Brad had started seeing someone regularly. He stayed out late every night and came into morning meetings tired and distracted, his mind elsewhere. It was bad for the company. When a month went by and his behavior was becoming more flagrant, Kate decided that something had to be done. She remembered how close David had come to quitting the company because of a woman. She would not let that happen with Brad.
Kate had planned to travel to Paris alone to acquire an import-export company, but at the last minute she asked Brad to accompany her. They spent the day of their arrival in meetings and that evening had dinner at the Grand Vefour. Afterward, Kate suggested that Brad join her in her suite at the George V to go over the reports on the new company. When he arrived, Kate was waiting for him in a filmy negligee.
"I brought the revised offer with me," Brad began, "so we - "
'That can wait," Kate said softly. There was an invitation in her voice that made him look at her again. "I wanted us to be alone, Brad."
"Kate - "
She moved into his arms and held him close.
"My God!" he said. "I've wanted you for so long."
"And I you, Brad."
And they moved into the bedroom.
Kate was a sensual woman, but all of her sexual energy had long since been harnessed into other channels. She was completely fulfilled by her work. She needed Brad for other reasons.
He was on top of her, and she moved her legs apart and felt his hardness in her, and it was neither pleasant nor unpleasant.
"Kate, I've loved you for so long..."
He was pressing into her, moving in and out in an ancient, timeless rhythm, and she thought, They're asking too bloody much for the company. They're going to hold out because they know I really want it.
Brad was whispering words of endearment in her ear.
I could call off the negotiations and wait for them to come back to me. But what if they don't? Do I dare risk losing the deal?
His rhythm was faster now, and Kate moved her hips, thrusting against his body.
No. They could easily find another buyer. Better to pay them what they want. I'll make up for it by selling off one of their subsidiaries.
Brad was moaning, in a frenzy of delight, and Kate moved faster, bringing him to a climax.
I'll tell them I've decided to meet their terms.
There was a long, shuddering gasp, and Brad said, "Oh, God, Kate, it was wonderful. Was it good for you, darling?"
"It was heaven."
She lay in Brad's arms all night, thinking and planning, while he slept. In the morning when he woke up, she said, "Brad, that woman you've been seeing - "
"My God! You're jealous!" He laughed happily. "Forget about her. I'll never see her again, I promise."
Kate never went to bed with Brad again. When he could not understand why she refused him, all she said was, "You don't know how much I want to, Brad, but I'm afraid we wouldn't be able to work together any longer. We must both make a sacrifice."
And he was forced to live with that.
As the company kept expanding, Kate set up charitable foundations that contributed to colleges, churches and schools. She kept adding to her art collection. She acquired the great Renaissance and post-Renaissance artists Raphael and Titian, Tintoretto and E1 Greco; and the baroque painters Rubens, Caravaggio and Vandyck.
The Blackwell collection was reputed to be the most valuable private collection in the world. Reputed, because no one outside of invited guests was permitted to see it. Kate would not allow it to be photographed, nor would she discuss it with the press. She had strict, inflexible rules about the press. The personal life of the Blackwell family was off limits. Neither servants nor employees of the company were permitted to discuss the Blackwell family. It was impossible, of course, to stop rumors and speculation, for Kate Blackwell was an intriguing enigma - one of the richest, most powerful women in the world. There were a thousand questions about her, but few answers.
Kate telephoned the headmistress at Le Rosey. "I'm calling to find out how Tony is."
"Ah, he is doing very well, Mrs. Blackwell. Your son is a superb student. He - "
"I wasn't referring to that. I meant - " She hesitated, as though reluctant to admit there could be a weakness in the Blackwell family. "I meant his stammering."
"Madame, there is no sign of any stammering. He is perfectly fine."
Kate heaved an inward sigh of relief. She had known all along that it was only temporary, a passing phase of some kind. So much for doctors!
Tony arrived home four weeks later, and Kate was at the airport to meet him. He looked fit and handsome, and Kate felt a surge of pride. "Hello, my love. How are you?"
"I'm f-f-fine, M-m-mother. How are y-y-you?"
On his vacations at home, Tony eagerly looked forward to examining the new paintings his mother had acquired while he was away. He was awed by the masters, and enchanted by the French Impressionists: Monet, Renoir, Manet and Morisot. They evoked a magic world for Tony. He bought a set of paints and an easel and went to work. He thought his paintings were terrible, and he still refused to show them to anyone. How could they compare with the exquisite masterpieces?
Kate told him, "One day all these paintings will belong to you, darling."
The thought of it filled the thirteen-year-old boy with a sense of unease. His mother did not understand. They could never be truly his, because he had done nothing to earn them. He had a fierce determination somehow to earn his own way. He had ambivalent feelings about being away from his mother, for everything around her was always exciting. She was at the center of a whirlwind, giving orders, making incredible deals, taking him to exotic places, introducing him to interesting people. She was an awesome figure, and Tony was inordinately proud of her. He thought she was the most fascinating woman in the world. He felt guilty because it was only in her presence that he stuttered.