Master of the Game (13 page)

Margaret had recovered her composure. She rose to her feet and took Madam Agnes’s hand in hers. “I’ll never forget this. Not as long as I live. Someday, when my son is old enough, I’ll tell him about this day.”

Madam Agnes frowned. “You really think you should?”

Margaret smiled. “I really think I should.”

Madam Agnes saw Margaret to the door. “I’ll have a wagon deliver all the gifts to your boardinghouse, and—good luck to you.”

“Thank you. Oh, thank you.”

And she was gone.

Madam Agnes stood there a moment watching Margaret walk clumsily down the street. Then she turned inside and called loudly, “All right, ladies. Let’s go to work.”

One hour later, Madam Agnes’s was open for business as usual.

It was time to spring the trap. Over the previous six months, Jamie McGregor had quietly bought out Van der Merwe’s partners in his various enterprises so that Jamie now had control of them. But his obsession was to own Van der Merwe’s diamond fields in the Namib. He had paid for those fields a hundred times over with his blood and guts, and very nearly with his life. He had used the diamonds he and Banda had stolen there to build an empire from which to crush Salomon van der Merwe. The task had not yet been completed. Now, Jamie was ready to finish it.

Van der Merwe had gone deeper and deeper into debt. Everyone in town refused to lend him money, except the bank Jamie secretly owned. His standing instruction to his bank manager was, “Give Salomon van der Merwe everything he wants.”

The general store was almost never open now. Van der Merwe began drinking early in the morning, and in the afternoon he would go to Madam Agnes’s and sometimes spend the night there.

One morning Margaret stood at the butcher’s counter waiting for the spring chickens Mrs. Owens had ordered, when she
glanced out the window and saw her father leaving the brothel. She could hardly recognize the unkempt old man shuffling along the street.
I did this to him. Oh, God, forgive me, I did this!

Salomon van der Merwe had no idea what was happening to him. He knew that somehow, through no fault of his own, his life was being destroyed. God had chosen him—as He had once chosen Job—to test the mettle of his faith. Van der Merwe was certain he would triumph over his unseen enemies in the end. All he needed was a little time—time and more money. He had put up his general store as security, the shares he had in six small diamond fields, even his horse and wagon. Finally, there was nothing left but the diamond field in the Namib, and the day he put that up as collateral, Jamie pounced.

“Pull in all his notes,” Jamie ordered his bank manager. “Give him twenty-four hours to pay up in full, or foreclose.”

“Mr. McGregor, he can’t possibly come up with that kind of money. He—”

“Twenty-four hours.”

At exactly four o’clock the following afternoon, the assistant manager of the bank appeared at the general store with the marshal and a writ to confiscate all of Salomon van der Merwe’s worldly possessions. From his office building across the street, Jamie watched Van der Merwe being evicted from his store. The old man stood outside, blinking helplessly in the sun, not knowing what to do or where to turn. He had been stripped of everything. Jamie’s vengeance was complete.
Why is it
, Jamie wondered,
that I feel no sense of triumph?
He was empty inside. The man he destroyed had destroyed him first.

When Jamie walked into Madam Agnes’s that night, she said, “Have you heard the news, Jamie? Salomon van der Merwe blew his brains out an hour ago.”

The funeral was held at the dreary, windswept cemetery outside town. Besides the burying crew, there were only two people in attendance: Margaret and Jamie McGregor. Margaret wore a shapeless black dress to cover her protruding figure. She looked pale and unwell. Jamie stood tall and elegant, withdrawn and
remote. The two stood at opposite sides of the grave watching the crude pine-box coffin lowered into the ground. The clods of dirt clattered against the coffin, and to Margaret they seemed to say,
Whore!…Whore!…

She looked across her father’s grave at Jamie, and their eyes met. Jamie’s glance was cool and impersonal, as though she were a stranger. Margaret hated him then.
You stand there feeling nothing, and you’re as guilty as I am. We killed him, you and I. In God’s eyes, I’m your wife. But we’re partners in evil
. She looked down at the open grave and watched the last shovelful of dirt cover the pine box. “Rest,” she whispered. “Rest.”

When she looked up, Jamie was gone.

There were two wooden buildings in Klipdrift that served as hospitals, but they were so filthy and unsanitary that more patients died there than lived. Babies were born at home. As Margaret’s time for delivery drew closer, Mrs. Owens arranged for a black midwife, Hannah. Labor began at three
A.M.

“Now you just bear down,” Hannah instructed. “Nature’ll do the rest.”

The first pain brought a smile to Margaret’s lips. She was bringing her son into the world, and he would have a name. She would see to it that Jamie McGregor recognized his child. Her son was not going to be punished.

The labor went on, hour after hour, and when some of the boarders stepped into Margaret’s bedroom to watch the proceedings, they were sent packing.

“This is personal,” Hannah told Margaret. “Between you and God and the devil who got you into this trouble.”

“Is it going to be a boy?” Margaret gasped.

Hannah mopped Margaret’s brow with a damp cloth. “I’ll let you know as soon as I check out the plumbin’. Now press down. Real hard! Hard! Harder!”

The contractions began to come closer together and the pain tore through Margaret’s body.
Oh, my God, something’s wrong
, Margaret thought.

“Bear down!” Hannah said. And suddenly there was a note of
alarm in her voice. “It’s twisted around,” she cried. “I—I can’t get it out!”

Through a red mist, Margaret saw Hannah bend down and twist her body, and the room began to fade out, and suddenly there was no more pain. She was floating in space and there was a bright light at the end of a tunnel and someone was beckoning to her, and it was Jamie.
I’m here, Maggie, darling. You’re going to give me a fine son
. He had come back to her. She no longer hated him. She knew then she had never hated him. She heard a voice saying, “It’s almost over,” and there was a tearing inside her, and the pain made her scream aloud.

“Now!” Hannah said. “It’s coming.”

And a second later, Margaret felt a wet rush between her legs and there was a triumphant cry from Hannah. She held up a red bundle and said, “Welcome to Klipdrift. Honey, you got yourself a son.”

She named him Jamie.

Margaret knew the news about the baby would reach Jamie quickly, and she waited for him to call on her or send for her. When several weeks had passed and Margaret had not heard anything, she sent a message to him. The messenger returned thirty minutes later.

Margaret was in a fever of impatience. “Did you see Mr. McGregor?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you gave him the message?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What did he
say
?” she demanded.

The boy was embarrassed. “He—he said he has no son, Miss van der Merwe.”

She locked herself and her baby in her room all that day and all that night and refused to come out. “Your father’s upset just now, Jamie. He thinks your mother did something bad to him. But you’re his son, and when he sees you, he’s going to take us to live in his house and he’s going to love both of us very much. You’ll see, darling. Everything is going to be fine.”

In the morning when Mrs. Owens knocked on the door, Margaret opened it. She seemed strangely calm.

“Are you all right, Maggie?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” She was dressing Jamie in one of his new outfits. “I’m going to take Jamie out in his carriage this morning.”

The carriage, from Madam Agnes and her girls, was a thing of beauty. It was made of the finest grade of reed, with a strong cane bottom and solid, bentwood handles. It was upholstered in imported brocade, with piped rolls of silk plush, and it had a parasol hooked on at the back, with a deep ruffle.

Margaret pushed the baby carriage down the narrow sidewalks of Loop Street. An occasional stranger stopped to smile at the baby, but the women of the town averted their eyes or crossed to the other side of the street to avoid Margaret.

Margaret did not even notice. She was looking for one person. Every day that the weather was fine, Margaret dressed the baby in one of his beautiful outfits and took him out in the baby carriage. At the end of a week, when Margaret had not once encountered Jamie on the streets, she realized he was deliberately avoiding her.
Well, if he won’t come to see his son
,
his son will go to see him
, Margaret decided.

The following morning, Margaret found Mrs. Owens in the parlor. “I’m taking a little trip, Mrs. Owens. I’ll be back in a week.”

“The baby’s too young to travel, Maggie. He—”

“The baby will be staying in town.”

Mrs. Owens frowned. “You mean
here
?”

“No, Mrs. Owens. Not here.”

Jamie McGregor had built his house on a kopje, one of the hills overlooking Klipdrift. It was a low, steep-roofed bungalow with two large wings attached to the main building by wide verandas. The house was surrounded by green lawns studded with trees and a lush rose garden. In back was the carriage house and separate quarters for the servants. The domestic arrangements
were in the charge of Eugenia Talley, a formidable middle-aged widow with six grown children in England.

Margaret arrived at the house with her infant son in her arms at ten in the morning, when she knew Jamie would be at his office. Mrs. Talley opened the door and stared in surprise at Margaret and the baby. As did everyone else within a radius of a hundred miles, Mrs. Talley knew who they were.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. McGregor is not at home,” the housekeeper said, and started to close the door.

Margaret stopped her. “I didn’t come to see Mr. McGregor. I brought him his son.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that. You—”

“I’ll be gone for one week. I’ll return for him then.” She held the baby out. “His name is Jamie.”

A horrified look came over Mrs. Talley’s face. “You can’t leave him here! Why, Mr. McGregor would—”

“You have a choice,” Margaret informed her. “You can either take him in the house or have me leave him here on your doorstep. Mr. McGregor wouldn’t like
that
either.”

Without another word, she thrust the baby into the arms of the housekeeper and walked away.

“Wait! You can’t—! Come back here! Miss—!”

Margaret never turned around. Mrs. Talley stood there, holding the tiny bundle and thinking,
Oh, my God! Mr. McGregor is going to be furious!

She had never seen him in such a state. “How could you have been so
stupid
?” he yelled. “All you had to do was slam the door in her face!”

“She didn’t give me a chance, Mr. McGregor. She—”

“I will not have her child in my house!”

In his agitation he paced up and down, pausing to stop in front of the hapless housekeeper from time to time. “I should fire you for this.”

“She’s coming back to pick him up in a week. I—”

“I don’t care when she’s coming back,” Jamie shouted. “Get that child out of here. Now! Get rid of it!”

“How do you suggest I do that, Mr. McGregor?” she asked stiffly.

“Drop it off in town. There must be someplace you can leave it.”

“Where?”

“How the devil do I know!”

Mrs. Talley looked at the tiny bundle she was holding in her arms. The shouting had started the baby crying. “There are no orphanages in Klipdrift.” She began to rock the baby in her arms, but the screams grew louder. “Someone has to take care of him.”

Jamie ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Damn! All right,” he decided. “You’re the one who so generously took the baby.
You
take care of him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And stop that unbearable wailing. Understand something, Mrs. Talley. I want it kept out of my sight. I don’t want to know it’s in this house. And when its mother picks it up next week, I don’t want to see her. Is that clear?”

The baby started up with renewed vigor.

“Perfectly, Mr. McGregor.” And Mrs. Talley hurried from the room.

Jamie McGregor sat alone in his den sipping a brandy and smoking a cigar.
The stupid woman. The sight of her baby is supposed to melt my heart, make me go rushing to her and say, “I love you. I love the baby. I want to marry you.”
Well, he had not even bothered looking at the infant. It had nothing to do with him. He had not sired it out of love, or even lust. It had been sired out of vengeance. He would forever remember the look on Salomon van der Merwe’s face when he had told him Margaret was pregnant. That was the beginning. The end was the dirt being thrown onto the wooden coffin. He must find Banda and let him know their mission was finished.

Jamie felt an emptiness.
I need to set new goals
, he thought. He was already wealthy beyond belief. He had acquired hundreds of acres of mineral land. He had bought it for the diamonds
that might be found there, and had ended up owning gold, platinum and half a dozen other rare minerals. His bank held mortgages on half the properties in Klipdrift, and his landholdings extended from the Namib to Cape Town. He felt a satisfaction in this, but it was not enough. He had asked his parents to come and join him, but they did not want to leave Scotland. His brothers and sister had married. Jamie sent large sums of money back to his parents, and that gave him pleasure, but his life was at a plateau. A few years earlier it had consisted of exciting highs and lows. He had felt alive. He was alive when he and Banda sailed their raft through the reefs of the
Sperrgebiet
. He was alive crawling over the land mines through the desert sand. It seemed to Jamie that he had not been alive in a long time. He did not admit to himself that he was lonely.

He reached again for the decanter of brandy and saw that it was empty. He had either drunk more than he realized or Mrs. Talley was getting careless. Jamie rose from his chair, picked up the brandy snifter and wandered out to the butler’s pantry where the liquor was kept. He was opening the bottle when he heard the cooing of an infant.
It! Mrs. Talley must have the baby in her quarters, off the kitchen
. She had obeyed his orders to the letter. He had neither seen nor heard the infant in the two days it had been trespassing in his home. Jamie could hear Mrs. Talley talking to it in the singsong tone that women used to talk to infants.

“You’re a handsome little fellow, aren’t you?” she was saying. “You’re just an angel. Yes, you are. An angel.”