The overnight guests had long since departed by ferry and plane, and the family was gathered in the library at Cedar Hill. Kate looked at those in the room, one by one, and she saw each with remarkable clarity. Tony, the smiling, vaguely amiable vegetable who had tried to kill her, the son who had been so full of promise and hope. Eve, the murderer, who could have owned the world if she had not had the seed of evil in her. How ironic it was, Kate thought, that her terrible punishment had come from the meek little nonentity she married. And then there was Alexandra. Beautiful, affectionate and kind—the bitterest disappointment of all. She had put her own happiness before the welfare of the company. She was not interested in Kruger-Brent and had chosen a husband who refused to have anything to do with the company. Traitors, both of them. Had all the pain of the past gone for nothing? No, Kate thought. I won’t let it end like this. It’s not all been wasted. I’ve built a proud dynasty. A hospital in Cape Town is named after me. I’ve built schools and libraries and helped Banda’s people. Her head was beginning to hurt. The room was slowly filling with ghosts. Jamie McGregor and Margaret—looking so beautiful—and Banda smiling at her. And dear, wonderful David, holding out his arms. Kate shook her head to clear it. She was not ready for any of them yet. Soon, she thought. Soon.
There was one more member of the family in the room. She turned to her handsome young great-grandson and said, “Come here, darling.”
Robert walked up to her and took her hand.
“It sure was a great birthday party, Gran.”
“Thank you, Robert. I’m glad you enjoyed it. How are you getting along in school?”
“All A’s, like you told me to get. I’m at the head of my class.”
Kate looked at Peter. “You should send Robert to the Wharton School when he’s old enough. It’s the best—”
Peter laughed. “For God’s sake, Kate, my darling, don’t you ever give up? Robert’s going to do exactly what he likes. He has a remarkable musical talent, and he wants to be a classical musician. He’s going to choose his own life.”
“You’re right,” Kate sighed. “I’m an old woman, and I have no right to interfere. If he wants to be a musician, that’s what he should be.” She turned to the boy, and her eyes shone with love. “Mind you, Robert, I can’t promise anything, but I’m going to try to help you. I know someone who’s a dear friend of Zubin Mehta.”
