Master of the Game

She leaped out of bed and stood defiantly before him, her dressing gown wide open. "Horseshit! You take your son everywhere. Ain’t I as good as your son?"

"No," Jamie said. His voice was dangerously quiet. "You’re not." He walked over to the bar and poured himself a brandy. It was his fourth – much more than he usually drank.

"I don’t mean a damned thing to you," Maggie screamed. "I’m just a piece of arse." She threw her head back and laughed derisively. "Big, moral Scotchman!"

"Scot – not Scotchman."

"For Christ’s sake, will you stop criticizin’ me? Everythin’ I do ain’t good enough. Who the hell do you think you are, my bloody father?"

Jamie had had enough. "You can go back to Madam Agnes’s tomorrow. I’ll tell her you’re coming." He picked up his hat and headed for the door.

"You can’t get rid of me like this, you bastard!" She followed him, wild with anger.

Jamie stopped at the door. "I just did." And he disappeared into the night.

To his surprise, he found he was walking unsteadily. His mind seemed fuzzy. Perhaps he had had more than four brandies. He was not sure. He thought about Maggie’s naked body in bed that evening, and how she had flaunted it, teasing him, then withdrawing. She had played with him, stroking him and running her soft tongue over his body until he was hard and eager for her. And then she had begun the fight, leaving him inflamed and unsatisfied.

When Jamie reached home, he entered the front hall, and as he started toward his room, he passed the closed door of Margaret’s bedroom. There was a light from under the door. She was still awake. Jamie suddenly began to picture Margaret in bed, wearing a thin nightgown. Or perhaps nothing. He remembered how her rich, full body had writhed beneath him under the trees by the Orange River. With the liquor guiding him, he opened Margaret’s bedroom door and entered.

She was in bed reading by the light of a kerosene lamp. She looked up in surprise. "Jamie…is something wrong?"

"’Cause I decide to pay my wife a l’il visit?" His words were slurred.

She was wearing a sheer nightgown, and Jamie could see her ripe breasts straining against the fabric. God, she has a lovely body! He began to take off his clothes.

Margaret leaped out of bed, her eyes very wide. "What are you doing?"

Jamie kicked the door shut behind him and walked over to her. In a moment, he had thrown her onto the bed and he was next to her, naked. "God, I want you, Maggie."

In his drunken confusion, he was not sure which Maggie he wanted. How she fought him! Yes, this was his little wildcat. He laughed as he finally managed to subdue her flailing arms and legs, and she was suddenly open to him and pulling him close and saying, "Oh, my darling, my darling Jamie. I need you so much," and he thought, I shouldn’t have been so mean to you. In the morning I’m gonna tell you you don’t have to go back to Madam Agnes’s…

When Margaret awoke the next morning, she was alone in bed. She could still feel Jamie’s strong male body inside hers and she heard him saying, God, I want you, Maggie, and she was filled with a wild, complete joy. She had been right all along. He did love her. It had been worth the wait, worth the years of pain and loneliness and humiliation.

Margaret spent the rest of the day in a state of rapture. She bathed and washed her hair and changed her mind a dozen times about which dress would please Jamie most. She sent the cook away so that she herself could prepare Jamie’s favorite dishes. She set the dining-room table again and again before she was satisfied with the candles and flowers. She wanted this to be a perfect evening.

Jamie did not come home for dinner. Nor did he come home all night. Margaret sat in the library waiting for him until three o’clock in the morning, and then she went to her bed, alone.

When Jamie returned home the following evening, he nodded politely to Margaret and walked on to his son’s room. Margaret stood staring after him in stunned bewilderment, and then slowly turned to look at herself in the mirror. The mirror told her that she had never looked as beautiful, but when she looked closer she could not recognize the eyes. They were the eyes of a stranger.

Chapter 10

"Well, I have some wonderful news for you, Mrs. McGregor," Dr. Teeger beamed. "You’re going to have a baby."

Margaret felt the shock of his words and did not know whether to laugh or cry. Wonderful news? To bring another child into a loveless marriage was impossible. Margaret could no longer bear the humiliation. She would have to find a way out, and even as she was thinking it, she felt a sudden wave of nausea that left her drenched in perspiration.

Dr. Teeger was saying, "Morning sickness?"

"A bit."

He handed her some pills. "Take these. They’ll help. You’re in excellent condition, Mrs. McGregor. Not a thing to worry about. You run along home and tell the good news to your husband."

"Yes," she said dully. "I’ll do that."

They were at the dinner table when she said, "I saw the doctor today. I’m going to have a baby."

Without a word, Jamie threw down his napkin, arose from his chair and stormed out of the room. That was the moment when Margaret learned she could hate Jamie McGregor as deeply as she could love him.

It was a difficult pregnancy, and Margaret spent much of the time in bed, weak and tired. She lay there hour after hour, fantasizing, visualizing Jamie at her feet, begging for forgiveness, making wild love to her again. But they were only fantasies. The reality was that she was trapped. She had nowhere to go, and even if she could leave, he would never allow her to take her son with her.

Jamie was seven now, a healthy, handsome boy with a quick mind and a sense of humor. He had drawn closer to his mother, as though somehow sensing the unhappiness in her. He made little gifts for her in school and brought them home, and Margaret would smile and thank him and try to lift herself out of her depression. When young Jamie asked why his father stayed away nights and never took her out, Margaret would reply, "Your father is a very important man, Jamie, doing important things, and he’s very busy."