Mistress-of-the-Game - By Tilly Bagshawe Sidney Sheldon Page 0,24

not. On the rare occasions when his mother held him close, like today, the little boy felt he could move mountains. Pressed against her, lost in the intoxicating smell of her skin, joy coursed through his child's body like heroin.

Eve stood up. Drawing her silk robe more tightly around her, she walked over to the window.

Max sat alone on the bed. As always, he felt his mother's leaving like a physical pain. He clasped the gun, her gift, pressing it lovingly to his cheek.

"Your great-grandfather David never used that pistol. Never fired a single shot."

Eve was looking out the window. She seemed to be speaking to herself rather than to him.

"He was too much of a coward."

Max took the bait, an innocent lamb gamboling to the slaughter. "I'm not a coward, Mommy. I'm not afraid to use it."

Eve turned around.

"Is that so? And what will you use it for, my darling?"

Max didn't answer. He didn't have to.

They both knew what the gift was for.

I'll use it to kill Keith Webster.

I'll use it to kill my father.
Chapter Six

LIONEL NEUMAN LOOKED AT THE YOUNG MAN SITTING OPPOSITE him and found his mind wandering back into the past.

It was 1952, a similar bright June morning. Kate Blackwell was sitting in the very same chair as the young man. Counting back, Lionel Neuman realized with a shock that Kate must already have been sixty at the time. The image his mind's eye had carefully filed away was of a middle-aged but still beautiful woman: slim, impeccably dressed, and with a full head of glossy black hair only intermittently laced with silver threads. She was worried about her son.

Tony isn't himself, Lionel. It's as if something has died inside. I've tried everything I can to make him happy, but it's no use. He's determined not to marry.

The problem with Kate Blackwell was that although she sought advice from time to time, from Lionel Neuman, Brad Rogers and a few other Kruger-Brent lifers, she never took any of it. Any fool could see what was wrong with Tony Blackwell. The boy wanted to be an artist, and Kate wouldn't let him. Her ruthless trampling on his dreams eventually cost poor Tony his sanity. But Kate Blackwell could never see it that way. She went to her grave believing she'd done the best for her son. That it was Tony who had let her down.

Of course, Tony Blackwell did marry. For a few short months he was happy, blissfully happy, until his wife, Marianne, died giving birth to their twins, Eve and Alexandra.

They're all dead now. Kate, Tony, Marianne, Alexandra. But I'm still here. Same office. Same family. Same problems. What a curious thing life is.

The young man sitting opposite Lionel Neuman was Kate Blackwell's great-grandson, Robert Templeton. Had Tony not married, of course, young Robert wouldn't be here. Neither here in this office nor here on this earth. But Kate Blackwell had gotten her way on that as on all things. It hardly seemed possible, but the child was nineteen years old already, six feet tall in his socks and as blond and chiseled as any matinee idol.

He's not a child, though, is he? He's a man. That's the problem.

"There's nothing you can do to stop me."

Robbie's tone was surly and aggressive. He sat forward, his delicate pianist's fingers resting on his knees, and glared at the old man defiantly.

"I'm legally an adult now. This is my decision and mine alone, so show me where to sign and I'll get out of here."

"I'm afraid it's not quite as simple as that, Robert."

Lionel Neuman ran a crepey hand through his wiry, salt-and-pepper hair. He reminded Robbie of an elderly rabbit. His nose seemed to be permanently twitching, as if he could pick up nuances of legal language purely through smell. Even his office had the air of a burrow, with its dark wood, dimly lit Tiffany lamps and wine-red leather-bound legal tomes stuffed into every nook and cranny.

"Your father - "

"My father has nothing to do with this."

Robbie slammed his fist down on the desk. The top pages of Lionel Neuman's neat pile of documents fluttered in consternation, then lay still. The old man himself remained unperturbed.

I see you have your great-grandmother's hot temper. But you don't scare me, kid. I've been shouted at by more angry Blackwells than you've had hot dinners.

Such a pity. Robert had been an adorable little boy. No wonder Kate had loved him as she did. But he had grown, in Lionel