Sidney Sheldon's Mistress of the Game (34 page)

“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.

T
WENTY
-T
HREE

MAX WEBSTER WAS ON HIS HONEYMOON.

He and Annabel, his young English bride, were walking on Table Mountain. Annabel raced ahead, her long honey-streaked hair dancing in the wind. Her feet were lost in a carpet of flowers. Above her head, the sun shone a dazzling azure blue.

Max shouted: “Be careful! Don’t get too close to the edge!” But the wind whipped away his words. Annabel danced on. She was singing an old folk tune Max’s mother used to sing to him in the bath when he was a little boy.
Uncanny. How does she know that song?
Max tried to hum along, then realized he had forgotten the melody.

The other walkers had gone now. They were alone, and the distance between them was growing. Annabel was right by the edge of the cliff.

Max was screaming. “Come back! It’s not safe!”

“What did you say?”

Thank God. She heard me.
Annabel stopped and turned around so Max could see her face. Except it wasn’t her face. It was Lexi’s, swaying back and forth over the abyss like a reckless child.

Max rushed toward her. “Lexi, come back. I love you. I’m sorry.” He reached out his hand to pull her to safety, but he was too late. Her fingers slid through his and she staggered backward. She was falling.

Max leaped after her. They were in each other’s arms in midair, the
ground rushing up to meet them. Lexi’s features began to morph grotesquely, like melting plastic. She was turning into Eve.

“You killed Keith. You murdered your father. You didn’t really believe you’d get away with it, did you?”

But, Mother, I did it for you. Everything has been for you. Mother!

“Max.” Annabel Webster shook her husband awake. “Max! You’re dreaming. Wake up, darling. It’s all right. It’s only a nightmare. It isn’t real.”

She held him in her arms till he calmed down, like a baby. This was the third time this week. Whatever pills Dr. Barrington was prescribing, they evidently weren’t working. When he stopped shaking, she said: “Honey, you need to talk to someone. This isn’t normal.”

Max mopped his brow with the bedclothes and slumped back against the pillow. “I’m all right. I’m a little stressed at work, that’s all. It’ll pass. Go back to sleep.”

The marriage had been Eve’s idea. Everything was always Eve’s idea.

She was berating Max over one of their weekly lunches. “You need an heir. Someone to take over the business and undo all of your mistakes. Someone who can make Kruger-Brent great again.”

“I’m trying, Mother,” Max said weakly.

“You’re failing. Get married.”

Max knew he was a poor chairman. He knew that Kruger-Brent’s once bright light was fading, spluttering out slowly like a dying star. It didn’t help having his mother second-guessing his every decision, bullying him into taking one direction then blaming him when the hoped-for profits failed to materialize.

It was Eve who had insisted that they sell their holdings in the Ukraine: “If there was oil in those fields, they’d have found it by now. Alternative energy, that’s the future. Are you
completely
stupid?”

Max dutifully sold Kruger-Brent’s five thousand acres to Exxon, investing the money from the sale in a wind farm in Israel. Six months later, Exxon struck oil. A year after that, the wind farm filed for bankruptcy. Eve blamed Max.

“You never drilled that land properly. What do you expect if you do a half-assed job? This is business Max, not some childish game. God help me, you’re your father’s son.”

Eve brought up Keith’s name more and more often these days. It was almost as if she’d transferred the hatred and rage she once felt for
her husband onto her son. Max had destroyed Keith Webster, but the monster Keith had created lived on in Eve. Max had done everything his mother wanted. Killed Keith. Betrayed Lexi. Won back Kruger-Brent. But every trophy he brought her was like gasoline poured on the flames of Eve’s hatred. He could feed the fire. But he could never put it out.