Tara Dineen loathed Gabe McGregor on sight.
“That guy? You mean the cheese ball?”
Tara and her girlfriend, Angela, were in a trendy new bar at the Waterfront. Angela had singled out Gabe as a “hot guy.” Tara begged to differ.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Angela. “He’s got Tom Brady’s body and Daniel Craig’s face. He’s edible.”
“And he knows it,” said Tara archly. “Look at him, flashing his cash in front of all those toothpicks.”
As usual, Gabe was surrounded by a gaggle of models, whom he was ostentatiously plying with Cristal.
“Let’s go over there,” said Angela.
“No thanks. You’re on your own.”
Angela made a beeline for Gabe. They chatted for a while, but Gabe’s eye kept wandering back to the redhead giving him death stares from across the bar.
“Doesn’t your friend want to join us?”
“No,” said Angela, annoyed. Why did Tara always get all the male attention? “If you must know, she thinks you’re a cheese ball.”
“Does she, now?”
Gabe put down his drink. Marching over to Tara, he demanded: “Do you always judge a man before you’ve spoken to him?”
On closer inspection, Gabe could see that the girl wasn’t classically beautiful. She had an upturned nose. Her eyes were set slightly too wide. She was tall and strong. The word strapping sprang to mind. And yet there was something compelling about her, something that set her apart from the Vogue beauties he usually dated.
“Not always, no. But in your case…well.”
“Well what?”
“It’s obvious.”
“What is?”
“You!” Tara laughed. “Come on. The overpriced champagne? The Rolex watch? Your little harem over there? What do you drive? Don’t tell me.” She closed her eyes in mock concentration. “A Ferrari, right? Or…no. An Aston Martin! I’ll bet you fancy yourself as a regular little James Bond.”
“As a matter of fact, I drive a perfectly ordinary Range Rover,” said Gabe, making a mental note to put his Vanquish up for sale tomorrow morning. “Give me your number and I’ll take you out for dinner in it.”
“No thanks.”
“Why not? I’m a nice guy.”
“You’re not my type.”
“What’s your type? I can change.”
“For heaven’s sake, I’m not your type.” Tara gestured to the nineteen-year-old Heidi Klum clones blowing Gabe kisses while they took turns warming his bar stool. “Take some friendly advice and quit while you’re ahead.”
But Gabe didn’t quit. He found out where Tara worked-she was a doctor at a Red Cross AIDS clinic in one of the shantytowns-and had dozens of roses delivered to her every day. He asked her out on countless dates, sent her theater tickets, books, even jewelry. Everything was firmly but politely returned.
After three months, Gabe was on the point of giving up hope when he received an unexpected e-mail from Tara, sent to his work address. When her boss discovered one of his doctors was being pursued by one of the owners of Phoenix, he’d practically frog-marched Tara to the clinic’s computer.
“Do you have any idea how much that company is worth? One donation from this McGregor guy and we could buy enough antivirals to see us through the next five years.”
“But I’m not interested in him.”
“Bugger ‘not interested’! People are dying out there, Tara, I don’t need to tell you. Now you flutter your eyelashes, and you get Gabriel McGregor back in here with his checkbook, pronto.”
“Or what?” Tara laughed. She loved her boss, especially when he tried to lay down the law, bless him.
“Or I’ll send you to your room without any supper, you cheeky cow. TYPE!”
Gabe’s visit to the Red Cross AIDS clinic at Joe Slovo Shantytown changed his life forever.
Gabe had lived in camps himself. With Dia, he had seen firsthand the hopeless, crushing poverty of the slums. But nothing had prepared him for the depths of human misery at Joe Slovo.
Baby girls as young as two were brought in daily by female relatives after their uncles or fathers had raped them. Apparently the widely held belief that HIV could be “cured” by having sex with a virgin had mutated into a the-younger-the-better theory. Most of the children died from their internal injuries long before they could develop AIDS, their tiny, fragile bodies shattered from the force of penetration.
“Twenty rand buys ten of these child-rape kits,” Tara told a clearly shaken Gabe. She handed him a plastic bag with a picture of Winnie the Pooh on the front. Inside was a sanitary napkin, a pair of child’s panties, some sterile wipes and a sugar lollipop.
“That’s it? A little kid gets raped and that’s what you give her?”
Tara shrugged. “They get drugs if we have them. Children are first in line for antivirals. There’s nothing else we can do.”
After an hour touring the wards-dying girls in their twenties pleading with nurses to save their babies, young men shrunk to skeletons staring listlessly at the ceiling-Gabe excused himself. Tara found him sitting outside, tears streaming down his face. For the first time, she wondered if perhaps she’d been too hard on him. He was so bloody handsome it was hard not to distrust him. But his distress around the kids was obviously genuine.
“I’m sorry. I shocked you.”
“It’s okay.” Gabe’s hands were shaking. “I needed to be shocked. What can I do? What do you need?”
“Everything. We need everything. You name it, we need it. Drugs, beds, toys, food, syringes, condoms. We need a miracle.”
Gabe reached into his pocket and pulled out a checkbook. Without thinking, he scribbled down a number, signed it, and handed it to Tara.
“I can’t do miracles, I’m afraid. But maybe this will help. Just till I can work out something more long-term.”
Tara looked at the number and burst into tears.
Their first date was a disaster. Hoping to impress her as a serious-minded citizen, not just another rich playboy, Gabe got them tickets to the premiere of a political documentary that had gotten rave reviews. Tara loved the movie. It was the additional sound track of Gabe’s snores she objected to.
“I’m sorry! But you have to admit it was dull.”
“Dull? You know it won the Palme d’Or at Cannes.”
“Palm Bore more like it,” muttered Gabe.
“How could you find that boring? The West’s treatment of refugees is one of the most fascinating, complex issues facing modern society.”
Not as fascinating as your breasts in that T-shirt.
When they sat down to dinner-Gabe had deliberately chosen a low-key steak house in a quiet neighborhood, nothing too flashy-things got worse. Tara leaned forward, her gorgeous wide-set eyes dancing in the candlelight. For one glorious moment Gabe thought she was about to kiss him.
Instead she asked earnestly: “So what are your politics, Gabe? How would you define yourself?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Come on. I’m interested.”
Gabe sighed. “All right. I’m a capitalist.”
Later that night, alone in bed, Gabe wondered if he’d somehow misspoken and said “I’m a Nazi child-killer” or “I’m a horse fetishist. You?” The very word capitalist sent Tara into such an apoplexy of rage, she stormed out of the restaurant before they’d even finished their entrées.
He’d had to beg for a second date. This time he decided to keep it simple. Uncontroversial. He took her ice skating.
“I’ve never done this before.” Wobbling uncertainly on the ice in jeans and a pair of pink leg warmers, Tara looked about thirteen. Gabe had never wanted a woman more.
“It’s a cinch.” He smiled, reaching for her hand. Pulling her toward him, he skated around behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Just step…and glide. Step…and glide. Let me lead you.” He began to skate forward.
“No, no, no, it’s okay. Don’t push me. I can do it.”
“It’s all right. Just relax. I won’t let you fall.” He started to build up some speed, gliding the two of them across the ice.
“No, Gabe. I don’t want you to…I prefer-watch out!”
The guy who plowed into them must have weighed at least two hundred pounds, a human Mack truck with no brakes. Gabe needed six stitches in his forehead. Tara fractured a rib and broke her arm in two places.
“You look good in white,” Gabe joked in the emergency room, when they finished setting her arm in a cast.
“Thanks.”
She wasn’t smiling. Oh God, I’ve blown it. She’ll never go out with me again. Not after this.
“I’m not very good at dates, am I?”
“No.”
“That was probably the worst date you ever had.”
“Unquestionably.”
“Apart from the one before.”
“Apart from that one, yes.”
“The thing is…”
“Yes, Gabe?”
“You’re laughing at me.”
And she was. Tears of laughter streamed down Tara’s face. Instinctively she moved her arm to wipe them away, only to whack herself in the face with her cast. For some reason, this made her laugh even harder.
“I’m sorry. But you look so adorable with your face all bashed up. And you are the most useless date in the universe. I mean you’re bad on a superhuman scale.”
“I know.” Seizing the moment, he leaned down and kissed her, a full, passionate kiss that took both of them by surprise. It was a nice surprise, though. So they did it again. And again.
“I love you,” said Gabe.
Tara grinned. “Disappointingly, I’m afraid I love you, too.”
“I know I’m a crap date. But I’d be a good husband.”
“Oh, really? So is that a proposal?”
“I don’t know. Is that an acceptance?”
“Come back with a ring and I’ll think about it.”
Three months later, they were married.
Phoenix’s offices were on Adderley Street, the main artery of Cape Town’s thriving central business district. Robbie and Lexi were shown up to the twelfth floor.
“Wait here, please. Mr. McGregor will be with you shortly.”
The waiting area was comfortably furnished with deep, squashy sofas and tables piled high with magazines. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered spectacular views of Table Mountain. The overall impression was one of wealth and ease.
Robbie asked: “Didn’t Kruger-Brent used to have a satellite office on this street?”
“They still do.”
“McGregor must be doing well to afford headquarters here.”
Lexi, who’d been thinking the same thing, nodded glumly. It was her suggestion that they meet at Phoenix’s offices. “It’ll give us a chance to get to know one another before we drive out to the clinic.” In fact, her real intention was to size up her competition. Now she wished she hadn’t bothered. These Antoni couches alone must have set him back twenty grand. I wonder how much Phoenix made last year?
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Gabe. Would you like to come through?”
They followed Gabe into his office. For a moment Lexi was lost for words. She’d pictured Gabriel McGregor as an ordinary, balding, middle-aged executive.
Why didn’t Robbie warn me he was so attractive?
“Lexi Templeton.” She shook his hand coolly.
“A pleasure to meet you, Lexi. Tara and I were really excited when we heard back from your brother. Robbie and Paolo have done so much for the AIDS cause.”
Lexi thought: Quit sucking up. What do you really want?
“I had no idea you were involved in the charity, too.”
“I’m not. I’m in Cape Town on business.”
“Ah, that’s right. Templeton Estates. That’s your company, isn’t it?”
You know it is. Don’t play dumb with me, pretty boy.
“Amazing that three people with the same great-great-great-grandfather should find themselves in the same city, involved in the same charitable cause and the same business. Don’t you agree?”
Lexi gave a peremptory nod.
Gabe thought: I wonder what’s eating her? She’s about as warm and cuddly as a piranha that just got slapped with a parking ticket.
He’d seen countless pictures of Lexi Templeton over the years, including the infamous sex shots. He knew she would be beautiful. But none of the photographs had managed to convey Lexi’s presence in the flesh; the way she seemed to fill a room simply by walking into it. She was already dominating this meeting, stealing her brother’s thunder.
The silence was getting awkward.
“I’m sorry Paolo couldn’t be here,” said Robbie. “His health is not what it was, I’m afraid. He finds all the travel terribly tiring.”
“That’s quite all right. Perhaps next time? I know my wife will be pleased to see you, Lexi. She gets fed up with all the guy-talk.”
Lexi’s frown deepened. So he thinks I’m the “little woman,” does he? Here to spend the next two days shoe shopping with his trophy wife while he fleeces Robbie’s foundation? Well, he can forget it. I’m here to protect my brother’s interests.
Out loud she said. “I look forward to meeting her. Shall we get going?”
Without waiting for an answer, Lexi started for the door.
After you, Your Majesty, thought Gabe.
It was going to be an interesting day.
Later that night, in bed at their sprawling, Cape Dutch farmhouse in the hills above Camps Bay, Gabe asked Tara what she’d thought of the Templetons.
“He’s a sweetheart. She’s a card-carrying bitch.”
Gabe laughed. “You’re so tactful, darling. Why don’t you tell me what you really think?”
“Oh, come on. You can’t have liked her.” Tara turned off the bedside lamp. “And she certainly didn’t like you. All those barbed comments?”
It was true. After a long and grueling day touring three new AIDS clinics that Phoenix had funded, Lexi’s negativity had begun to grate on everyone’s nerves.
“Anyone would have thought you wanted her brother’s money for yourself. Here you are, trying to help these poor, suffering people, and this woman talks to you like you’ve just given her herpes.”
“Another lovely image. Thanks for that, darling.”
Tara teased: “You’re sure you never slept with her?”
“Quite sure.”
“It would explain a lot. There were so many, Gabe. She might have slipped your memory.”
“Ha ha. Believe me, if I’d slept with her, she wouldn’t look so damned miserable.”
“Arrogant bastard!” Tara hit him over the head with her book. Thankfully, it was a paperback. “Seriously, though. Why do you think she has it in for you?”
Gabe had been pondering the same question all day. He noticed the sour look that came over Lexi’s face whenever he alluded to their family connection. Perhaps that had something to do with it? Phoenix had outbid Templeton on a couple of deals recently, but he couldn’t believe that a serious businesswoman like Lexi would take something like that personally.
“She’s probably just protective of her brother. Doesn’t want to see him being taken advantage of.”
“Bollocks,” Tara said roundly. “Robbie Templeton’s forty years old and richer than Croesus. He can take care of himself. Besides, this is what his foundation does. They help people with AIDS. I couldn’t believe how cold that woman was. Everyone cries when they see clinics like ours for the first time, but not that one. Oh no. Couldn’t have cared less, could she?”
Gabe wasn’t so sure. Lexi was certainly withdrawn. Aloof, even. She had declined to hold the babies when offered the chance, and seemed uncomfortable amid so much suffering and sickness. But people reacted to tragedy in different ways. Reaching out, Gabe ran a hand over his wife’s belly. Since Collette was born, Tara’s body had lost some of its firmness. Tara felt self-conscious abo
ut it, but Gabe adored her new soft contours. She had given him his children, brought a joy and purpose to his life that no words could ever fully express, nor any action of his could ever hope to repay. He loved her more than life.
He whispered in her ear: “I love you.”
Tara sighed. “I love you, too, Gabe. But I’m absolutely bloody knackered. Be a sweetheart and piss off to your own side of the bed, would you?”
Ah! The sweet delights of matrimony.
For once in her life, Tara McGregor was dead wrong. The truth was that Lexi had been deeply moved by what she saw at the clinic. Those tiny, doll-like babies with their stick arms and bulging joints. When the nurse offered her a little girl to hold, Lexi was gripped with an irrational terror that she might break her. Her skin was paper thin…what if she gripped her too tight? The thought of causing that child one more ounce of pain was unbearable. The pleading look in the little girl’s eyes would haunt Lexi forever. She’d been determined not to betray any emotion or weakness in front of Gabe McGregor. But as soon as they got back to Cape Town, she broke down in Robbie’s arms.
“How can this still be happening? Those kids are just being left to die. What about the international aid programs?”
“They’re overwhelmed,” Robbie explained patiently. “They need private-sector money desperately. That’s why I’m so eager to develop this relationship with Gabe McGregor. Can’t you cut him a little slack?”
Lexi dried her tears. “I’ll write you a check right now for those babies. But I don’t trust McGregor. I’m sorry, but I don’t.”
Over the next two years, Lexi Templeton and Gabe McGregor crossed paths more frequently, at charity events and business conferences, as well as occasionally in the boardroom when they found themselves on opposite sides of a deal. Templeton Estates was investing in emerging real-estate markets all across the globe, from Georgia to Iran to Tibet. But something kept drawing Lexi back to South Africa. The returns were high. But it went beyond that. South Africa was the birthplace of Kruger-Brent. Lexi felt a powerful urge to succeed there.
Phoenix, whose investments were limited to South Africa, remained the market leader. Dia Ghali had cashed out of the business last year, leaving Gabe McGregor as the man to beat in real estate. Lexi Templeton fully intended to be the woman to beat him. But Templeton was not the only target in her sights.
Mistress of the Game Page 25