Master of the Game (29 page)

“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.”