Master of the Game

Chapter 31

George Mellis had been badly shaken by what had happened. He had come perilously close to destroying everything he wanted. George had not been fully aware before of how much the control of Kruger-Brent, Ltd., meant to him. He had been satisfied to live on gifts from lonely ladies, but he was married to a Blackwell now, and within his reach was a company larger than anything his father had ever conceived of. Look at me, Papa. I'm alive again. I own a company bigger than yours. It was no longer a game. He knew he would kill to get what he wanted.

George devoted himself to creating the image of the perfect husband. He spent every possible moment with Alexandra. They breakfasted together, he took her out to lunch and he made it a point to be home early every evening. On weekends they went to the beach house Kate Blackwell owned in East Hampton, on Long Island, or flew to Dark Harbor in the company Cessna 620. Dark Harbor was George's favorite. He loved the rambling old house, with its beautiful antiques and priceless paintings. He wandered through the vast rooms. Soon all this will be mine, he thought. It was a heady feeling.

George was also the perfect grandson-in-law. He paid a great deal of attention to Kate. She was eighty-one, chairman of the board of Kruger-Brent, Ltd., and a remarkably strong, vital woman. George saw to it that he and Alexandra dined with her once a week, and he telephoned the old woman every few days to chat with her. He was carefully building up the picture of a loving husband and caring grandson-in-law.

No one would ever suspect him of murdering two people he loved so much.

George Mellis's sense of satisfaction was abruptly shattered by a telephone call from Dr. John Harley.

"I've made arrangements for you to see a psychiatrist. Dr. Peter Templeton."

George made his voice warm and ingratiating. "That's really not necessary any more, Dr. Harley. I think - "

"I don't give a damn what you think. We have an agreement - I don't report you to the police, and you consult a psychiatrist. If you wish to break that agree - "

"No, no," George said hastily. "If that's what you want, fine."

"Dr. Templeton's telephone number is five-five-five-three-one-six-one. He's expecting your call. Today." And Dr. Harley slammed down the receiver.

The damned busybody, George thought angrily. The last thing in the world he needed was to waste time with a shrink, but he could not risk Dr. Harley's talking. He would call this Dr. Templeton, see him once or twice and that would be the end of it.

Eve telephoned George at the office. "I'm home."

"Are you - ?" He was afraid to ask. "All right?"

"Come and see for yourself. Tonight."

"It's difficult for me to get away just now. Alex and I - "

"Eight o'clock."

He could hardly believe it. Eve stood in front of him, looking just as beautiful as ever. He studied her face closely and could find no sign of the terrible damage he had inflicted upon her.

"It's incredible! You - you look exactly the same."

"Yes. I'm still beautiful, aren't I, George?" She smiled, a cat smile, thinking of what she planned to do to him. He was a sick animal, not fit to live. He would pay in full for what he had done to her, but not yet. She still needed him. They stood there, smiling at each other.

"Eve, I can't tell you how sorry I - "

She held up a hand. "Let's not discuss it. It's over. Nothing has changed."

But George remembered that something had changed. "I got a call from Harley," he said. "He's arranged for me to see some damned psychiatrist."

Eve shook her head. "No. Tell him you haven't time."

"I tried. If I don't go, he'll turn in a report of the - the accident to the police."

"Damn!"

She stood there, deep in thought. "Who is he?"

"The psychiatrist? Someone named Templeton. Peter Templeton."

"I've heard of him. He has a good reputation."

"Don't worry. I can just lie on his couch for fifty minutes and say nothing. If - "

Eve was not listening. An idea had come to her, and she was exploring it.

She turned to George. "This may be the best thing that could have happened."

Peter Templeton was in his middle thirties, just over six feet, with broad shoulders, clean-cut features and inquisitive blue eyes, and he looked more like a quarterback than a doctor. At the moment, he was frowning at a notation on his schedule: George Mellis - grandson-in-law of Kate Blackwell.

The problems of the rich held no interest for Peter Templeton. Most of his colleagues were delighted to get socially prominent patients. When Peter Templeton had first begun his practice, he had had his share, but he had quickly found he was unable to sympathize with their problems. He had dowagers in his office literally screaming because they had not been invited to some social event, financiers threatening to commit suicide because they had lost money in the stock market, overweight matrons who alternated between feasting and fat farms. The world was full of problems, and Peter Templeton had long since decided that these were not the problems he was interested in helping to solve.

George Mellis. Peter had reluctantly agreed to see him only because of his respect for Dr. John Harley. "I wish you'd send him somewhere else, John," Peter Templeton had said. "I really have a full schedule."

"Consider this a favor, Peter."

"What's his problem?"

"That's your department. I'm just an old country doctor."

"All right," Peter had agreed. "Have him call me."

Now he was here. Dr. Templeton pressed down the button on the intercom on his desk. "Send Mr. Mellis in."

Peter Templeton had seen photographs of George Mellis in newspapers and magazines, but he was still unprepared for the overpowering vitality of the man. He gave new meaning to the word charisma.

They shook hands. Peter said, "Sit down, Mr. Mellis."

George looked at the couch. "Over there?"

"Wherever you're comfortable."

George took the chair opposite the desk. George looked at Peter Templeton and smiled. He had thought he would dread this moment, but after his talk with Eve, he had changed his mind. Dr. Templeton was going to be his ally, his witness.

Peter studied the man opposite him. When patients came to see him for the first time, they were invariably nervous. Some covered it up with bravado, others were silent or talkative or defensive. Peter could detect no signs of nervousness in this man. On the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying himself. Curious, Peter thought.