But Marianne was no longer listening. She was hearing Tony's voice: I want us to have a baby. A little girl who looks exactly like you.
"... I couldn't bear to hear any more," Marianne told Kate, 'I ran out of his office and came straight here."
Kate made a tremendous effort not to let her feelings show. It was a stunning blow. But there had to be a way. There was always a way.
She managed a smile and said, "Well! I was afraid it was going to be something much worse."
"But, Kate, Tony and I want so much to have a baby."
"Marianne, Dr. Harley is an alarmist. You had a minor problem years ago, and Harley's trying to turn it into something important. You know how doctors are." She took Marianne's hand. "You feel well, don't you, darling?"
"I felt wonderful until—"
"Well, there you are. You aren't going around having any fainting spells?"
"No."
"Because it's all over. He said himself that those things are self-healing."
"He said the risks—"
Kate sighed. "Marianne, every time a woman gets pregnant, there's always a risk. Life is full of risks. The important thing in life is to decide which risks are the ones worth taking, don't you agree?"
"Yes." Marianne sat there thinking. She made her decision. "You're right. Let's not say anything to Tony. It would only worry him. We'll keep it our secret."
Kate thought, I could bloody well kill John Harley for scaring her to death. "It will be our secret," Kate agreed.
Three months later, Marianne became pregnant. Tony was thrilled. Kate was quietly triumphant. Dr. John Harley was horrified.
"I'll arrange for an immediate abortion," he told Marianne.
"No, Dr. Harley. I feel fine. I'm going to have the baby."
When Marianne told Kate about her visit, Kate stormed into John Harley's office. "How dare you suggest my daughter-in-law have an abortion?"
"Kate, I told her that if she carries that baby to term, there's a chance it might kill her."
"You don't know that. She's going to be fine. Stop alarming her."
Eight months later, at four a.m. in early February, Marianne's labor pains began prematurely. Her moans awakened Tony.
He began hurriedly dressing. "Don't worry, darling. I'll have you at the hospital in no time."
The pains were agonizing. "Please hurry."
She wondered whether she should have told Tony about her conversations with Dr. Harley. No, Kate had been right. It was her decision to make. Life was so wonderful that God would not let anything bad happen to her.
When Marianne and Tony arrived at the hospital, everything was in readiness. Tony was escorted to a waiting room. Marianne was taken into an examining room. The obstetrician, Dr. Mattson, took Marianne's blood pressure. He frowned and took it again. He looked up and said to his nurse, "Get her into the operating room—fast!"
Tony was at the cigarette machine in the hospital corridor when a voice behind him said, "Well, well, if it isn't Rembrandt." Tony turned. He recognized the man who had been with Dominique in front of her apartment building. What had she called him? Ben. The man was staring at Tony, an antagonistic expression on his face. Jealousy? What had Dominique told him? At that moment, Dominique appeared. She said to Ben, "The nurse said Michelline is in intensive care. We'll come—" She saw Tony, and stopped.
"Tony! What are you doing here?"
"My wife is having a baby."
"Did your mother arrange it?" Ben asked.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Dominique told me your mother arranges everything for you, sonny."
"Ben! Stop it!"
"Why? It's the truth, isn't it, baby? Isn't that what you said?"
Tony turned to Dominique. "What is he talking about?"
"Nothing," she said quickly. "Ben, let's get out of here."
But Ben was enjoying himself. "I wish I had a mother like yours, buddy boy. You want a beautiful model to sleep with, she buys you one. You want to have an art exhibition in Paris, she arranges it for you. You—"
"You're crazy."
"Am I?" Ben turned to Dominique. "Doesn't he know?"
"Don't I know what?" Tony demanded.
"Nothing, Tony."
"He said my mother arranged the exhibition in Paris. That's a lie, isn't it?" He saw the expression on Dominique's face. "Isn't it?"
"No," Dominique said reluctantly.
"You mean she had to pay Goerg to—to show my paintings?"
'Tony, he really liked your paintings."
"Tell him about the art critic," Ben urged.
"That's enough, Ben!" Dominique turned to go. Tony grabbed her arm. "Wait! What about him? Did my mother arrange for him to be at the exhibit?"
"Yes." Dominique's voice had dropped to a whisper.
"But he hated my paintings."
She could hear the pain in his voice. "No, Tony. He didn't. Andre d'Usseau told your mother you could have become a great artist."
And he was face to face with the unbelievable. "My mother paid d'Usseau to destroy me?"
"Not to destroy you. She believed she was doing it for your own good."
The enormity of what his mother had done was staggering. Everything she had told him was a lie. She had never intended to let him live his own life. And Andre d'Usseau! How could a man like that be bought? But of course Kate would know the price of any man. Wilde could have been referring to Kate when he talked of someone who knew the price of everything, the value of nothing. Everything had always been for the company. And the company was Kate Blackwell. Tony turned and walked blindly down the corridor.
In the operating room, the doctors were fighting desperately to save Marianne's life. Her blood pressure was alarmingly low, and her heartbeat was erratic. She was given oxygen and a blood transfusion, but it was useless. Marianne was unconscious from a cerebral hemorrhage when the first baby was delivered, and dead three minutes later when the second twin was taken.
Tony heard a voice calling, "Mr. Blackwell." He turned. Dr. Mattson was at his side.
"You have two beautiful, healthy twin daughters, Mr. Black-well."
Tony saw the look in his eyes. "Marianne—she's all right, isn't she?"
Dr. Mattson took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry. We did everything we could. She died on the—"
"She what?" It was a scream. Tony grabbed Dr. Mattson's lapels and shook him. "You're lying! She's not dead."
"Mr. Blackwell—"
"Where is she? I want to see her."
"You can't go in just now. They're preparing her—"
Tony cried out, "You killed her, you bastard! You killed her." He began attacking the doctor. Two interns hurried in and grabbed Tony's arms.
"Now take it easy, Mr. Blackwell."
Tony fought like a madman. "I want to see my wife!"
Dr. John Harley hurried up to the group. "Let him go," he commanded. "Leave us alone."
Dr. Mattson and the interns left. Tony was weeping brokenly. "John, they k-killed Marianne. They m-murdered her."
"She's dead, Tony, and I'm sorry. But no one murdered her. I told her months ago if she went ahead with this pregnancy it could kill her."
It took a long moment for the words to sink in. "What are you talking about?"
"Marianne didn't tell you? Your mother didn't say anything?"
Tony was staring at him, his eyes uncomprehending. "My mother?"
"She thought I was being an alarmist. She advised Marianne to go ahead with it. I'm so sorry, Tony. I've seen the twins. They're beautiful. Wouldn't you like to—?"
Tony was gone.
Kate's butler opened the door for Tony.
"Good morning, Mr. Blackwell."
"Good morning, Lester."
The butler took in Tony's disheveled appearance. "Is everything all right, sir?"
"Everything is fine. Would you make me a cup of coffee, Lester?"
"Certainly, sir."
Tony watched the butler move toward
the kitchen. Now, Tony, the voice in his head commanded.
Yes. Now. Tony turned and walked into the trophy room. He went to the cabinet that held the gun collection, and he stared at the gleaming array of instruments of death.
Open the cabinet, Tony.
He opened it. He selected a revolver from the gun rack and checked the barrel to make sure it was loaded.
She'll be upstairs, Tony.
Tony turned and started up the stairs. He knew now that it was not his mother's fault that she was evil. She was possessed, and he was going to cure her. The company had taken her soul, and Kate was not responsible for what she did. His mother and the company had become one, and when he killed her, the company would die.
He was outside Kate's bedroom door.
Open the door, the voice commanded.
Tony opened the door. Kate was dressing in front of a mirror when she heard the door open.
"Tony! What on earth—"
He carefully aimed the gun at her and began squeezing the trigger.
The right of primogeniture—the claim of the first-born to a family title or estate—is deeply rooted in history. Among royal families in Europe a high official is present at every birth of a possible heir to a queen or princess so that should twins be born, the right of succession will not be in dispute. Dr. Mattson was careful to note which twin had been delivered first.
Everyone agreed that the Blackwell twins were the most beautiful babies they had ever seen. They were healthy and unusually lively, and the nurses at the hospital kept finding excuses to go in and look at them. Part of the fascination, although none of the nurses would have admitted it, was the mysterious stories that were circulating about the twins' family. Their mother had died during childbirth. The twins' father had disappeared, and there were rumors he had murdered his mother, but no one was able to substantiate the reports. There was nothing about it in the newspapers, save for a brief item that Tony Blackwell had suffered a nervous breakdown over the death of his wife and was in seclusion. When the press tried to question Dr. Harley. he gave them a brusque, "No comment."
The past few days had been hell for John Harley. As long as he lived, he would remember the scene when he reached Kate Blackwell's bedroom after a frantic phone call from the butler. Kate was lying on the floor in a coma, bullet wounds in her neck and chest, her blood spilling onto the white rug. Tony was going through her closets, slashing his mother's clothes to shreds with a pair of scissors.
Dr. Harley took one quick look at Kate and hurriedly telephoned for an ambulance. He knelt at Kate's side and felt her pulse. It was weak and thready, and her face was turning blue. She was going into shock. He swiftly gave her an injection of adrenaline and sodium bicarbonate.
"What happened?" Dr. Harley asked.
The butler was soaked in perspiration. "I—I don't know. Mr. Blackwell asked me to make him some coffee. I was in the kitchen when I heard the sound of gunfire. I ran upstairs and found Mrs. Blackwell on the floor, like this. Mr. Blackwell was standing over her, saying, 'It can't hurt you anymore, Mother. I killed it.' And he went into the closet and started cutting her dresses."
Dr. Harley turned to Tony. "What are you doing, Tony?"
A savage slash. "I'm helping Mother. I'm destroying the company. It killed Marianne, you know." He continued slashing at the dresses in Kate's closet.
Kate was rushed to the emergency ward of a midtown private hospital owned by Kruger-Brent, Ltd. She was given four blood transfusions during the operation to remove the bullets.
It took three male nurses to force Tony into an ambulance, and it was only after Dr. Harley gave him an injection that Tony was quiet. A police unit had responded to the ambulance call, and Dr. Harley summoned Brad Rogers to deal with them. Through means that Dr. Harley did not understand, there was no mention in the media of the shooting.
Dr. Harley went to the hospital to visit Kate in intensive care. Her first words were a whispered, "Where's my son?"
"He's being taken care of, Kate. He's all right."
Tony had been taken to a private sanitarium in Connecticut.
"John, why did he try to kill me? Why?" The anguish in her voice was unbearable.
"He blames you for Marianne's death."
"That's insane!"
John Harley made no comment.
He blames you for Marianne's death.
Long after Dr. Harley had left, Kate lay there, refusing to accept those words. She had loved Marianne because she made Tony happy. Everything I have done has been for you, my son. All my dreams were for you. How could you not know that? And he hated her so much he had tried to kill her. She was filled with such a deep agony that she wanted to die. But she would not let herself die. She had done what was right. They were wrong. Tony was a weakling. They had all been weaklings. Her father had been too weak to face his son's death. Her mother had been too weak to face life alone. But I am not weak, Kate thought. I can face this. I can face anything. I'm going to live. I'll survive. The company will survive.
BOOK FIVE
Eve and Alexandra 1950-1975
Kate recuperated at Dark Harbor, letting the sun and the sea heal her.
Tony was in a private asylum, where he could get the best care possible. Kate had psychiatrists flown in from Paris, Vienna and Berlin, but when all the examinations and tests had been completed, the diagnosis was the same: Her son was a homicidal schizophrenic and paranoiac.
"He doesn't, respond to drugs or psychiatric treatment, and he's violent. We have to keep him under restraint."
"What kind of restraint?" Kate asked.
"He's in a padded cell. Most of the time we have to keep him in a straitjacket."
"Is that necessary?"
"Without it, Mrs. Blackwell, he would kill anyone who got near him."
She closed her eyes in pain. This was not her sweet, gentle Tony they were talking about. It was a stranger, someone possessed. She opened her eyes. "Is there nothing that can be done?"
"Not if we can't reach his mind. We're keeping him on drugs,
but the moment they wear off, he gets manic again. We can't continue this treatment indefinitely."
Kate stood very straight. "What do you suggest, Doctor?"
"In similar cases, we've found that removing a small portion of the brain has produced remarkable results."
Kate swallowed. "A lobotomy?"
"That is correct. Your son will still be able to function in every way, except that he will no longer have any strong dysfunctional emotions."
Kate sat there, her mind and body chilled. Dr. Morris, a young doctor from the Menninger Clinic, broke the silence. "I know how difficult this must be for you, Mrs. Blackwell. If you'd like to think about—"
"If that's the only thing that will stop his torment," Kate said, "do it."
Frederick Hoffman wanted his granddaughters. "I will take them back to Germany with me."
It seemed to Kate that he had aged twenty years since Marianne's death. Kate felt sorry for him, but she had no intention of giving up Tony's children. "They need a woman's care, Frederick. Marianne would have wanted them brought up here. You'll come and visit them often."
And he was finally persuaded.
The twins were moved into Kate's home, and a nursery suite was set up for them. Kate interviewed governesses, and finally hired a young French woman named Solange Dunas.
Kate named the first-born Eve, and her twin, Alexandra. They were identical—impossible to tell apart. Seeing them together was like looking at an image in a mirror, and Kate marveled at the double miracle that her son and Marianne had created. They were both bright babies, quick and responsive, but even after a few weeks, Eve seemed more mature than Alexandra. Eve was the first to crawl and talk and walk. Alexandra followed quickly, but from the beginning it was Eve who was the leader. Alexandra adored her sister and tried to imitate everything she did. Kate spent as much time with her granddaughters as possible. They made her feel young. And Kate began to dream again.
One day, when I'm old and ready to retire...
On the twins' first birthday, Kate gave them a party. They each had an identical birthday cake, and there were dozens of presents from friends, company employees and the household staff. Their second birthday party seemed to follow almost immediately. Kate could not believe how rapidly the time went by and how quickly the twins were growing. She was able to discern even more clearly the differences in their personalities: Eve, the stronger, was more daring, Alexandra was softer, content to follow her sister's lead. With no mother or father, Kate thought repeatedly, it's a blessing that they have each other and love each other so much.
The night before their fifth birthday, Eve tried to murder Alexandra.
It is written in Genesis 25: 22-23:
And the children struggled together within her ...
And the Lord said unto her, Two [nations] are in thy womb, and two manner of people shall be separated from thy bowels; and the one [people] shall be stronger than the other [people]; and the elder shall serve the younger.
In the case of Eve and Alexandra, Eve had no intention of serving her younger sister.
Eve had hated her sister for as long as she could remember. She went into a silent rage when someone picked up Alexandra, or petted her or gave her a present. Eve felt she was being cheated. She wanted it all for herself—all the love and the beautiful things that surrounded the two of them. She could not have even a birthday of her own. She hated Alexandra for look-ing like her, dressing like her, stealing the part of her grandmother's love that belonged to her. Alexandra adored Eve, and Eve despised her for that. Alexandra was generous, eager to give up her toys and dolls, and that filled Eve with still more contempt. Eve shared nothing. What was hers belonged to her; but it was not enough. She wanted everything Alexandra had. At night, under the watchful eye of Solange Dunas, both girls would say their prayers aloud, but Eve always added a silent prayer begging God to strike Alexandra dead. When the prayer went unanswered, Eve decided she would have to take care of it herself. Their fifth birthday was only a few days away, and Eve could not bear the thought of sharing another party with Alexandra. They were her friends, and her gifts that her sister was stealing from her. She had to kill Alexandra soon.
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