architects went to work. Kate chose another architect to design a sixteenth-century French Renaissance mansion on Fifth Avenue. 'This city is so damned noisy,' David complained. And it was true. The chatter of riveters filled the air in every part of the city as skyscrapers began to soar into the heavens. New York had become the mecca for trade from all over the world, the headquarters for shipping, insurance, communica-tions and transportation. It was a city bursting with a unique vitality. Kate loved it, but she sensed David's unhappiness.
'David, this is the future. This place is growing, and we'll grow with it.' 'My God, Kate, how much more do you want?' And without thinking, she replied, 'All there is.' She could not understand why David had even asked the question. The name of the game was to win, and you won by beating everyone else. It seemed so obvious to her. Why couldn't David see it? David was a good businessman, but there was something missing in him, a hunger, a compulsion to con-quer, to be the biggest and the best. Her father had had that spirit, and she had it. Kate was not sure exactly when it had happened, but at some point in her life, the company had be-come the master, and she the slave. It owned her more than she owned it.
When she tried to explain her feelings to David, he laughed and said, 'You're working too hard.' She's so much like her fa-ther, David thought. And he was not sure why he found that vaguely disturbing.
How could one work too hard? Kate wondered. There was no Atater joy in life. It was when she felt most alive. Each day lought a new set of problems, and each problem was a chal-Bge, a puzzle to be solved, a new game to be won. And she was ooderful at it. She was caught up in something beyond imagi-ation. It had nothing to do with money or achievement; it had to do with power. A power that controlled the lives of thousands of people in every corner of the earth. Just as her life had once been controlled. As long as she had power, she would never truly need anyone. It was a weapon that was awesome beyond belief.
Kate was invited to dine with kings and queens and presidents, all seeking her favor, her goodwill. A new Kruger-Brent factory could mean the difference between poverty and riches. Power. The company was alive, a growing giant that had to be fed, and sometimes sacrifices were necessary, for the giant could not be shackled. Kate understood that now. It had a rhythm, a pulse, and it had become her own.
In March, a year after they had moved to New York, Kate fell unwell. David persuaded her to see a doctor. 'His name is John Harley. He's a young doctor with a good reputation.'
Reluctantly, Kate went to see him. John Harley was a thin, serious-looking young Bostonian about twenty-six, five yean younger than Kate.
'I warn you,' Kate informed him, 'I don't have time to be sick.' 'I'll bear that in mind, Mrs. Blackwell. Meanwhile, let's have a look at you.'
Dr. Harley examined her, made some tests and said, 'I'm sure it's nothing serious. I'll have the results in a day or two. Give me a call on Wednesday.'
Early Wednesday morning Kate telephoned Dr. Harley. have good news for you, Mrs. Blackwell,' he said cheerfully 'You're going to have a baby.'
It was one of the most exciting moments of Kate's life. She could not wait to tell David.
She had never seen David so thrilled. He scooped her up in his strong arms and said, 'It's going to be a girl, and she'll look exactly like you.' He was thinking, This is exactly what Kate needs. Now she'll stay home more. She'll be more of a wife.
And Kate was thinking, It will be a boy. One day he'll take over Kruger-Brent.
As the time for the birth of the baby drew nearer, Kate worked shorter hours, but she still went to the office every day.
'Forget about the business and relax,' David advised her.
What he did not understand was that the business was Kate's relaxation.
The baby was due in December. 'I'll try for the twenty-fifth,' Kate promised David. 'He'll be our Christmas present.'
It's going to be a perfect Christmas, Kate thought. She was head of a great conglomerate, she was married to the man she loved and she was going to have his baby. If there was irony in the order of her priorities, Kate was not aware of it.
Her body had grown large and clumsy, and it was getting more and more difficult for Kate to go to the office, but whenever David or Brad Rogers suggested she stay home, her answer was, 'My brain is still working.' Two months before the baby was due, David was in South Africa on an inspection tour of the mine at Pniel. He was scheduled to return to New York the following week.
Kate was at her desk when Brad Rogers walked in unannounced. She looked at the grim expression on his face and said, 'We lost the Shannon deal!'
'No. I— Kate, I just got word. There's been an accident. A mine explosion.'
She felt a sharp pang. 'Where? Was it bad? Was anyone killed?'
Brad took a deep breath. 'Half a dozen. Kate— David was with them.'
The words seemed to fill the room and reverberate against the paneled walls, growing louder and louder, until it was a scream-ing in her ears, a Niagara of sound that was drowning her, and she felt herself being sucked into its center, deeper and deeper, until she could no longer breathe.
And everything became dark and silent.
The baby was born one hour later, two months premature. Kate named him Anthony James Blackwell, after David's father. I'll love you, my son, for me, and I'll love you for your father. One month later the new Fifth Avenue mansion was ready, and Kate and the baby and a staff of servants moved into it. Two castles in Italy had been stripped to furnish the house. It was a showplace, with elaborately carved sixteenth-century Italian walnut furniture and rose-marble floors bordered with sienna-red marble. The paneled library boasted a magnificent eighteenth- century fireplace over which hung a rare Holbein. There was a trophy room with David's gun collection, and an art gallery that Kate filled with Rembrandts and Vermeers and Velazquezes and Bellinis. There was a ballroom and a sun room and a formal dining room and a nursery next to Kate's room, and uncounted bedrooms. In the large formal gardens were statues by Rodin, Augustus Saint-Gaudens and Maillol. It was a palace fit for a king. And the king is growing up in it, Kate thought happily.
In 1928, when Tony was four, Kate sent him to nursery school. He was a handsome, solemn little boy, with bis mother's gray eyes and stubborn chin. He was given music lessons, and when he was five he attended dancing school. Some of the best times the two of them spent together were at Cedar Hill House in Dark Harbor. Kate bought a yacht, an eighty-foot motor sailer she named the Corsair, and she and Tony cruised the waters along the coast of Maine. Tony adored it. But it was the work that gave Kate her greatest pleasure.
There was something mystic about the company Jamie McGregor had founded. It was alive, consuming. It was her lover, and it would never die on a winter day and leave her alone. It would live forever. She would see to it. And one day she would give it to her son.
The only disturbing factor in Kate's life was her homeland. She cared deeply about South Africa. The racial problems there were growing, and Kate was troubled. There were two political camps: the verkramptes—the narrow ones, the pro-segregationists—and the verligtes—the enlightened ones, who wanted to improve the position of the blacks. Prime Minister James Hert-zog and Jan Smuts had formed a coalition and combined their power to have the New Land Act passed. Blacks were removed from the rolls and were no longer able to vote or own land. Millions of people belonging to different minority groups were disrupted by the new law. The areas that had no minerals, industrial centers or ports were assigned to coloreds, blacks and Indians.
Kate arranged a meeting in South Africa with several high government officials. 'This is a time bomb,' Kate told them. 'What you're doing is trying to keep eight million people in slavery.'
'It's not slavery, Mrs. Blackwell. We're doing this for their own good.'
'Really? How would you explain that?'
'Each race has something to contribute. If the blacks mingle with the whites, they'll lose their individuality. We're trying to protect them.'
'That's bloody nonsense,' Kate retorted. 'South Africa has become a racist hell'
'That's not true. Blacks from other countries come thousands of miles in order to enter this country. They pay as much as fifty-six pounds for a forged pass. The black is better off here than anywhere else on earth.'
'Then I pity them,' Kate retorted.
'They're primitive children, Mrs. Blackwell. It's for their own good.'
Kate left the meeting frustrated and deeply fearful for her country.
Kate was also concerned about Banda. He was in the news a good deal. The South African newspapers were
