"

"They're rioting at the Namib!"

Jamie stood up. " What? What happened?"

"One of the black boys was caught trying to steal a diamond. He cut a hole under his armpit and hid the stone inside it. As a lesson, Hans Zimmerman flogged him in front of the other workers. The boy died. He was twelve years old."

Jamie's face filled with rage. "Sweet Jesus! I ordered a stop to flogging at all the mines."

"I warned Zimmerman."

"Get rid of the bastard."

"We can't find him."

"Why not?"

'The blacks have him. The situation's out of control."

Jamie grabbed his hat. "Stay here and take care of things until I get back."

"I don't think it's safe for you to go up there, Mr. McGregor. The native that Zimmerman killed was from the Barolong tribe. They don't forgive, and they don't forget. I could—"

But Jamie was gone.

When Jamie McGregor was ten miles away from the diamond field, he could see the smoke. All the huts at the Namib had been set to the torch. The damned fools! Jamie thought. They're burning their own houses. As his carriage drew closer, he heard the sounds of gunshots and screams. Amid the mass confusion, uniformed constables were shooting at blacks and coloreds who

were desperately trying to flee. The whites were outnumbered ten to one, but they had the weapons.

When the chief constable, Bernard Sothey, saw Jamie McGregor, he hurried up to him and said, "Don't worry, Mr. McGregor. We'll get every last one of the bastards."

"The hell you will," Jamie cried. "Order your men to stop shooting."

"What? If we—"

"Do as I say!" Jamie watched, sick with rage, as a black woman fell under a hail of bullets. "Call your men off."

"As you say, sir." The chief constable gave orders to an aide, and three minutes later all shooting had stopped.

There were bodies on the ground everywhere. "If you want my advice," Sothey said, 'I'd—"

"I don't want your advice. Bring me their leader."

Two policemen brought a young black up to where Jamie was standing. He was handcuffed and covered with blood, but there was no fear in him. He stood tall and straight, his eyes blazing, and Jamie remembered Banda's word for Bantu pride: isiko.

"I'm Jamie McGregor."

The man spat.

"What happened here was not my doing. I want to make it up to your men."

'Tell that to their widows."

Jamie turned to Sothey. "Where's Hans Zimmerman?"

"We're still looking for him, sir."

Jamie saw the gleam in the black man's eyes, and he knew that Hans Zimmerman was not going to be found.

He said to the man, "I'm closing the diamond field down for three days. I want you to talk to your people. Make a list of your complaints, and I'll look at it. I promise you I'll be fair. I'll change everything here that's not right."

The man studied him, a look of skepticism on his face.

"There will be a new foreman in charge here, and decent working conditions. But I'll expect your men back at work in three days."

The chief constable said, incredulously, "You mean you're gonna let him go? He killed some of my men."

"There will be a full investigation, and—"

There was the sound of a horse galloping toward them, and Jamie turned. It was David Blackwell, and the unexpected sight of him sounded an alarm in Jamie's mind.

David leaped off his horse. "Mr. McGregor, your son has disappeared."

The world suddenly grew cold.

Half the population of Klipdrift turned out to join in the search. They covered the countryside, looking through gulleys, ravines and klops. There was no trace of the boy.

Jamie was like a man possessed. He's wandered away somewhere, that's all He'll be back.

He went into Margaret's bedroom. She was lying in bed, nursing the baby.