Master of the Game

"Try. I want to meet with him."

"I’ll see what I can do."

The following morning the foreman said, "If you are free this evening, a car will be waiting to take you out to the country."

Kate was driven to a small village seventy miles north of Johannesburg. The driver stopped in front of a small frame house, and Kate went inside. Banda was waiting for her. He looked exactly the same as when Kate had last seen him. And he must be sixty years old, Kate thought. He had been on the run from the police for years, and yet he appeared serene and calm.

He hugged Kate and said, "You look more beautiful every time I see you."

She laughed. "I’m getting old. I’m going to be forty in a few years."

"The years sit lightly on you, Kate."

They went into the kitchen, and while Banda fixed coffee, Kate said, "I don’t like what’s happening, Banda. Where is it going to lead?"

"It will get worse," Banda said simply. "The government will not allow us to speak with them. The whites have destroyed the bridges between us and them, and one day they will find they need those bridges to reach us. We have our heroes now, Kate. Nehemiah Tile, Mokone, Richard Msimang. The whites goad us and move us around like cattle to pasture."

"Not all whites think like that," Kate assured him. "You have friends who are fighting to change things. It will happen one day, Banda, but it will take time."

"Time is like sand in an hourglass. It runs out."

"Banda, what’s happened to Ntame and to Magena?"

"My wife and son are in hiding," Banda said sadly. "The police are still very busy looking for me."

"What can I do to help? I can’t just sit by and do nothing. Will money help?"

"Money always helps."

"I will arrange it. What else?"

"Pray. Pray for all of us."

The following morning, Kate returned to New York.

When Tony was old enough to travel, Kate took him on business trips during his school holidays. He was fond of museums, and he could stand for hours looking at the paintings and statues of the great masters. At home, Tony sketched copies of the paintings on the wall, but he was too self-conscious to let his mother see his work.

He was sweet and bright and fun to be with, and there was a shyness about him that people found appealing. Kate was proud of her son. He was always first in his class. "You beat all of them, didn’t you, darling?" And she would laugh and hold him fiercely in her arms.

And young Tony would try even harder to live up to his mother’s expectations.

In 1936, on Tony’s twelfth birthday, Kate returned from a trip to the Middle East. She had missed Tony and was eager to see him. He was at home waiting for her. She took him in her arms and hugged him. "Happy birthday, darling! Has it been a good day?"

"Y-yes, m-ma’am. It’s b-b-been wonderful."

Kate pulled back and looked at him. She had never noticed him stutter before. "Are you all right, Tony?"

"F-fine, thank you, M-mother."

"You mustn’t stammer," she told him. "Speak more slowly."

"Yes, M-mother."

Over the next few weeks, it got worse. Kate decided to talk to Dr. Harley. When he finished the examination, John Harley said, "Physically, there’s nothing wrong with the boy, Kate. Is he under any kind of pressure?"

"My son? Of course not. How can you ask that?"

"Tony’s a sensitive boy. Stuttering is very often a physical manifestation of frustration, an inability to cope."

"You’re wrong, John. Tony is at the very top of all the achievement tests in school. Last term he won three awards. Best all-around athlete, best all-around scholar and best student in the arts. I’d hardly call that unable to cope."

"I see." He studied her. "What do you do when Tony stammers, Kate?"

"I correct him, of course."

"I would suggest that you don’t. That will only make him more tense."

Kate was stung to anger. "If Tony has any psychological problems, as you seem to think, I can assure you it’s not because of his mother. I adore him. And he’s aware that I think he’s the most fantastic child on earth."

And that was the core of the problem. No child could live up to that. Dr. Harley glanced down at his chart. "Let’s see now. Tony is twelve?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps it might be good for him if he went away for a while. Maybe a private school somewhere."

Kate just stared at him.

"Let him be on his own a bit. Just until he finishes high school. They have some excellent schools in Switzerland."

Switzerland! The idea of Tony being so far away from her was appalling. He was too young, he was not ready yet, he – Dr. Harley was watching her. "I’ll think about it," Kate told him.

That afternoon she canceled a board meeting and went home early. Tony was in his room, doing homework.

Tony said, "I g-g-got all A’s t-today, M-mother."

"What would you think of going to school in Switzerland, darling?"

And his eyes lit up and he said, "M-m-may I?"

Six weeks later, Kate put Tony aboard a ship. He was on his way to the Institute Le Rosey in Rolle, a small town on the shore of Lake Geneva. Kate stood at the New York pier and watched until the huge liner cut loose from the tugboats. Bloody hell! I’m going to miss him. Then she turned and walked back to the limousine waiting to take her to the office.

Kate enjoyed working with Brad Rogers. He was forty-six, two years older than Kate. They had become good friends through the years, and she loved him for his devotion to Kruger-Brent. Brad was unmarried and had a variety of attractive girl friends, but gradually Kate became aware that he was half in love with her. More than once he made studiously ambiguous remarks, but she chose to keep their relationship on an impersonal, business level. She broke that pattern only once.