price.'
It was a heady moment. Jamie grinned and said, 'Name yours.'
David Blackwell was becoming more and more important to Jamie. In the young American Jamie McGregor saw himself as he once had been. The boy was honest, intelligent and loyal. Jamie made David his secretary, then his personal assistant and, finally, when the boy was twenty-one, his general manager.
To David Blackwell, Jamie McGregor was a surrogate father. When David's own father suffered a heart attack, it was Jamie who arranged for a hospital and paid for the doctors, and when David's father died, Jamie McGregor took care of the funeral arrangements. In the five years David had worked for Kruger-Brent, Ltd., he had come to admire Jamie more than any man he had ever known. He was aware of the problem between Jamie and Margaret, and deeply regretted it, because he liked them both. But it's none of my business, David told himself. My job is to help Jamie in any way I can.
Jamie spent more and more time with his son. The boy was five now, and the first time Jamie took him down in the mines, young Jamie talked of nothing else for a week. They went on camping trips, and they slept in a tent under the stars. Jamie was used to the skies of Scotland, where the stars knew their rightful places in the firmament. Here in South Africa, the constellations were confusing. In January Canopus shone brilliantly overhead, while in May it was the Southern Cross that was near the zenith. In June, which was South Africa's winter, Scorpio was the glory of the heavens. It was puzzling. Still, it was a very special feeling for Jamie to lie on the warm earth and look up at the timeless sky with his son at his side and know they were part of the same eternity.
They rose at dawn and shot game for the pot: partridge, guinea fowl, reedbuck and oribi. Little Jamie had his own pony, and father and son rode along the veld carefully avoiding the six-foot holes dug by the ant bear, deep enough to engulf a horse and rider, and the smaller holes dug by the mere-cat.
There was danger on the veld. On one trip Jamie and his son were camped at a riverbed where they were almost killed by a band of migrating springbok. The first sign of trouble was a faint cloud of dust on the horizon. Hares and jackals and mere-cats raced past and large snakes came out of the brush looking for rocks under which to hide. Jamie looked at the horizon again. The dust cloud was coming closer.
'Let's get out of here,' he said.
'Our tent—'
'Leave it!'
The two of them quickly mounted and headed for the top of a high hill. They heard the drumming of hooves and then they could see the front rank of the springbok, racing in a line at least three miles long. There were more than half a million of them, sweeping away everything in their path. Trees were torn down and shrubs were pulverized, and in the wake of the relentless tide were the bodies of hundreds of small animals. Hares, snakes, jackals and guinea fowl were crushed beneath the deadly hooves. The air was filled with dust and thunder, and when it was finally over, Jamie estimated that it had lasted more than three hours.
On Jamie's sixth birthday, his father said, 'I'm going to take you to Cape Town next week and show you what a real city looks like.'
'Can Mother go with us?' Jamie asked. 'She doesn't like vhooting, but she likes cities.'
His father ruffled the boy's hair and said, 'She's busy here, Son. Just the two of us men, eh?'
The child was disturbed by the fact that his mother and father seemed so distant with each other, but then he did not understand it.
They made the journey in Jamie's private railway car. By the year 1891, railways were becoming the preeminent means of travel in South Africa, for trains were inexpensive, convenient and fast. The private railway car Jamie ordered built for himself was seventy-one feet long and had four paneled staterooms that could accommodate twelve persons, a salon that could be used as an office, a dining compartment, a barroom and a fully equipped kitchen. The staterooms had brass beds, Pintsch gas lamps and wide picture windows.
'Where are all the passengers?' the young boy asked.
Jamie laughed. 'We're all the passengers. It's your train, Son.'
Young Jamie spent most of the trip staring out the window, marveling at the endless expanse of land speeding past.
'This is God's land,' his father told him. 'He filled it with precious minerals for us. They're all in the ground, waiting to be discovered. What's been found so far is only the beginning, Jamie.'
When they arrived at Cape Town, young Jamie was awed by the crowds and the huge buildings. Jamie took his son down to the McGregor Shipping Line, and pointed out half a dozen ships loading and unloading in the harbor. 'You see those? They belong to us.'
When they returned to Klipdrift, young Jamie was bursting with the news of all he had seen. 'Papa owns the whole city!' the boy exclaimed. 'You'd love it, Mama. You'll see it next time.'
Margaret hugged her son to her. 'Yes, darling.'
Jamie spent many nights away from home, and Margaret knew he was at Madam Agnes's. She had heard he had bought a house for one of the women so that he could visit her privately. She had no way of knowing whether it was true. Margaret only knew that whoever she was, she wanted to kill her.
To retain her sanity, Margaret forced herself to take an interest in the town. She raised funds to build a new church and started a mission to help the families of prospectors who were in dire need. She demanded that Jamie use one of his railroad cars to transport prospectors free of charge back to Cape Town when they had run out of money and hope.
'You're asking me to throw away good money, woman,' he growled. 'Let 'em walk back the same way they came.'
'They're in no condition to walk,' Margaret argued. 'And if they stay, the town will have to bear the cost of clothing and feeding them.'
'All right,' Jamie finally grumbled. 'But it's a damn fool idea.'
'Thank you, Jamie.'
He watched Margaret march out of his office, and, in spite of himself, he could not help feeling a certain pride in her. She'd make a fine wife for someone, Jamie thought.
The name of the woman Jamie set up in a private house was Maggie, the pretty prostitute who had sat next to Margaret at the baby shower. It was ironic, Jamie thought, that she should bear bis wife's name. They were nothing alike. This Maggie was a twenty-one-year-old blonde with a pert face and a lush body—a tigress in bed. Jamie had paid Madam Agnes well for letting him take the girl, and he gave Maggie a generous allowance. Jamie was very discreet when he visited the small house. It was almost always at night, and he was certain he was unobserved. In fact, he was observed by many people, but not one of them cared to comment about it. It was Jamie McGregor's town, and he had the right to do anything he pleased.
On this particular evening, Jamie was finding no joy. He had gone to the house anticipating pleasure, but Maggie was in a foul mood. She lay sprawled across the large bed, her rose-colored dressing gown not quite concealing her ripe breasts or the silky, golden triangle between her thighs. 'I'm sick of stayin' locked up in this damned house,' she said. 'It's like I'm a slave or somethin'! At least at Madam Agnes's there was somethin' goin' on all the time. Why don't you ever take me with you when you travel?'
'I've explained that, Maggie. I can't—'
She leaped out of bed and stood defiantly before him, her dressing gown wide open. 'Horseshit! You take your son everywhere. Ain't I as good as your son?'
'No,' Jamie said. His voice was dangerously quiet. 'You're not.' He walked over to the bar and poured himself a brandy. It was his fourth—much more than he usually drank.
'I don't mean a damned thing to you,' Maggie screamed. 'I'm just a piece of arse.' She threw her head back and laughed derisively. 'Big, moral Scotchman!'
'Scot—not Scotchman.'
'For Christ's sake, will you stop criticizin' me? Everythin' I do ain't good enough. Who the hell do you think you are, my bloody father?'
Jamie had had enough. 'You can go back to Madam Agnes's tomorrow. I'll tell her you're coming.' He picked up his hat and headed for the door.
'You can't get rid of me like this, you bastard!' She followed him, wild with anger.
Jamie stopped at the door. 'I just did.' And he disappeared into the night.
To his surprise, he found he was walking unsteadily. His mind seemed fuzzy. Perhaps he had had more than
