Mistress of the Game
Chapter Twenty-Two
LOS ANGELES. FIVE YEARS LATER
PAOLO COZMICI LOOKED AT THE EXQUISITELY DECORATED Bel Air drawing room and scowled.
"Too many flowers. It looks like somebody died."
Robbie Templeton kissed him indulgently on the top of his bald head. "The flowers are perfect. Everything's perfect. Relax, babe. Have a drink."
Tonight was Robbie's fortieth birthday party. With typical altruism, he had decided to mark the milestone with a charity event that he hoped would raise a million dollars for the Templeton/Cozmici AIDS Foundation. Stars from the worlds of classical and pop music, as well as a smattering of Hollywood movie actors, would soon be pulling up to Robbie and Paolo's wrought-iron gates, where a huddle of eager paparazzi was already gathered. The sprawling Bel Air estate had been home to classical music's happiest couple for the past three years. The real-estate agent described it as "a French Country manor," a turn of phrase that had reduced poor Paolo to paroxysms of laughter.
"'Ave you ever been to France?"
It was in fact a vast, vulgar, wedding cake of a house, smothered in enough climbing roses to make Martha Stewart wince. The gardens came complete with a fake stream powered by a hidden electric pump and a faux-medieval bridge. It was the epitome of tackiness: brash, American, suburban. Disney. But it was also incredibly comfortable, boasted heart-stopping views from almost every room, and - crucially - afforded total privacy. Robbie and Paolo had been blissfully happy there.
"Ah, Lex, there you are. Would you please tell Monsieur le Grinch here that the house looks awesome?"
"The house looks awesome."
It was hard to believe that Lexi Templeton was thirty years old. Skipping down the stairs in a vintage gray Hardy Amies ball gown, with diamonds gleaming at her ears, neck and wrists, her skin still shone like a teenager's. She wore her hair long and loose, another girlish touch that belied the steely businesswoman within.
After Lexi left Kruger-Brent five years ago in a storm of scandal, most business pundits wrote her off. Overnight, her picture stopped appearing on the front covers of magazines. Lexi made no statements, responded to no rumors, approved no messages through "friends" or "insiders." She stopped attending celebrity parties, charity auctions, gallery openings. Word was that she'd left America, but no one knew for sure. As the months went by, people ceased to care.
But those who assumed Lexi had crawled under a rock to lick her wounds had profoundly underestimated the strength of her ambition, not to mention the resilience of her spirit.
Ten days after Max's coup, Lexi awoke to the sound of horns blaring outside her new, rented apartment. The media had driven her out of her old place. The noise was muffled at first, as if everything had been covered with a fresh fall of snow. But during the next few days, the snow slowly started melting. Sounds became sharper, crisper. Lexi delighted in each one like a newborn child. Water gushing from the faucet in her bathroom made her laugh out loud. Vendors cursing on the street below brought a lump to her throat. Strangest of all was her own voice. It didn't seem to belong to her at all.
Dr. Cheung was elated. "Congratulations, my dear. I'm only sorry that so much of what you're hearing at the moment is so unpleasant."
Like everyone else in America, Dr. Cheung had seen the pictures and read the reports. They were hanging the poor girl out to dry.
Lexi, however, seemed unfazed: "Don't worry about me, Doctor. I can hear again. That's all that matters."
And it was. Suddenly Lexi felt invincible. Raising capital against her Kruger-Brent stock - despite the drop in value, Lexi's stake was still worth over $100 million - she quietly started her own real-estate company, Templeton Estates. She began buying up cheap tracts of land in Africa, following the same business plan she'd intended to adopt as chairman of Kruger-Brent. Within two years, the company was outperforming almost all of its African competitors. This year Lexi had finally had the immense satisfaction of watching Templeton's market share in Africa overtake Kruger-Brent's.
Only one company, Gabriel McGregor and Dia Ghali's Cape Town-based Phoenix Group, consistently outperformed them. But then Phoenix had had a five-year head start on Templeton. No one could deny that for a five-year-old business, Templeton Estates had made one hell of a mark.
As her company flourished, so Lexi's own self-esteem started to revive. When Max betrayed her, releasing those awful, degrading pictures, part of her wanted to crawl away and die. Now, with both her hearing and her fortune restored, she found herself taking her first baby steps back into public life. On the spur of the moment, she showed up one night at the opening of a friend's restaurant in her native New York. Wearing a vintage Bill Blass dress, Lexi utterly stole the show, cutting as dazzlingly glamorous and enigmatic a figure as she had in the old days. Soon afterward the floodgates opened. Once again, men flocked to her. And not just any men. Lexi dated musicians, businessmen, movie stars, always moving on within a few weeks, keeping the tabloids guessing. With the dollar at an all-time low and the economy in the doldrums, America craved glamour and excitement like a crack whore craving a fix. What better way to revive the national spirit than to welcome this conquering, beautiful Blackwell daughter back into the collective American fold?
So she had a wild and crazy youth. So what? Who didn't?
She can hear again and she's back on her feet.
Lexi was a star, a fighter, a winner. She had reinvented herself once again. Once again, America was glued to the edge of its seat.
Paolo Cozmici needn't have worried. The party was a terrific success, with just the right amount of scandal to satisfy Hollywood's gossip fiends:
A famous music producer got locked in the bathroom with a beautiful singer who was not his wife.
The singer's name was David.
A movie actress was so wasted climbing into the hot tub that she forgot about the hairpiece she wore to hide her bald spot. When her twenty-year-old boy glanced down and saw what he thought was a dead rat floating between his legs, he passed out. The poor kid nearly drowned.
Michael Schett, this year's "Hollywood's Hottest Hunk" according to People magazine, arrived with Playboy's Miss September, but dumped her like a campaign promise when he laid eyes on Lexi. Unfortunately for Michael Schett, Lexi wasn't interested.
Michael cornered Robbie Templeton by the bar. "You gotta help me. I'm crashing and burning here. You're her brother. Tell me how to impress her."
With his Cary Grant looks, legendary prowess in the sack, and a string of hit movies to his name, Michael Schett was not used to rejection. He hadn't had a girl dismiss him like this since seventh grade.
Robbie grinned. "Lexi likes a challenge. You could always start making out with me. Maybe she'll try to 'turn' you?"
Michael Schett roared with laughter. He'd known Robbie and Paolo for years.
"Nice try, Liberace. She's cute, but no girl is that cute."
"Hey, you know what they say, Michael. You're not a man till you had a man and didn't like it."
In the wee small hours of the morning, once all the guests had gone, Paolo went to bed, leaving Robbie alone with Lexi.
"You know, Michael Schett is really into you."
Lexi rolled her eyes.
"What? He's a nice guy. Most women would bite his hand off. Christ, I'd sleep with him."
"You would not. You and Paolo are fused at the hip and you know it."
"Actually, we're fused at the heart. But I know what you mean."
Robbie was worried about Lexi. On the surface, she seemed to have pulled her life back from the brink. But her continued obsession with Kruger-Brent and their cousin wasn't normal. As for her working hours, Lexi regularly clocked in days that would put most self-respecting Taiwanese sweatshop workers to shame.
"Work isn't everything, you know, Lex. Don't you ever think of settling down?"
Lexi laughed. "With Michael Schett? His movies last longer than his relationships!"
"Okay, fine, forget Michael. But everyone needs love in their life."
"I have love in my life. I have you."
"That's not what I mean. Don't you want to have children one day? A family of your own?"
"No. I don't."
Lexi sighed. How could she explain to Robbie that after Max, she would never love again? He had no idea about her affair with Max - no one did - still less that it was Max who had distributed the pictures that very nearly ruined her. But Lexi knew. She knew love was for fools. Love had blinded her. Because of love, she had lost Kruger-Brent. The only thing that mattered now was destroying Max and taking back her beloved company. As for children, Kruger-Brent was Lexi's child. She had trusted in Max, and he had torn her child from her arms, ripped it from her breast and carried it off into the wilderness.
She had rebuilt her life and her reputation against the odds. Templeton Estates was a huge success. But inside, the longing for Kruger-Brent corroded Lexi's life like acid leaking from a battery. It turned every triumph to ashes.
Seeing she was upset, Robbie changed the subject.
"You're in Cape Town a lot these days. Have you come across a guy called Gabriel McGregor?"
Now he had her attention.
"I have. I've never met him. He co-owns a company called Phoenix. They're competitors of ours."
"Any good?"
"Very good, unfortunately," Lexi admitted. "He's a shrewd businessman."
"But?"
She paused. "I don't know. Like I say, we've never met. But there's something about him I don't entirely trust. You know he claims to be related to us? Says he's a descendant of Jamie McGregor."
"Isn't he?"
"I have no idea. I suppose he could be. How do you know him?"
Walking over to his desk, Robbie pulled out a handwritten letter. He passed it to Lexi.
"He and his wife are heavily involved in AIDS relief over there. He wrote asking me if Paolo and I would be interested in working with his charity. I'm flying out to meet with him next week."
Lexi read the letter, twice. It seemed genuine. But she couldn't quite shake the feeling of foreboding. Who was Gabe McGregor, really? A lot of people wanted to claim a connection to her family. This man was too rich in his own right to be a fortune hunter. But even so...
She found herself saying: "I'm going out there on business next week, as it happens. I can go and meet him with you if you like?"
Robbie's face lit up. He'd been trying for years to get Lexi interested in his charity work.
"That'd be great! I can book us on the same flight. It'll be just like old times. Hey, you remember going to Africa with Dad when we were kids? Those boring old Kruger-Brent tours? Man, Dad never shut up: 'Jamie McGregor had a diamond mine here, Kate Blackwell went to school here,' blah blah blah blah blah." He laughed.
"Of course I remember."
Those tours with her father felt like yesterday.
Lexi had loved every second of them.
"Jamie! Take Thomas the Tank Engine out of your sister's cereal right now or you're going on the naughty step."
Gabe McGregor fixed his four-year-old son with what he hoped was a stern stare.
Jamie said seriously: "I'm sorry, Daddy. I certainly can't do that. Thomas has crashed and bust his buffers. Now he must wait for the breakdown train to rescue him."
"Cheer - ohs! Cheeeeer oooooohs!" Collette, Jamie's two-year-old sister, burst into ear-splitting wails. "Don't wanna train! My Cheer-ohs!"
"Stop crying, Collette," said Jamie angrily. "You're giving Thomas a head-gate."
"Jamie!" Gabe shouted.
Marching silently over to the breakfast table, Tara McGregor removed the offending train from Collette's cereal bowl, dried it with a paper towel and handed it to her protesting son. "Any more moaning, Jamie and Thomas is in the trash. Finish your toast and you can have a chocolate milk."
To Gabe's astonishment, Jamie promptly forgot about his train and focused on stuffing peanut-butter toast into his mouth. Pretty soon his cheeks bulged like a hamster's. "Finished."
"Are you sure he won't choke?" Gabe glanced worriedly at Tara. "He looks like a snake trying to swallow a rabbit."
Tara didn't look up. "He'll be fine."
As usual, Tara McGregor's morning routine was a ridiculous juggling act: cooking breakfast, feeding and dressing the kids, refereeing World War III and helping Gabe remember where he'd put his socks/laptop/ phone/sanity.
Gabe watched his wife frying bacon for his sandwich with one hand while checking e-mails on her BlackBerry with the other. With her glossy red hair, slender waist and long, gazellelike legs, there was an old-fashioned sexiness about Tara that motherhood seemed only to have enhanced. From behind, she looked like Cyd Charisse. From the front, the impression was more innocent and wholesome. Rosie the Riveter meets Irish farmer's daughter. Pale skin. Freckles. Large, womanly breasts. A smile so broad it had knocked Gabe off his feet the first time he saw it, and still made him want to take her upstairs and ravish her now, six years later.
By nine o'clock this morning, Tara would be at the clinic, up to her elbows in dying babies.
She's an angel. One in a million. How the hell did a girl that smart and beautiful ever fall for a guy like me?
Tara Dineen loathed Gabe McGregor on sight.
"That guy? You mean the cheese ball?"
Tara and her girlfriend, Angela, were in a trendy new bar at the Waterfront. Angela had singled out Gabe as a "hot guy." Tara begged to differ.
"What's wrong with him?" asked Angela. "He's got Tom Brady's body and Daniel Craig's face. He's edible."
"And he knows it," said Tara archly. "Look at him, flashing his cash in front of all those toothpicks."
As usual, Gabe was surrounded by a gaggle of models, whom he was ostentatiously plying with Cristal.
"Let's go over there," said Angela.
"No thanks. You're on your own."
Angela made a beeline for Gabe. They chatted for a while, but Gabe's eye kept wandering back to the redhead giving him death stares from across the bar.
"Doesn't your friend want to join us?"
"No," said Angela, annoyed. Why did Tara always get all the male attention? "If you must know, she thinks you're a cheese ball."
"Does she, now?"
Gabe put down his drink. Marching over to Tara, he demanded: "Do you always judge a man before you've spoken to him?"
On closer inspection, Gabe could see that the girl wasn't classically beautiful. She had an upturned nose. Her eyes were set slightly too wide. She was tall and strong. The word strapping sprang to mind. And yet there was something compelling about her, something that set her apart from the Vogue beauties he usually dated.
"Not always, no. But in your case...well."
"Well what?"
"It's obvious."
"What is?"
"You!" Tara laughed. "Come on. The overpriced champagne? The Rolex watch? Your little harem over there? What do you drive? Don't tell me." She closed her eyes in mock concentration. "A Ferrari, right? Or...no. An Aston Martin! I'll bet you fancy yourself as a regular little James Bond."
"As a matter of fact, I drive a perfectly ordinary Range Rover," said Gabe, making a mental note to put his Vanquish up for sale tomorrow morning. "Give me your number and I'll take you out for dinner in it."
"No thanks."
"Why not? I'm a nice guy."
"You're not my type."
"What's your type? I can change."
"For heaven's sake, I'm not your type." Tara gestured to the nineteen-year-old Heidi Klum clones blowing Gabe kisses while they took turns warming his bar stool. "Take some friendly advice and quit while you're ahead."
But Gabe didn't quit. He found out where Tara worked - she was a doctor at a Red Cross AIDS clinic in one of the shantytowns - and had dozens of roses delivered to her every day. He asked her out on countless dates, sent her theater tickets, books, even jewelry. Everything was firmly but politely returned.
After three months, Gabe was on the point of giving up hope when he received an unexpected e-mail from Tara, sent to his work address. When her boss discovered one of his doctors was being pursued by one of the owners of Phoenix, he'd practically frog-marched Tara to the clinic's computer.
"Do you have any idea how much that company is worth? One donation from this McGregor guy and we could buy enough antivirals to see us through the next five years."
"But I'm not interested in him."
"Bugger 'not interested'! People are dying out there, Tara, I don't need to tell you. Now you flutter your eyelashes, and you get Gabriel McGregor back in here with his checkbook, pronto."
"Or what?" Tara laughed. She loved her boss, especially when he tried to lay down the law, bless him.
"Or I'll send you to your room without any supper, you cheeky cow. TYPE!"
Gabe's visit to the Red Cross AIDS clinic at Joe Slovo Shantytown changed his life forever.
Gabe had lived in camps himself. With Dia, he had seen firsthand the hopeless, crushing poverty of the slums. But nothing had prepared him for the depths of human misery at Joe Slovo.
Baby girls as young as two were brought in daily by female relatives after their uncles or fathers had raped them. Apparently the widely held belief that HIV could be "cured" by having sex with a virgin had mutated into a the-younger-the-better theory. Most of the children died from their internal injuries long before they could develop AIDS, their tiny, fragile bodies shattered from the force of penetration.
"Twenty rand buys ten of these child-rape kits," Tara told a clearly shaken Gabe. She handed him a plastic bag with a picture of Winnie the Pooh on the front. Inside was a sanitary napkin, a pair of child's panties, some sterile wipes and a sugar lollipop.
"That's it? A little kid gets raped and that's what you give her?"
Tara shrugged. "They get drugs if we have them. Children are first in line for antivirals. There's nothing else we can do."
After an hour touring the wards - dying girls in their twenties pleading with nurses to save their babies, young men shrunk to skeletons staring listlessly at the ceiling - Gabe excused himself. Tara found him sitting outside, tears streaming down his face. For the first time, she wondered if perhaps she'd been too hard on him. He was so bloody handsome it was hard not to distrust him. But his distress around the kids was obviously genuine.
"I'm sorry. I shocked you."
"It's okay." Gabe's hands were shaking. "I needed to be shocked. What can I do? What do you need?"
"Everything. We need everything. You name it, we need it. Drugs, beds, toys, food, syringes, condoms. We need a miracle."
Gabe reached into his pocket and pulled out a checkbook. Without thinking, he scribbled down a number, signed it, and handed it to Tara.
"I can't do miracles, I'm afraid. But maybe this will help. Just till I can work out something more long-term."
Tara looked at the number and burst into tears.
Their first date was a disaster. Hoping to impress her as a serious-minded citizen, not just another rich playboy, Gabe got them tickets to the premiere of a political documentary that had gotten rave reviews. Tara loved the movie. It was the additional sound track of Gabe's snores she objected to.
"I'm sorry! But you have to admit it was dull."
"Dull? You know it won the Palme d'Or at Cannes."
"Palm Bore more like it," muttered Gabe.
"How could you find that boring? The West's treatment of refugees is one of the most fascinating, complex issues facing modern society."
Not as fascinating as your breasts in that T-shirt.
When they sat down to dinner - Gabe had deliberately chosen a low-key steak house in a quiet neighborhood, nothing too flashy - things got worse. Tara leaned forward, her gorgeous wide-set eyes dancing in the candlelight. For one glorious moment Gabe thought she was about to kiss him.
Instead she asked earnestly: "So what are your politics, Gabe? How would you define yourself?"
"I wouldn't."
"Come on. I'm interested."
Gabe sighed. "All right. I'm a capitalist."
Later that night, alone in bed, Gabe wondered if he'd somehow misspoken and said "I'm a Nazi child-killer" or "I'm a horse fetishist. You?" The very word capitalist sent Tara into such an apoplexy of rage, she stormed out of the restaurant before they'd even finished their entrees.
He'd had to beg for a second date. This time he decided to keep it simple. Uncontroversial. He took her ice skating.
"I've never done this before." Wobbling uncertainly on the ice in jeans and a pair of pink leg warmers, Tara looked about thirteen. Gabe had never wanted a woman more.
"It's a cinch." He smiled, reaching for her hand. Pulling her toward him, he skated around behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Just step...and glide. Step...and glide. Let me lead you." He began to skate forward.
"No, no, no, it's okay. Don't push me. I can do it."
"It's all right. Just relax. I won't let you fall." He started to build up some speed, gliding the two of them across the ice.
"No, Gabe. I don't want you to...I prefer - watch out!"
The guy who plowed into them must have weighed at least two hundred pounds, a human Mack truck with no brakes. Gabe needed six stitches in his forehead. Tara fractured a rib and broke her arm in two places.
"You look good in white," Gabe joked in the emergency room, when they finished setting her arm in a cast.
"Thanks."
She wasn't smiling. Oh God, I've blown it. She'll never go out with me again. Not after this.
"I'm not very good at dates, am I?"
"No."
"That was probably the worst date you ever had."
"Unquestionably."
"Apart from the one before."
"Apart from that one, yes."
"The thing is..."
"Yes, Gabe?"
"You're laughing at me."
And she was. Tears of laughter streamed down Tara's face. Instinctively she moved her arm to wipe them away, only to whack herself in the face with her cast. For some reason, this made her laugh even harder.
"I'm sorry. But you look so adorable with your face all bashed up. And you are the most useless date in the universe. I mean you're bad on a superhuman scale."
"I know." Seizing the moment, he leaned down and kissed her, a full, passionate kiss that took both of them by surprise. It was a nice surprise, though. So they did it again. And again.
"I love you," said Gabe.
Tara grinned. "Disappointingly, I'm afraid I love you, too."
"I know I'm a crap date. But I'd be a good husband."
"Oh, really? So is that a proposal?"
"I don't know. Is that an acceptance?"
"Come back with a ring and I'll think about it."
Three months later, they were married.
Phoenix's offices were on Adderley Street, the main artery of Cape Town's thriving central business district. Robbie and Lexi were shown up to the twelfth floor.
"Wait here, please. Mr. McGregor will be with you shortly."
The waiting area was comfortably furnished with deep, squashy sofas and tables piled high with magazines. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered spectacular views of Table Mountain. The overall impression was one of wealth and ease.
Robbie asked: "Didn't Kruger-Brent used to have a satellite office on this street?"
"They still do."
"McGregor must be doing well to afford headquarters here."
Lexi, who'd been thinking the same thing, nodded glumly. It was her suggestion that they meet at Phoenix's offices. "It'll give us a chance to get to know one another before we drive out to the clinic." In fact, her real intention was to size up her competition. Now she wished she hadn't bothered. These Antoni couches alone must have set him back twenty grand. I wonder how much Phoenix made last year?
"Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Gabe. Would you like to come through?"
They followed Gabe into his office. For a moment Lexi was lost for words. She'd pictured Gabriel McGregor as an ordinary, balding, middle-aged executive.
Why didn't Robbie warn me he was so attractive?
"Lexi Templeton." She shook his hand coolly.
"A pleasure to meet you, Lexi. Tara and I were really excited when we heard back from your brother. Robbie and Paolo have done so much for the AIDS cause."
Lexi thought: Quit sucking up. What do you really want?
"I had no idea you were involved in the charity, too."
"I'm not. I'm in Cape Town on business."
"Ah, that's right. Templeton Estates. That's your company, isn't it?"
You know it is. Don't play dumb with me, pretty boy.
"Amazing that three people with the same great-great-great-grandfather should find themselves in the same city, involved in the same charitable cause and the same business. Don't you agree?"
Lexi gave a peremptory nod.
Gabe thought: I wonder what's eating her? She's about as warm and cuddly as a piranha that just got slapped with a parking ticket.
He'd seen countless pictures of Lexi Templeton over the years, including the infamous sex shots. He knew she would be beautiful. But none of the photographs had managed to convey Lexi's presence in the flesh; the way she seemed to fill a room simply by walking into it. She was already dominating this meeting, stealing her brother's thunder.
The silence was getting awkward.
"I'm sorry Paolo couldn't be here," said Robbie. "His health is not what it was, I'm afraid. He finds all the travel terribly tiring."
"That's quite all right. Perhaps next time? I know my wife will be pleased to see you, Lexi. She gets fed up with all the guy-talk."
Lexi's frown deepened. So he thinks I'm the "little woman," does he? Here to spend the next two days shoe shopping with his trophy wife while he fleeces Robbie's foundation? Well, he can forget it. I'm here to protect my brother's interests.
Out loud she said. "I look forward to meeting her. Shall we get going?"
Without waiting for an answer, Lexi started for the door.
After you, Your Majesty, thought Gabe.
It was going to be an interesting day.
Later that night, in bed at their sprawling, Cape Dutch farmhouse in the hills above Camps Bay, Gabe asked Tara what she'd thought of the Templetons.
"He's a sweetheart. She's a card-carrying bitch."
Gabe laughed. "You're so tactful, darling. Why don't you tell me what you really think?"
"Oh, come on. You can't have liked her." Tara turned off the bedside lamp. "And she certainly didn't like you. All those barbed comments?"
It was true. After a long and grueling day touring three new AIDS clinics that Phoenix had funded, Lexi's negativity had begun to grate on everyone's nerves.
"Anyone would have thought you wanted her brother's money for yourself. Here you are, trying to help these poor, suffering people, and this woman talks to you like you've just given her herpes."
"Another lovely image. Thanks for that, darling."
Tara teased: "You're sure you never slept with her?"
"Quite sure."
"It would explain a lot. There were so many, Gabe. She might have slipped your memory."
"Ha ha. Believe me, if I'd slept with her, she wouldn't look so damned miserable."
"Arrogant bastard!" Tara hit him over the head with her book. Thankfully, it was a paperback. "Seriously, though. Why do you think she has it in for you?"
Gabe had been pondering the same question all day. He noticed the sour look that came over Lexi's face whenever he alluded to their family connection. Perhaps that had something to do with it? Phoenix had outbid Templeton on a couple of deals recently, but he couldn't believe that a serious businesswoman like Lexi would take something like that personally.
"She's probably just protective of her brother. Doesn't want to see him being taken advantage of."
"Bollocks," Tara said roundly. "Robbie Templeton's forty years old and richer than Croesus. He can take care of himself. Besides, this is what his foundation does. They help people with AIDS. I couldn't believe how cold that woman was. Everyone cries when they see clinics like ours for the first time, but not that one. Oh no. Couldn't have cared less, could she?"
Gabe wasn't so sure. Lexi was certainly withdrawn. Aloof, even. She had declined to hold the babies when offered the chance, and seemed uncomfortable amid so much suffering and sickness. But people reacted to tragedy in different ways. Reaching out, Gabe ran a hand over his wife's belly. Since Collette was born, Tara's body had lost some of its firmness. Tara felt self-conscious about it, but Gabe adored her new soft contours. She had given him his children, brought a joy and purpose to his life that no words could ever fully express, nor any action of his could ever hope to repay. He loved her more than life.
He whispered in her ear: "I love you."
Tara sighed. "I love you, too, Gabe. But I'm absolutely bloody knackered. Be a sweetheart and piss off to your own side of the bed, would you?"
Ah! The sweet delights of matrimony.
For once in her life, Tara McGregor was dead wrong. The truth was that Lexi had been deeply moved by what she saw at the clinic. Those tiny, doll-like babies with their stick arms and bulging joints. When the nurse offered her a little girl to hold, Lexi was gripped with an irrational terror that she might break her. Her skin was paper thin...what if she gripped her too tight? The thought of causing that child one more ounce of pain was unbearable. The pleading look in the little girl's eyes would haunt Lexi forever. She'd been determined not to betray any emotion or weakness in front of Gabe McGregor. But as soon as they got back to Cape Town, she broke down in Robbie's arms.
"How can this still be happening? Those kids are just being left to die. What about the international aid programs?"
"They're overwhelmed," Robbie explained patiently. "They need private-sector money desperately. That's why I'm so eager to develop this relationship with Gabe McGregor. Can't you cut him a little slack?"
Lexi dried her tears. "I'll write you a check right now for those babies. But I don't trust McGregor. I'm sorry, but I don't."
Over the next two years, Lexi Templeton and Gabe McGregor crossed paths more frequently, at charity events and business conferences, as well as occasionally in the boardroom when they found themselves on opposite sides of a deal. Templeton Estates was investing in emerging real-estate markets all across the globe, from Georgia to Iran to Tibet. But something kept drawing Lexi back to South Africa. The returns were high. But it went beyond that. South Africa was the birthplace of Kruger-Brent. Lexi felt a powerful urge to succeed there.
Phoenix, whose investments were limited to South Africa, remained the market leader. Dia Ghali had cashed out of the business last year, leaving Gabe McGregor as the man to beat in real estate. Lexi Templeton fully intended to be the woman to beat him. But Templeton was not the only target in her sights.
Her thoughts were never far from Kruger-Brent. Templeton did no business in New York, but Lexi insisted on keeping an outrageously expensive office there purely because she had a good view of the Kruger-Brent building from her window. She had admitted it to no one. But deep down, Lexi had always seen Templeton as a stepping-stone. A stopgap measure until she could figure out a way to win back Kruger-Brent, destroying Max Webster in the process.
On the face of it, she knew her goal must sound insane. Kruger-Brent was a giant, a hundred times Templeton's size. It was a behemoth. Untouchable.
Lexi saw things differently.
Size is their weakness. They have too many vulnerable points, too many exposed businesses ripe for the picking. And I have the inside scoop on all of them. Kruger-Brent's a twelve-headed monster, and none of the heads talks to another. By the time Max realizes he's under attack, it'll be too late.
Business was a game. Toppling Kruger-Brent would be like playing a multibillion-dollar game of Jenga. Yes, Max's tower was infinitely taller than Lexi's. But remove a few strategic blocks from the bottom, and the whole edifice would come crashing down. The hard part was going to be controlling the explosion when it came. Lexi needed the company to weaken before she could strike, but not to collapse so totally that there was nothing left of her birthright.
So far, Max was doing most of the hard work for her. He was a brilliant diplomat and a natural schemer, but his performance as chairman had been distinctly lackluster. Lexi remembered her Harvard Business School professor's damning remark about one of his students, a young man who fancied himself as the next Warren Buffett.
"Jon Dean? Please. That guy couldn't sell a dollar for ninety cents."
Max Webster, it appeared, couldn't sell a dollar period. He had inherited Kate Blackwell's penchant for indiscriminate growth, a brilliantly successful strategy in the 1960s and '70s, but a disastrous one in today's wildly fluctuating markets.
Max could wait. So could Kruger-Brent.
For now Lexi had to focus on the job at hand: annihilating Gabe McGregor.
The safari was Gabe's idea. He cornered Lexi at a real-estate convention in Sun City, after Sol Kerzner's closing address.
"I've got reservations for a week at the Shishangeni Lodge next week. Tara and the kids were supposed to be coming, but Jamie's got some awful stomach bug. I wondered if you might be interested?"
Dressed formally in a dark gray suit that highlighted his tan and brought out the pale gray in his eyes - Lexi's eyes - Gabe looked even more handsome than he had the last time Lexi saw him. Is that part of the reason I don't like him? Because he's so attractive? It was possible. Max had burned her badly. The very thought of desiring someone again filled her with dread.
"That's kind of you, but I'm afraid I can't. I'm traveling for the rest of the month."
"What a shame." Gabe shook his head. "It's supposed to be the best safari experience in the country."
"I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time." Lexi looked pointedly at her watch.
"It would have been the perfect opportunity for us to talk about the Elizabeth Center, too. But if your schedule's too full..."
Damn him. He's got me on a string and he knows it.
The Elizabeth Center was going to be the biggest shopping mall in the country, built on two hundred prime commercial acres in a wealthy suburb of Johannesburg. Every real-estate firm worth its salt was bidding for a piece of the action, including Templeton. Somehow, Gabe had managed to wrangle a private deal for Phoenix and now owned a 10 percent stake in the venture, making him the second-largest single shareholder. A word from Gabe could open the door for Templeton. Or close it.
"Next week, you say?"
Gabe grinned. Gotcha.
"I'll have my assistant send the details to your office."
Lexi nodded tightly. "Thanks."
"You know, you might even enjoy it. Stranger things have happened."
Lexi was by no means sure that they had.
The Shishangeni Private Lodge is the jewel of Kruger National Park's crown. Made up of twenty-two thatched chalets, it boasts a swimming pool, library, conference facilities and a better wine cellar than most Michelin-starred restaurants. Every chalet has a private game-viewing deck as well as a bar, fireplace and outdoor shower - for those wishing to feel at one with nature without forgoing such necessities as deviled quail's eggs for breakfast and parfait of foie gras for dinner.
"How's your room?"
Gabe joined Lexi for dinner by the pool. It was their first night at Shishangeni. Above them, a livid African sun bled the last of its rays into the land, oozing burnt orange over the tapestry of rich greens. On the drive from Kruger Mpumalanga Airport, all Lexi's resolutions not to be impressed had flown out the window. She'd been visiting South Africa since childhood, but the extraordinary beauty of this corner of the national park took her breath away.
"It's fine, thank you."
Lexi's chalet had views of the Crocodile River in the south. To the east, she could almost see to the Mozambique border - mile upon mile of some of the most stunning country on earth.
"The water's a little slow to heat up."
Gabe frowned. "That's unusual. I'll have a word with the management."
In fact, Lexi's shower had been perfect, piping hot, powerful, its jets easing away every ounce of tension from her tired back and shoulders. She just didn't want Gabe to think she was enjoying herself.
This isn't a vacation. It's a fact-finding mission. I'm here for the Elizabeth Center, not the frigging zebras.
"Are you looking forward to the safari tomorrow?"
"Sure. I guess."
"Apparently we've a good chance of seeing all the big five: rhino, elephant, buffalo, lion and leopard."
"Great."
Gabe gritted his teeth. One more monosyllable and I'm going to strangle her.
Bringing Lexi to Shishangeni had been Tara's suggestion. Gabe could hear his wife's voice now:
"It's been two years, and you still have no idea why this woman hates you. Personally, I don't know why you give a shit. But seeing as you so obviously do, for God's sake take her away somewhere and find out what her beef is."
It seemed like a good plan at the time. Now, sitting opposite Lexi's beautiful, truculent face as the waves of hostility washed over him, Gabe also wondered why he gave a shit.
Because they shared a common, distant ancestor?
Because Lexi was a business rival?
Because she was Robbie's sister?
Or were his motives more selfish than that? Was the real reason he was sitting there that he couldn't stand the idea of any sexy, intelligent woman dismissing him the way that Lexi did? The last woman who'd been immune to his charms was Tara, and he'd wound up married to her.
Am I being a fool? I love Tara. Whatever this thing is with Lexi, I mustn't let it threaten that.
Lexi broke the silence: "So, the Elizabeth Center. I understand there are a number of interested parties?"
Gabe waved down the waiter.
"Let's order, shall we? I'm a little too tired to discuss business tonight."
"Sure." Lexi forced a smile. "There's plenty of time."
She tried not to notice the way Gabe's broad chest stretched the blue fabric of his shirt. Or how his big, rugby player's hands tore the warm bread rolls in half as easily as if they'd been a piece of tissue paper.
I should never have come. I'll leave in the morning. Tell him something came up in New York.
She didn't leave in the morning. By six A.M., she was half asleep in the back of a jeep, bouncing off into the wilderness.
"We'll be sleeping under canvas tonight." Gabe looked rested and happy in an ancient pair of cargo pants and a khaki shirt. Indiana Jones without the bullwhip. Lexi, by contrast, looked like what she was: a sleep-deprived New Yorker longing to crawl back into bed, or at least into the nearest Starbucks for a triple-shot vanilla latte. "Are you excited?"
"Thrilled."
The roar of the jeep's engine as they clattered over the deeply rutted track made conversation difficult. For half an hour, silence reigned.
Then Gabe yelled out: "Look! Over there!"
A lioness emerged from the Delagoa thornbushes, yawning and stretching her long, gold limbs in the early-morning sun. Gabe took pictures.
"Did you see her? Incredible! This is going to be an amazing day."
Lexi thought: He's like a schoolboy. I wonder if business excites him this much?
They stopped at noon to eat lunch under the shade of a baobab tree. Lexi jumped out of her skin when two natives approached them. Both were barefoot, armed with spears and wore feathered loincloths around their waists.
"It's all right," said Gabe. "They're San. Trackers. San have roamed these lands since the early Stone Age."
"What do they want?"
"Food, probably." Gabe held out his hand, offering the men some bread. They declined, pointing at Lexi and smiling. One of them pulled a pouch of dried leaves from beneath his feathers and offered it to Gabe.
"Ah. My mistake." Gabe grinned. "It looks like you're the big draw." He shook his head at the San tribesmen. "Sorry. She's not for sale."
"They wanted you to trade me for a bunch of leaves?" said Lexi indignantly, once the men had gone. "Shouldn't they at least offer, like, an ox or something?"
"The San don't keep animals. But they're expert botanists. They know every poison, medicine and narcotic to be found out here. To them, those leaves may have been priceless."
"You should have made the trade," Lexi quipped.
Gabe looked at her for a long time.
"How could I? You're not mine to sell."
Lexi felt the blood rushing to her face.
"Why did you ask me here?"
"Why do you hate me so much?"
The driver shouted from inside the jeep: "Time to pack up, guys. If we want to reach Crocodile River by sunset, we'd better get a move on."
Lexi spent the rest of the afternoon in silence, feigning interest in the wildlife. Inside, her mind was racing.
He wants me. That's why he brought me here. Do I want him, too?
She tried to look at things dispassionately. Gabe was married. Very happily married, if Robbie was to be believed, and Lexi had no reason to doubt him.
Maybe that's part of his attraction? He's a strong, solid family man. A good husband, a good father. He's built the kind of life that I can never have.
She thought of her past lovers, from Christian Harle through all the rock musicians and bad-boy actors. She thought about the wild sex she used to have in college. About Max and the destructive, animal passion they'd shared. In some ways, we still share it. We always will. Men like Gabriel McGregor, good men, honest men, never fell for Lexi. They watch me and admire me from afar, like safari tourists ogling a tigress. They know it's dangerous to get close.
As they approached the clearing where they'd be spending the night, the jeep stalled in a deep pothole and Gabe's body was thrown against Lexi's. The contact lasted no more than a couple of seconds. But it was enough.
They talked by the campfire till late into the night. Gabe spoke about his childhood. How he'd watched his father's obsession with the Blackwells and Kruger-Brent eat away at him like cancer. "I knew I never wanted to be like that. Embittered, clinging on to the past. I had to make my own way."
"So you don't care about Kruger-Brent? You don't want it?"
From her tone, it was clear that Lexi found this hard to believe.
"No, I don't want it. Why should I? It's just a name to me. Besides, from what I can see, it's brought as much suffering to your family as it has riches."
He's right. But he doesn't understand. Kruger-Brent is a drug. Once you have it in your system, it takes over. Nothing else matters.
The more Gabe spoke, the more Lexi understood the connection he felt to her family. It went beyond the gray McGregor eyes and a single common forefather. Gabe shared Lexi's wanderlust, her magnetic yearning for Africa. Like Robbie, he'd been an addict and crawled back from the abyss. Beneath his gentle-giant exterior, Lexi sensed a powerful ambition.
Like me and Max. Like Kate Blackwell.
Gabe had grown up in a family at war, a family pulled to pieces by bitterness and envy. When he spoke about his father, Lexi immediately thought of her aunt Eve, trapped in the past, enslaved by it.
Max and I are enslaved by it, too. But not Gabe. He's broken free.
He's like us, but he's not one of us.
All of a sudden, like switching on a light, she realized why she'd hated Gabe for so long. It was so obvious, she laughed out loud.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing."
I envy you. That's what's funny. I envy you your freedom, your goodness, your happy marriage. I envy your ability to care for others. Those kids with AIDS. The slum families you and Dia housed. You can feel. Your heart is still open.
My heart closed when I was eight years old.
That night, Lexi lay wide-awake in her tent, thinking. There was something there between her and Gabe. She hadn't imagined it. It was real.
Part of her ached to get up, crawl into Gabe's tent, and make love to him. Just to know what that would feel like, to be held and wanted and made love to by someone good, someone whole. But a bigger part of her knew that she could never do it. Gabe belonged to another woman. He also belonged to another world.
By the time Gabe awoke the next morning, Lexi had left the camp. Eighteen hours later, she was back in New York.
The next week Templeton Estates were offered a 5 percent stake in the Elizabeth Center development, at highly advantageous terms.
They turned down the offer.
PAOLO COZMICI LOOKED AT THE EXQUISITELY DECORATED Bel Air drawing room and scowled.
"Too many flowers. It looks like somebody died."
Robbie Templeton kissed him indulgently on the top of his bald head. "The flowers are perfect. Everything's perfect. Relax, babe. Have a drink."
Tonight was Robbie's fortieth birthday party. With typical altruism, he had decided to mark the milestone with a charity event that he hoped would raise a million dollars for the Templeton/Cozmici AIDS Foundation. Stars from the worlds of classical and pop music, as well as a smattering of Hollywood movie actors, would soon be pulling up to Robbie and Paolo's wrought-iron gates, where a huddle of eager paparazzi was already gathered. The sprawling Bel Air estate had been home to classical music's happiest couple for the past three years. The real-estate agent described it as "a French Country manor," a turn of phrase that had reduced poor Paolo to paroxysms of laughter.
"'Ave you ever been to France?"
It was in fact a vast, vulgar, wedding cake of a house, smothered in enough climbing roses to make Martha Stewart wince. The gardens came complete with a fake stream powered by a hidden electric pump and a faux-medieval bridge. It was the epitome of tackiness: brash, American, suburban. Disney. But it was also incredibly comfortable, boasted heart-stopping views from almost every room, and - crucially - afforded total privacy. Robbie and Paolo had been blissfully happy there.
"Ah, Lex, there you are. Would you please tell Monsieur le Grinch here that the house looks awesome?"
"The house looks awesome."
It was hard to believe that Lexi Templeton was thirty years old. Skipping down the stairs in a vintage gray Hardy Amies ball gown, with diamonds gleaming at her ears, neck and wrists, her skin still shone like a teenager's. She wore her hair long and loose, another girlish touch that belied the steely businesswoman within.
After Lexi left Kruger-Brent five years ago in a storm of scandal, most business pundits wrote her off. Overnight, her picture stopped appearing on the front covers of magazines. Lexi made no statements, responded to no rumors, approved no messages through "friends" or "insiders." She stopped attending celebrity parties, charity auctions, gallery openings. Word was that she'd left America, but no one knew for sure. As the months went by, people ceased to care.
But those who assumed Lexi had crawled under a rock to lick her wounds had profoundly underestimated the strength of her ambition, not to mention the resilience of her spirit.
Ten days after Max's coup, Lexi awoke to the sound of horns blaring outside her new, rented apartment. The media had driven her out of her old place. The noise was muffled at first, as if everything had been covered with a fresh fall of snow. But during the next few days, the snow slowly started melting. Sounds became sharper, crisper. Lexi delighted in each one like a newborn child. Water gushing from the faucet in her bathroom made her laugh out loud. Vendors cursing on the street below brought a lump to her throat. Strangest of all was her own voice. It didn't seem to belong to her at all.
Dr. Cheung was elated. "Congratulations, my dear. I'm only sorry that so much of what you're hearing at the moment is so unpleasant."
Like everyone else in America, Dr. Cheung had seen the pictures and read the reports. They were hanging the poor girl out to dry.
Lexi, however, seemed unfazed: "Don't worry about me, Doctor. I can hear again. That's all that matters."
And it was. Suddenly Lexi felt invincible. Raising capital against her Kruger-Brent stock - despite the drop in value, Lexi's stake was still worth over $100 million - she quietly started her own real-estate company, Templeton Estates. She began buying up cheap tracts of land in Africa, following the same business plan she'd intended to adopt as chairman of Kruger-Brent. Within two years, the company was outperforming almost all of its African competitors. This year Lexi had finally had the immense satisfaction of watching Templeton's market share in Africa overtake Kruger-Brent's.
Only one company, Gabriel McGregor and Dia Ghali's Cape Town-based Phoenix Group, consistently outperformed them. But then Phoenix had had a five-year head start on Templeton. No one could deny that for a five-year-old business, Templeton Estates had made one hell of a mark.
As her company flourished, so Lexi's own self-esteem started to revive. When Max betrayed her, releasing those awful, degrading pictures, part of her wanted to crawl away and die. Now, with both her hearing and her fortune restored, she found herself taking her first baby steps back into public life. On the spur of the moment, she showed up one night at the opening of a friend's restaurant in her native New York. Wearing a vintage Bill Blass dress, Lexi utterly stole the show, cutting as dazzlingly glamorous and enigmatic a figure as she had in the old days. Soon afterward the floodgates opened. Once again, men flocked to her. And not just any men. Lexi dated musicians, businessmen, movie stars, always moving on within a few weeks, keeping the tabloids guessing. With the dollar at an all-time low and the economy in the doldrums, America craved glamour and excitement like a crack whore craving a fix. What better way to revive the national spirit than to welcome this conquering, beautiful Blackwell daughter back into the collective American fold?
So she had a wild and crazy youth. So what? Who didn't?
She can hear again and she's back on her feet.
Lexi was a star, a fighter, a winner. She had reinvented herself once again. Once again, America was glued to the edge of its seat.
Paolo Cozmici needn't have worried. The party was a terrific success, with just the right amount of scandal to satisfy Hollywood's gossip fiends:
A famous music producer got locked in the bathroom with a beautiful singer who was not his wife.
The singer's name was David.
A movie actress was so wasted climbing into the hot tub that she forgot about the hairpiece she wore to hide her bald spot. When her twenty-year-old boy glanced down and saw what he thought was a dead rat floating between his legs, he passed out. The poor kid nearly drowned.
Michael Schett, this year's "Hollywood's Hottest Hunk" according to People magazine, arrived with Playboy's Miss September, but dumped her like a campaign promise when he laid eyes on Lexi. Unfortunately for Michael Schett, Lexi wasn't interested.
Michael cornered Robbie Templeton by the bar. "You gotta help me. I'm crashing and burning here. You're her brother. Tell me how to impress her."
With his Cary Grant looks, legendary prowess in the sack, and a string of hit movies to his name, Michael Schett was not used to rejection. He hadn't had a girl dismiss him like this since seventh grade.
Robbie grinned. "Lexi likes a challenge. You could always start making out with me. Maybe she'll try to 'turn' you?"
Michael Schett roared with laughter. He'd known Robbie and Paolo for years.
"Nice try, Liberace. She's cute, but no girl is that cute."
"Hey, you know what they say, Michael. You're not a man till you had a man and didn't like it."
In the wee small hours of the morning, once all the guests had gone, Paolo went to bed, leaving Robbie alone with Lexi.
"You know, Michael Schett is really into you."
Lexi rolled her eyes.
"What? He's a nice guy. Most women would bite his hand off. Christ, I'd sleep with him."
"You would not. You and Paolo are fused at the hip and you know it."
"Actually, we're fused at the heart. But I know what you mean."
Robbie was worried about Lexi. On the surface, she seemed to have pulled her life back from the brink. But her continued obsession with Kruger-Brent and their cousin wasn't normal. As for her working hours, Lexi regularly clocked in days that would put most self-respecting Taiwanese sweatshop workers to shame.
"Work isn't everything, you know, Lex. Don't you ever think of settling down?"
Lexi laughed. "With Michael Schett? His movies last longer than his relationships!"
"Okay, fine, forget Michael. But everyone needs love in their life."
"I have love in my life. I have you."
"That's not what I mean. Don't you want to have children one day? A family of your own?"
"No. I don't."
Lexi sighed. How could she explain to Robbie that after Max, she would never love again? He had no idea about her affair with Max - no one did - still less that it was Max who had distributed the pictures that very nearly ruined her. But Lexi knew. She knew love was for fools. Love had blinded her. Because of love, she had lost Kruger-Brent. The only thing that mattered now was destroying Max and taking back her beloved company. As for children, Kruger-Brent was Lexi's child. She had trusted in Max, and he had torn her child from her arms, ripped it from her breast and carried it off into the wilderness.
She had rebuilt her life and her reputation against the odds. Templeton Estates was a huge success. But inside, the longing for Kruger-Brent corroded Lexi's life like acid leaking from a battery. It turned every triumph to ashes.
Seeing she was upset, Robbie changed the subject.
"You're in Cape Town a lot these days. Have you come across a guy called Gabriel McGregor?"
Now he had her attention.
"I have. I've never met him. He co-owns a company called Phoenix. They're competitors of ours."
"Any good?"
"Very good, unfortunately," Lexi admitted. "He's a shrewd businessman."
"But?"
She paused. "I don't know. Like I say, we've never met. But there's something about him I don't entirely trust. You know he claims to be related to us? Says he's a descendant of Jamie McGregor."
"Isn't he?"
"I have no idea. I suppose he could be. How do you know him?"
Walking over to his desk, Robbie pulled out a handwritten letter. He passed it to Lexi.
"He and his wife are heavily involved in AIDS relief over there. He wrote asking me if Paolo and I would be interested in working with his charity. I'm flying out to meet with him next week."
Lexi read the letter, twice. It seemed genuine. But she couldn't quite shake the feeling of foreboding. Who was Gabe McGregor, really? A lot of people wanted to claim a connection to her family. This man was too rich in his own right to be a fortune hunter. But even so...
She found herself saying: "I'm going out there on business next week, as it happens. I can go and meet him with you if you like?"
Robbie's face lit up. He'd been trying for years to get Lexi interested in his charity work.
"That'd be great! I can book us on the same flight. It'll be just like old times. Hey, you remember going to Africa with Dad when we were kids? Those boring old Kruger-Brent tours? Man, Dad never shut up: 'Jamie McGregor had a diamond mine here, Kate Blackwell went to school here,' blah blah blah blah blah." He laughed.
"Of course I remember."
Those tours with her father felt like yesterday.
Lexi had loved every second of them.
"Jamie! Take Thomas the Tank Engine out of your sister's cereal right now or you're going on the naughty step."
Gabe McGregor fixed his four-year-old son with what he hoped was a stern stare.
Jamie said seriously: "I'm sorry, Daddy. I certainly can't do that. Thomas has crashed and bust his buffers. Now he must wait for the breakdown train to rescue him."
"Cheer - ohs! Cheeeeer oooooohs!" Collette, Jamie's two-year-old sister, burst into ear-splitting wails. "Don't wanna train! My Cheer-ohs!"
"Stop crying, Collette," said Jamie angrily. "You're giving Thomas a head-gate."
"Jamie!" Gabe shouted.
Marching silently over to the breakfast table, Tara McGregor removed the offending train from Collette's cereal bowl, dried it with a paper towel and handed it to her protesting son. "Any more moaning, Jamie and Thomas is in the trash. Finish your toast and you can have a chocolate milk."
To Gabe's astonishment, Jamie promptly forgot about his train and focused on stuffing peanut-butter toast into his mouth. Pretty soon his cheeks bulged like a hamster's. "Finished."
"Are you sure he won't choke?" Gabe glanced worriedly at Tara. "He looks like a snake trying to swallow a rabbit."
Tara didn't look up. "He'll be fine."
As usual, Tara McGregor's morning routine was a ridiculous juggling act: cooking breakfast, feeding and dressing the kids, refereeing World War III and helping Gabe remember where he'd put his socks/laptop/ phone/sanity.
Gabe watched his wife frying bacon for his sandwich with one hand while checking e-mails on her BlackBerry with the other. With her glossy red hair, slender waist and long, gazellelike legs, there was an old-fashioned sexiness about Tara that motherhood seemed only to have enhanced. From behind, she looked like Cyd Charisse. From the front, the impression was more innocent and wholesome. Rosie the Riveter meets Irish farmer's daughter. Pale skin. Freckles. Large, womanly breasts. A smile so broad it had knocked Gabe off his feet the first time he saw it, and still made him want to take her upstairs and ravish her now, six years later.
By nine o'clock this morning, Tara would be at the clinic, up to her elbows in dying babies.
She's an angel. One in a million. How the hell did a girl that smart and beautiful ever fall for a guy like me?
Tara Dineen loathed Gabe McGregor on sight.
"That guy? You mean the cheese ball?"
Tara and her girlfriend, Angela, were in a trendy new bar at the Waterfront. Angela had singled out Gabe as a "hot guy." Tara begged to differ.
"What's wrong with him?" asked Angela. "He's got Tom Brady's body and Daniel Craig's face. He's edible."
"And he knows it," said Tara archly. "Look at him, flashing his cash in front of all those toothpicks."
As usual, Gabe was surrounded by a gaggle of models, whom he was ostentatiously plying with Cristal.
"Let's go over there," said Angela.
"No thanks. You're on your own."
Angela made a beeline for Gabe. They chatted for a while, but Gabe's eye kept wandering back to the redhead giving him death stares from across the bar.
"Doesn't your friend want to join us?"
"No," said Angela, annoyed. Why did Tara always get all the male attention? "If you must know, she thinks you're a cheese ball."
"Does she, now?"
Gabe put down his drink. Marching over to Tara, he demanded: "Do you always judge a man before you've spoken to him?"
On closer inspection, Gabe could see that the girl wasn't classically beautiful. She had an upturned nose. Her eyes were set slightly too wide. She was tall and strong. The word strapping sprang to mind. And yet there was something compelling about her, something that set her apart from the Vogue beauties he usually dated.
"Not always, no. But in your case...well."
"Well what?"
"It's obvious."
"What is?"
"You!" Tara laughed. "Come on. The overpriced champagne? The Rolex watch? Your little harem over there? What do you drive? Don't tell me." She closed her eyes in mock concentration. "A Ferrari, right? Or...no. An Aston Martin! I'll bet you fancy yourself as a regular little James Bond."
"As a matter of fact, I drive a perfectly ordinary Range Rover," said Gabe, making a mental note to put his Vanquish up for sale tomorrow morning. "Give me your number and I'll take you out for dinner in it."
"No thanks."
"Why not? I'm a nice guy."
"You're not my type."
"What's your type? I can change."
"For heaven's sake, I'm not your type." Tara gestured to the nineteen-year-old Heidi Klum clones blowing Gabe kisses while they took turns warming his bar stool. "Take some friendly advice and quit while you're ahead."
But Gabe didn't quit. He found out where Tara worked - she was a doctor at a Red Cross AIDS clinic in one of the shantytowns - and had dozens of roses delivered to her every day. He asked her out on countless dates, sent her theater tickets, books, even jewelry. Everything was firmly but politely returned.
After three months, Gabe was on the point of giving up hope when he received an unexpected e-mail from Tara, sent to his work address. When her boss discovered one of his doctors was being pursued by one of the owners of Phoenix, he'd practically frog-marched Tara to the clinic's computer.
"Do you have any idea how much that company is worth? One donation from this McGregor guy and we could buy enough antivirals to see us through the next five years."
"But I'm not interested in him."
"Bugger 'not interested'! People are dying out there, Tara, I don't need to tell you. Now you flutter your eyelashes, and you get Gabriel McGregor back in here with his checkbook, pronto."
"Or what?" Tara laughed. She loved her boss, especially when he tried to lay down the law, bless him.
"Or I'll send you to your room without any supper, you cheeky cow. TYPE!"
Gabe's visit to the Red Cross AIDS clinic at Joe Slovo Shantytown changed his life forever.
Gabe had lived in camps himself. With Dia, he had seen firsthand the hopeless, crushing poverty of the slums. But nothing had prepared him for the depths of human misery at Joe Slovo.
Baby girls as young as two were brought in daily by female relatives after their uncles or fathers had raped them. Apparently the widely held belief that HIV could be "cured" by having sex with a virgin had mutated into a the-younger-the-better theory. Most of the children died from their internal injuries long before they could develop AIDS, their tiny, fragile bodies shattered from the force of penetration.
"Twenty rand buys ten of these child-rape kits," Tara told a clearly shaken Gabe. She handed him a plastic bag with a picture of Winnie the Pooh on the front. Inside was a sanitary napkin, a pair of child's panties, some sterile wipes and a sugar lollipop.
"That's it? A little kid gets raped and that's what you give her?"
Tara shrugged. "They get drugs if we have them. Children are first in line for antivirals. There's nothing else we can do."
After an hour touring the wards - dying girls in their twenties pleading with nurses to save their babies, young men shrunk to skeletons staring listlessly at the ceiling - Gabe excused himself. Tara found him sitting outside, tears streaming down his face. For the first time, she wondered if perhaps she'd been too hard on him. He was so bloody handsome it was hard not to distrust him. But his distress around the kids was obviously genuine.
"I'm sorry. I shocked you."
"It's okay." Gabe's hands were shaking. "I needed to be shocked. What can I do? What do you need?"
"Everything. We need everything. You name it, we need it. Drugs, beds, toys, food, syringes, condoms. We need a miracle."
Gabe reached into his pocket and pulled out a checkbook. Without thinking, he scribbled down a number, signed it, and handed it to Tara.
"I can't do miracles, I'm afraid. But maybe this will help. Just till I can work out something more long-term."
Tara looked at the number and burst into tears.
Their first date was a disaster. Hoping to impress her as a serious-minded citizen, not just another rich playboy, Gabe got them tickets to the premiere of a political documentary that had gotten rave reviews. Tara loved the movie. It was the additional sound track of Gabe's snores she objected to.
"I'm sorry! But you have to admit it was dull."
"Dull? You know it won the Palme d'Or at Cannes."
"Palm Bore more like it," muttered Gabe.
"How could you find that boring? The West's treatment of refugees is one of the most fascinating, complex issues facing modern society."
Not as fascinating as your breasts in that T-shirt.
When they sat down to dinner - Gabe had deliberately chosen a low-key steak house in a quiet neighborhood, nothing too flashy - things got worse. Tara leaned forward, her gorgeous wide-set eyes dancing in the candlelight. For one glorious moment Gabe thought she was about to kiss him.
Instead she asked earnestly: "So what are your politics, Gabe? How would you define yourself?"
"I wouldn't."
"Come on. I'm interested."
Gabe sighed. "All right. I'm a capitalist."
Later that night, alone in bed, Gabe wondered if he'd somehow misspoken and said "I'm a Nazi child-killer" or "I'm a horse fetishist. You?" The very word capitalist sent Tara into such an apoplexy of rage, she stormed out of the restaurant before they'd even finished their entrees.
He'd had to beg for a second date. This time he decided to keep it simple. Uncontroversial. He took her ice skating.
"I've never done this before." Wobbling uncertainly on the ice in jeans and a pair of pink leg warmers, Tara looked about thirteen. Gabe had never wanted a woman more.
"It's a cinch." He smiled, reaching for her hand. Pulling her toward him, he skated around behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Just step...and glide. Step...and glide. Let me lead you." He began to skate forward.
"No, no, no, it's okay. Don't push me. I can do it."
"It's all right. Just relax. I won't let you fall." He started to build up some speed, gliding the two of them across the ice.
"No, Gabe. I don't want you to...I prefer - watch out!"
The guy who plowed into them must have weighed at least two hundred pounds, a human Mack truck with no brakes. Gabe needed six stitches in his forehead. Tara fractured a rib and broke her arm in two places.
"You look good in white," Gabe joked in the emergency room, when they finished setting her arm in a cast.
"Thanks."
She wasn't smiling. Oh God, I've blown it. She'll never go out with me again. Not after this.
"I'm not very good at dates, am I?"
"No."
"That was probably the worst date you ever had."
"Unquestionably."
"Apart from the one before."
"Apart from that one, yes."
"The thing is..."
"Yes, Gabe?"
"You're laughing at me."
And she was. Tears of laughter streamed down Tara's face. Instinctively she moved her arm to wipe them away, only to whack herself in the face with her cast. For some reason, this made her laugh even harder.
"I'm sorry. But you look so adorable with your face all bashed up. And you are the most useless date in the universe. I mean you're bad on a superhuman scale."
"I know." Seizing the moment, he leaned down and kissed her, a full, passionate kiss that took both of them by surprise. It was a nice surprise, though. So they did it again. And again.
"I love you," said Gabe.
Tara grinned. "Disappointingly, I'm afraid I love you, too."
"I know I'm a crap date. But I'd be a good husband."
"Oh, really? So is that a proposal?"
"I don't know. Is that an acceptance?"
"Come back with a ring and I'll think about it."
Three months later, they were married.
Phoenix's offices were on Adderley Street, the main artery of Cape Town's thriving central business district. Robbie and Lexi were shown up to the twelfth floor.
"Wait here, please. Mr. McGregor will be with you shortly."
The waiting area was comfortably furnished with deep, squashy sofas and tables piled high with magazines. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered spectacular views of Table Mountain. The overall impression was one of wealth and ease.
Robbie asked: "Didn't Kruger-Brent used to have a satellite office on this street?"
"They still do."
"McGregor must be doing well to afford headquarters here."
Lexi, who'd been thinking the same thing, nodded glumly. It was her suggestion that they meet at Phoenix's offices. "It'll give us a chance to get to know one another before we drive out to the clinic." In fact, her real intention was to size up her competition. Now she wished she hadn't bothered. These Antoni couches alone must have set him back twenty grand. I wonder how much Phoenix made last year?
"Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Gabe. Would you like to come through?"
They followed Gabe into his office. For a moment Lexi was lost for words. She'd pictured Gabriel McGregor as an ordinary, balding, middle-aged executive.
Why didn't Robbie warn me he was so attractive?
"Lexi Templeton." She shook his hand coolly.
"A pleasure to meet you, Lexi. Tara and I were really excited when we heard back from your brother. Robbie and Paolo have done so much for the AIDS cause."
Lexi thought: Quit sucking up. What do you really want?
"I had no idea you were involved in the charity, too."
"I'm not. I'm in Cape Town on business."
"Ah, that's right. Templeton Estates. That's your company, isn't it?"
You know it is. Don't play dumb with me, pretty boy.
"Amazing that three people with the same great-great-great-grandfather should find themselves in the same city, involved in the same charitable cause and the same business. Don't you agree?"
Lexi gave a peremptory nod.
Gabe thought: I wonder what's eating her? She's about as warm and cuddly as a piranha that just got slapped with a parking ticket.
He'd seen countless pictures of Lexi Templeton over the years, including the infamous sex shots. He knew she would be beautiful. But none of the photographs had managed to convey Lexi's presence in the flesh; the way she seemed to fill a room simply by walking into it. She was already dominating this meeting, stealing her brother's thunder.
The silence was getting awkward.
"I'm sorry Paolo couldn't be here," said Robbie. "His health is not what it was, I'm afraid. He finds all the travel terribly tiring."
"That's quite all right. Perhaps next time? I know my wife will be pleased to see you, Lexi. She gets fed up with all the guy-talk."
Lexi's frown deepened. So he thinks I'm the "little woman," does he? Here to spend the next two days shoe shopping with his trophy wife while he fleeces Robbie's foundation? Well, he can forget it. I'm here to protect my brother's interests.
Out loud she said. "I look forward to meeting her. Shall we get going?"
Without waiting for an answer, Lexi started for the door.
After you, Your Majesty, thought Gabe.
It was going to be an interesting day.
Later that night, in bed at their sprawling, Cape Dutch farmhouse in the hills above Camps Bay, Gabe asked Tara what she'd thought of the Templetons.
"He's a sweetheart. She's a card-carrying bitch."
Gabe laughed. "You're so tactful, darling. Why don't you tell me what you really think?"
"Oh, come on. You can't have liked her." Tara turned off the bedside lamp. "And she certainly didn't like you. All those barbed comments?"
It was true. After a long and grueling day touring three new AIDS clinics that Phoenix had funded, Lexi's negativity had begun to grate on everyone's nerves.
"Anyone would have thought you wanted her brother's money for yourself. Here you are, trying to help these poor, suffering people, and this woman talks to you like you've just given her herpes."
"Another lovely image. Thanks for that, darling."
Tara teased: "You're sure you never slept with her?"
"Quite sure."
"It would explain a lot. There were so many, Gabe. She might have slipped your memory."
"Ha ha. Believe me, if I'd slept with her, she wouldn't look so damned miserable."
"Arrogant bastard!" Tara hit him over the head with her book. Thankfully, it was a paperback. "Seriously, though. Why do you think she has it in for you?"
Gabe had been pondering the same question all day. He noticed the sour look that came over Lexi's face whenever he alluded to their family connection. Perhaps that had something to do with it? Phoenix had outbid Templeton on a couple of deals recently, but he couldn't believe that a serious businesswoman like Lexi would take something like that personally.
"She's probably just protective of her brother. Doesn't want to see him being taken advantage of."
"Bollocks," Tara said roundly. "Robbie Templeton's forty years old and richer than Croesus. He can take care of himself. Besides, this is what his foundation does. They help people with AIDS. I couldn't believe how cold that woman was. Everyone cries when they see clinics like ours for the first time, but not that one. Oh no. Couldn't have cared less, could she?"
Gabe wasn't so sure. Lexi was certainly withdrawn. Aloof, even. She had declined to hold the babies when offered the chance, and seemed uncomfortable amid so much suffering and sickness. But people reacted to tragedy in different ways. Reaching out, Gabe ran a hand over his wife's belly. Since Collette was born, Tara's body had lost some of its firmness. Tara felt self-conscious about it, but Gabe adored her new soft contours. She had given him his children, brought a joy and purpose to his life that no words could ever fully express, nor any action of his could ever hope to repay. He loved her more than life.
He whispered in her ear: "I love you."
Tara sighed. "I love you, too, Gabe. But I'm absolutely bloody knackered. Be a sweetheart and piss off to your own side of the bed, would you?"
Ah! The sweet delights of matrimony.
For once in her life, Tara McGregor was dead wrong. The truth was that Lexi had been deeply moved by what she saw at the clinic. Those tiny, doll-like babies with their stick arms and bulging joints. When the nurse offered her a little girl to hold, Lexi was gripped with an irrational terror that she might break her. Her skin was paper thin...what if she gripped her too tight? The thought of causing that child one more ounce of pain was unbearable. The pleading look in the little girl's eyes would haunt Lexi forever. She'd been determined not to betray any emotion or weakness in front of Gabe McGregor. But as soon as they got back to Cape Town, she broke down in Robbie's arms.
"How can this still be happening? Those kids are just being left to die. What about the international aid programs?"
"They're overwhelmed," Robbie explained patiently. "They need private-sector money desperately. That's why I'm so eager to develop this relationship with Gabe McGregor. Can't you cut him a little slack?"
Lexi dried her tears. "I'll write you a check right now for those babies. But I don't trust McGregor. I'm sorry, but I don't."
Over the next two years, Lexi Templeton and Gabe McGregor crossed paths more frequently, at charity events and business conferences, as well as occasionally in the boardroom when they found themselves on opposite sides of a deal. Templeton Estates was investing in emerging real-estate markets all across the globe, from Georgia to Iran to Tibet. But something kept drawing Lexi back to South Africa. The returns were high. But it went beyond that. South Africa was the birthplace of Kruger-Brent. Lexi felt a powerful urge to succeed there.
Phoenix, whose investments were limited to South Africa, remained the market leader. Dia Ghali had cashed out of the business last year, leaving Gabe McGregor as the man to beat in real estate. Lexi Templeton fully intended to be the woman to beat him. But Templeton was not the only target in her sights.
Her thoughts were never far from Kruger-Brent. Templeton did no business in New York, but Lexi insisted on keeping an outrageously expensive office there purely because she had a good view of the Kruger-Brent building from her window. She had admitted it to no one. But deep down, Lexi had always seen Templeton as a stepping-stone. A stopgap measure until she could figure out a way to win back Kruger-Brent, destroying Max Webster in the process.
On the face of it, she knew her goal must sound insane. Kruger-Brent was a giant, a hundred times Templeton's size. It was a behemoth. Untouchable.
Lexi saw things differently.
Size is their weakness. They have too many vulnerable points, too many exposed businesses ripe for the picking. And I have the inside scoop on all of them. Kruger-Brent's a twelve-headed monster, and none of the heads talks to another. By the time Max realizes he's under attack, it'll be too late.
Business was a game. Toppling Kruger-Brent would be like playing a multibillion-dollar game of Jenga. Yes, Max's tower was infinitely taller than Lexi's. But remove a few strategic blocks from the bottom, and the whole edifice would come crashing down. The hard part was going to be controlling the explosion when it came. Lexi needed the company to weaken before she could strike, but not to collapse so totally that there was nothing left of her birthright.
So far, Max was doing most of the hard work for her. He was a brilliant diplomat and a natural schemer, but his performance as chairman had been distinctly lackluster. Lexi remembered her Harvard Business School professor's damning remark about one of his students, a young man who fancied himself as the next Warren Buffett.
"Jon Dean? Please. That guy couldn't sell a dollar for ninety cents."
Max Webster, it appeared, couldn't sell a dollar period. He had inherited Kate Blackwell's penchant for indiscriminate growth, a brilliantly successful strategy in the 1960s and '70s, but a disastrous one in today's wildly fluctuating markets.
Max could wait. So could Kruger-Brent.
For now Lexi had to focus on the job at hand: annihilating Gabe McGregor.
The safari was Gabe's idea. He cornered Lexi at a real-estate convention in Sun City, after Sol Kerzner's closing address.
"I've got reservations for a week at the Shishangeni Lodge next week. Tara and the kids were supposed to be coming, but Jamie's got some awful stomach bug. I wondered if you might be interested?"
Dressed formally in a dark gray suit that highlighted his tan and brought out the pale gray in his eyes - Lexi's eyes - Gabe looked even more handsome than he had the last time Lexi saw him. Is that part of the reason I don't like him? Because he's so attractive? It was possible. Max had burned her badly. The very thought of desiring someone again filled her with dread.
"That's kind of you, but I'm afraid I can't. I'm traveling for the rest of the month."
"What a shame." Gabe shook his head. "It's supposed to be the best safari experience in the country."
"I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time." Lexi looked pointedly at her watch.
"It would have been the perfect opportunity for us to talk about the Elizabeth Center, too. But if your schedule's too full..."
Damn him. He's got me on a string and he knows it.
The Elizabeth Center was going to be the biggest shopping mall in the country, built on two hundred prime commercial acres in a wealthy suburb of Johannesburg. Every real-estate firm worth its salt was bidding for a piece of the action, including Templeton. Somehow, Gabe had managed to wrangle a private deal for Phoenix and now owned a 10 percent stake in the venture, making him the second-largest single shareholder. A word from Gabe could open the door for Templeton. Or close it.
"Next week, you say?"
Gabe grinned. Gotcha.
"I'll have my assistant send the details to your office."
Lexi nodded tightly. "Thanks."
"You know, you might even enjoy it. Stranger things have happened."
Lexi was by no means sure that they had.
The Shishangeni Private Lodge is the jewel of Kruger National Park's crown. Made up of twenty-two thatched chalets, it boasts a swimming pool, library, conference facilities and a better wine cellar than most Michelin-starred restaurants. Every chalet has a private game-viewing deck as well as a bar, fireplace and outdoor shower - for those wishing to feel at one with nature without forgoing such necessities as deviled quail's eggs for breakfast and parfait of foie gras for dinner.
"How's your room?"
Gabe joined Lexi for dinner by the pool. It was their first night at Shishangeni. Above them, a livid African sun bled the last of its rays into the land, oozing burnt orange over the tapestry of rich greens. On the drive from Kruger Mpumalanga Airport, all Lexi's resolutions not to be impressed had flown out the window. She'd been visiting South Africa since childhood, but the extraordinary beauty of this corner of the national park took her breath away.
"It's fine, thank you."
Lexi's chalet had views of the Crocodile River in the south. To the east, she could almost see to the Mozambique border - mile upon mile of some of the most stunning country on earth.
"The water's a little slow to heat up."
Gabe frowned. "That's unusual. I'll have a word with the management."
In fact, Lexi's shower had been perfect, piping hot, powerful, its jets easing away every ounce of tension from her tired back and shoulders. She just didn't want Gabe to think she was enjoying herself.
This isn't a vacation. It's a fact-finding mission. I'm here for the Elizabeth Center, not the frigging zebras.
"Are you looking forward to the safari tomorrow?"
"Sure. I guess."
"Apparently we've a good chance of seeing all the big five: rhino, elephant, buffalo, lion and leopard."
"Great."
Gabe gritted his teeth. One more monosyllable and I'm going to strangle her.
Bringing Lexi to Shishangeni had been Tara's suggestion. Gabe could hear his wife's voice now:
"It's been two years, and you still have no idea why this woman hates you. Personally, I don't know why you give a shit. But seeing as you so obviously do, for God's sake take her away somewhere and find out what her beef is."
It seemed like a good plan at the time. Now, sitting opposite Lexi's beautiful, truculent face as the waves of hostility washed over him, Gabe also wondered why he gave a shit.
Because they shared a common, distant ancestor?
Because Lexi was a business rival?
Because she was Robbie's sister?
Or were his motives more selfish than that? Was the real reason he was sitting there that he couldn't stand the idea of any sexy, intelligent woman dismissing him the way that Lexi did? The last woman who'd been immune to his charms was Tara, and he'd wound up married to her.
Am I being a fool? I love Tara. Whatever this thing is with Lexi, I mustn't let it threaten that.
Lexi broke the silence: "So, the Elizabeth Center. I understand there are a number of interested parties?"
Gabe waved down the waiter.
"Let's order, shall we? I'm a little too tired to discuss business tonight."
"Sure." Lexi forced a smile. "There's plenty of time."
She tried not to notice the way Gabe's broad chest stretched the blue fabric of his shirt. Or how his big, rugby player's hands tore the warm bread rolls in half as easily as if they'd been a piece of tissue paper.
I should never have come. I'll leave in the morning. Tell him something came up in New York.
She didn't leave in the morning. By six A.M., she was half asleep in the back of a jeep, bouncing off into the wilderness.
"We'll be sleeping under canvas tonight." Gabe looked rested and happy in an ancient pair of cargo pants and a khaki shirt. Indiana Jones without the bullwhip. Lexi, by contrast, looked like what she was: a sleep-deprived New Yorker longing to crawl back into bed, or at least into the nearest Starbucks for a triple-shot vanilla latte. "Are you excited?"
"Thrilled."
The roar of the jeep's engine as they clattered over the deeply rutted track made conversation difficult. For half an hour, silence reigned.
Then Gabe yelled out: "Look! Over there!"
A lioness emerged from the Delagoa thornbushes, yawning and stretching her long, gold limbs in the early-morning sun. Gabe took pictures.
"Did you see her? Incredible! This is going to be an amazing day."
Lexi thought: He's like a schoolboy. I wonder if business excites him this much?
They stopped at noon to eat lunch under the shade of a baobab tree. Lexi jumped out of her skin when two natives approached them. Both were barefoot, armed with spears and wore feathered loincloths around their waists.
"It's all right," said Gabe. "They're San. Trackers. San have roamed these lands since the early Stone Age."
"What do they want?"
"Food, probably." Gabe held out his hand, offering the men some bread. They declined, pointing at Lexi and smiling. One of them pulled a pouch of dried leaves from beneath his feathers and offered it to Gabe.
"Ah. My mistake." Gabe grinned. "It looks like you're the big draw." He shook his head at the San tribesmen. "Sorry. She's not for sale."
"They wanted you to trade me for a bunch of leaves?" said Lexi indignantly, once the men had gone. "Shouldn't they at least offer, like, an ox or something?"
"The San don't keep animals. But they're expert botanists. They know every poison, medicine and narcotic to be found out here. To them, those leaves may have been priceless."
"You should have made the trade," Lexi quipped.
Gabe looked at her for a long time.
"How could I? You're not mine to sell."
Lexi felt the blood rushing to her face.
"Why did you ask me here?"
"Why do you hate me so much?"
The driver shouted from inside the jeep: "Time to pack up, guys. If we want to reach Crocodile River by sunset, we'd better get a move on."
Lexi spent the rest of the afternoon in silence, feigning interest in the wildlife. Inside, her mind was racing.
He wants me. That's why he brought me here. Do I want him, too?
She tried to look at things dispassionately. Gabe was married. Very happily married, if Robbie was to be believed, and Lexi had no reason to doubt him.
Maybe that's part of his attraction? He's a strong, solid family man. A good husband, a good father. He's built the kind of life that I can never have.
She thought of her past lovers, from Christian Harle through all the rock musicians and bad-boy actors. She thought about the wild sex she used to have in college. About Max and the destructive, animal passion they'd shared. In some ways, we still share it. We always will. Men like Gabriel McGregor, good men, honest men, never fell for Lexi. They watch me and admire me from afar, like safari tourists ogling a tigress. They know it's dangerous to get close.
As they approached the clearing where they'd be spending the night, the jeep stalled in a deep pothole and Gabe's body was thrown against Lexi's. The contact lasted no more than a couple of seconds. But it was enough.
They talked by the campfire till late into the night. Gabe spoke about his childhood. How he'd watched his father's obsession with the Blackwells and Kruger-Brent eat away at him like cancer. "I knew I never wanted to be like that. Embittered, clinging on to the past. I had to make my own way."
"So you don't care about Kruger-Brent? You don't want it?"
From her tone, it was clear that Lexi found this hard to believe.
"No, I don't want it. Why should I? It's just a name to me. Besides, from what I can see, it's brought as much suffering to your family as it has riches."
He's right. But he doesn't understand. Kruger-Brent is a drug. Once you have it in your system, it takes over. Nothing else matters.
The more Gabe spoke, the more Lexi understood the connection he felt to her family. It went beyond the gray McGregor eyes and a single common forefather. Gabe shared Lexi's wanderlust, her magnetic yearning for Africa. Like Robbie, he'd been an addict and crawled back from the abyss. Beneath his gentle-giant exterior, Lexi sensed a powerful ambition.
Like me and Max. Like Kate Blackwell.
Gabe had grown up in a family at war, a family pulled to pieces by bitterness and envy. When he spoke about his father, Lexi immediately thought of her aunt Eve, trapped in the past, enslaved by it.
Max and I are enslaved by it, too. But not Gabe. He's broken free.
He's like us, but he's not one of us.
All of a sudden, like switching on a light, she realized why she'd hated Gabe for so long. It was so obvious, she laughed out loud.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing."
I envy you. That's what's funny. I envy you your freedom, your goodness, your happy marriage. I envy your ability to care for others. Those kids with AIDS. The slum families you and Dia housed. You can feel. Your heart is still open.
My heart closed when I was eight years old.
That night, Lexi lay wide-awake in her tent, thinking. There was something there between her and Gabe. She hadn't imagined it. It was real.
Part of her ached to get up, crawl into Gabe's tent, and make love to him. Just to know what that would feel like, to be held and wanted and made love to by someone good, someone whole. But a bigger part of her knew that she could never do it. Gabe belonged to another woman. He also belonged to another world.
By the time Gabe awoke the next morning, Lexi had left the camp. Eighteen hours later, she was back in New York.
The next week Templeton Estates were offered a 5 percent stake in the Elizabeth Center development, at highly advantageous terms.
They turned down the offer.
