At two a.m. they met at the warehouse. There was an eagerness in both of them, and an unspoken fear. They were embarking on a journey that would either make them rich or bring them death. There was no middle way. "It's time," Jamie anounced.

They stepped outside. Nothing was stirring. The night was still and peaceful, with a vast canopy of blue overhead. A sliver of moon appeared high in the sky. Good, Jamie thought.

There won't be much light to see us by. Their timetable was complicated by the fact that they had to leave the village at night so no one would be aware of their departure, and arrive at the diamond beach the next night so they could slip into the field and be safely back at sea before dawn.

"The Benguela current should carry us to the diamond fields sometime in the late afternoon," Jamie said. "But we can't go in by daylight. We'll have to stay out of sight at sea until dark."

Banda nodded. "We can hide out at one of the little islands off the coast."

"What islands?"

"There are dozens of them—Mercury, Ichabod, Plum Pudding .. ."

Jamie gave him a strange look. "Plum Pudding?"

"There's also a Roast Beef Island."

Jamie took out his creased map and consulted it. "This doesn't show any of those."

'They're guano islands. The British harvest the bird droppings for fertilizer."

"Anyone live on those islands?"

"Can't. The smell's too bad. In places the guano is a hundred feet thick. The government uses gangs of deserters and prisoners to pick it up. Some of them die on the island and they just leave the bodies there."

"That's where we'll hide out," Jamie decided.

Working quietly, the two men slid open the door to the warehouse and started to lift the raft. It was too heavy to move. They sweated and tugged, but in vain.

"Wait here," Banda said. He hurried out. Half an hour later, he returned with a large, round log. "We'll use this. I'll pick up one end and you slide the log underneath."

Jamie marveled at Banda's strength as the black man picked up one end of the raft.

Quickly, Jamie shoved the log under it Together they lifted the back end of the raft and it moved easily down the log. When the log had rolled out from under the back end, they repeated the procedure. It was strenuous work, and by the time they got to the beach they were both soaked in perspiration. The operation had taken much longer than Jamie had anticipated. It was almost dawn now. They had to be away before the villagers discovered them and reported what they were doing. Quickly, Jamie attached the sail and checked to make sure everything was working properly. He had a nagging feeling he was forgetting something. He suddenly realized what was bothering him and laughed aloud.

Banda watched him, puzzled. "Something funny?"

"Before, when I went looking for diamonds I had a ton of equipment. Now, all I'm carrying is a compass. It seems too easy."

Banda said quietly, "I don't think that's going to be our problem, Mr. McGregor."

"It's time you called me Jamie."

Banda shook his head in wonder. "You really come from a faraway country." He grinned, showing even white teeth. "What the hell—they can hang me only once." He tasted the name on his lips, then said it aloud. "Jamie."

"Let's go get those diamonds."

They pushed the raft off the sand into the shallow water and both men leaped aboard and started paddling. It took them a few minutes to get adjusted to the pitching and yawing of their strange craft. It was like riding a bobbing cork, but it was going to work. The raft was responding perfectly, moving north with the swift current. Jamie raised the sail and headed out to sea. By the time the villagers awoke, the raft was well over the horizon.

"We've done it!" Jamie said.

Banda shook his head. "It's not over yet." He trailed a hand in the cold Benguela current.

"It's just beginning."

They sailed on, due north past Alexander Bay and the mouth of the Orange River, seeing no signs of life except for flocks of Cape cormorants heading home, and a flight of colorful greater flamingos. Although there were tins of beef and cold rice, and fruit and two canteens of water aboard, they were too nervous to eat. Jamie refused to let his imagination linger on the dangers that lay ahead, but Banda could not help it. He had been there. He was remembering the brutal guards with guns and the dogs and the terrible flesh-tearing land mines, and he wondered how he had ever allowed himself to be talked into this insane venture. He looked over at the Scotsman and thought, He is the bigger fool. If I die, I die for my baby sister. What does he die for?

At noon the sharks came. There were half a dozen of them, their fins cutting through the water as they sped toward the raft.

"Black-fin sharks," Banda announced. "They're man-eaters."

Jamie watched the fins skimming closer to the raft. "What do we do?"

Banda swallowed nervously. 'Truthfully, Jamie, this is my very first experience of this nature."

The back of a shark nudged the raft, and it almost capsized. The two men grabbed the mast for support. Jamie picked up a paddle and shoved it at a shark, and an instant later the paddle was bitten in two. The sharks surrounded the raft now, swimming in lazy circles, their enormous bodies rubbing up close against the small craft. Each nudge tilted the raft at a precarious angle. It was going to capsize at any moment.

"We've got to get rid of them before they sink us."

"Get rid of them with what?" Banda asked.

"Hand me a tin of beef."

"You must be joking. A tin of beef won't satisfy them. They want us!"

There was another jolt, and the raft heeled over.

"The beef!" Jamie yelled. "Get it!"

A second later Banda placed a tin in Jamie's hand. The raft lurched sickeningly.

"Open it halfway. Hurry!"

Banda pulled out his pocketknife and pried the top of the can half open. Jamie took it from him. He felt the sharp, broken edges of the metal with his finger.

"Hold tight'" Jamie warned.

He knelt down at the edge of the raft and waited. Almost immediately, a shark approached the raft, its huge mouth wide open, revealing long rows of evil, grinning teeth.

Jamie went for the eyes. With all his strength, he reached out with both hands and scraped the edge of the broken metal against the eye of the shark, ripping it open. The shark lifted its great body, and for an instant the raft stood on end. The water around them was suddenly stained red. There was a giant thrashing as the sharks moved in on the wounded member of the school. The raft was forgotten. Jamie and Banda watched the great sharks tearing at their helpless victim as the raft sailed farther and farther away until finally the sharks were out of sight.

Banda took a deep breath and said softly, "One day I'm going to tell my grandchildren about this. Do you think they'll believe me?"

And they laughed until the tears streamed down their faces.

Late that afternoon, Jamie checked his pocket watch. "We should be off the diamond beach around midnight. Sunrise is at six-fifteen. That means we'll have four hours to pick up the diamonds and two hours to get back to sea and out of sight. Will four hours be enough, Banda?"

"A hundred men couldn't live long enough to spend what you can pick up on that beach in four hours." I just hope we live long enough to pick them up___

They sailed steadily north for the rest of that day, carried by the wind and the tide.

Toward evening a small island loomed ahead of them. It looked to be no more than two hundred yards in circumference. As they approached the island, the acrid smell of ammonia grew strong, bringing tears to their eyes. Jamie could understand why no one lived here. The stench was overpowering. But it would make a perfect place for them to hide until nightfall. Jamie adjusted the sail, and the small raft bumped against the rocky shore of the low-lying island.

Banda made the raft fast, and the two men stepped ashore. The entire island was covered with what appeared to be millions of birds: cormorants, pelicans, gannets, penguins and flamingos. The thick air was so noisome that it was impossible to breathe. They took half a dozen steps and were thigh deep in guano. "Let's get back to the raft," Jamie gasped.

Without a word, Banda followed him. As they turned to retreat, a flock of pelicans took to the air, revealing an open space on the ground. Lying there were three men. There was no telling how long they had been dead. Their corpses had been perfectly preserved by the ammonia in the air, and their hair had turned a bright red.

A minute later Jamie and Banda were back on the raft, headed out to sea.

They lay off the coast, sail lowered, waiting.

"We'll stay out here until midnight. Then we go in."

They sat together in silence, each in his own way preparing for whatever lay ahead. The sun was low on the western horizon, painting the dying sky with the wild colors of a mad artist. Then suddenly they were blanketed in darkness.

They waited for two more hours, and Jamie hoisted the sail. The raft began to move east toward the unseen shore. Overhead, clouds parted and a thin wash of moonlight paled down. The raft picked up speed. In the distance the two men could begin to see the faint smudge of the coast. The wind blew stronger, snapping at the sail, pushing the raft toward the shore at an ever-increasing speed. Soon, they could clearly make out the outline of the land, a gigantic parapet of rock. Even from that distance it was possible to see and hear the enormous whitecaps that exploded like thunder over the reefs. It was a terrifying sight from afar, and Jamie wondered what it would be like up close.

He found himself whispering. "You're sure the beach side isn't guarded?"

Banda did not answer. He pointed to the reefs ahead. Jamie knew what he meant. The reefs were more deadly than any trap man could devise. They were the guardians of the sea, and they never relaxed, never slept. They lay there, patiently waiting for their prey to come to them. Well, Jamie thought, we're going to outsmart you. We're going to float over you.

The raft had carried them that far. It would carry them the rest of the way. The shore was racing toward them now, and they began to feel the heavy swell of the giant combers.

Banda was holding tightly to the mast.

"We're moving pretty fast."

"Don't worry," Jamie reassured him. "When we get closer, I'll lower the sail. That will cut our speed. We'll slide over the reefs nice and easy."

The momentum of the wind and the waves was picking up, hurtling the raft toward the deadly reefs. Jamie quickly estimated the remaining distance and decided the waves would carry them in to shore without the help of the sail. Hurriedly, he lowered it. Their momentum did not even slow. The raft was completely in the grip of the huge waves now, out of control, hurled forward from one giant crest to the next. The raft was rocking so violently that the men had to cling to it with both hands. Jamie had expected the entrance to be difficult, but he was totally unprepared for the fury of the seething maelstrom they faced. The reefs loomed in front of them with startling clarity. They could see the waves rushing in against the jagged rocks and exploding into huge, angry geysers. The entire success of the plan depended on bringing the raft over the reefs intact so that they could use it for their escape. Without it, they were dead men.

They were bearing down on the reefs now, propelled by the terrifying power of the waves. The roar of the wind was deafening. The raft was suddenly lifted high in the air by an enormous wave and flung toward the rocks.

"Hold on, Banda!" Jamie shouted. "We're going in!"

The giant breaker picked up the raft like a matchstick and started to carry it toward shore, over the reef. Both men were

hanging on for their lives, fighting the violent bucking mot that threatened to sweep them into the water. Jamie glanced down and caught a glimpse of the razor-sharp reefs below them. In another moment they would be sailing over them, safe in the haven of the shore.

At that instant there was a sudden, tearing wrench as a reef caught one of the barrels underneath the raft and ripped it away. The raft gave a sharp lurch, and another barrel was torn away, and then another. The wind and the pounding waves and the hungry reef were playing with the raft like a toy, tossing it backward and forward, spinning it wildly in the air.

Jamie and Banda felt the thin wood begin to split beneath their feet. "Jump!" Jamie yelled.

He dived over the side of the raft, and a giant wave picked him up and shot him toward the beach at the speed of a catapult. He was caught in the grip of an element that was powerful beyond belief. He had no control over what was happening. He was a part of the wave. It was over him and under him and inside him. His body was twisting and turning and his lungs were bursting. Lights began to explode in his head. Jamie thought, I'm drowning. And his body was thrown up onto the sandy shore. Jamie lay there gasping, fighting for breath, filling his lungs with the cool, fresh sea air. His chest and legs were scraped raw from the sand, and his clothes were in shreds. Slowly, he sat up and looked around for Banda. He was crouching ten yards away, vomiting seawater. Jamie got to his feet and staggered over to him. "You all right?"

Banda nodded. He took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up at Jamie. "I can't swim."

Jamie helped him to his feet. The two men turned to look at the reef. There was not a sign of their raft. It had been torn to pieces in the wild ocean. They had gotten into the diamond

field. There was no way to get out.

Behind them was the raging ocean. Ahead was unbroken desert from the sea to the foothills of the distant, rugged, purple mountains of the Richterveld escarpment, a world of kloofs and canyons and twisted peaks, lit by the pale moon. At the foot of the mountains was the Hexenkessel Valley—"the witch's cauldron"—a bleak wind trap. It was a primeval, desolate landscape that went back to the beginning of time itself. The only clue that man had ever set foot in this place was a crudely printed sign pounded into the sand. By the light of the moon, they read:

VERBODE GEBIED SPERRGEBIET

Forbidden.

There was no escape toward the sea. The only direction left open to them was the Namib Desert.

"We'll have to try to cross it and take our chances," Jamie said.

Banda shook his head. "The guards will shoot us on sight or hang us. Even if we were lucky enough to slip by the guards and dogs, there's no way to get by the land mines.

We're dead men."

There was no fear in him, only a resigned acceptance of his fate. Jamie looked at Banda and felt a sense of deep regret. He had brought the black man into this, and not once had Banda complained. Even now, knowing there was no escape for them, he did not utter one word of reproach.

Jamie turned to look at the wall of angry waves smashing at the shore, and he thought it was a miracle that they had gotten as far as they had. It was two a.m., four hours before dawn and discovery, and they were both still in one piece. I'll be damned if I'm ready to give up, Jamie thought.

"Let's go to work, Banda."

Banda blinked. "Doing what?"

"We came here to get diamonds, didn't we? Let's get them."

Banda stared at the wild-eyed man with his white hair plastered to his skull and his sopping trousers hanging in shreds around his legs. "What are you talking about?"

"You said they're going to kill us on sight, right? Well, they Blight as well kill us rich as poor. A miracle got us in here. Maybe a miracle will get us out. And if we do get out, I damned well don't plan to leave empty-handed."

"You're crazy," Banda said softly.

"Or we wouldn't be here," Jamie reminded him.

Banda shrugged. "What the hell. I have nothing else to do until they find us."

Jamie stripped off his tattered shirt, and Banda understood and did the same. "Now. Where are all these big diamonds that you've been talking about?" "They're everywhere," Banda promised. And he added, "Like the guards and the dogs." "We'll worry about them later. When do they come down to the beach?"

"When it gets light."

Jamie thought for a moment. "Is there a part of the beach where they don't come?

Someplace we could hide?"

"There's no part of this beach they don't come to, and there's no place you could hide a fly."

Jamie slapped Banda on the shoulder. "Right, then. Let's go."

Jamie watched as Banda got down on his hands and knees and began slowly crawling along the beach, his fingers sifting sand as he moved. In less than two minutes, he stopped and held up a stone. "I found one!"

Jamie lowered himself to the sand and began moving. The first two stones he found were small. The third must have weighed over fifteen carats. He sat there looking at it for a long moment. It was incredible to him that such a fortune could be picked up so easily.

And it all belonged to Salomon van der Merwe and his partners. Jamie kept moving.

In the next three hours, the two men collected more than forty diamonds ranging from two carats to thirty carats. The sky in the east was beginning to lighten. It was the time Jamie had planned to leave, to jump back on the raft, sail over the reefs and make their escape. It was useless to think about that now.

"It will be dawn soon," Jamie said. "Let's see how many more diamonds we can find."

"We're not going to live to spend any of this. You want to die very rich, don't you?"

"I don't want to die at all."

They resumed their search, mindlessly scooping up diamond after diamond, and it was as though a madness had taken possession of them. Their piles of diamonds increased, until sixty diamonds worth a king's ransom lay in their torn shirts.

"Do you want me to carry these?" Banda asked.

"No. We can both—" And then Jamie realized what was on Banda's mind. The one caught in actual possession of the diamonds would die more slowly and painfully.

"I'll take them," Jamie said. He dumped the diamonds into the rag that was left of his shirt, and carefully tied it in a knot. The horizon was light gray now, and the east was becoming stained with the colors of the rising sun.

What next? That was the question I What was the answer? They could stand there and die, or they could move inland toward the desert and die.

"Let's move."

Jamie and Banda slowly began walking away from the sea, side by side. "Where do the land mines start?"

"About a hundred yards up ahead." In the far distance, they heard a dog bark. "I don't think we're going to have to worry about the land mines. The dogs are heading this way.

The morning shift is coming to work." "How soon before they reach us?" "Fifteen minutes.

Maybe ten."

It was almost full dawn now. What had been vague, shimmering patterns turned into small sand dunes and distant mountains. There was no place to hide. "How many guards are on a shift?" Banda thought for a moment. "About ten." "Ten guards aren't many for a beach this big." "One guard is plenty. They've got guns and dogs. The guards aren't blind, and we're not invisible."

The sound of the barking was closer now. Jamie said, "Banda, I'm sorry. I should never have gotten you into this." "You didn't."

And Jamie understood what he meant. They could hear voices calling in the distance.

Jamie and Banda reached a small dune. "What if we buried ourselves in the sand?"

'That has been tried. The dogs would find us and rip our throats out. I want my death to be quick. I'm going to let them see me, then start running. That way they'll shoot me. I—I don't want the dogs to get me."

Jamie gripped Banda's arm. "We may die, but I'll be damned if we're going to run to our deaths. Let's make them work for it."

They could begin to distinguish words in the distance. "Keep moving, you lazy bastards," a voice was yelling. "Follow me ...

stay in line.... You've all had a good night's sleep___Now let's get some work done...."

In spite of his brave words, Jamie found he was retreating from the voice. He turned to look at the sea again. Was drowning an easier way to die? He watched the reefs tearing viciously t

the demon waves breaking over them and he suddenly saw something else, something beyond the waves. He could not understand what it was. "Banda, look ..."

Far out at sea an impenetrable gray wall was moving toward them, blown by the powerful westerly winds.

"It's the sea mis!" Banda exclaimed. "It comes in two or three times a week."

While they were talking, the mis moved closer, like a gigantic gray curtain sweeping across the horizon, blotting out the sky.

The voices had moved closer, too. "Den dousant! Damn this mis! Another slowdown.

The bosses ain't gonna like this___"

"We've got a chance!" Jamie said. He was whispering now.

"What chance?"

'The mis! They won't be able to see us."

'That's no help. It's going to lift sometime, and when it does we're still going to be right here. If the guards can't move through the land mines, neither can we. You try to cross this desert in the mis and you won't go ten yards before you're blown to pieces. You're looking for one of your miracles."

"You're damned right I am," Jamie said.

The sky was darkening overhead. The mis was closer, covering the sea, ready to swallow up the shore. It had an eerie, menacing look about it as it rolled toward them, but Jamie thought exultantly, It's going to save us!

A voice suddenly called out, "Hey! You two! What the hell are you doin' there?"

Jamie and Banda turned. At the top of a dune about a hundred yards away was a uniformed guard carrying a rifle. Jamie looked back at the shore. The mis was closing in fast.

"You! You two! Come here," the guard yelled. He lifted his rifle.

Jamie raised his hands. "I twisted my foot," he called out. "I can't walk."

"Stay where you are," the guard ordered. "I'm comin' to get you." He lowered his rifle and started moving toward them. A

quick look back showed that the mis had reached the edge of the shore, and was coming in swiftly.

"Run!" Jamie whispered. He turned and raced, toward the beach, Banda running close behind him. "Stop!"

A second later they heard the sharp crack of a rifle, and the sand ahead of them exploded. They kept running, racing to meet the great dark wall of the fog. There was another rifle shot, closer this time, and another, and the next moment the two men were in total darkness. The sea mis licked at them, chilling them, smothering them. It was like being buried in cotton. It was impossible to see anything.

The voices were muffled now and distant, bouncing off the mis and coming from all directions. They could hear other voices calling to one another.

"Kruger!... It's Brent___Can you hear me?"

"I hear you, Kruger___"

There're two of them," the first voice yelled. "A white man and a black. They're on the beach. Spread your men out. Skiet hom! Shoot to kill." "Hang on to me," Jamie whispered.

Banda gripped his arm. "Where are you going?" "We're getting out of here."

Jamie brought his compass up to his face. He could barely see it. He turned until the compass was pointing east. "This way..."

"Wait! We can't walk. Even if we don't bump into a guard or a dog, we're going to set off a land mine."

"You said there are a hundred yards before the mines start Let's get away from the beach."

They started moving toward the desert, slowly and unsteadily, blind men in an unknown land. Jamie paced off the yards. Whenever they stumbled in the soft sand, they picked themselves up and kept moving. Jamie stopped to check the compass every few feet.

When he estimated they had traveled almost a hundred yards, he stopped.

'This should be about where the land mines start. Is there any pattern to the way they're placed? Anything you can think of that could help us?"

"Prayer," Banda answered. "Nobody's ever gotten past those land mines, Jamie. They're scattered all over the field, buried about six inches down. We're going to have to stay here until the mis lifts and give ourselves up."

Jamie listened to the cotton-wrapped voices ricocheting around them.

"Kruger! Keep in voice contact___"

"Right, Brent___"

"Kruger ..."

"Brent..."

Disembodied voices calling to each other in the blinding fog. Jamie's mind was racing, desperately exploring every possible avenue of escape. If they stayed where they were, they would be killed the instant the mis lifted. If they tried moving through the field of mines, they would be blown to bits.

"Have you ever seen the land mines?" Jamie whispered.

"I helped bury some of them."

"What sets them off?"

"A man's weight. Anything over eighty pounds will explode them. That way they don't kill the dogs."

Jamie took a deep breath. "Banda, I may have a way for us to get out of here. It might not work. Do you want to gamble with me?"

"What have you got in mind?"

"We're going to cross the mine fields on our bellies. That way we'll distribute our weight across the sand."

"Oh, Jesus!"

"What do you think?"

"I think I was crazy for ever leaving Cape Town."

"Are you with me?" He could barely make out Banda's face next to him.

"You don't leave a man a lot of choice, do you?"

"Come on then."

Jamie carefully stretched himself out flat on the sand. Banda looked at him a moment, took a deep breath and joined him. Slowly the two men began crawling across the sand, toward the mine field.

"When you move," Jamie whispered, "don't press down with your hands or your legs.

Use your whole body."

There was no reply. Banda was busy concentrating on staying alive.

They were in a smothering, gray vacuum that made it impossible to see anything. At any instant they could bump into a guard, a dog or one of the land mines. Jamie forced all this out of his mind. Their progress was painfully slow. Both men were shirtless, and the sand scraped against their stomachs as they inched forward. Jamie was aware of how overwhelming the odds were against them. Even if by some chance they did succeed in crossing the desert without getting shot or blown up, they would be confronted by the barbed-wire fence and the armed guards at the watchtower at the entrance. And there was no telling how long the mis would last. It could lift at any second, exposing them.

They kept crawling, mindlessly sliding forward until they lost all track of time. The inches became feet, and the feet became yards, and the yards became miles. They had no idea how long they had been traveling. They were forced to keep their heads close to the ground, and their eyes and ears and noses became filled with sand. Breathing was an effort.

In the distance was the constant echo of the guards' voices. "Kruger... Brent... Kruger...

Brent..."

The two men stopped to rest and check the compass every few minutes, then moved on, beginning their endless crawl again. There was an almost overwhelming temptation to move faster, but that would mean pressing down harder, and Jamie could visualize the metal fragments exploding under him and ripping into his belly. He kept the pace slow.

From time to time they could hear other voices around them, but the words were muffled by the fog and it was impossible to tell where they were coming from. It's a big desert, Jamie thought hopefully. We're not going to stumble into anyone.

Out of nowhere, a large, furry shape leaped at him. It happened so swiftly that Jamie was caught off guard. He felt the huge Alsatian's teeth sinking into his arm. He dropped the bundle of diamonds and tried to pry open the dog's jaw, but he had only one free hand and it was impossible. He felt the warm blood running down his arm. The dog was sinking its teeth in harder now, silent and deadly. Jamie felt himself begin to faint. He heard a dull thud, and then another, and the dog's jaw loosened and its eyes glazed over. Through the mist of pain, Jamie saw Banda smashing the sack of diamonds against the dog's skull.

The dog whimpered once and lay still.

"You all right?" Banda breathed anxiously.

Jamie could not speak. He lay there, waiting for the waves of pain to recede. Banda ripped off a piece of his trousers and tied a strip tightly around Jamie's arm to stop the bleeding.

"We've got to keep moving," Banda warned. "If there's one of them around, there are more."

Jamie nodded. Slowly he slid his body forward, fighting against the terrible throbbing in his arm.

He remembered nothing of the rest of the trek. He was semiconscious, an automaton.

Something outside him directed his movements. Arms forward, pull... Arms forward, pull...

Arms forward, pull... It was endless, an odyssey of agony. It was Banda who followed the compass now, and when Jamie started to crawl in the wrong direction Banda gently turned him around. They were surrounded by guards and dogs and land mines and only the mis kept them safe. They kept moving, crawling for their lives, until the time came when neither man had the strength to move another inch.

They slept.

When Jamie opened his eyes, something had changed. He lay there on the sand, his body stiff and aching, trying to remember where he was. He could see Banda asleep six feet away, and it all came flooding in. The raft crashing on the reefs ... the sea mis

... But something was wrong. Jamie sat up, trying to figure out what it was. And his stomach lurched. He could see Banda! That was what was wrong. The mis was lifting.

Jamie heard voices nearby. He peered through the thin mists of the dissipating fog. They had crawled near the entrance to the diamond field. There was the high guard tower and the barbed-wire fence Banda had described. A crowd of about sixty black workers was moving away from the diamond field toward the gate. They had finished their shift and the next shift was coming in. Jamie got on his knees and crawled over to Banda and shook him. Banda sat up, instantly awake. His eyes turned to the watchtower and the gate.

"Damn!" he said incredulously. "We almost made it."

"We did make it! Give me those diamonds!"

Banda handed him the folded shirt. "What do you—?"

"Follow me."

"Those guards with the guns at the gate," Banda said in a low voice, "they'll know we don't belong here."

"That's what I'm counting on," Jamie told him.

The two men moved toward the guards, drifting between the line of departing workers and the line of arriving workers who were yelling at one another, exchanging good-natured catcalls.

"You fellas gonna work your asses off, man. We got a nice sleep in the mis...."

"How did you arrange for the mis, you lucky bastards... ?"

"God listens to me. He ain't gonna listen to you. You're bad...."

Jamie and Banda reached the gate. Two huge armed guards stood inside, herding the departing workers over to a small tin hut where they would be thoroughly searched. They strip them down mother-naked and then they look up and down every hole they've got.

Jamie clutched the tattered shirt in his hand more tightly. He pushed through the line of workers and walked up to a guard. "Excuse me, sir," Jamie said. "Who do we see about a job here?"

Banda was staring at him, petrified.

The guard turned to face Jamie. "What the hell are you doin' inside the fence?"

"We came in to look for work. I heard there was an opening for a guard, and my servant can dig. I thought—"

The guard eyed the two ragged, disreputable-looking figures. "Get the hell back outside!"

"We don't want to go outside," Jamie protested. "We need jobs, and I was told—"

"This is a restricted area, mister. Didn't you see the signs? Now get the hell out. Both of you!" He pointed to a large bullock wagon outside the fence, filling with the workers who had finished their shift. "That wagon'll take you to Port Nolloth. If you want a job, you have to apply at the company office there."

"Oh. Thank you, sir," Jamie said. He beckoned to Banda, and the two men moved out through the gate to freedom.

The guard glared after them. "Stupid idiots."

Ten minutes later, Jamie and Banda were on their way to Port Nolloth. They were carrying with them diamonds worth half a million pounds.

The expensive carriage rolled down the dusty main street of Klipdrift, drawn by two beautiful matched bays. At the reins was a slender, athletic-looking man with snow-white hair, a white beard and mustache. He was dressed in a fashionably tailored gray suit and ruffled shirt, and in his black cravat was a diamond stickpin. He wore a gray top hat, and on his little finger was a large, sparkling diamond ring. He appeared to be a stranger to the town, but he was not.

Klipdrift had changed considerably since Jamie McGregor had left it a year earlier. It was 1884, and it had grown from a camp to a township. The railway had been completed from Cape Town to Hopetown, with a branch running to Klipdrift, and this had created a whole new wave of immigrants. The town was even more crowded than Jamie remembered, but the people seemed different. There were still many prospectors, but there were also men in business suits and well-dressed matrons walking in and out of stores. Klipdrift had acquired a patina of respectability.

Jamie passed three new dance halls and half a dozen new saloons. He drove by a recently built church and barbershop, and

a large hotel called the Grand. He stopped in front of a bank and alighted from the carriage, carelessly tossing the reins to a native boy.

"Water them."

Jamie entered the bank and said to the manager in a loud voice, "I wish to deposit one hundred thousand pounds in your bank."

The word spread quickly, as Jamie had known it would, and by the time he left the bank and entered the Sundowner Saloon, he was the center of interest. The interior of the saloon had not changed. It was crowded, and curious eyes followed Jamie as he walked up to the bar. Smit nodded deferentially. "What would you like, sir?" There was no recognition on the bartender's face.

"Whiskey. The best you have."

"Yes, sir." He poured the drink. "You're new in town?"

"Yes."

"Just passin' through, are you?"

"No. I've heard this is a good town for a man looking for investments."

The bartender's eyes lighted up. "You couldn't find better! A man with a hundred—A man with money can do real well for hisself. Matter of fact, I might be of some service to you, sir."

"Really? How is that?"

Smit leaned forward, his tone conspiratorial. "I know the man who runs this town. He's chairman of the Borough Council and head of the Citizen's Committee. He's the most important man in this part of the country. Name of Salomon van der Merwe."

Jamie took a sip of his drink. "Never heard of him."

"He owns that big general store across the street. He can put you on to some good deals. It'd be worth your while to meet him."

Jamie McGregor took another sip of his drink. "Have him come over here."

The bartender glanced at the large diamond ring on Jamie's finger, and at his diamond stickpin. "Yes, sir. Can I tell him your name?"

'Travis. Ian Travis."

"Right, Mr. Travis. I'm sure Mr. van der Merwe will want to meet you." He poured out another drink. "Have this while you're waitin'. It's on the house."

Jamie sat at the bar sipping the whiskey, aware that everyone in the saloon was watching him. Men had departed from Klip-drift wealthy, but no one of such obvious wealth had ever arrived there before. It was something new in their experience.

Fifteen minutes later, the bartender was back, accompanied by Salomon van der Merwe.

Van der Merwe walked up to the bearded, white-haired stranger, held out his hand and smiled. "Mr. Travis, I'm Salomon van der Merwe."

"Ian Travis."

Jamie waited for a flicker of recognition, a sign that Van der Merwe found something familiar about him. There was nothing. But then, why should there be? Jamie thought.

There was nothing left of that naive, idealistic, eighteen-year-old boy he had been. Smit obsequiously led the two men to a corner table.

As soon as they were seated, Van der Merwe said, "I understand you're looking for some investments in Klipdrift, Mr. Travis."

"Possibly."

"I might be able to be of some service. One has to be careful. There are many immoral people around."

Jamie looked at him and said, "I'm sure there are."

It was unreal, sitting there carrying on a polite conversation with the man who had cheated him out of a fortune and then tried to murder him. His hatred for Van der Merwe had consumed him for the last year, his thirst for vengeance was all that had sustained him, kept him alive. And now Van der Merwe was about to feel that vengeance.

"If you don't mind my asking, Mr. Travis, how much money were you planning on investing?"

"Oh, around a hundred thousand pounds to begin with," Jamie said carelessly. He watched Van der Merwe wet his lips. "Then perhaps three or four hundred thousand more."

"Er—you should be able to do very well with that, very well, indeed. With the right guidance, of course," he added quickly. "Do you have any idea what you might want to invest in?"

"I thought I'd look around and see what opportunities there were."

"That's very wise of you." Van der Merwe nodded sagely. "Perhaps you would like to come to dinner tonight and we can discuss it? My daughter's an excellent cook. It would be an honor to have you."

Jamie smiled. "I'd enjoy that, Mr. van der Merwe." You have no idea how much I'd enjoy that, he thought.

It had started.

The journey from the diamond fields of Namib to Cape Town had been uneventful. Jamie and Banda had hiked inland to a small village where a doctor treated Jamie's arm, and they had gotten a lift on a wagon bound for Cape Town. It was a long, difficult ride, but they were oblivious to the discomfort. At Cape Town, Jamie checked into the ornate Royal Hotel on Plein Street—"Patronized by HRH, the Duke of Edinburgh"—and was escorted to the Royal Suite.

"I want you to send up the best barber in town," Jamie told the manager. "Then I want a tailor and a bootmaker up here."

"At once, sir," the manager said.

It's wonderful what money can do, Jamie thought.

The bath in the Royal Suite was heaven. Jamie lay back in the hot water, soaking the tiredness out of his body, thinking back over the past incredible weeks. Had it been only weeks since he and Banda had built that raft? It seemed like years. Jamie thought about the raft sailing them to the Sperrgebiet, and the sharks, and the demon waves and the reefs tearing the raft to pieces. The sea mis and the crawling over the land mines, and the huge dog on top of him ... The eerie, muffled cries that would ring in his ears forever Kruger ... Brent... Kruger ... Brent...

But most of all, he thought of Banda. His friend.

When they had reached Cape Town, Jamie had urged, "Stay with me."

Banda smiled, showing his beautiful white teeth. "Life's too dull with you, Jamie. I have to go somewhere and find a little excitement."

"What will you do now?"

"Well, thanks to you and your wonderful plan about how easy it is to float a raft over the reef, I'm going to buy a farm, find a wife and have a lot of children."

"All right. Let's go to the diamant kooper so I can give you your share of the diamonds."

"No," Banda said. "I don't want it."

Jamie frowned. "What are you talking about? Half the diamonds are yours. You're a millionaire."

"No. Look at my skin, Jamie. If I became a millionaire, my life would not be worth a tickey."

"You can hide some of the diamonds away. You can—"

"All I need is enough to buy a morgen of farmland and two oxen to trade for a wife. Two or three little diamonds will get me everything I'll ever want. The rest are yours."

'That's impossible. You can't give me your share."

"Yes, I can, Jamie. Because you're going to give me Salomon van der Merwe."

Jamie looked at Banda for a long moment. "I promise."

'Then I'll say good-bye, my friend."

The two men clasped hands.

"We'll meet again," Banda said. "Next time think of something really exciting for us to do."

Banda walked away with three small diamonds carefully tucked in his pocket.

Jamie sent off a bank draft amounting to twenty thousand pounds to his parents, bought the finest carriage and team he could find and headed back to Klipdrift.

The time had come for revenge.

That evening when Jamie McGregor entered Van der Merwe's store, he was gripped by a sensation so unpleasant and so violent that he had to pause to regain control of himself.

Van der Merwe hurried out of the back of the shop, and when he saw who it was, his face lighted up in a big smile. "Mr. Travis!" he said. "Welcome."

"Thank you, mister—er—sorry, I don't remember your name..."

"Van der Merwe. Salomon van der Merwe. Don't apologize. Dutch names are difficult to remember. Dinner is ready. Margaret!" he called as he led Jamie into the back room.

Nothing had changed. Margaret was standing at the stove over a frying pan, her back to them.

"Margaret, this is our guest I spoke of—Mr. Travis."

Margaret turned. "How do you do?"

There was not a flicker of recognition.

"I'm pleased to meet you." Jamie nodded.

The customer bell rang and Van der Merwe said, "Excuse me, I'll be right back. Please make yourself at home, Mr. Travis." He hurried out.

Margaret carried a steaming bowl of vegetables and meat over to the table, and as she hurried to take the bread from the oven Jamie stood there, silently looking at her. She had blossomed in the year since he had seen her. She had become a woman, with a smoldering sexuality that had been lacking before.

"Your father tells me you're an excellent cook."

Margaret blushed. "I—I hope so, sir."

"It's been a long time since I've tasted home cooking. I'm looking forward to this." Jamie took a large butter dish from Margaret and placed it on the table for her. Margaret was so surprised she almost dropped the plate in her hands. She had never heard of a man who helped in woman's work. She lifted her startled eyes to his face. A broken nose and a scar spoiled what would otherwise have been a too-handsome face. His eyes were light gray and shone with intelligence and a burning intensity. His white hair told her that he was not a young man, and yet there was something very youthful about him. He was tall and strong and—Margaret turned away, embarrassed by his gaze.

Van der Merwe hurried back into the room, rubbing his hands. "I've closed the shop," he said. "Let's sit down and have a fine dinner."

Jamie was given the place of honor at the table. "We'll say grace," Van der Merwe said.

They closed their eyes. Margaret slyly opened hers again, so that she could continue her scrutiny of the elegant stranger while her father's voice droned on. "We are all sinners in your eyes, O Lord, and must be punished. Give us the strength to bear our hardships on this earth, so that we may enjoy the fruits of heaven when we are called. Thank you, Lord, for helping those of us who deserve to prosper. Amen."

Salomon van der Merwe began serving. This time the portions he served Jamie were more than generous. They talked as they ate. "Is this your first time out this way, Mr.

Travis?"

"Yes," Jamie said. "First time."

"You didn't bring Mrs. Travis along, I understand."

"There is no Mrs. Travis. I haven't found anyone who'd have me." Jamie smiled.

What fool of a woman would refuse him? Margaret wondered. She lowered her eyes, afraid the stranger might read her wicked thoughts.

"Klipdrift is a town of great opportunity, Mr. Travis. Great opportunity."

'I'm willing to be shown." He looked at Margaret, and she blushed.

"If it isn't too personal, Mr. Travis, may I ask how you acquired your fortune?"

Margaret was embarrassed by her father's blunt questions, but the stranger did not seem to mind.

"I inherited it from my father," Jamie said easily.

"Ah, but I'm sure you've had a lot of business experience."

"Very little, I'm afraid. I need a lot of guidance."

Van der Merwe brightened. "It's fate that we met, Mr. Travis.

I have some very profitable connections. Very profitable, indeed. I can almost guarantee that I can double your money for you in just a few months." He leaned over and patted Jamie's arm. "I have a feeling this is a big day for both of us."

Jamie just smiled.

"I suppose you're staying at the Grand Hotel?"

'That's right."

"It's criminally expensive. But I suppose to a man of your means ..." He beamed at Jamie.

Jamie said, "I'm told the countryside around here is interesting. Would it be an imposition to ask you to let your daughter show me around a bit tomorrow?"

Margaret felt her heart stop for a second.

Van der Merwe frowned. "I don't know. She—"

It was an iron-clad rule of Salomon van der Merwe's never to permit any man to be alone with his daughter. In the case of Mr. Travis, however, he decided there would be no harm in making an exception. With so much at stake, he did not want to appear inhospitable. "I can spare Margaret from the store for a short time. You will show our guest around, Margaret?"

"If you wish, Father," she said quietly.

"That's settled then." Jamie smiled. "Shall we say ten o'clock in the morning?"

After the tall, elegantly dressed guest left, Margaret cleared away the table and washed the dishes, in a complete daze. He must think I'm an idiot. She went over and over in her mind everything she had contributed to the conversation. Nothing. She had been completely tongue-tied. Why was that? Hadn't she waited on hundreds of men in the store without becoming a stupid fool? Of course they had not looked at her the way Ian Travis had. Men all have the devil in them, Margaret. I'll not let them corrupt your innocence. Her father's voice echoed in her mind. Could that be it? The weakness and trembling she had felt when the stranger had looked at her? Was he corrupting her innocence? The thought of it sent a delicious thrill through her body. She looked down at the plate she had dried three times

and sat down at the table. She wished her mother were still alive.

Her mother would have understood. Margaret loved her father, but sometimes she had the oppressive feeling that she was his prisoner. It worried her that he never allowed a man to come near her. I'll never get married, Margaret thought. Not until he dies. Her rebellious thoughts filled her with guilt, and she hurriedly left the room and went into the store, where her father sat behind a desk, working on his accounts.

"Good night, Father."

Van der Merwe took off his gold-framed spectacles and rubbed his eyes before he raised his arms to embrace his daughter good-night. Margaret did not know why she pulled away.

Alone in the curtained-off alcove that served as her bedroom, Margaret studied her face in the small, round mirror that hung on the wall. She had no illusions about her looks. She was not pretty. She was interesting-looking. Nice eyes. High cheekbones. A good figure.

She drew nearer to the mirror. What had Ian Travis seen when he looked at her? She began getting undressed. And Ian Travis was in the room with her, watching her, his eyes burning into her. She stepped out of her muslin drawers and camisole and stood naked before him. Her hands slowly caressed the swell of her breasts and felt her hardening nipples. Her fingers slid down across her flat belly and his hands became entwined with hers, moving slowly downward. They were between her legs now, gently touching, stroking, rubbing, harder now, faster and faster until she was caught up in a frantic whirlpool of sensation that finally exploded inside her and she gasped his name and fell to the bed.

They rode out in Jamie's carriage, and he was amazed once more at the changes that had taken place. Where before there had been only a sea of tents, now there were substantial-looking houses, constructed of timber with roofs of corrugated iron or thatch.

"Klipdrift seems very prosperous," Jamie said as they rode along the main street.

"I suppose it would be interesting for a newcomer," Margaret said. And she thought, I've hated it until now.

They left the town and drove out toward the mining camps along the Vaal River. The seasonal rains had turned the countryside into an enormous, colorful garden, filled with the luxuriant bush Karroo, and the spreading Rhenoster bush and heaths and diosmas plants that could be found nowhere else in the world. As they drove past a group of prospectors, Jamie asked, "Have there been any big diamond finds lately?"

"Oh, yes, a few. Every time the news gets out, hundreds of new diggers come pouring in.

Most of them leave poor and heartbroken." Margaret felt she had to warn him of the danger here. "Father would not like to hear me say this, but I think it's a terrible business, Mr. Travis."

"For some, probably," Jamie agreed. "For some."

"Do you plan to stay on a while?"

"Yes."

Margaret felt her heart singing. "Good." Then added quickly, "Father will be pleased."

They drove around all morning, and from time to time they stopped and Jamie chatted with prospectors. Many of them recognized Margaret and spoke respectfully. There was a warmth to her and an easy friendliness that she did not reveal when she was around her father.

As they drove on, Jamie said, "Everyone seems to know you."

She blushed. "That's because they do business with Father. He supplies most of the diggers."

Jamie made no comment. He was keenly interested in what he was seeing. The railroad had made an enormous difference. A new combine called De Beers, named after the farmer in whose field the first diamond discovery was made, had bought out its chief rival, a colorful entrepreneur named Barney Barnato, and De Beers was busily consolidating the hundreds of small claims into one organization. Gold had been discovered recently, not far from Kimberley, along with manganese and zinc. Jamie was convinced this was only the beginning, that South Africa was a treasure-house of minerals. There were incredible opportunities here for a man with foresight.

When Jamie and Margaret returned, it was late afternoon. Jamie stopped the carriage in front of Van der Merwe's store and said, "I would be honored if you and your father would be my guests at dinner tonight."

Margaret glowed. "I'll ask Father. I do so hope he'll say yes. Thank you for a lovely day, Mr. Travis."

And she fled.

The three of them had dinner in the large, square dining room of the new Grand Hotel.

The room was crowded, and Van der Merwe grumbled, "I don't see how these people can afford to eat here."

Jamie picked up a menu and glanced at it. A steak cost one pound four shillings, a potato was four shillings and a piece of apple pie ten shillings.

"They're robbers!" Van der Merwe complained. "A few meals here and a man could eat himself into the poorhouse."

Jamie wondered what it would take to put Salomon van der Merwe in the poorhouse. He intended to find out. They ordered, and Jamie noticed that Van der Merwe ordered the most expensive items on the menu. Margaret ordered a clear soup. She was too excited to eat. She looked at her hands, remembered what they had done the night before and felt guilty.

"I can afford dinner," Jamie teased her. "Order anything you like."

She blushed. "Thank you, but I'm—I'm not really very hungry."

Van der Merwe noticed the blush and looked sharply from Margaret to Jamie. "My daughter is a rare girl, a rare girl, Mr. Travis."

Jamie nodded. "I couldn't agree with you more, Mr. van der Merwe."

His words made Margaret so happy that when their dinner

was served, she could not even eat the soup. The effect Ian Travis had on her was incredible. She read hidden meanings into his every word and gesture. If he smiled at her, it meant he liked her a lot; if he frowned, it meant he hated her. Margaret's feelings were an emotional thermometer that kept going up and down.

"Did you see anything of interest today?" Van der Merwe asked Jamie.

"No, nothing special," Jamie said casually.

Van der Merwe leaned forward. "Mark my words, sir, this is going to be the fastest-growing area in the world. A man would be smart to invest here now. The new railway's going to turn this place into a second Cape Town."

"I don't know," Jamie said dubiously. 'Tve heard of too many boomtowns like this going bust. I'm not interested in putting my money into a ghost town."

"Not Klipdrift," Van der Merwe assured him. 'They're finding more diamonds all the time.

And gold."

Jamie shrugged. "How long will that last?"

"Well, nobody can be sure of that, of course, but—"

"Exactly."

"Don't make any hasty decisions," Van der Merwe urged. "1 wouldn't like to see you lose out on a great opportunity."

Jamie thought that over. "Perhaps I am being hasty. Margaret, could you show me around again tomorrow?"

Van der Merwe opened his mouth to object, then closed it. He remembered the words of Mr. Thorenson, the banker: He walked in here and deposited a hundred thousand pounds, cool as you please, Salomon, and he said there'd be a lot more comtn'.

Greed got the better of Van der Merwe. "Of course she could."

The following morning, Margaret put on her Sunday dress, ready to meet Jamie. When her father walked in and saw her, his face turned red. "Do you want the man to think you're some kind of fallen woman—dressin' up to attract him? This is business, girl. Take that off and put on your workin' clothes."

"But, Papa—" "Do as I say!" She did not argue with him. "Yes, Papa."

Van der Merwe watched Margaret and Jamie drive away twenty minutes later. He wondered if he could be making a mistake.

This time Jamie headed the carriage in the opposite direction. There were exciting signs of new developments and building everywhere. If the mineral discoveries keep up, Jamie thought— and there was every reason to believe they would—there is more money to be made here in real estate than in diamonds or gold. Klipdrift will need more banks, hotels, saloons, shops, brothels... The list was endless. So were the opportunities.

Jamie was conscious of Margaret staring at him. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, no," she said, and quickly looked away.

Jamie studied her now, and noticed the radiance about her. Margaret was aware of his closeness, his maleness. He sensed her feelings. She was a woman without a man.

At noon Jamie drove off the main road down to a wooded area near a stream and stopped under a large baobab tree. He had had the hotel pack a picnic lunch. Margaret put down a tablecloth, unpacked the basket and spread out the food. There was cold roast lamb, fried chicken, yellow saffron rice, quince jam and tangerines and peaches and soetekoekjes, almond-topped spice cookies.

"This is a banquet!" Margaret exclaimed. "I'm afraid I don't deserve all this, Mr. Travis."

"You deserve much more," Jamie assured her.

Margaret turned away, busying herself with the food.

Jamie took her face between his hands. "Margaret ... look at me."

"Oh! Please. I—" She was trembling.

"Look at me."

Slowly she lifted her head and looked into his eyes. He pulled her into his arms, and his lips found hers and he held her close, pressing his body against hers.

After a few moments she struggled free, shook her head and said, "Oh, my God. We mustn't. Oh, we mustn't. We'll go to hell."

"Heaven."

"I'm afraid."

"There's nothing to be afraid of. Do you see my eyes? They can look right inside you.

And you know what I see, don't you? You want me to make love to you. And I'm going to.

And there's nothing to fear, because you belong to me. You know that, don't you? You belong to me, Margaret. You say it. I belong to Ian. Go on. I—belong—to—Ian."

"I belong—to Ian."

His lips were on hers again, and he began to undo the hooks on the back of her bodice.

In a moment she stood naked in the soft breeze, and he lowered her gently down to the ground. And the tremulous passage from girlhood to womanhood became an exciting, soaring experience that made Margaret feel more alive man she had ever felt in her life. I'll remember this moment forever, she thought. The bed of leaves and the warm caressing breeze on her naked skin, the shadow of the baobab tree that dappled their bodies. They made love again, and it was even more wonderful. She thought, No woman could ever love anyone as much as I love this man.

When they were spent, Jamie held her in his strong arms, and she wished she could be there forever. She looked up at him and whispered, "What are you thinking?"

He grinned and whispered back, "That I'm bloody starving."

She laughed, and they rose and had their lunch under the shelter of the trees. Afterward they swam and lay down to let the hot sun dry them. Jamie took Margaret again, and she thought, I want this day to go on forever.

That evening, Jamie and Van der Merwe were seated at a corner table at the Sundowner. "You were right," Jamie announced. "The possibilities here may be greater than I thought."

Van der Merwe beamed. "I knew you were too clever a man not to see that, Mr. Travis."

"What exactly would you advise me to do?" Jamie asked.

Van der Merwe glanced around and lowered his voice. "Just today I got some information on a big new diamond strike north of Pniel. There are ten claims still available.

We can divide them up between us. I'll put up fifty thousand pounds for five claims, and you put up fifty thousand pounds for the other five. There are diamonds there by the bushel. We can make millions overnight. What do you think?"

Jamie knew exactly what he thought. Van der Merwe would keep the claims that were profitable and Jamie would end up with the others. In addition, Jamie would have been willing to bet his life that Van der Merwe was not putting up one shilling.

"It sounds interesting," Jamie said. "How many prospectors are involved?"

"Only two."

"Why does it take so much money?" he asked innocently.

"Ah, that's an intelligent question." He leaned forward in his chair. "You see, they know the value of their claim, but they don't have the money to operate it. That's where you and I come in. We give them one hundred thousand pounds and let them keep twenty percent of their fields."

He slipped the twenty percent in so smoothly that it almost went by unnoticed. Jamie was certain the prospectors would be cheated of their diamonds and their money. It would all flow to Van der Merwe.

"We'll have to move fast," Van der Merwe warned. "As soon as word of this leaks out—"

"Let's not lose it," Jamie urged.

Van der Merwe smiled. "Don't worry, I'll have the contracts drawn up right away."

In Afrikaans, Jamie thought.

"Now, there are a few other deals I find very interesting, Ian."

Because it was important to keep his new partner happy, Van der Merwe no longer objected when Jamie asked that Margaret

show him around the countryside. Margaret was more in love with Jamie every day. He was the last thing she thought of when she went to bed at night, and the first thing she thought of when she opened her eyes in the morning. Jamie had loosed a sensuality in her that she had not even known existed. It was as though she had suddenly discovered what her body was for, and all the things she had been taught to be ashamed of became glorious gifts to bring pleasure to Jamie. And to herself. Love was a wonderful new country to be explored. A sensual land of hidden valleys and exciting dales and glens and rivers of honey. She could not get enough of it.

In the vast sweep of the countryside, it was easy to find isolated places where they could make love, and each time for Margaret was as exciting as the first time.

The old guilt about her father haunted her. Salomon van der Merwe was an elder of the Dutch Reformed Church, and Margaret knew if he ever found out what she was doing, there would be no forgiveness. Even in the rough frontier community where they lived, where men took their pleasures where they found them, there would be no understanding.

There were only two kinds of women in the world—nice girls and whores—and a nice girl did not let a man touch her unless she was married to him. So she would be labeled a whore.

It's so unfair, she thought. The giving and taking of love is too beautiful to be evil. But her growing concern finally made Margaret bring up the subject of marriage.

They were driving along the Vaal River when Margaret spoke. "Ian, you know how much I—" She did not know how to go on. 'That is, you and I—" In desperation she blurted out,

"How do you feel about marriage?"

Jamie laughed. "I'm all for it, Margaret. I'm all for it."

She joined him in his laughter. It was the happiest moment of her fife.

On Sunday morning, Salomon van der Merwe invited Jamie to accompany him and Margaret to church. The Nederduits Hervormde Kerk was a large, impressive building done in bastard Gothic, with the pulpit at one end and a huge organ at the other. When they walked in the door, Van der Merwe was greeted with great respect.

"I helped build this church," he told Jamie proudly. "I'm a deacon here."

The service was brimstone and hellfire, and Van der Merwe sat there, rapt, nodding eagerly, accepting the minister's every word.

He's God's man on Sunday, Jamie thought, and the rest of the week he belongs to the devil.

Van der Merwe had placed himself between the two young people, but Margaret was conscious of Jamie's nearness all through the service. It's a good thing—she smiled nervously to herself—that the minister doesn't know what I'm thinking about.

That evening, Jamie went to visit the Sundowner Saloon. Smit was behind the bar serving drinks. His face brightened when he saw Jamie.

"Good evenin', Mr. Travis. What will you have, sir? The usual?"

"Not tonight, Smit. I want to talk to you. In the back room."

"Certainly, sir." Smit scented money to be made. He turned to bis assistant. "Mind the bar."

The back room of the Sundowner was no more than a closet, but it afforded privacy. It contained a round table with four chairs, and in the center of the table was a lantern. Smit lit it.

"Sit down," Jamie said.

Smit took a chair. "Yes, sir. How can I help you?"

"It's you I've come to help, Smit."

Smit beamed. "Really, sir?"

"Yes." Jamie took out a long, thin cigar and lighted it. "I've decided to let you live."

An uncertain look flickered over Smit's face. "I—I don't understand, Mr. Travis."

"Not Travis. The name is McGregor. Jamie McGregor. Remember? A year ago you set me up to be killed. At the barn. For Van der Merwe."

Smit was frowning now, suddenly wary. "I don't know what—"

"Shut up and listen to me." Jamie's voice was like a whiplash.

Jamie could see the wheels turning in Smit's mind. He was trying to reconcile the face of the white-haired man in front of him with the eager youth of a year before.

"I'm still alive, and I'm rich—rich enough to hire men to burn this place down and you with it. Are you with me so far, Smit?"

Smit started to protest his ignorance, but he looked into Jamie McGregor's eyes and saw the danger there. Smit said cautiously, "Yes, sir ..."

"Van der Merwe pays you to send prospectors to him so he can cheat them out of what they find. That's an interesting little partnership. How much does he pay you?"

There was a silence. Smit was caught between two powerful forces. He did not know which way to jump.

"How much?"

"Two percent," he said reluctantly.

"I'll give you five. From now on when a likely prospect comes in, you'll send him to me.

'I'll finance him. The difference is that he'll get his fair share and you'll get yours. Did you really think Van der Merwe was paying you two percent of what he made? You're a fool."

Smit nodded. "Right, Mr. Trav—Mr. McGregor. I understand."

Jamie rose to his feet. "Not completely." He leaned over the table. "You're thinking of going to Van der Merwe and telling him about our little conversation. That way, you can collect from both of us. There's only one problem with that, Smit." His voice dropped to a whisper. "If you do, you're a dead man."

Jamie was getting dressed when he heard a tentative knock at the door. He listened, and it was repeated. He walked over to the door and opened it. Margaret stood there.

"Come in, Maggie," Jamie said. "Is something wrong?" It was the first time she had come to his hotel room. She stepped inside, but now that she was face to face with him, she found it difficult to speak. She had lain awake all night, wondering how to tell him the news.

She was afraid he might never want to see her again.

She looked into his eyes. "Ian, I'm going to have your baby."

His face was so still that Margaret was terrified that she had lost him. And suddenly his expression changed to such joy that all her doubts were instantly wiped out. He grabbed her arms and said, "That's wonderful, Maggie! Wonderful! Have you told your father?"

Margaret pulled back in alarm. "Oh, no! He—" She walked over to the Victorian green-plush sofa and sat down. "You don't know Father. He—he would never understand."

Jamie was hurriedly putting on his shirt. "Come on, we're going to tell him together."

"Are you sure everything will be all right, Ian?" "I've never been surer of anything in my life."

Salomon van der Merwe was measuring out strips of biltong for a prospector when Jamie and Margaret strode into the shop. "Ah, Ian! I'll be with you in a moment." He hurriedly finished with the customer and walked over to Jamie. "And how is everything this fine day?" Van der Merwe asked.

"It couldn't be better," Jamie said happily. "Your Maggie's going to have a baby."

There was a sudden stillness in the air. "I—I don't understand," Van der Merwe stuttered.

'It's very simple. I've gotten her pregnant."

The color drained from Van der Merwe's face. He turned wildly from one to the other.

"This—this isn't true?" A maelstrom of conflicting emotions whirled through Salomon van der Merwe's head. The terrible shock of his precious daughter losing her virginity ... getting pregnant... He would be the laughing stock of the town. But Ian Travis was a very wealthy man. And if they got married quickly ...

Van der Merwe turned to Jamie. "You'll get married immediately, of course."

Jamie looked at him in surprise. "Married? You'd allow Maggie to marry a stupid bairn who let you cheat him out of what belonged to him?"

Van der Merwe's head was spinning. "What are you talking about, Ian? I never—"

"My name's not Ian," Jamie said harshly. "I'm Jamie McGregor. Dinna you recognize me?" He saw the bewildered expression on Van der Merwe's face. "Nae, a course you don't. That boy is dead. You killed him. But I'm not a man to hold a grudge, Van der Merwe. So I'm giving you a gift. My seed in your daughter's belly."

And Jamie turned and walked out, leaving the two of them staring after him, stunned.

Margaret had listened in shocked disbelief. He could not mean what he had just said. He loved her! He—

Salomon van der Merwe turned on his daughter, in the throes of a terrible rage. "You whore!" he screamed. "Whore! Get out! Get out of here!"

Margaret stood stock-still, unable to grasp the meaning of the awful thing that was happening. Ian blamed her for something her father had done. Ian thought she was part of something bad. Who was Jamie McGregor? Who—?

"Go!" Van der Merwe hit her hard across the face. "I never want to see you again as long as I live."

Margaret stood there, rooted, her heart pounding, gasping for breath. Her father's face was that of a madman. She turned and fled from the store, not looking back.

Salomon van der Merwe stood there watching her go, gripped by despair. He had seen what happened to other men's daughters who had disgraced themselves. They had been forced to stand up in church and be publicly pilloried and then exiled from the community.

It was proper and fitting punishment, exactly what they deserved. But his Margaret had been given a decent, God-fearing upbringing. How could she have betrayed him like this?

Van der Merwe visualized bis daughter's naked body, coupling with that man, writhing in heat like animals, and he began to have an erection.

He put a Closed sign on the front door of the store and lay on his bed without the strength or the will to move. When word got around town, he would become an object of derision. He would be either pitied or blamed for his daughter's depravity. Either way, it would be unbearable. He had to make certain no one learned about it. He would send the whore out of his sight forever. He knelt and prayed: O, God! How could you do this to me, your loyal servant? Why have you forsaken me? Let her die, O Lord Let them both die___

The Sundowner Saloon was crowded with noon trade when Jamie entered. He walked over to the bar and turned to face the room. "Your attention, please!" The conversation tapered off into silence. "Drinks on the house for everybody."

"What is it?" Smit asked. "A new strike?"

Jamie laughed. "In a way, my friend. Salomon van der Merwe's unmarried daughter is pregnant. Mr. van der Merwe wants everybody to help him celebrate."

Smit whispered, "Oh, Jesus!"

"Jesus had nothing to do with it. Just Jamie McGregor."

Within an hour, everyone in Klipdrift had heard the news. How Ian Travis was really Jamie McGregor, and how he had gotten Van der Merwe's daughter pregnant. Margaret van der Merwe had fooled the whole town.

"She doesn't look like the kind, does she?"

"Still waters run deep, they say."

"I wonder how many other men in this town have dipped their wick in that well?"

"She's a shapely girl. I could use a piece of that myself."

"Why don't you ask her? She's givin' it away."

And the men laughed.

When Salomon van der Merwe left his store that afternoon, he had come to terms with the dreadful catastrophe that had befallen him. He would send Margaret to Cape Town on the next coach. She could have her bastard there, and there was no need for anyone in Klipdrift to know his shame. Van der Merwe stepped out into the street, hugging his secret, a smile pasted on his tips.

"Afternoon, Mr. van der Merwe. I hear you might be stockin' some extra baby clothes."

"Good day, Salomon. Hear you're gonna get a little helper for your store soon."

"Hello there, Salomon. I hear a bird watcher just spotted a new species out near the Vaal River. Yes, sir, a stork!"

Salomon van der Merwe turned and blindly stumbled back into his shop, bolting the door behind him.

At the Sundowner Saloon, Jamie was having a whiskey, listening to the flood of gossip around him. It was the biggest

scandal Klipdrift had ever had, and the pleasure the townspeople took in it was intense. I wish, Jamie thought, that Banda were here with me to enjoy this. This was payment for what Salomon van der Merwe had done to Banda's sister, what he had done to Jamie and to—how many others? But this was only part payment for all the things Salomon van der Merwe had done, just the beginning. Jamie's vengeance would not be complete until Van der Merwe had been totally destroyed. As for Margaret, he had no sympathy for her. She was in on it. What had she said the first day they met? My father might be the one to help you. He knows everything. She was a Van der Merwe too, and Jamie would destroy both of them.

Smit walked over to where Jamie was sitting. "Kin I talk to you a minute, Mr. McGregor?"

"What is it?"

Smit cleared his throat self-consciously. "I know a couple of prospectors who have ten claims up near Pniel. They're produ-cin' diamonds, but these fellas don't have the money to get the proper equipment to work their claim. They're lookin' for a partner. I thought you might be interested."

Jamie studied him. "These are the men you talked to Van der Merwe about, right?"

Smit nodded, surprised. "Yes, sir. But I been thinkin' over your proposition. I'd rather do business with you."

Jamie pulled out a long, thin cigar, and Smit hastened to light it. "Keep talking."

Smit did.

In the beginning, prostitution in Klipdrift was on a haphazard basis. The prostitutes were mostly black women, working in sleazy, back-street brothels. The first white prostitutes to arrive in town were part-time barmaids. But as diamond strikes increased and the town prospered, more white prostitutes appeared.

There were now half a dozen sporting houses on the outskirts of Klipdrift, wooden railway huts with tin roofs. The one exception was Madam Agnes's, a respectable-looking two-story frame

structure on Bree Street, off Loop Street, the main thoroughfare, where the wives of the townspeople would not be offended by having to pass in front of it. It was patronized by the husbands of those wives, and by any strangers in town who could afford it. It was expensive, but the women were young and uninhibited, and gave good value for the money. Drinks were served in a reasonably well-decorated drawing room, and it was a rule of Madam Agnes's that no customer was ever rushed or shortchanged. Madam Agnes herself was a cheerful, robust redhead in her mid-thirties. She had worked at a brothel in London and been attracted to South Africa by the tales of easy money to be picked up in a mining town like Klipdrift. She had saved enough to open her own establishment, and business had flourished from the beginning.

Madam Agnes prided herself on her understanding of men, but Jamie McGregor was a puzzle to her. He visited often, spent money freely and was always pleasant to the women, but he seemed withdrawn, remote and untouchable. His eyes were what fascinated Agnes. They were pale, bottomless pools, cold. Unlike the other patrons of her house, he never spoke about himself or his past. Madam Agnes had heard hours earlier that Jamie McGregor had deliberately gotten Salomon van der Merwe's daughter pregnant and then refused to marry her. The bastard! Madam Agnes thought. But she had to admit that he was an attractive bastard. She watched Jamie now as he walked down the red-carpeted stairs, politely said good night and left.

When Jamie arrived back at his hotel, Margaret was in his room, staring out the window.

She turned as Jamie walked in.

"Hello, Jamie." Her voice was atremble.

"What are you doing here?"

"I had to talk to you."

"We have nothing to talk about."

"I know why you're doing this. You hate my father." Margaret moved closer to him. "But you have to know that whatever it was he did to you, I knew nothing about. Please—I beg of you—believe that. Don't hate me. I love you too much."

Jamie looked at her coldly. "That's your problem, isn't it?"

"Please don't look at me like that. You love me, too___"

He was not listening. He was again taking the terrible journey to Paardspan where he had almost died ... and moving the boulders on the riverbanks until he was ready to drop

... and finally, miraculously, finding the diamonds___Handing them to Van der Merwe and hearing Van der Merwe's voice saying, You misunderstood me, boy. I don't need any partners. You're working for me-----I'm giving you twenty-four hours to get out of town. And then the savage beating ... He was smelling the vultures again, feeling their sharp beaks tear into his flesh..

As though from a distance, he heard Margaret's voice. "Don't you remember?

I—belong—to—you.... I love you."

He shook himself out of his reverie and looked at her. Love. He no longer had any idea what the word meant. Van der Merwe had burned every emotion out of him except hate.

He lived on that. It was his elixir, his lifebiood. It was what had kept him alive when he fought the sharks and crossed the reef, and crawled over the mines at the diamond fields of the Namib Desert. Poets wrote about love, and singers sang about it, and perhaps it was real, perhaps it existed. But love was for other men. Not for Jamie McGregor.

"You're Salomon van der Merwe's daughter. You're carrying his grandchild in your belly.

Get out."

There was nowhere for Margaret to go. She loved her father, and she needed his forgiveness, but she knew he would never— could never—forgive her. He would make her life a living hell. But she had no choice. She had to go to someone.

Margaret left the hotel and walked toward her father's store. She felt that everyone she passed was staring at her. Some of the men smiled insinuatingly, and she held her head high and walked on. When she reached the store, she hesitated, then stepped inside. The store was deserted. Her father came out from the back.

"Father..."

"You!" The contempt in his voice was a physical slap. He moved closer, and she could smell the whiskey on his breath. "I want you to get out of this town. Now. Tonight. You're never to come near here again. Do you hear me? Never!"

He pulled some bills from his pocket and threw them on the floor. "Take them and get out."

"I'm carrying your grandchild."

"You're carrying the devil's child!" He moved closer to her, and his hands were knotted into fists. "Every time people see you strutting around like a whore, they'll think of my shame. When you're gone, they'll forget it."

She looked at him for a long, lost moment, then turned and blindly stumbled out the door.

"The money, whore!" he yelled. "You forgot the money!"

There was a cheap boardinghouse at the outskirts of town, and Margaret made her way to it, her mind in a turmoil. When she reached it, she went looking for Mrs. Owens, the landlady. Mrs. Owens was a plump, pleasant-faced woman in her fifties, whose husband had brought her to Klipdrift and abandoned her. A lesser woman would have crumbled, but Mrs. Owens was a survivor. She had seen a good many people in trouble in this town, but never anyone in more trouble than the seventeen-year-old girl who stood before her now.

'You wanted to see me?"

'Yes. I was wondering if—if perhaps you had a job for me here."

"A job? Doing what?"

"Anything. I'm a good cook. I can wait on tables. I'll make the beds. I—I'll—" There was desperation in her voice. "Oh, please," she begged. "Anything!"

Mrs. Owens looked at the trembling girl standing there in front of her, and it broke her heart. "I suppose I could use an extra hand. How soon can you start?" She could see the relief that lighted Margaret's face.

"Now."

"I can pay you only—" She thought of a figure and added to it. "One pound two shillings eleven pence a month, with board and lodging." "That will be fine," Margaret said gratefully.

Salomon van der Merwe seldom appeared now on the streets of Klipdrift. More and more often, his customers found a Closed sign on the front door of his store at all hours of the day. After a while, they took their business elsewhere.

But Salomon van der Merwe still went to church every Sunday. He went not to pray, but to demand of God that He right this terrible iniquity that had been heaped upon the shoulders of his obedient servant. The other parishioners had always looked up to Salomon van der Merwe with the respect due a wealthy and powerful man, but now he could feel the stares and whispers behind his back. The family that occupied the pew next to him moved to another pew. He was a pariah. What broke his spirit completely was the minister's thundering sermon artfully combining Exodus and Ezekiel and Leviticus. "I, the Lord thy God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children.

Wherefor, O harlot, hear the word of the Lord. Because thy filthiness was poured out, and thy nakedness discovered through thy whoredoms with thy lovers___And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying, 'Do not prostitute thy daughter, to cause her to be a whore; lest the land fall to whoredom and the land become full of wickedness____''

Van der Merwe never set foot in church again after that Sunday.

As Salomon van der Merwe's business deteriorated, Jamie McGregor's prospered. The expense of mining for diamonds increased as the digging got deeper, and miners with working claims found they were unable to afford the elaborate equipment needed. The word quickly spread that Jamie McGregor would provide financing in exchange for a share in the mines, and in time Jamie bought out bis partners. He invested in real estate and businesses and gold. He was meticulously honest in

his dealings, and as his reputation spread, more people came to him to do business.

There were two banks in town, and when one of them failed because of inept management, Jamie bought it, putting in his own people and keeping his name out of the transaction.

Everything Jamie touched seemed to prosper. He was successful and wealthy beyond his boyhood dreams, but it meant little to him. He measured his successes only by Salomon van der Merwe's failures. His revenge had still only begun.

From time to time, Jamie passed Margaret on the street. He took no notice of her.

Jamie had no idea what those chance encounters did to Margaret. The sight of him took her breath away, and she had to stop until she regained control of herself. She still loved him, completely and utterly. Nothing could ever change that. He had used her body to punish her father, but Margaret knew that that could be a double-edged sword. Soon she would have Jamie's baby, and when he saw that baby, his own flesh and blood, he would marry her and give his child a name. Margaret would become Mrs. Jamie McGregor, and she asked nothing more from life. At night before Margaret went to sleep, she would touch her swollen belly and whisper, "Our son." It was probably foolish to think she could influence its sex, but she did not want to overlook any possibility. Every man wanted a son.

As her womb swelled, Margaret became more frightened. She wished she had someone to talk to. But the women of the town did not speak to her. Their religion taught them punishment, not forgiveness. She was alone, surrounded by strangers, and she wept in the night for herself and for her unborn baby.

Jamie McGregor had bought a two-story building in the heart of Klipdrift, and he used it as headquarters for his growing enterprises. One day, Harry McMillan, Jamie's chief accountant, had a talk with him.

"We're combining your companies," he told Jamie, "and we need a corporate name. Do you have any suggestions?" "I'll think about it." Jamie thought about it. In bis mind he kept hearing the sound

of long-ago echoes piercing the sea mis on the diamond field in the Namib Desert, and he knew there was only one name he wanted. He summoned the accountant. "We're going to call the new company Kruger-Brent. Kruger-Brent Limited."

Alvin Cory, Jamie's bank manager, stopped in to visit him. "It's about Mr. van der Merwe's loans," he said. "He's fallen very far behind. In the past he's been a good risk, but bis situation has drastically changed, Mr. McGregor. I think we should call in his loans."

"No."

Cory looked at Jamie in surprise. "He came in this morning trying to borrow more money to—"

"Give it to him. Give him everything he wants."

The manager got to his feet. "Whatever you say, Mr. McGregor. I'll tell him that you—"

'Tell him nothing. Just give him the money."

Every morning Margaret arose at five o'clock to bake large loaves of wonderful-smelling bread and sourdough biscuits, and when the boarders trooped into the dining room for breakfast, she served them porridge and ham and eggs, buckwheat cakes, sweet rolls and pots of steaming coffee and naartje. The majority of the guests at the boardinghouse were prospectors on their way to and from their claims. They would stop off in Klipdrift long enough to have their diamonds appraised, have a bath, get drunk and visit one of the town's brothels—usually in that order. They were for the most part rough, illiterate adventurers.

There was an unwritten law in Klipdrift that nice women were not to be molested. If a man wanted sex, he went to a whore. Margaret van der Merwe, however, was a challenge, for she fit into neither category. Nice girls who were single did not get pregnant, and the theory went that since Margaret had fallen once, she was probably eager to bed everyone else. All they had to do was ask. They did.

Some of the prospectors were open and blatant; others were leering and furtive.

Margaret handled them all with quiet dig-

nity. But one night as Mrs. Owens was preparing for bed, she heard screams coming from Margaret's room at the back of the house. The landlady flung the door open and rushed in. One of the guests, a drunken prospector, had ripped off Margaret's nightgown and had her pinned down on the bed.

Mrs. Owens was on him like a tiger. She picked up a flatiron and began hitting him with it She was half the size of the prospector, but it made no difference. Filled with an overpowering rage, she knocked the prospector unconscious and dragged him into the hallway and out to the street. Then she turned and hurried back to Margaret's room.

Margaret was wiping the blood off her lips from where the man had bitten her. Her hands were trembling.

"Are you all right, Maggie?"

"Yes. I—thank you, Mrs. Owens."

Unbidden tears sprang into Margaret's eyes. In a town where few people even spoke to her, here was someone who had shown

kindness.

Mrs. Owens studied Margaret's swollen belly and thought, The poor dreamer. Jamie McGregor will never marry her.

The time of confinement was drawing close. Margaret tired easily now, and bending down and getting up again was an effort. Her only joy was when she felt her baby stir inside her. She and her son were completely alone in the world, and she talked to him hour after hour, telling him all the wonderful things that life had in store for him.

Late one evening, shortly after supper, a young black boy appeared at the boardinghouse and handed Margaret a sealed letter.

"I'm to wait for an answer," the boy told her.

Margaret read the letter, then read it again, very slowly. "Yes," she said. "The answer is yes."

The following Friday, promptly at noon, Margaret arrived in front of Madam Agnes's bordello. A sign on the front door read Closed. Margaret rapped tentatively on the door, ignoring the

startled glances of the passers-by. She wondered if she had made a mistake by coming here. It had been a difficult decision, and she had accepted only out of a terrible loneliness. The letter had read:

Dear Miss van der Merwe:

It's none of my business, but my girls and me have been discussing your unfortunate and unfair situation, and we think it's a damned shame. We would like to help you and your baby. If it would not embarrass you, we would be honored to have you come to lunch.

Would Friday at noon be convenient?

Respectfully yours, Madam Agnes p.s. We would be very discreet.

Margaret was debating whether to leave, when the door was opened by Madam Agnes.

She took Margaret's arm and said, "Come in, dearie. Let's get you out of this damned heat."

She led her into the parlor, furnished with Victorian red-plush couches and chairs and tables. The room had been decorated with ribbons and streamers and—from God knows where—brightly colored balloons. Crudely lettered cardboard signs hanging from the ceiling read: welcome baby ... it's

GOING TO BE A BOY . . . HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

In the parlor were eight of Madam Agnes's girls, in a variety of sizes, ages and colors.

They had all dressed for the occasion under Madam Agnes's tutelage. They wore conservative afternoon gowns and no makeup. They look, Margaret thought in wonder, more respectable than most of the wives in this town.

Margaret stared at the roomful of prostitutes, not quite knowing what to do. Some of the faces were familiar. Margaret had waited on them when she worked in her father's store.

Some of the girls were young and quite beautiful. A few were older and fleshy, with obviously dyed hair. But they all had one thing in common—they cared. They were friendly and warm and kind and they wanted to make her happy.

They hovered around Margaret self-consciously, afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. No matter what the townspeople said, they knew this was a lady, and they were aware of the difference between Margaret and themselves.

They were honored that she had come to them, and they were determined not to let anything spoil this party for her.

"We fixed you a nice lunch, honey," Madam Agnes said. "I hope you're hungry."

They led her into the dining room, where a table had been festively set, with a bottle of champagne at Margaret's place. As they walked through the hallway, Margaret glanced toward the stairs that led to the bedrooms on the second floor. She knew Jamie visited here, and she wondered which of the girls he chose. All of them, perhaps. And she studied them again and wondered what it was they had for Jamie that she did not.

The luncheon turned out to be a banquet. It began with a delicious cold soup and salad, followed by fresh carp. After that came mutton and duck with potatoes and vegetables.

There was a tipsy cake and cheese and fruit and coffee. Margaret found herself eating heartily and enjoying herself immensely. She was seated at the head of the table, Madam Agnes on her right, and Maggie, a lovely blond girl who could have been no more than sixteen, on her left. In the beginning the conversation was stilted. The girls had dozens of amusing, bawdy stories to tell, but they were not the kind they felt Margaret should hear.

And so they talked about the weather and about how Klipdrift was growing, and about the future of South Africa. They were knowledgeable about politics and the economy and diamonds because they got their information firsthand from experts.

Once, the pretty blonde, Maggie, said, "Jamie's just found a new diamond field at—" And as the room went suddenly silent and she realized her gaffe, she added nervously, "That's my Uncle Jamie. He's—he's married to my aunt."

Margaret was surprised by the sudden wave of jealousy that swept through her. Madam Agnes hastily changed the subject.

When the luncheon was finished, Madam Agnes rose and

said, "This way, honey."

Margaret and the girls followed her into a second parlor which Margaret had not seen before. It was filled with dozens of gifts, all of them beautifully wrapped. Margaret could not believe her eyes.

"I—I don't know what to say."

"Open them," Madam Agnes told Margaret.

There was a rocking cradle, handmade bootees, sacques, embroidered bonnets, a long, embroidered cashmere cloak. There were French-kid button shoes, a child's silver cup, gold-lined, and a comb and brush with solid sterling-silver handles. There were solid-gold baby bib pins with beaded edges, a celluloid baby rattle and rubber teething ring and a rocking horse painted dapple gray. There were toy soldiers, brightly colored wooden blocks and the most beautiful thing of all: a long, white christening dress.

It was like Christmas. It was beyond anything Margaret had ever expected. All the bottled-up loneliness and unhappiness of the past months exploded in her, and she burst into sobs.

Madam Agnes put her arms around her and said to the other girls, "Get out."

They quietly left the room. Madam Agnes led Margaret to a couch and sat there holding her until the sobs subsided.

"I—I'm so sorry," Margaret stammered. "I—I don't know what came over me."

"It's all right, honey. This room has seen a lot of problems come and go. And you know what I've learned? Somehow, in the end everything always gets sorted out. You and your baby are gonna be just fine."

"Thank you," Margaret whispered. She gestured toward the piles of presents. "I can never thank you and your friends enough for—"

Madam Agnes squeezed Margaret's hand. "Don't. You don't iave no idea how much fun the girls and me had gettin' all this together. We don't get a chance to do this kind of thing very often. When one of us gets pregnant, it's a fuckin' tragedy." Her hands flew to her mouth and she said, "Oh! Excuse me!"

Margaret smiled. "I just want you to know that this has been one of the nicest days of my life."

"We're real honored that you came to visit us, honey. As far as I'm concerned, you're worth all the women in this town put together. Those damned bitches! I could kill them for the way they're behavin' to you. And if you don't mind my sayin' so, Jamie McGregor is a damned fool." She rose to her feet. "Men! It would be a wonderful world if we could live without the bastards. Or maybe it wouldn't. Who knows?"

Margaret had recovered her composure. She rose to her feet and took Madam Agnes's hand in hers. "I'll never forget this. Not as long as I live. Someday, when my son is old enough, I'll tell him about this day."

Madam Agnes frowned. "You really think you should?"

Margaret smiled. "I really think I should."

Madam Agnes saw Margaret to the door. "I'll have a wagon deliver all the gifts to your boardinghouse, and—good luck to you."

"Thank you. Oh, thank you."

And she was gone.

Madam Agnes stood there a moment watching Margaret walk clumsily down the street Then she turned inside and called loudly, "All right, ladies. Let's go to work."

One hour later, Madam Agnes's was open for business as usual.

It was time to spring the trap. Over the previous six months, Jamie McGregor had quietly bought out Van der Merwe's partners in his various enterprises so that Jamie now had control of them. But his obsession was to own Van der Merwe's diamond fields in the Namib. He had paid for those fields a hundred times over with his blood and guts, and very nearly with his life. He had used the diamonds he and Banda had stolen there to build an empire from which to crush Salomon van der Merwe. The task had not yet been completed. Now, Jamie was ready to finish it.

Van der Merwe had gone deeper and deeper into debt. Everyone in town refused to lend him money, except the bank Jamie secretly owned. His standing instruction to his bank manager was, "Give Salomon van der Merwe everything he wants." The general store was almost never open now. Van der Merwe began drinking early in the morning, and in the after-noon he would go to Madam Agnes's and sometimes spend the night there.

One morning Margaret stood at the butcher's counter waiting for the spring chickens Mrs. Owens had ordered, when she

glanced out the window and saw her father leaving the brothel. She could hardly recognize the unkempt old man shuffling along the street. I did this to him. Oh, God, forgive me, I did this!

Salomon van der Merwe had no idea what was happening to him. He knew that somehow, through no fault of his own, his life was being destroyed. God had chosen him—as He had once chosen Job—to test the mettle of his faith. Van der Merwe was certain he would triumph over his unseen enemies in the end. All he needed was a little time—time and more money. He had put up his general store as security, the shares he had in six small diamond fields, even his horse and wagon. Finally, there was nothing left but the diamond field in the Namib, and the day he put that up as collateral, Jamie pounced.

"Pull in all his notes," Jamie ordered his bank manager. "Give him twenty-four hours to pay up in full, or foreclose."

"Mr. McGregor, he can't possibly come up with that kind of money. He—"

'Twenty-four hours."

At exactly four o'clock the following afternoon, the assistant manager of the bank appeared at the general store with the marshal and a writ to confiscate all of Salomon van der Merwe's worldly possessions. From his office building across the street, Jamie watched Van der Merwe being evicted from his store. The old man stood outside, blinking helplessly in the sun, not knowing what to do or where to turn. He had been stripped of everything. Jamie's vengeance was complete. Why is it, Jamie wondered, that I feel no sense of triumph? He was empty inside. The man he destroyed had destroyed him first.

When Jamie walked into Madam Agnes's that night, she said, "Have you heard the news, Jamie? Salomon van der Merwe blew his brains out an hour ago."

The funeral was held at the dreary, windswept cemetery outside town. Besides the burying crew, there were only two people in attendance: Margaret and Jamie McGregor.

Margaret wore a shapeless black dress to cover her protruding figure. She looked pale and unwell. Jamie stood tall and elegant, withdrawn and

remote. The two stood at opposite sides of the grave watching the crude pine-box coffin lowered into the ground. The clods of dirt clattered against the coffin, and to Margaret they seemed to say, Whore!... Whore!...

She looked across her father's grave at Jamie, and their eyes met. Jamie's glance was cool and impersonal, as though she were a stranger. Margaret hated him then. You stand there feeling nothing, and you're as guilty as I am. We killed him, you and I. In God's eyes, I'm your wife. But we're partners in evil. She looked down at the open grave and watched the last shovelful of dirt cover the pine box. "Rest," she whispered, "Rest."

When she looked up, Jamie was gone.

There were two wooden buildings in Klipdrift that served as hospitals, but they were so filthy and unsanitary that more patients died there than lived. Babies were born at home.

As Margaret's time for delivery drew closer, Mrs. Owens arranged for a black midwife, Hannah. Labor began at three a.m.

"Now you just bear down," Hannah instructed. "Nature'll do the rest."

The first pain brought a smile to Margaret's lips. She was bringing her son into the world, and he would have a name. She would see to it that Jamie McGregor recognized his child.

Her son was not going to be punished.

The labor went on, hour after hour, and when some of the boarders stepped into Margaret's bedroom to watch the proceedings, they were sent packing.

"This is personal," Hannah told Margaret. "Between you and God and the devil who got you into this trouble."

"Is it going to be a boy?" Margaret gasped.

Hannah mopped Margaret's brow with a damp cloth. "I'll let you know as soon as I check out the plumbin'. Now press down. Real hard! Hard! Harder!"

The contractions began to come closer together and the pain tore through Margaret's body. Oh, my God, something's wrong, Margaret thought.

"Bear down!" Hannah said. And suddenly there was a note of alarm in her voice. "It's twisted around," she cried. "I—I can't get it out!"

Through a red mist, Margaret saw Hannah bend down and twist her body, and the room began to fade out, and suddenly there was no more pain. She was floating in space and there was a bright light at the end of a tunnel and someone was beckoning to her, and it was Jamie. I'm here, Maggie, darling. You're going to give me a fine son. He had come back to her. She no longer hated him. She knew then she had never hated him. She heard a voice saying, "It's almost over," and there was a tearing inside her, and the pain made her scream aloud.

"Now!" Hannah said. "It's coming."

And a second later, Margaret felt a wet rush between her legs and there was a triumphant cry from Hannah. She held up a red bundle and said, "Welcome to Klipdrift.

Honey, you got yourself a son."

She named him Jamie.

Margaret knew the news about the baby would reach Jamie quickly, and she waited for him to call on her or send for her. When several weeks had passed and Margaret had not heard anything, she sent a message to him. The messenger returned thirty minutes later.

Margaret was in a fever of impatience. "Did you see Mr. McGregor?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you gave him the message?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What did he say?" she demanded.

The boy was embarrassed. "He—he said he has no son, Miss van der Merwe."

She locked herself and her baby in her room all that day and all that night and refused to come out. "Your father's upset just now, Jamie. He thinks your mother did something bad to him. But you're his son, and when he sees you, he's going to take us to live in his house and he's going to love both of us very much. You'll see, darling. Everything is going to be fine."

In the morning when Mrs. Owens knocked on the door, Margaret opened it. She seemed strangely calm.

"Are you all right, Maggie?"

"I'm fine, thank you." She was dressing Jamie in one of his new outfits. 'I'm going to take Jamie out in his carriage this morning."

The carriage, from Madam Agnes and her girls, was a thing of beauty. It was made of the finest grade of reed, with a strong cane bottom and solid, bentwood handles. It was upholstered in imported brocade, with piped rolls of silk plush, and it had a parasol hooked on at the back, with a deep ruffle.

Margaret pushed the baby carriage down the narrow sidewalks of Loop Street. An occasional stranger stopped to smile at the baby, but the women of the town averted their eyes or crossed to the other side of the street to avoid Margaret.

Margaret did not even notice. She was looking for one person. Every day that the weather was fine, Margaret dressed the baby in one of his beautiful outfits and took him out in the baby carriage. At the end of a week, when Margaret had not once encountered Jamie on the streets, she realized he was deliberately avoiding her. Well, if he won't come to see his son, his son will go to see him, Margaret decided.

The following morning, Margaret found Mrs. Owens in the parlor. "I'm taking a little trip, Mrs. Owens. I'll be back in a week."

"The baby's too young to travel, Maggie. He—"

"The baby will be staying in town."

Mrs. Owens frowned. "You mean here?'

"No, Mrs. Owens. Not here."

Jamie McGregor had built his house on a kopje, one of the hills overlooking Klipdrift. It was a low, steep-roofed bungalow with two large wings attached to the main building by wide verandas. The house was surrounded by green lawns studded with trees and a lush rose garden. In back was the carriage house and separate quarters for the servants. The domestic arrangements

were in the charge of Eugenia Talley, a formidable middle-aged widow with six grown children in England.

Margaret arrived at the house with her infant son in her arms at ten in the morning, when she knew Jamie would be at his office. Mrs. Talley opened the door and stared in surprise at Margaret and the baby. As did everyone else within a radius of a hundred miles, Mrs.

Talley knew who they were.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. McGregor is not at home," the housekeeper said, and started to close the door.

Margaret stopped her. "I didn't come to see Mr. McGregor. I brought him his son."

"I'm afraid I don't know anything about that. You—"

"I'll be gone for one week. I'll return for him then." She held the baby out. "His name is Jamie."

A horrified look came over Mrs. Taney's face. "You can't leave him here! Why, Mr.

McGregor would—"

"You have a choice," Margaret informed her. "You can either take him in the house or have me leave him here on your doorstep. Mr. McGregor wouldn't like that either."

Without another word, she thrust the baby into the arms of the housekeeper and walked away.

"Wait! You can't—! Come back here! Miss—!"

Margaret never turned around. Mrs. Talley stood there, holding the tiny bundle and thinking, Oh, my God! Mr. McGregor is going to be furious!

She had never seen him in such a state. "How could you have been so stupidV he yelled. "All you had to do was slam the door in her face!"

"She didn't give me a chance, Mr. McGregor. She—"

"I will not have her child in my house!"

In his agitation he paced up and down, pausing to stop in front of the hapless housekeeper from time to time. "I should fire you for this."

"She's coming back to pick him up in a week. I—"

"I don't care when she's coming back," Jamie shouted. "Get that child out of here. Now!

Get rid of it!"

"How do you suggest I do that, Mr. McGregor?" she asked stiffly.

"Drop it off in town. There must be someplace you can leave it." "Where?"

"How the devil do I know!"

Mrs. Talley looked at the tiny bundle she was holding in her arms. The shouting had started the baby crying. "There are no orphanages in Klipdrift." She began to rock the baby in her arms, but the screams grew louder. "Someone has to take care of him."

Jamie ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "Damn! All right," he decided. "You're the one who so generously took the baby. You take care of him." "Yes, sir."

"And stop that unbearable wailing. Understand something, Mrs. Talley. I want it kept out of my sight. I don't want to know it's in this house. And when its mother picks it up next week, I don't want to see her. Is that clear?" The baby started up with renewed vigor.

"Perfectly, Mr. McGregor." And Mrs. Talley hurried from the room.

Jamie McGregor sat alone in his den sipping a brandy and smoking a cigar. The stupid woman. The sight of her baby is supposed to melt my heart, make me go rushing to her and say, "I love you. I love the baby. I want to marry you." Well, he had not even bothered looking at the infant. It had nothing to do with him. He had not sired it out of love, or even lust. It had been sired out of vengeance. He would forever remember the look on Salomon van der Merwe's face when he had told him Margaret was pregnant. That was the beginning. The end was the dirt being thrown onto the wooden coffin. He must find Banda and let him know their mission was finished.

Jamie felt an emptiness. I need to set new goals, he thought. He was already wealthy beyond belief. He had acquired hundreds of acres of mineral land. He had bought it for the diamonds that might be found there, and had ended up owning gold, platinum and half a dozen other rare minerals. His bank held mortgages on half the properties in Klipdrift, and his land-holdings extended from the Namib to Cape Town. He felt a satisfaction in this, but it was not enough. He had asked his parents to come and join him, but they did not want to leave Scotland. His brothers and sister had married. Jamie sent large sums of money back to bis parents, and that gave him pleasure, but his life was at a plateau. A few years earlier it had consisted of exciting highs and lows. He had felt alive. He was alive when he and Banda sailed their raft through the reefs of the Sperrgebiet. He was alive crawling over the land mines through the desert sand. It seemed to Jamie that he had not been alive in a long time. He did not admit to himself that he was lonely.

He reached again for the decanter of brandy and saw that it was empty. He had either drunk more than he realized or Mrs. Talley was getting careless. Jamie rose from his chair, picked up the brandy snifter and wandered out to the butler's pantry where the liquor was kept. He was opening the bottle when he heard the cooing of an infant. It! Mrs. Talley must have the baby in her quarters, off the kitchen. She had obeyed his orders to the letter. He had neither seen nor heard the infant in the two days it had been trespassing in his home.

Jamie could hear Mrs. Talley talking to it in the singsong tone that women used to talk to infants.

"You're a handsome little fellow, aren't you?" she was saying. "You're just an angel. Yes, you are. An angel."

The baby cooed again. Jamie walked over to Mrs. Taney's open bedroom door and looked inside. From somewhere the housekeeper had obtained a crib and the baby was lying in it. Mrs. Talley was leaning over him, and the infant's fist was tightly wrapped around her finger.

"You're a strong little devil, Jamie. You're going to grow up to be a big—" She broke off in surprise as she became aware of her employer standing in the doorway.

"Oh," she said. "I—is there something I can get for you, Mr. McGregor?"

"No." He walked over to the crib. "I was disturbed by the noise in here." And Jamie took his first look at his son. The baby was bigger than he had expected, and well formed. He seemed to be smiling up at Jamie.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. McGregor. He's really such a good baby. And healthy. Just give him your finger and feel how strong he is."

Without a word, Jamie turned and walked out of the room.

Jamie McGregor had a staff of over fifty employees working on his various enterprises.

There was not an employee from the mail boy to the highest executive who did not know how Kruger-Brent, Ltd., got its name, and they all took fierce pride in working for Jamie McGregor. He had recently hired David Blackwell, the sixteen-year-old son of one of his foremen, an American from Oregon who had come to South Africa looking for diamonds.

When Blackwell's money ran out, Jamie had hired him to supervise one of the mines. The son went to work for the company one summer, and Jamie found him such a good worker that he offered him a permanent job. Young David Blackwell was intelligent and attractive and had initiative. Jamie knew he could also keep his mouth shut, which is why he chose him to run this particular errand.

"David, I want you to go to Mrs. Owens's boardinghouse. There's a woman living there named Margaret van der Merwe."

If David Blackwell was familiar with the name or her circumstances, he gave no indication of it. "Yes, sir."

"You're to speak only to her. She left her baby with my housekeeper. Tell her I want her to pick it up today and get it out of my house."

"Yes, Mr. McGregor."

Half an hour later, David Blackwell returned. Jamie looked up from his desk.

"Sir, I'm afraid I couldn't do what you asked."

Jamie rose to his feet. "Why not?" he demanded. "It was a simple enough job."

"Miss van der Merwe wasn't there, sir."

'Then find her."

"She left Klipdrift two days ago. She's expected back in five days. If you'd like me to make further inquiries—"

"No." That was the last thing Jamie wanted. "Never mind. That's all, David."

"Yes, sir." The boy left the office.

Damn that woman! When she returned, she was going to have a surprise coming. She was going to get her baby back!

That evening, Jamie dined at home alone. He was having his brandy in the study when Mrs. Talley came in to discuss a household problem. In the middle of a sentence, she suddenly stopped to listen and said, "Excuse me, Mr. McGregor. I hear Jamie crying." And she hurried out of the room.

Jamie slammed down his brandy snifter, spilling the brandy. That goddamned baby! And she had the nerve to name him Jamie. He didn't look like a Jamie. He didn't look like anything.

Ten minutes later, Mrs. Talley returned to the study. She saw the spilled drink. "Shall I get you another brandy?"

"That won't be necessary," Jamie said coldly. "What is necessary is that you remember who you're working for. I will not be interrupted because of that bastard. Is that quite clear, Mrs. Talley?"

"Yes, sir."

"The sooner that infant you brought into this house is gone, the better it will be for all of us. Do you understand?"

Her lips tightened. "Yes, sir. Is there anything else?"

"No."

She turned to leave.

"Mrs. Talley ..."

"Yes, Mr. McGregor?"

"You said it was crying. It's not ill, is it?"

"No, sir. Just wet. He needed a change."

Jamie found the idea revolting. "That will be all."

Jamie would have been furious had he been aware that the servants in the house spent hour upon hour discussing him and bis son. They all agreed that the master was behaving unreasonably, but they also knew that even to mention the subject would mean instant dismissal.

Jamie McGregor was not a man who took kindly to advice from anyone.

The following evening Jamie had a late business meeting. He had made an investment in a new railroad. It was a small one, to be sure, running from his mines in the Namib Desert to De Aar, linking up with the Cape Town-Kimberley line, but it would now be much cheaper to transport his diamonds and gold to the port. The first South Africa Railway had been opened in 1860, running from Dunbar to the Point, and since then new lines had been run from Cape Town to Wellington. Railroads were going to be the steel veins that allowed goods and people to flow freely through the heart of South Africa, and Jamie intended to be a part of them. That was only the beginning of his plan. After that, Jamie thought, ships. My own ships to carry the minerals across the ocean.

He arrived home after midnight, undressed and got into bed. He had had a decorator from London design a large, masculine bedroom with a huge bed that had been carved in Cape Town. There was an old Spanish chest in one corner of the room and two enormous wardrobes which held more than fifty suits and thirty pairs of shoes. Jamie cared nothing about clothes, but it was important to him that they be there. He had spent too many days and nights wearing rags.

He was just dozing off when he thought he heard a cry. He sat up and listened. Nothing.

Was it the baby? It might have fallen out of its crib. Jamie knew that Mrs. Talley was a sound sleeper. It would be dreadful if something happened to the infant while it was in Jamie's house. Then it could become his responsibility. Damn that woman! Jamie thought.

He put on a robe and slippers and went through the house to Mrs. Talley's room. He listened at her closed door and could hear nothing. Quietly, Jamie pushed open the door.

Mrs. Talley was sound asleep, huddled under the covers, snoring. Jamie walked over to the crib. The baby lay on its back, its eyes wide open. Jamie moved closer and looked down. There was a resemblance, by God! It definitely had Jamie's mouth and chin. Its eyes were blue now, but all babies were born with blue eyes. Jamie could tell by looking at it that it was going to have gray eyes. It moved its little hands in the air and made a cooing sound and smiled up at Jamie. Now, that's a brave lad, Jamie thought, lying there, not making any noise, not screaming like other babies would do. He peered closer. Yes, he's a McGregor, all right.

Tentatively, Jamie reached down and held out a finger. The infant grabbed it with both hands and squeezed tightly. He's as strong as a bull, Jamie thought. At that moment, a strained look came over the infant's face, and Jamie could smell a sour odor.

"Mrs. Talley!"

She leaped up in bed, filled with alarm. "What—what is it?"

'The baby needs attention. Do I have to do everything around here?"

And Jamie McGregor stalked out of the room.

"David, do you know anything about babies?"

"In what respect, sir?" David Blackwell asked.

"Well, you know. What they like to play with, things like that."

The young American said, "I think when they're very young they enjoy rattles, Mr.

McGregor."

'Pick up a dozen," Jamie ordered.

"Yes, sir."

No unnecessary questions. Jamie liked that. David Blackwell was going to go far.

That evening when Jamie arrived home with a small brown package, Mrs. Talley said, "I want to apologize for last night, Mr. McGregor. I don't know how I could have slept through it. The baby must have been screaming something terrible for you to have heard it all the way in your room."

"Don't worry about it," Jamie said generously. "As long as one of us heard it." He handed her the package. "Give this to it.

Some rattles for him to play with. Can't be much fun for him to be a prisoner in that crib all day."

"Oh, he's not a prisoner, sir. I take him out."

"Where do you take him?"

"Just in the garden, where I can keep an eye on him."

Jamie frowned. "He didn't look well to me last night."

"He didn't?"

"No. His color's not good. It wouldn't do for him to get sick before his mother picks him up."

"Oh, no, sir."

"Perhaps I'd better have another look at him."

"Yes, sir. Shall I bring him in here?"

"Do that, Mrs. Talley."

"Right away, Mr. McGregor."

She was back in a few minutes with little Jamie in her arms. The baby was clutching a blue rattle. "His color looks fine to me."

"Well, I could have been wrong. Give him to me."

Carefully, she held the baby out and Jamie took his son in his arms for the first time. The feeling that swept over him took him completely by surprise. It was as though he had been longing for this moment, living for this moment, without ever knowing it. This was his flesh and blood he was holding in his arms—his son, Jamie McGregor, Jr. What was the point of building an empire, a dynasty, of having diamonds and gold and railroads if you had no one to pass them on to? What a bloody fool I've been! Jamie thought. It had never occurred to him until now what was missing. He had been too blinded by bis hatred.

Looking down into the tiny face, a hardness somewhere deep in the core of him vanished.

"Move Jamie's crib into my bedroom, Mrs. Talley."

Three days later when Margaret appeared at the front door of Jamie's house, Mrs. Talley said, "Mr. McGregor is away at his office, Miss van der Merwe, but he asked me to send for him when you came for the baby. He wishes to speak with you."

Margaret waited in the living room, holding little Jamie in her arms. She had missed him terribly. Several times during the week she had almost lost her resolve and rushed back to Klip-drift, afraid that something might have happened to the baby, that he might have become ill or had an accident. But she had forced herself to stay away, and her plan had worked. Jamie wanted to talk to her! Everything was going to be wonderful. The three of them would be together now.

The moment Jamie walked into the living room, Margaret felt again the familiar rush of emotion. Oh, God, she thought, I love him so much.

"Hello, Maggie."

She smiled, a warm, happy smile. "Hello, Jamie."

"I want my son."

Margaret's heart sang. "Of course you want your son, Jamie. I never doubted it."

"I'll see to it that he's brought up properly. He'll have every advantage I can give him and, naturally, I'll see that you're taken care of."

Margaret looked at him in confusion. "I—I don't understand."

"I said I want my son."

"I thought—I mean—you and I—"

"No. It's only the boy I want."

Margaret was filled with a sudden outrage. "I see. Well, I'll not let you take him away from me."

Jamie studied her a moment. "Very well. We'll work out a compromise. You can stay on here with Jamie. You can be his—his governess." He saw the look on her face. "What do you want?"

"I want my son to have a name," she said fiercely. "His father's name."

"All right. I'll adopt him."

Margaret looked at him scornfully. "Adopt my baby? Oh, no. You will not have my son. I feel sorry for you. The great Jamie McGregor. With all your money and power, you have nothing. You're a thing of pity,"

And Jamie stood there watching as Margaret turned and walked out of the house, carrying his son in her arms.

The following morning, Margaret made preparations to leave for America.

"Running away won't solve anything," Mrs. Owens argued.

"I'm not running away. I'm going someplace where my baby and I can have a new life."

She could no longer subject herself and her baby to the humiliation Jamie McGregor offered them.

"When will you leave?"

"As soon as possible. We'll take a coach to Worcester and the train from there to Cape Town. I've saved enough to get us to New York."

'That's a long way to go."

"It will be worth it. They call America the land of opportunity, don't they? That's all we need."

Jamie had always prided himself on being a man who remained calm under pressure.

Now he went around yelling at everyone in sight. His office was in a constant uproar.

Nothing anyone did pleased him. He roared and complained about everything, unable to control himself. He had not slept in three nights. He kept thinking about the conversation with Margaret. Damn her! He should have known she would try to push him into marriage.

Tricky, just like her father. He had mishandled the negotiations. He had told her he would take care of her, but he had not been specific. Of course. Money! He should have offered her money. A thousand pounds—ten thousand pounds— more.

"I have a delicate task for you," he told David Blackwell.

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to talk to Miss van der Merwe. Tell her I'm offering her twenty thousand pounds. She'll know what I want in exchange." Jamie wrote out a check. He had long ago learned the lure of money in hand. "Give this to her."

"Right, sir." And David Blackwell was gone.

He returned fifteen minutes later and handed the check back to his employer. It had been torn in half. Jamie could feel his face getting red. 'Thank you, David. That will be all"

So Margaret was holding out for more money. Very well. He would give it to her. But this time he would handle it himself.

Late that afternoon, Jamie McGregor went to Mrs. Owens's boardinghouse. "I want to see Miss van der Merwe," Jamie said.

'I'm afraid that's not possible," Mrs. Owens informed him. "She's on her way to America."

Jamie felt as though he had been hit in the stomach. "She can't be! When did she leave?"

"She and her son took the noon coach to Worcester."

The train sitting at the station in Worcester was filled to capacity, the seats and aisles crowded with noisy travelers on their way to Cape Town. There were merchants and their wives, salesmen, prospectors, kaffirs and soldiers and sailors reporting back for duty. Most of them were riding a train for the first time and there was a festive atmosphere among the passengers. Margaret had been able to get a seat near a window, where Jamie would not be crushed by the crowd. She sat there holding her baby close to her, oblivious to those around her, thinking about the new life that lay ahead of them. It would not be easy.

Wherever she went, she would be an unmarried woman with a child, an offense to society.

But she would find a way to make sure her son had his chance at a decent life. She heard the conductor call, "All aboard!"

She looked up, and Jamie was standing there. "Collect your things," he ordered. "You're getting off the train."

He still thinks he can buy me, Margaret thought. "How much are you offering this time?"

Jamie looked down at his son, peacefully asleep in Margaret's arms. "I'm offering you marriage."

They were married three days later in a brief, private ceremony. The only witness was David Blackwell.

During the wedding ceremony, Jamie McGregor was filled with mixed emotions. He was a man who had grown used to controlling and manipulating others, and this time it was he who had been manipulated. He glanced at Margaret. Standing next to him, she looked almost beautiful. He remembered her passion and abandon, but it was only a memory, nothing more, without heat or emotion. He had used Margaret as an instrument of vengeance, and she had produced his heir.

The minister was saying, "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Jamie leaned forward and briefly touched his lips to Margaret's cheek.

"Let's go home," Jamie said. His son was waiting for him.

When they returned to the house, Jamie showed Margaret to a bedroom in one of the wings.

"This is your bedroom," Jamie informed her.

"I see."

'I'll hire another housekeeper and put Mrs. Talley in charge of Jamie. If there's anything you require, tell David Blackwell." Margaret felt as though he had struck her. He was treating her like a servant. But that was not important. My son has a name. That is enough for me.

Jamie did not return home for dinner. Margaret waited for him, then finally dined alone.

That night she lay awake in her bed, aware of every sound in the house. At four o'clock in the morning, she finally fell asleep. Her last thought was to wonder which of the women at Madam Agnes's he had chosen.

If Margaret's relationship with Jamie was unchanged since their marriage, her relationship with the townspeople of Klip-drift underwent a miraculous transformation.

Overnight, Margaret went from being an outcast to becoming Klipdrift's social arbiter. Most of the people in town depended for their living in one way or another on Jamie McGregor and Kruger-Brent, Ltd. They decided that if Margaret van der Merwe was good enough for Jamie McGregor, she was good enough for them. Now when Margaret took little Jamie for an outing, she was met with smiles and cheery greetings. Invitations poured in. She was invited to teas, charity luncheons and dinners and urged to head civic committees. When she dressed her hair in a different way, dozens of women in town instantly followed suit.

She bought a new yellow dress, and yellow dresses were suddenly popular. Margaret handled their fawning in the same manner she had handled their hostility—with quiet dignity.

Jamie came home only to spend time with his son. His attitude toward Margaret remained distant and polite. Each morning at breakfast she played the role of happy wife for the servants' benefit, despite the cool indifference of the man sitting across the table from her. But when Jamie had gone and she could escape to her room, she would be drenched in perspiration. She hated herself. Where was her pride? Because Margaret knew she still loved Jamie. I'll always love him, she thought. God help me.

Jamie was in Cape Town on a three-day business trip. As he came out of the Royal Hotel, a liveried black driver said, "Carriage, sir?"

"No," Jamie said. "I'll walk."

"Banda thought you might like to ride."

Jamie stopped and looked sharply at the man. "Banda?"

"Yes, Mr. McGregor."

Jamie got into the carriage. The driver flicked his whip and they started off. Jamie sat back in his seat, thinking of Banda, his courage, his friendship. He had tried many times to find him in the last two years, with no success. Now he was on his way to meet his friend.

The driver turned the carriage toward the waterfront, and Jamie knew instantly where they were going. Fifteen minutes later the carriage stopped in front of the deserted warehouse where Jamie and Banda had once planned their adventure into the Namib.

What reckless young fools we were, Jamie thought. He stepped out of the carriage and approached the warehouse. Banda was waiting for him. He looked exactly the same, except that now he was neatly dressed in a suit and shirt and tie.

They stood there, silently grinning at each other, then they embraced.

"You look prosperous," Jamie smiled.

Banda nodded. "I've not done badly. I bought that farm we talked about. I have a wife and two sons, and I raise wheat and ostriches."

"Ostriches?"

'Their feathers bring in lots of money."

"Ah. I want to meet your family, Banda."

Jamie thought of his own family in Scotland, and of how much he missed them. He had been away from home for four years.

"I've been trying to find you."

'I've been busy, Jamie." Banda moved closer. "I had to see you to give you a warning.

There's going to be trouble for you."

Jamie studied him. "What kind of trouble?"

"The man in charge of the Namib field—Hans Zimmer-

man—he's bad. The workers hate him. They're talking about walking out. If they do, your guards will try to stop them and there will be a riot."

Jamie never took his eyes from Banda's face.

"Do you remember I once mentioned a man to you—John Tengo Javabu?"

"Yes. He's a political leader. I've been reading about him. He's been stirring up a donderstorm."

"I'm one of his followers."

Jamie nodded. "I see. I'll do what has to be done," Jamie promised.

"Good. You've become a powerful man, Jamie. I'm glad."

"Thank you, Banda."

"And you have a fine-looking son."

Jamie could not conceal his surprise. "How do you know that?"

"I like to keep track of my friends." Banda rose to his feet. "I have a meeting to go to, Jamie. I'll tell them things will be straightened out at the Namib."

"Yes. I'll attend to it." He followed the large black man to the door. "When will I see you again?"

Banda smiled. "I'll be around. You can't get rid of me that easily."

And Banda was gone.

When Jamie returned to Klipdrift, he sent for young David Blackwell. "Has there been any trouble at the Namib field, David?"

"No, Mr. McGregor." He hesitated. "But I have heard rumors that there might be."

'The supervisor there is Hans Zimmerman. Find out if he's mistreating the workers. If he is, put a stop to it. I want you to go up there yourself."

"I'll leave in the morning."

When David arrived at the diamond field at the Namib, he spent two hours quietly talking to the guards and the workers.

What he heard filled him with a cold fury. When he had learned what he wanted to know, he went to see Hans Zimmerman.

Hans Zimmerman was a goliath of a man. He weighed three hundred pounds and was six feet, six inches tall. He had a sweaty, porcine face and red-veined eyes, and was one of the most unattractive men David Blackwell had ever seen. He was also one of the most efficient supervisors employed by Kruger-Brent, Ltd. He was seated at a desk in his small office, dwarfing the room, when David walked in.

Zimmerman rose and shook David's hand. "Pleasure to see you, Mr. Blackwell. You should have told me you was comin'."

David was sure that word of his arrival had already reached Zimmerman.

"Whiskey?"

"No, thank you."

Zimmerman leaned back in his chair and grinned. "What can I do for you? Ain't we diggin' up enough diamonds to suit the boss?"

Both men knew that the diamond production at the Namib was excellent. "I get more work out of my kaffirs than anyone else in the company," was Zimmerman's boast.

"We've been getting some complaints about conditions here," David said.

The smile faded from Zimmerman's face. "What kind of complaints?"

"That the men here are being treated badly and—"

Zimmerman leaped to his feet, moving with surprising agility. His face was flushed with anger. "These ain't men. These are kaffirs. You people sit on your asses at headquarters and—"

"Listen to me," David said. "There's no—"

"You listen to me! I produce more fuckin' diamonds than anybody else in the company, and you know why? Because I put the fear of God into these bastards."

"At our other mines," David said, "we're paying fifty-nine shillings a month and keep.

You're paying your workers only fifty shillings a month."

"You complainin' 'cause I made a better deal for you? The only thing that counts is profit."

"Jamie McGregor doesn't agree," David replied. "Raise their wages."

Zimmerman said sullenly, "Right. It's the boss's money."

"I hear there's a lot of whipping going on."

Zimmerman snorted. "Christ, you can't hurt a native, mister. Their hides are so thick they don't even feel the goddamned whip. It just scares them."

"Then you've scared three workers to death, Mr. Zimmerman."

Zimmerman shrugged. "There's plenty more where they came from."

He's a bloody animal, David thought. And a dangerous one. He looked up at the huge supervisor. "If there's any more trouble here, you're going to be replaced." He rose to his feet. "You'll start treating your men like human beings. The punishments are to stop immediately. I've inspected their living quarters. They're pigsties. Clean them up."

Hans Zimmerman was glaring at him, fighting to control his temper. "Anything else?" he finally managed to say.

"Yes. 'I'll be back here in three months. If I don't like what I see, you can find yourself a job with another company. Good day." David turned and walked out.

Hans Zimmerman stood there for a long time, filled with a simmering rage. The fools, he thought. Uitlanders. Zimmerman was a Boer, and his father had been a Boer. The land belonged to them and God had put the blacks there to serve them. If God had meant them to be treated like human beings, he would not have made their skins black. Jamie McGregor did not understand that. But what could you expect from an uitlander, a native-lover? Hans Zimmerman knew he would have to be a little more careful in the future. But he would show them who was in charge at the Namib.

Kruger-Brent, Ltd., was expanding, and Jamie McGregor was away a good deal of the time. He bought a paper mill in Canada

and a shipyard in Australia. When he was home, Jamie spent all his time with his son, who looked more like his father each day. Jamie felt an inordinate pride in the boy. He wanted to take the child with him on his long trips, but Margaret refused to let him.

"He's much too young to travel. When he's older, he can go with you. If you want to be with him, you'll see him here."

Before Jamie had realized it, his son had had his first birthday, and then his second, and Jamie marveled at how the time raced by. It was 1887.

To Margaret, the last two years had dragged by. Once a week Jamie would invite guests to dinner and Margaret was his gracious hostess. The other men found her witty and intelligent and enjoyed talking to her. She knew that several of the men found her very attractive indeed, but of course they never made an overt move, for she was the wife of Jamie McGregor.

When the last of the guests had gone, Margaret would ask, "Did the evening go well for you?"

Jamie would invariably answer, "Fine. Good night," and be off to look in on little Jamie. A few minutes later, Margaret would hear the front door close as Jamie left the house.

Night after night, Margaret McGregor lay in her bed thinking about her life. She knew how much she was envied by the women in town, and it made her ache, knowing how Uttle there was to envy. She was living out a charade with a husband who treated her worse than a stranger. If only he would notice her! She wondered what he would do if one morning at breakfast she look up the bowl that contained his oatmeal especially imported from Scotland and poured it over his stupid head. She could visualize the expression on his face, and the fantasy tickled her so much that she began to giggle, and the laughter turned into deep, wrenching sobs. I don't want to love him any more. I won't. I'll stop, somehow, before I'm destroyed ...

By 1890, Klipdrift had more than lived up to Jamie's expectations. In the seven years he had been there, it had become a full-fledged boomtown, with prospectors pouring in from every part of the world. It was the same old story. They came by coach and in wagons and on foot. They came with nothing but the rags they wore. They needed food and equipment and shelter and grubstake money, and Jamie McGregor was there to supply it all. He had shares in dozens of producing diamond and gold mines, and his name and reputation grew. One morning Jamie received a visit from an attorney for De Beers, the giant conglomerate that controlled the huge diamond mines at Kimberley.

"What can I do for you?" Jamie asked.

"I've been sent to make you an offer, Mr. McGregor. De Beers would like to buy you out.

Name your price."

It was a heady moment. Jamie grinned and said, "Name yours."

David Blackwell was becoming more and more important to Jamie. In the young American Jamie McGregor saw himself as he once had been. The boy was honest, intelligent and loyal. Jamie made David his secretary, then his personal assistant and, finally, when the boy was twenty-one, his general manager.

To David Blackwell, Jamie McGregor was a surrogate father. When David's own father suffered a heart attack, it was Jamie who arranged for a hospital and paid for the doctors, and when David's father died, Jamie McGregor took care of the funeral arrangements. In the five years David had worked for Kruger-Brent, Ltd., he had come to admire Jamie more than any man he had ever known. He was aware of the problem between Jamie and Margaret, and deeply regretted it, because he liked them both. But it's none of my business, David told himself. My job is to help Jamie in any way I can.

Jamie spent more and more time with his son. The boy was five now, and the first time Jamie took him down in the mines, young Jamie talked of nothing else for a week. They went on camping trips, and they slept in a tent under the stars. Jamie was used to the skies of Scotland, where the stars knew their rightful places in the firmament. Here in South Africa, the constellations were confusing. In January Canopus shone brilliantly overhead,

while in May it was the Southern Cross that was near the zenith. In June, which was South Africa's winter, Scorpio was the glory of the heavens. It was puzzling. Still, it was a very special feeling for Jamie to lie on the warm earth and look up at the timeless sky with his son at his side and know they were part of the same eternity.

They rose at dawn and shot game for the pot: partridge, guinea fowl, reedbuck and oribi.

Little Jamie had his own pony, and father and son rode along the veld carefully avoiding the six-foot holes dug by the ant bear, deep enough to engulf a horse and rider, and the smaller holes dug by the mere-cat.

There was danger on the veld. On one trip Jamie and his son were camped at a riverbed where they were almost killed by a band of migrating springbok. The first sign of trouble was a faint cloud of dust on the horizon. Hares and jackals and mere-cats raced past and large snakes came out of the brush looking for rocks under which to hide. Jamie looked at the horizon again. The dust cloud was coming closer.

"Let's get out of here," he said.

"Our tent—"

"Leave it!"

The two of them quickly mounted and headed for the top of a high hill. They heard the drumming of hooves and then they could see the front rank of the springbok, racing in a line at least three miles long. There were more than half a million of them, sweeping away everything in their path. Trees were torn down and shrubs were pulverized, and in the wake of the relentless tide were the bodies of hundreds of small animals. Hares, snakes, jackals and guinea fowl were crushed beneath the deadly hooves. The air was filled with dust and thunder, and when it was finally over, Jamie estimated that it had lasted more than three hours.

On Jamie's sixth birthday, his father said, "I'm going to take you to Cape Town next week and show you what a real city looks like."

"Can Mother go with us?" Jamie asked. "She doesn't like vhooting, but she likes cities."

His father ruffled the boy's hair and said, "She's busy here, Son. Just the two of us men, eh?"

The child was disturbed by the fact that his mother and father seemed so distant with each other, but then he did not understand it.

They made the journey in Jamie's private railway car. By the year 1891, railways were becoming the preeminent means of travel in South Africa, for trains were inexpensive, convenient and fast. The private railway car Jamie ordered built for himself was seventy-one feet long and had four paneled staterooms that could accommodate twelve persons, a salon that could be used as an office, a dining compartment, a barroom and a fully equipped kitchen. The staterooms had brass beds, Pintsch gas lamps and wide picture windows.

"Where are all the passengers?" the young boy asked.

Jamie laughed. "We're all the passengers. It's your train, Son."

Young Jamie spent most of the trip staring out the window, marveling at the endless expanse of land speeding past.

"This is God's land," his father told him. "He filled it with precious minerals for us. They're all in the ground, waiting to be discovered. What's been found so far is only the beginning, Jamie."

When they arrived at Cape Town, young Jamie was awed by the crowds and the huge buildings. Jamie took his son down to the McGregor Shipping Line, and pointed out half a dozen ships loading and unloading in the harbor. "You see those? They belong to us."

When they returned to Klipdrift, young Jamie was bursting with the news of all he had seen. "Papa owns the whole city!"

the boy exclaimed. "You'd love it, Mama. You'll see it next time."

Margaret hugged her son to her. "Yes, darling."

Jamie spent many nights away from home, and Margaret

knew he was at Madam Agnes's. She had heard he had bought a house for one of the women so that he could visit her privately. She had no way of knowing whether it was true.

Margaret only knew that whoever she was, she wanted to kill her.

To retain her sanity, Margaret forced herself to take an interest in the town. She raised funds to build a new church and started a mission to help the families of prospectors who were in dire need. She demanded that Jamie use one of his railroad cars to transport prospectors free of charge back to Cape Town when they had run out of money and hope.

"You're asking me to throw away good money, woman," he growled. "Let 'em walk back the same way they came."

"They're in no condition to walk," Margaret argued. "And if they stay, the town will have to bear the cost of clothing and feeding them."

"All right," Jamie finally grumbled. "But it's a damn fool idea."

"Thank you, Jamie."

He watched Margaret march out of his office, and, in spite of himself, he could not help feeling a certain pride in her. She'd make a fine wife for someone, Jamie thought.

The name of the woman Jamie set up in a private house was Maggie, the pretty prostitute who had sat next to Margaret at the baby shower. It was ironic, Jamie thought, that she should bear bis wife's name. They were nothing alike. This Maggie was a twenty-one-year-old blonde with a pert face and a lush body—a tigress in bed. Jamie had paid Madam Agnes well for letting him take the girl, and he gave Maggie a generous allowance. Jamie was very discreet when he visited the small house. It was almost always at night, and he was certain he was unobserved. In fact, he was observed by many people, but not one of them cared to comment about it. It was Jamie McGregor's town, and he had the right to do anything he pleased.

On this particular evening, Jamie was finding no joy. He had gone to the house anticipating pleasure, but Maggie was in a

foul mood. She lay sprawled across the large bed, her rose-colored dressing gown not quite concealing her ripe breasts or the silky, golden triangle between her thighs. "I'm sick of stayin' locked up in this damned house," she said. "It's like I'm a slave or somethin'! At least at Madam Agnes's there was somethin' goin' on all the time. Why don't you ever take me with you when you travel?"

"I've explained that, Maggie. I can't—"

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.

"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."

What's between his father and me is my problem, Margaret thought, and I'll not have Jamie hating his father because of it.

Margaret's pregnancy became more and more apparent. When she went out on the street, acquaintances would stop her and say, "It won't be long now, will it, Mrs.

McGregor? Fll bet it's going to be a fine boy like little Jamie. Your husband must be a happy man."

Behind her back, they said, "Poor thing. She's lookin' peaked—she must have found out about the whore he's taken as his mistress ..."

Margaret tried to prepare young Jamie for the new arrival. "You're going to have a new brother or sister, darling. Then you'll have someone to play with all the time. Won't that be nice?"

Jamie hugged her and said, "It will be more company for you, Mother."

And Margaret fought to keep back the tears.

The labor pains began at four o'clock in the morning. Mrs. Talley sent for Hannah, and the baby was delivered at noon. It was a healthy baby girl, with her mother's mouth and her father's chin, and black hair curling around her little red face. Margaret named her Kate. It's a good, strong name, Margaret thought. And she's going to need her strength.

We all are. I've got to take the children away from here. I don't know how yet, but I must find a way.

David Blackwell burst into Jamie McGregor's office without knocking, and Jamie looked up in surprise. "What the hell—?"

"They're rioting at the Namib!"

Jamie stood up. " What? What happened?"

"One of the black boys was caught trying to steal a diamond. He cut a hole under his armpit and hid the stone inside it. As a lesson, Hans Zimmerman flogged him in front of the other workers. The boy died. He was twelve years old."

Jamie's face filled with rage. "Sweet Jesus! I ordered a stop to flogging at all the mines."

"I warned Zimmerman."

"Get rid of the bastard."

"We can't find him."

"Why not?"

'The blacks have him. The situation's out of control."

Jamie grabbed his hat. "Stay here and take care of things until I get back."

"I don't think it's safe for you to go up there, Mr. McGregor. The native that Zimmerman killed was from the Barolong tribe. They don't forgive, and they don't forget. I could—"

But Jamie was gone.

When Jamie McGregor was ten miles away from the diamond field, he could see the smoke. All the huts at the Namib had been set to the torch. The damned fools! Jamie thought. They're burning their own houses. As his carriage drew closer, he heard the sounds of gunshots and screams. Amid the mass confusion, uniformed constables were shooting at blacks and coloreds who

were desperately trying to flee. The whites were outnumbered ten to one, but they had the weapons.

When the chief constable, Bernard Sothey, saw Jamie McGregor, he hurried up to him and said, "Don't worry, Mr. McGregor. We'll get every last one of the bastards."

"The hell you will," Jamie cried. "Order your men to stop shooting."

"What? If we—"

"Do as I say!" Jamie watched, sick with rage, as a black woman fell under a hail of bullets. "Call your men off."

"As you say, sir." The chief constable gave orders to an aide, and three minutes later all shooting had stopped.

There were bodies on the ground everywhere. "If you want my advice," Sothey said,

'I'd—"

"I don't want your advice. Bring me their leader."

Two policemen brought a young black up to where Jamie was standing. He was handcuffed and covered with blood, but there was no fear in him. He stood tall and straight, his eyes blazing, and Jamie remembered Banda's word for Bantu pride: isiko.

"I'm Jamie McGregor."

The man spat.

"What happened here was not my doing. I want to make it up to your men."

'Tell that to their widows."

Jamie turned to Sothey. "Where's Hans Zimmerman?"

"We're still looking for him, sir."

Jamie saw the gleam in the black man's eyes, and he knew that Hans Zimmerman was not going to be found.

He said to the man, "I'm closing the diamond field down for three days. I want you to talk to your people. Make a list of your complaints, and I'll look at it. I promise you I'll be fair. I'll change everything here that's not right."

The man studied him, a look of skepticism on his face.

"There will be a new foreman in charge here, and decent working conditions. But I'll expect your men back at work in three days."

The chief constable said, incredulously, "You mean you're gonna let him go? He killed some of my men."

"There will be a full investigation, and—"

There was the sound of a horse galloping toward them, and Jamie turned. It was David Blackwell, and the unexpected sight of him sounded an alarm in Jamie's mind.

David leaped off his horse. "Mr. McGregor, your son has disappeared."

The world suddenly grew cold.

Half the population of Klipdrift turned out to join in the search. They covered the countryside, looking through gulleys, ravines and klops. There was no trace of the boy.

Jamie was like a man possessed. He's wandered away somewhere, that's all He'll be back.

He went into Margaret's bedroom. She was lying in bed, nursing the baby.

"Is there any news?" she demanded.

"Not yet, but I'll find him." He looked at his baby daughter for an instant, then turned and walked out without another word.

Mrs. Talley came into the room, twisting her hands in her apron. "Don't you worry, Mrs.

McGregor. Jamie is a big boy. He knows how to take care of himself."

Margaret's eyes were blinded by tears. No one would harm little Jamie, would they? Of course not.

Mrs. Talley reached down and took Kate from Margaret's arms.

"Try to sleep."

She took the baby into the nursery and laid her down in her crib. Kate was looking up at her, smiling.

"You'd better get some sleep too, little one. You've got a busy life ahead of you."

Mrs. Talley walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

At midnight, the bedroom window silently slid open and a man climbed into the room. He walked over to the crib, threw a

blanket over the infant's head and scooped her up in his arms. Banda was gone as quickly as he had come.

It was Mrs. Talley who discovered that Kate was missing. Her first thought was that Mrs.

McGregor had come in the night and taken her. She walked into Margaret's bedroom and asked, "Where's the baby?"

And from the look on Margaret's face, she knew instantly what had happened.

As another day went by with no trace of his son, Jamie was on the verge of collapsing.

He approached David Blackwell. "You don't think anything bad has happened to him?" His voice was barely under control.

David tried to sound convincing. "I'm sure not, Mr. McGregor."

But he was sure. He had warned Jamie McGregor that the Bantus neither forgave nor forgot, and it was a Bantu who had been cruelly murdered. David was certain of one thing: If the Bantus had taken little Jamie, he had died a horrible death, for they would exact their vengeance in kind.

Jamie returned home at dawn, drained. He had led a search party of townspeople, diggers and constables, and they had spent the night looking without success in every conceivable place for the young boy.

David was waiting when Jamie walked into the study. David rose to his feet. "Mr.

McGregor, your daughter has been kidnapped."

Jamie stared at him in silence, his face pale. Then he turned and walked into his bedroom.

Jamie had not been to bed for forty-eight hours, and he fell into bed, utterly exhausted, and slept. He was under the shade of a large baobab tree and in the distance across the trackless veld a lion was moving toward him. Young Jamie was shaking him. Wake up, Papa, a lion is coming. The animal was moving toward them faster now. His son was shaking him harder. Wake up!

Jamie opened his eyes. Banda was standing over him. Jamie started to speak, but Banda put a hand over Jamie's mouth.

"Quiet!" He allowed Jamie to sit up.

"Where's my son?" Jamie demanded.

"He's dead."

The room began to spin.

"I'm sorry. I was too late to stop them. Your people spilled Bantu blood. My people demanded vengeance."

Jamie buried his face in his hands. "Oh, my God! What did they do to him?"

There was a bottomless sorrow in Banda's voice. "They left him out in the desert. I—I found his body and buried him."

"Oh, no! Oh, please, no!"

"I tried to save him, Jamie."

Jamie slowly nodded, accepting it. Then dully, "What about my daughter?"

"I took her away before they could get her. She's back in her bedroom, asleep. She'll be all right if you do what you promised."

Jamie looked up, and his face was a mask of hatred. "I'll keep my promise. But I want the men who killed my son. They're going to pay."

Banda said quietly, 'Then you will have to kill my whole tribe, Jamie."

Banda was gone.

It was only a nightmare, but she kept her eyes tightly closed, because she knew if she opened them the nightmare would become real and her children would be dead. So she played a game. She would keep her eyes squeezed shut until she felt little Jamie's hand on hers saying, "It's all right, Mother. We're here. We're safe."

She had been in bed for three days, refusing to talk to anyone or see anyone. Dr. Teeger came and went, and Margaret was not even aware of it. In the middle of the night Margaret was lying in bed with her eyes shut when she heard a loud crash from her son's room. She opened her eyes and listened. There was an other sound. Little Jamie was back!

Margaret hurriedly got out of bed and ran down the corridoi toward the closed door of her son's room. Through the door, she could hear strange animal sounds. Her heart pounding wildly, she pushed the door open.

Her husband lay on the floor, his face and body contorted. One eye was closed and the other stared up at her grotesquely. He was trying to speak, and the words came out as slobbering animal sounds.

Margaret whispered, "Oh, Jamie—Jamie!"

Dr. Teeger said, "I'm afraid the news is bad, Mrs. McGregor. Your husband has had a severe stroke. There's a fifty-fifty chance he'll live—but if he does, he'll be a vegetable. I'll make arrangements to get him into a private sanitarium where he can get the proper care."

"No."

He looked at Margaret in surprise. "No ... what?"

"No hospital. I want him here with me."

The doctor considered for a moment. "All right. You'll need a nurse. I'll arrange—"

"I don't want a nurse. I'll take care of Jamie myself."

Dr. Teeger shook his head. "That won't be possible, Mrs. McGregor. You don't know what's involved Your husband is no longer a functioning human being. He's completely paralyzed and will be for as long as he lives."

Margaret said, "I'll take care of him."

Now Jamie finally, truly, belonged to her.

Jamie McGregor lived for exactly one year from the day he was taken ill, and it was the happiest time of Margaret's life. Jamie was totally helpless. He could neither talk nor move.

Margaret cared for her husband, tended to all his needs, and kept him at her side day and night. During the day, she propped him up in a wheelchair in the sewing room, and while she knitted sweaters and throw-robes for him, she talked to him. She discussed all the little household problems he had never had time to listen to before, and she told him how well little Kate was getting along. At night she carried Jamie's skeletal body to her bedroom and gently lay him in bed next to her. Margaret tucked him in and they had their one-sided chat until Margaret was ready to go to sleep.

David Blackwell was running Kruger-Brent, Ltd. From time to time, David came to the house with papers for Margaret to sign, and it was painful for David to see the helpless condition Jamie was in. I owe this man everything, David thought.

"You chose well, Jamie," Margaret told her husband. "David is a fine man." She put down her knitting and smiled. "He reminds me of you a bit. Of course, there was never anyone as clever as you, my darling, and there never will be again. You were so fair to look at, Jamie, and so kind and strong.

And you weren't afraid to dream. Now all your dreams have come true. The company is getting bigger every day." She picked up her knitting again. "Little Kate is beginning to talk.

I'll swear she said 'mama' this morning ..."

Jamie sat there, propped up in his chair, one eye staring ahead.

"She has your eyes and your mouth. She's going to grow up to be a beauty ..."

The following morning when Margaret awakened, Jamie McGregor was dead. She took him in her arms and held him close to her.

"Rest, my darling, rest. I've always loved you so much, Jamie. I hope you know that.

Good-bye, my own dear love."

She was alone now. Her husband and her son had left her. There was only herself and her daughter. Margaret walked into the baby's room and looked down at Kate, sleeping in her crib. Katherine. Kate. The name came from the Greek, and it meant clear or pure. It was a name given to saints and nuns and queens.

Margaret said aloud, "Which are you going to be, Kate?"

It was a time of great expansion in South Africa, but it was also a time of great strife.

There was a long-standing Transvaal dispute between the Boers and the British, and it finally came to a head. On Thursday, October 12, 1899, on Kate's seventh birthday, the British declared war on the Boers, and three days later the Orange Free State was under attack. David tried to persuade Margaret to take Kate and leave South Africa, but Margaret refused to go.

"My husband is here," she said.

There was nothing David could do to dissuade her. "I'm going to join with the Boers,"

David told her. "Will you be all right?"

"Yes, of course," Margaret said. "I'll try to keep the company going." The next morning David was gone.

The British had expected a quick and easy war, no more than a mopping-up operation, and they began with a confident, light-hearted holiday spirit. At the Hyde Park Barracks in London, a send-off supper was given, with a special menu showing a British soldier holding up the head of a boar on a tray. The menu read:

SEND-OFF SUPPER TO the CAPE SQUADRON,

November 27, 1899

MENU

Oysters—Blue Points

Compo Soup

Toady in the Hole

Sandy Sole

Mafeking Mutton

Transvaal Turnips. Cape Sauce

Pretoria Pheasants

White Sauce

Tinker Taters

Peace Pudding. Massa Ices

Dutch Cheese

Dessert

(You are requested not to throw shells under the tables) Boer Whines—Long Tom

Hollands-in-Skin

Orange Wine

The British were in for a surprise. The Boers were on their own home territory, and they were tough and determined. The

first battle of the war took place in Mafeking, hardly more than a village, and for the first time, the British began to realize what they were up against. More troops were quickly sent over from England. They laid siege to Kimberley, and it was only after a fierce and bloody fight that they went on to take Ladysmith. The cannons of the Boers had a longer range than those of the British, so long-range guns were removed from British warships, moved inland and manned by sailors hundreds of miles from their ships.

In Klipdrift, Margaret listened eagerly for news of each battle, and she and those around her lived on rumors, their moods varying from elation to despair, depending on the news.

And then one morning one of Margaret's employees came running into her office and said,

"I just heard a report that the British are advancing on Klipdrift. They're going to kill us all!"

"Nonsense. They wouldn't dare touch us."

Five hours later, Margaret McGregor was a prisoner of war.

Margaret and Kate were taken to Paardeberg, one of the hundreds of prison camps that had sprung up all over South Africa. The prisoners were kept inside an enormous open field, ringed by barbed wire and guarded by armed British soldiers. The conditions were deplorable.

Margaret took Kate in her arms and said, "Don't worry, darling, nothing's going to happen to you."

But neither of them believed it. Each day became a calendar of horrors. They watched those around them die by the tens and the hundreds and then by the thousands as fever swept through the camp. There were no doctors or medication for the wounded, and food was scarce. It was a constant nightmare that went on for almost three harrowing years.

The worst of it was the feeling of utter helplessness. Margaret and Kate were at the complete mercy of their captors. They were dependent upon them for meals and shelter, for their very lives. Kate lived in terror. She watched the children around her die, and she was afraid that she would be next. She was powerless to protect her mother or herself, and it was a lesson she was never to forget. Power. If you had power, you had food. You had medicine. You

I had freedom. She saw those around her fall ill and die, and she equated power with life. One day, Kate thought, I'll have power. No one will be able to do this to me again.

The violent battles went on—Belmont and Graspan and Stormberg and Spioenkop—but in the end, the brave Boers were no match for the might of the British Empire. In 1902, after nearly three years of bloody war, the Boers surrendered. Fifty-five thousand Boers fought, and thirty-four thousand of their soldiers, women and children died. But what filled the survivors with a deep savage bitterness was the knowledge that twenty-eight thousand of those died in British concentration camps.

On the day the gates of the camp were flung open, Margaret and Kate returned to Klipdrift. A few weeks later, on a quiet Sunday, David Blackwell arrived. The war had matured him, but he was still the same grave, thoughtful David Margaret had learned to rely upon. David had spent these hellish years fighting and worrying about whether Margaret and Kate were dead or alive. When he found them safe at home, he was filled with joy.

"I wish I could have protected you both," David told Margaret.

'That's all past, David. We must think only of the future."

And the future was Kruger-Brent, Ltd.

For the world, the year 1900 was a clean slate on which history was going to be written, a new era that promised peace and limitless hope for everyone. A new century had begun, and it brought with it a series of astonishing inventions that reshaped life around the globe.

Steam and electric automobiles were replaced by the combustion engine. There were submarines and airplanes. The world population exploded to a billion and a half people. It was a time to grow and expand, and during the next six years, Margaret and David took full advantage of every opportunity.

During those years, Kate grew up with almost no supervision. Her mother was too busy running the company with David to

pay much attention to her. She was a wild child, stubborn and opinionated and intractable. One afternoon when Margaret came home from a business meeting, she saw her fourteen-year-old daughter in the muddy yard in a fistfight with two boys. Margaret stared in horrified disbelief.

"Bloody hell!" she said under her breath. "That's the girl who one day is going to run Kruger-Brent, Limited! God help us all!"