ve 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.

On the night before their birthday, Eve lay in her bed, wide awake. When she was sure the household was asleep, she went over to Alexandra's bed and awakened her. "Alex,"

she whispered, "let's go down to the kitchen and see our birthday cakes."

Alexandra said sleepily, "Everybody's sleeping."

"We won't wake anyone up."

"Mademoiselle Dunas won't like it. Why don't we look at the cakes in the morning?"

"Because I want to look at them now. Are you coming or not?"

Alexandra rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She had no interest in seeing the birthday cakes, but she did not want to hurt her sister's feelings. "I'm coming," she said.

Alexandra got out of bed and put on a pair of slippers. Both girls wore pink nylon nightgowns.

"Come on," Eve said. "And don't make any noise."

"I won't," Alexandra promised.

They tiptoed out of their bedroom, into the long corridor, past the closed door of Mademoiselle Dunas's bedroom, down the steep back stairs that led to the kitchen. It was an enormous kitchen, with two large gas stoves, six ovens, three refrigerators and a walk-in freezer.

In the refrigerator Eve found the birthday cakes that the cook, Mrs. Tyler, had made. One of them said Happy Birthday, Alexandra. The other said Happy Birthday, Eve.

Next year, Eve thought happily, there will only be one.

Eve took Alexandra's cake out of the refrigerator and placed it on the wooden chopping block in the middle of the kitchen. She opened a drawer and took out a package of brightly colored candles.

"What are you doing?" Alexandra asked.

"I want to see how it looks with the candles all lighted." Eve began pressing the candles into the icing of the cake.

"I don't think you should do that, Eve. You'll ruin the cake. Mrs. Tyler is going to be angry."

"She won't mind." Eve opened another drawer and took out two large boxes of kitchen matches. "Come on, help me."

"I want to go back to bed."

Eve turned on her angrily. "All right. Go back to bed, scaredy cat. I'll do it alone."

Alexandra hesitated. "What do you want me to do?"

Eve handed her one of the boxes of matches. "Start lighting the candles."

Alexandra was afraid of fire. Both girls had been warned again and again about the danger of playing with matches. They knew the horror stories about children who had disobeyed that rule. But Alexandra did not want to disappoint Eve, and so she obediently began lighting the candles.

Eve watched her a moment. "You're leaving out the ones on the other side, silly," she said.

Alexandra leaned over to reach the candles at the far side of the cake, her back to Eve.

Quickly, Eve struck a match and touched it to the matches in the box she was holding. As they burst into flames, Eve dropped the box at Alexandra's feet, so that the bottom of Alexandra's nightgown caught fire. It was an instant before Alexandra was aware of what was happening. When she felt the first agonizing pain against her legs, she looked down and screamed, "Help! Help me!"

Eve stared at the flaming nightgown a moment, awed by the extent of her success. Alexandra was standing there, petrified, frozen with fear.

"Don't move!" Eve said. "I'll get a bucket of water." She hurried off to the butler's pantry, her heart pounding with a fearful joy.

It was a horror movie that saved Alexandra's life. Mrs. Tyler, the Blackwells' cook, had been escorted to the cinema by a police sergeant whose bed she shared from time to time. On this particular evening, the motion-picture screen was so filled with dead and mutilated bodies that finally Mrs. Tyler could bear it no longer. In the middle of a beheading, she said, 'This may all be in a day's work for you, Richard, but I've had enough."

Sergeant Richard Dougherty reluctantly followed her out of the theater.

They arrived back at the Blackwell mansion an hour earlier than they had expected to, and as Mrs. Tyler opened the back door, she heard Alexandra's screams coming from the kitchen. Mrs. Tyler and Sergeant Dougherty rushed in, took one horrified look at the scene before them and went into action. The sergeant leaped at Alexandra and ripped off her flaming nightgown. Her legs and hips were blistered, but the flames had not reached her hair or the front of her body. Alexandra fell to the floor, unconscious. Mrs. Tyler filled a large pot with water and poured it over the flames licking at the floor.

"Call an ambulance," Sergeant Dougherty ordered. "Is Mrs. Blackwell home?"

"She should be upstairs asleep."

"Wake her up."

As Mrs. Tyler finished phoning for an ambulance, there was a cry from the butler's pantry, and Eve ran in carrying a pan of water, sobbing hysterically. "Is Alexandra dead?"

Eve screamed. "Is she dead?"

Mrs. Tyler took Eve in her arms to soothe her. "No, darling, she's all right. She's going to be just fine."

"It was my fault," Eve sobbed. "She wanted to light the candles on her birthday cake. I shouldn't have let her do it."

Mrs. Tyler stroked Eve's back. "It's all right. You mustn't blame yourself."

"The m-matches fell out of my hand, and Alex caught on fire. It was t-terrible."

Sergeant Dougherty looked at Eve and said sympathetically, "Poor child."

"Alexandra has second-degree burns on her legs and back," Dr. Harley told Kate, "but she's going to be fine. We can do amazing things with burns these days. Believe me, this could have been a terrible tragedy."

"I know," Kate said. She had seen Alexandra's burns, and they had filled her with horror.

She hesitated a moment. "John, I think I'm even more concerned about Eve."

"Was Eve hurt?"

"Not physically, but the poor child blames herself for the accident. She's having terrible nightmares. The last three nights I've had to go in and hold her in my arms before she could go back to sleep. I don't want this to become more traumatic. Eve is very sensitive."

"Kids get over things pretty quickly, Kate. If there's any problem, let me know, and I'll recommend a child therapist."

"Thank you," Kate said gratefully.

Eve was terribly upset. The birthday party had been canceled. Alexandra cheated me out of that, Eve thought bitterly.

Alexandra healed perfectly, with no signs of scars. Eve got over her feelings of guilt with remarkable ease. As Kate assured her, "Accidents can happen to anybody, darling. You mustn't Name yourself."

Eve didn't. She blamed Mrs. Tyler. Why did she have to come home and spoil everything? It had been a perfect plan.

The sanitarium where Tony was confined was in a peaceful, wooded area in Connecticut. Kate was driven out to see him once a month. The lobotomy had been successful. There was no longer the slightest sign of aggression in Tony. He recognized Kate and he always politely asked about Eve and Alexandra, but he showed no interest in seeing them. He showed very little interest in anything. He seemed happy. No, not happy, Kate corrected herself. Content. But content—to do what?

Kate asked Mr. Burger, the superintendent of the asylum, "Doesn't my son do anything all day?"

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Blackwell. He sits by the hour and paints."

Her son, who could have owned the world, sat and painted all day. Kate tried not to think of the waste, that brilliant mind gone forever. "What does he paint?"

The man was embarrassed. "No one can quite figure it out."

During the next two years, Kate became seriously concerned about Alexandra. The child was definitely accident-prone. During Eve and Alexandra's summer vacation at the Blackwell estate in the Bahamas, Alexandra almost drowned while playing with Eve in the pool, and it was only the prompt intervention of a gardener that saved her. The following year when the two girls were on a picnic in the Palisades, Alexandra somehow slipped off the edge of a cliff and saved herself by clinging to a shrub growing out of the steep mountainside.

"I wish you would keep a closer eye on your sister," Kate told Eve. "She can't seem to take care of herself the way you can."

"I know," Eve said solemnly. "I'll watch her, Gran."

Kate loved both her granddaughters, but in different ways. They were seven years old now, and identically beautiful, with long, soft blond hair, exquisite features and the McGregor eyes. They looked alike, but their personalities were quite different. Alexandra's gentleness reminded Kate of Tony, while Eve was more like her, headstrong and self-sufficient.

A chauffeur drove them to school in the family Rolls-Royce. Alexandra was embarrassed to have her classmates see her with

the car and chauffeur; Eve reveled in it. Kate gave each girl a weekly allowance, and ordered them to keep a record of how they spent it. Eve invariably ran short of money before the week was out and borrowed from Alexandra. Eve learned to adjust the books so that Gran would not know. But Kate knew, and she could hardly hold back her smile.

Seven years old and already a creative accountant!

In the beginning, Kate had nurtured a secret dream that one day Tony would be well again, that he would leave the asylum and return to Kruger-Brent. But as time passed, the dream slowly faded. It was tacitly understood that while Tony might leave the asylum for short visits, accompanied by a male nurse, he would never again be able to participate in the outside world.

It was 1962, and as Kruger-Brent, Ltd., prospered and expanded, the demands for new leadership grew more urgent. Kate celebrated her seventieth birthday. Her hair was white now, and she was a remarkable figure of a woman, strong and erect and vital. She was aware that the attrition of time would overtake her. She had to be prepared. The company had to be safeguarded for the family. Brad Rogers was a good manager, but he was not a Blackwell. I have to last until the twins can take over. She thought of Cecil Rhodes's last words: "So little done—so much to do."

The twins were twelve years old, on the verge of becoming young ladies. Kate had spent as much time with them as she possibly could, but now she turned even more of her attention to them. It was time to make an important decision.

During Easter week, Kate and the twins flew to Dark Harbor in a company plane. The girls had visited all the family estates except the one in Johannesburg, and of them all, Dark Harbor was their favorite. They enjoyed the wild freedom and the seclusion of the island. They loved to sail and swim and water-ski, and Dark Harbor held all these things for them. Eve asked if she could bring some schoolmates along, as she had in the past, but this time her grandmother refused. Grandmother, that powerful, imposing figure who swept in and out, dropping off a present here, a kiss on the cheek there, with occasional admonitions about how young ladies behaved, wanted to be alone with them. This time the girls sensed that something different was happening. Their grandmother was with them at every meal. She took them boating and swimming and even riding. Kate handled her horse with the sureness of an expert.

The girls still looked amazingly alike, two golden beauties, but Kate was interested less in their similarities than in their differences. Sitting on the veranda watching them as they finished a tennis game, Kate summed them up in her mind. Eve was the leader, Alexandra the follower. Eve had a stubborn streak. Alexandra was flexible. Eve was a natural athlete.

Alexandra was still having accidents. Only a few days before, when the two girls were out alone in a small sailboat with Eve at the rudder, the wind had come behind the sail and the sail had luffed, swinging it crashing toward Alexandra's head. She had not gotten out of the way in time and had been swept overboard and nearly drowned. Another boat nearby had assisted Eve in rescuing her sister. Kate wondered whether all these things could have anything to do with Alexandra having been born three minutes later than Eve, but the reasons did not matter. Kate had made her decision. There was no longer any question in her mind. She was putting her money on Eve, and it was a ten-billion-dollar bet. She would find a perfect consort for Eve, and when Kate retired, Eve would run Kruger-Brent. As for Alexandra, she would have a life of wealth and comfort. She might be very good working on the charitable grants Kate had set up. Yes, that would be perfect for Alexandra. She was such a sweet and compassionate child.

The first step toward implementing Kate's plan was to see that Eve got into the proper school. Kate chose Briarcrest, an excel-lent school in South Carolina. "Both my granddaughters are delightful" Kate informed Mrs. Chandler, the headmistress, 'But you'll find that Eve is the clever one. She's an extraordi-nary girl, and I'm sure you'll see to it that she has every advan-age here,"

"All our students have every advantage here, Mrs. Blackwell. You spoke of Eve. What about her sister?"

"Alexandra? A lovely girl." It was a pejorative. Kate stood up. "I shall be checking their progress regularly."

In some odd way, the headmistress felt the words were a warning.

Eve and Alexandra adored the new school, particularly Eve. She enjoyed the freedom of being away from home, of not having to account to her grandmother and Solange Dunas.

The rules at Briarcrest were strict, but that did not bother Eve, for she was adept at getting around rules. The only thing that disturbed her was that Alexandra was there with her.

When Eve first heard the news about Briarcrest, she begged, "May I go alone? Please, Gran?"

And Kate said, "No, darling. I think it's better if Alexandra goes with you."

Eve concealed her resentment. "Whatever you say, Gran."

She was always very polite and affectionate around her grandmother. Eve knew where the power lay. Their father was a crazy man, locked up in an insane asylum. Their mother was dead. It was their grandmother who controlled the money. Eve knew they were rich.

She had no idea how much money there was, but it was a lot—enough to buy all the beautiful things she wanted. Eve loved beautiful things. There was only one problem: Alexandra.

One of the twins' favorite activities at Briarcrest School was the morning riding class.

Most of the girls owned their own jumpers, and Kate had given each twin one for her twelfth birthday. Jerome Davis, the riding instructor, watched as his pupils went through their paces in the ring, jumping over a one-foot stile, then a two-foot stile and finally a four-foot stile. Davis was one of the best riding teachers in the country. Several of his former pupils had gone on to win gold medals, and he was adept at spotting a natural-born rider. The new girl, Eve Blackwell, was a natural. She did not have to think about what she was

doing, how to hold the reins or post in the saddle. She and her horse were one, and as they sailed over the hurdles, Eve's golden hair flying in the wind, it was a beautiful sight to behold. Nothing's going to stop that one, Mr. Davis thought.

Tommy, the young groom, favored Alexandra. Mr. Davis watched Alexandra saddle up her horse, preparing for her turn. Alexandra and Eve wore different-colored ribbons on their sleeves so he could tell them apart. Eve was helping Alexandra saddle her horse while Tommy was busy with another student. Davis was summoned to the main building for a telephone call, and what happened after that was a matter of great confusion.

From what Jerome Davis was able to piece together later, Alexandra mounted her horse, circled the ring and started toward the first low jump. Her horse inexplicably began rearing and bucking, and threw Alexandra into a wall. She was knocked unconscious, and it was only by inches that the wild horse's hooves missed her face. Tommy carried Alexandra to the infirmary, where the school doctor diagnosed a mild concussion.

"Nothing broken, nothing serious," he said. "By tomorrow morning, she'll be right as rain, ready to get up on her horse again."

"But she could have been killed!" Eve screamed.

Eve refused to leave Alexandra's side. Mrs. Chandler thought the had never seen such devotion in a sister. It was truly touching.

When Mr. Davis was finally able to corral Alexandra's horse to unsaddle it, he found the saddle blanket stained with blood. He lifted it off and discovered a large piece of jagged metal from a beer can still protruding from the horse's back, where it had been pressed down by the saddle. When he reported this to Mrs. Chandler, she started an immediate investigation. All the girls who had been in the vicinity of the stable were questioned.

'I'm sure," Mrs. Chandler said, "that whoever put that piece of metal there thought she was playing a harmless prank, but it could have led to very serious consequences. I want the name of the girl who did it."

When no one volunteered, Mrs. Chandler talked to them in her office, one by one. Each girl denied any knowledge of what had happened. When it was Eve's turn to be questioned, she seemed oddly ill at ease.

"Do you have any idea who could have done this to your sister?" Mrs. Chandler asked.

Eve looked down at the rug. "I'd rather not say," she mumbled.

"Then you did see something?"

"Please, Mrs. Chandler ..."

"Eve, Alexandra could have1 been seriously hurt. The girl who did this must be punished so that it does not happen again."

"It wasn't one of the girls."

"What do you mean?"

"It was Tommy."

"The groom?"

"Yes, ma'am. I saw him. I thought he was just tightening the cinch. I'm sure he didn't mean any harm. Alexandra orders him around a lot, and I guess he wanted to teach her a lesson. Oh, Mrs. Chandler, I wish you hadn't made me tell you. I don't want to get anyone in trouble." The poor child was on the verge of hysteria.

Mrs. Chandler walked around the desk and put her arm around her. "It's all right, Eve.

You did right to tell me. Now you just forget about everything. I'll take care of it."

The following morning when the girls went out to the stables, there was a new groom.

A few months later, there was another unpleasant incident at the school. Several of the girls had been caught smoking marijuana and one of them accused Eve of supplying it and selling it Eve angrily denied it. A search by Mrs. Chandler revealed marijuana hidden in Alexandra's locker.

"I don't believe she did it," Eve said stoutly. "Someone put it there. I know it."

An account of the incident was sent to Kate by the headmistress, and Kate admired Eve's loyalty in shielding her sister. She was a McGregor, all right.

On the twins' fifteenth birthday, Kate took them to the estate in South Carolina, where she gave a large party for them. It was not too early to see to it that Eve was exposed to the proper young men, and every eligible young man around was invited to the girls' party.

The boys were at the awkward age where they were not yet seriously interested in girls, but Kate made it her business to see that acquaintances were made and friendships formed. Somewhere among these young boys could be the man in Eve's future, the future of Kruger-Brent, Ltd.

Alexandra did not enjoy parties, but she always pretended she was having a good time in order not to disappoint her grandmother. Eve adored parties. She loved dressing up, being admired. Alexandra preferred reading and painting. She spent hours looking at her father's paintings at Dark Harbor, and she wished she could have known him before he became ill. He appeared at the house on holidays with his male companion, but Alexandra found it impossible to reach her father. He was a pleasant, amiable stranger who wanted to please, but had nothing to say. Their grandfather, Frederick Hoffman, lived in Germany, but was ill. The twins seldom saw him.

In her second year at school, Eve became pregnant. For several weeks she had been pale and listless and had missed some morning classes. When she began to have frequent periods of nausea, she was sent to the infirmary and examined. Mrs. Chandler had been hastily summoned.

"Eve is pregnant," the doctor told her.

"But—that's impossible! How could it have happened?"

The doctor replied mildly, "In the usual fashion, I would pre-sume."

"But she's just a child."

"Well, this child is going to be a mother."

Eve bravely refused to talk. "I don't want to get anyone in trouble," she kept saying.

It was the kind of answer Mrs. Chandler expected from Eve.

"Eve, dear, you must tell me what happened."

And so at last Eve broke down. "I was raped," she said, and burst into tears.

Mrs. Chandler was shocked. She held Eve's trembling body close to her and demanded,

"Who was it?"

"Mr. Parkinson,"

Her English teacher.

If it had been anyone else but Eve, Mrs. Chandler would not have believed it. Joseph Parkinson was a quiet man with a wife and three children. He had taught at Briarcrest School for eight years, and he was the last one Mrs. Chandler would have ever suspected.

She called him into her office, and she knew instantly that Eve had told the truth. He sat facing her, his face twitching with nervousness.

"You know why I've sent for you, Mr. Parkinson?"

"I—I think so."

"It concerns Eve."

"Yes. I—I guessed that."

"She says you raped her."

Parkinson looked at her in disbelief. "Raped her? My God! If anyone was raped, it was me." In his excitement he lapsed into the ungrammatical.

Mrs. Chandler said contemptuously, "Do you know what you're saying? That child is—"

"She's not a child." His voice was venomous. "She's a devil." He wiped the perspiration from his brow. "All semester she sat in the front row of my class, with her dress hiked up.

After class she would come up and ask a lot of meaningless questions while she rubbed herself against me. I didn't take her seriously. Then one afternoon about six weeks ago she came over to my house when my wife and children were away and—" His voice broke.

"Oh, Jesus! I couldn't help it." He burst into tears.

They brought Eve into the office. Her manner was composed. She looked into Mr.

Parkinson's eyes, and it was he who turned

away first. In the office were Mrs. Chandler, the assistant principal and the chief of police of the small town where the school was located.

The chief of police said gently, "Do you want to tell us what happened, Eve?"

"Yes, sir." Eve's voice was calm. "Mr. Parkinson said he wanted to discuss my English work with me. He asked me to come to his house on a Sunday afternoon. He was alone in the house. He said he wanted to show me something in the bedroom, so I followed him upstairs. He forced me onto the bed, and he—"

"It's a he!" Parkinson yelled. "That's not the way it happened, that's not the way it happened ..."

Kate was sent for, and the situation was explained to her. It was decided that it was in everyone's interest to keep the incident quiet. Mr. Parkinson was dismissed from the school and given forty-eight hours to leave the state. An abortion was discreetly arranged for Eve.

Kate quietly bought up the school mortgage, carried by a local bank, and foreclosed.

When Eve heard the news, she sighed, "I'm so sorry, Gran. I really liked that school."

A few weeks later when Eve had recovered from her operation, she and Alexandra were registered at L'Institut Fernwood, a Swiss finishing school near Lausanne.

There was a fire burning in Eve that was so fierce she could not put it out. It was not sex alone: That was only a small part of it. It was a rage to live, a need to do everything, be everything. Life was a lover, and Eve was desperate to possess it with all she had in her.

She was jealous of everyone. She went to the ballet and hated the ballerina because she herself was not up there dancing and winning the cheers of the audience. She wanted to be a scientist, a singer, a surgeon, a pilot, an actress. She wanted to do everything, and do it better than anyone else had ever done it. She wanted it all, and she could not wait.

Across the valley from L'Institut Fernwood was a boys' military school. By the time Eve was seventeen, nearly every student and almost half the instructors were involved with her. She flirted outrageously and had affairs indiscriminately, but this time she took proper precautions, for she had no intention of ever getting pregnant again. She enjoyed sex, but it was not the act itself Eve loved, it was the power it gave her. She was the one in control.

She gloated over the pleading looks of the boys and men who wanted to take her to bed and make love to her. She enjoyed teasing them and watching their hunger grow. She enjoyed the lying promises they made in order to possess her. But most of all, Eve enjoyed the power she had over their bodies. She could bring them to an erection with a kiss, and wither them with a word. She did not need them, they needed her. She controlled them totally, and it was a tremendous feeling. Within minutes she could measure a man's strengths and weaknesses. She decided men were fools, all of them.

Eve was beautiful and intelligent and an heiress to one of the world's great fortunes, and she had had more than a dozen serious proposals of marriage. She was not interested.

The only boys who attracted her were the ones Alexandra liked.

At a Saturday-night school dance, Alexandra met an attentive young French student named Rene Mallot. He was not handsome, but he was intelligent and sensitive, and Alexandra thought he was wonderful. They arranged to meet in town the following Saturday.

"Seven o'clock," Rene said.

"I'll be waiting."

In their room that night, Alexandra told Eve about her new friend. "He's not like the other boys. He's rather shy and sweet. We're going to the theater Saturday."

"You like him a lot, don't you, little sister?" Eve teased.

Alexandra blushed. "I just met him, but he seems— Well, you know."

Eve lay back on her bed, hands clasped behind her head. "No, I don't know. Tell me. Did he try to take you to bed?"

"Eve! He's not that kind of boy at all. I told you... he's—he's shy."

"Well, well. My little sister's in love."

"Of course I'm not! Now I wish I hadn't told you."

"I'm glad you did," Eve said sincerely.

When Alexandra arrived in front of the theater the following Saturday, Rene was nowhere in sight. Alexandra waited on the street corner for more than an hour, ignoring the stares of pass-ers-by, feeling like a fool. Finally she had a bad dinner alone in a small cafe and returned to school, miserable. Eve was not in their room. Alexandra read until curfew and then turned out the

lights. It was almost two a.m. when Alexandra heard Eve sneak into the room.

"I was getting worried about you," Alexandra whispered.

"I ran into some old friends. How was your evening—divine?"

"It was dreadful. He never even bothered to show up."

"That's a shame," Eve said sympathetically. "But you must learn never to trust a man."

"You don't think anything could have happened to him?"

"No, Alex. I think he probably found somebody he liked better."

Of course he did, Alexandra thought. She was not really surprised. She had no idea how beautiful she was, or how admirable. She had lived all her life in the shadow of her twin sister. She adored her, and it seemed only right to Alexandra that everyone should be attracted to Eve. She felt inferior to Eve, but it never occurred to her that her sister had been carefully nourishing that feeling since they were children.

There were other broken dates. Boys Alexandra liked would seem to respond to her, and then she would never see them again. One weekend she ran into Rene unexpectedly on the streets of Lausanne. He hurried up to her and said, "What happened? You promised you would call me."

"Call you? What are you talking about?"

He stepped back, suddenly wary. "Eve... ?"

"No, Alexandra."

His face flushed. "I—I'm sorry. I have to go." And he hurried away, leaving her staring after him in confusion.

That evening when Alexandra told Eve about the incident, Eve shrugged and said, "He's obviously fou. You're much better off without him, Alex."

In spite of her feeling of expertise about men, there was one male weakness of which Eve was unaware, and it almost proved to be her undoing. From the beginning of time, men have boasted of their conquests, and the students at the military school were no different. They discussed Eve Blackwell with admiration and awe.

"When she was through with me, I couldn't move ..."

"I never thought I'd have a piece of ass like that..."

"She's got a pussy that talks to you ..."

"God, she's like a tigress in bed!"

Since at least two dozen boys and half a dozen teachers were praising Eve's libidinous talents, it soon became the school's worst-kept secret. One of the instructors at the military school mentioned the gossip to a teacher at L'Institut Fernwood, and she in turn reported it to Mrs. Collins, the headmistress. A discreet investigation was begun, and the result was a meeting between the headmistress and Eve.

"I think it would be better for the reputation of this school if you left immediately."

Eve stared at Mrs. Collins as though the lady were demented. "What on earth are you talking about?"

'I'm talking about the fact that you have been servicing half the military academy. The other half seems to be lined up, eagerly waiting."

"I've never heard such terrible lies in my whole life." Eve's voice was quivering with indignation. "Don't think I'm not going to report this to my grandmother. When she hears—"

"I will spare you the trouble," the headmistress interrupted. "I would prefer to avoid embarrassment to L'Institut Fernwood, but if you do not leave quietly, I have a list of names I intend to send to your grandmother."

"I'd like to see that list!"

Mrs. Collins handed it to Eve without a word. It was a long list. Eve studied it and noted that at least seven names were missing. She sat there, quietly thinking.

Finally she looked up and said imperiously, 'This is obviously some kind of plot against my family. Someone is trying to embarrass my grandmother through me. Rather than let that happen, I will leave."

"A very wise decision," Mrs. Collins said dryly. "A car will drive you to the airport in the morning. I'll cable your

grandmother that you're coming home. You're dismissed." Eve turned and started for the door, then suddenly thought of

something. "What about my sister?" "Alexandra may remain here."

When Alexandra returned to the dormitory after her last class, she found Eve packing.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going home."

"Home? In the middle of the term?"

Eve turned to face her sister. "Alex, don't you really have any idea what a waste this school is? We're not learning anything here. We're just killing time."

Alexandra was listening in surprise. "I had no idea you felt that way, Eve."

"I've felt like this every damn day for the whole bloody year. The only reason I stuck it out was because of you. You seemed to be enjoying it so much."

"I am, but—"

"I'm sorry, Alex. I just can't take it any longer. I want to get back to New York. I want to go home where we belong."

"Have you told Mrs. Collins?"

"A few minutes ago."

"How did she take it?"

"How did you expect her to take it? She was miserable— afraid it would make her school look bad. She begged me to stay."

Alexandra sat down on the edge of the bed. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. This has nothing to do with you."

"Of course it has. If you're that unhappy here—" She stopped. "You're probably right. It is a bloody waste of time. Who needs to conjugate Latin verbs?"

"Right. Or who gives a fig about Hannibal or his bloody brother, Hasdrubal?"

Alexandra walked over to the closet, took out her suitcase and put it on the bed.

Eve smiled. "I wasn't going to ask you to leave here, Alex, but I'm really glad we're going home together."

Alexandra pressed her sister's hand. "So am I."

Eve said casually, "Tell you what. While I finish packing, call Gran and tell her we'll be on the plane home tomorrow. Tell her we can't stand this place. Will you do that?"

'Yes." Alexandra hesitated. "I don't think she's going to like it."

"Don't worry about the old lady," Eve said confidently. "I can handle her."

And Alexandra had no reason to doubt it. Eve was able to make Gran do pretty much what she wanted. But then, Alexandra thought, how could anyone refuse Eve anything?

She went to make the phone call.

Kate Blackwell had friends and enemies and business associates in high places, and for the last few months disturbing rumors had been coming to her ears. In the beginning she had ignored them as petty jealousies. But they persisted. Eve was seeing too much of the boys at a military school in Switzerland. Eve had an abortion. Eve was being treated for a social disease.

Thus, it was with a degree of relief that Kate learned that her granddaughters were coming home. She intended to get to the bottom of the vile rumors.

The day the girls arrived, Kate was at home waiting for them. She took Eve into the sitting room off her bedroom. "I've been hearing some distressing stories," she said. "I want to know why you were thrown out of school." Her eyes bored into those of her granddaughter.

"We weren't thrown out," Eve replied. "Alex and I decided to leave."

"Because of some incidents with boys?"

Eve said, "Please, Grandmother. I'd rather not talk about it."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to. What have you been doing?"

"I haven't been doing anything. It is Alex who—" She broke off.

"Alex who what?" Kate was relentless.

"Please don't blame her," Eve said quickly. "I'm sure she couldn't help it. She likes to play this childish game of pretending to be me. I had no idea what she was up to until the girls started gossiping about it. It seems she was seeing a lot of—of boys—" Eve broke off in embarrassment.

"Pretending to be you?" Kate was stunned. "Why didn't you put a stop to it?"

"I tried," Eve said miserably. "She threatened to kill herself. Oh, Gran, I think Alexandra is a bit"—she forced herself to say the word—"unstable. If you even discuss any of this with her, I'm afraid of what she might do." There was naked agony in the child's tear-filled eyes.

Kate's heart felt heavy at Eve's deep unhappiness. "Eve, don't. Don't cry, darling. I won't say anything to Alexandra. This will be just between the two of us."

"I—I didn't want you to know. Oh, Gran," she sobbed, "I knew how much it would hurt you."

Later, over tea, Kate studied Alexandra. She's beautiful outside and rotten inside, Kate thought. It was bad enough that Alexandra was involved in a series of sordid affairs, but to try to put the blame on her sister! Kate was appalled.

During the next two years, while Eve and Alexandra finished school at Miss Porter's, Eve was very discreet. She had been frightened by the close call. Nothing must jeopardize the relationship with her grandmother. The old lady could not last much longer—she was seventy-nine!—and Eve intended to make sure that she was Gran's heiress.

For the girls' twenty-first birthday, Kate took her granddaughters to Paris and bought them new wardrobes at Coco Chanel.

At a small dinner party at Le Petit Bedouin, Eve and

Alexandra met Count Alfred Marnier and his wife, the Countess Vivien. The count was a distinguished-looking man in his fifties, with iron-gray hair and the disciplined body of an athlete. His wife was a pleasant-looking woman with a reputation as an international hostess.

Eve would have paid no particular attention to either of them, except for a remark she overheard someone make to the countess. "I envy you and Alfred. You're the happiest married couple I know. How many years have you been married? Twenty-five?"

"It will be twenty-six next month," Alfred replied for her. "And I may be the only Frenchman in history who has never been unfaithful to his wife."

Everyone laughed except Eve. During the rest of the dinner, she studied Count Maurier and his wife. Eve could not imagine what the count saw in that flabby, middle-aged woman with her crepey neck. Count Maurier had probably never known what real lovemaking was.

That boast of his was stupid. Count Alfred Maurier was a challenge.

The following day, Eve telephoned Maurier at his office. "This is Eve Blackwell. You probably don't remember me, but—"

"How could I forget you, child? You are one of the beautiful granddaughters of my friend Kate."

"I'm flattered that you remember, Count. Forgive me for disturbing you, but I was told you're an expert on wines. I'm planning a surprise dinner party for Grandmother." She gave a rueful little laugh. "I know what I want to serve, but I don't know a thing about wines. I wondered whether you'd be kind enough to advise me."

"I would be delighted," he said, flattered. "It depends on what you are serving. If you are starting with a fish, a nice, light Cha-blis would be—"

"Oh, I'm afraid I could never remember all this. Would it be possible for me to see you so that we could discuss it? If you're free for lunch today... ?"

"For an old friend, I can arrange that."

"Oh, good." Eve replaced the receiver slowly. It would be a lunch the count would remember the rest of his life.

They met at Lasserre. The discussion on wines was brief. Eve listened to Maurier's boring discourse impatiently, and then interrupted. "I'm in love with you, Alfred."

The count stopped dead in the middle of a sentence. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said I'm in love with you."

He took a sip of wine. "A vintage year." He patted Eve's hand and smiled. "All good friends should love one another."

"I'm not talking about that kind of love, Alfred."

And the count looked into Eve's eyes and knew exactly what kind of love she was talking about. It made him decidedly nervous. This girl was twenty-one years old, and he was past middle age, a happily married man. He simply could not understand what got into young girls these days. He felt uneasy sitting across from her, listening to what she was saying, and he felt even uneasier because she was probably the most beautiful, desirable young woman he had ever seen. She was wearing a beige pleated skirt and a soft green sweater that revealed the outline of a full, rich bosom. She was not wearing a brassiere, and he could see the thrust of her nipples. He looked at her innocent young face, and he was at a loss for words. "You—you don't even know me."

"I've dreamed about you from the time I was a little girl. I imagined a man in shining armor who was tall and handsome and—"

"I'm afraid my armor's a little rusty. I—"

"Please don't make fun of me," Eve begged. "When I saw you at dinner last night, I couldn't take my eyes off you. I haven't been able to think of anything else. I haven't slept. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind for a moment." Which was almost true.

"I—I don't know what to say to you, Eve. I am a happily married man. I—"

"Oh, I can't tell you how I envy your wife! She's the luckiest woman in the world. I wonder if she realizes that, Alfred."

"Of course she does. I tell her all the time." He smiled nervously, and wondered how to change the subject.

"Does she really appreciate you? Does she know how sensitive you are? Does she worry about your happiness? I would."

The count was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. "You're a beautiful young woman,"

he said. "And one day you're going to find your knight in shining, unrusted armor, and then—"

"I've found him and I want to go to bed with him."

He looked around, afraid that someone might have overheard. "Eve! Please!"

She leaned forward. "That's all I ask. The memory will last me for the rest of my life."

The count said firmly, "This is impossible. You are placing me in a most embarrassing position. Young women should not go around propositioning strangers."

Slowly, Eve's eyes filled with tears. "Is that what you think of me? That I go around—I've known only one man in my life. We were engaged to be married." She did not bother to brush the tears away. "He was kind and loving and gentle. He was killed in a mountain-climbing accident. I saw it happen. It was awful."

Count Maurier put his hand over hers. "I am so sorry."

"You remind me so much of him. When I saw you, it was as though Bill had returned to me. If you would give me just one hour, I would never bother you again. You'd never even have to see me again. Please, Alfred!"

The count looked at Eve for a long time, weighing his decision.

After all, he was French.

They spent the afternoon in a small hotel on Rue Sainte-Anne. In all his experience before his marriage, Count Maurier had never bedded anyone like Eve. She was a hurricane, a nym-phet, a devil. She knew too much. By the end of the afternoon, Count Maurier was completely exhausted.

As they were getting dressed, Eve said, "When will I see you again, darling?"

"I'll telephone you," Maurier said.

He did not plan ever to see this woman again. There was something about her that was frightening—almost evil. She was what the Americans so appropriately called bad news, and he had no intention of becoming involved further with her.

The matter would have ended there, had they not been seen coming out of the hotel together by Alicia Vanderlake, who had served on a charity committee with Kate Blackwell the previous year. Mrs. Vanderlake was a social climber, and this was a heaven-sent ladder. She had seen newspaper photographs of Count Maurier and his wife, and she had seen photographs of the Blackwell twins. She was not sure which twin this was, but that was not important. Mrs. Vanderlake knew where her duty lay. She looked in her private telephone book and found Kate Blackwell's number.

The butler answered the telephone. "Bonjour."

"I would like to speak with Mrs. Blackwell, please."

"May I tell her who is calling?"

"Mrs. Vanderlake. It's a personal matter."

A minute later, Kate Blackwell was on the phone. "Who is this?"

'This is Alicia Vanderlake, Mrs. Blackwell. I'm sure you'll remember me. We served on a committee together last year and—"

"If it's for a donation, call my—"

"No, no," Mrs. Vanderlake said hastily. "It's personal. It's about your granddaughter."

Kate Blackwell would invite her over to tea, and they would discuss it, woman to woman.

It would be the beginning of a warm friendship.

Kate Blackwell said, "What about her?"

Mrs. Vanderlake had had no intention of discussing the matter over the telephone, but Kate Blackwell's unfriendly tone left her no choice. "Well, I thought it my duty to tell you that a few

minutes ago I saw her sneaking out of a hotel with Count Alfred Maurier. It was an obvious assignation."

Kate's voice was icy. "I find this difficult to believe. Which one of my granddaughters?"

Mrs. Vanderlake gave an uncertain laugh. "I—I don't know. I can't tell them apart. But then, no one can, can they? It—"

"Thank you for the information." And Kate hung up.

She stood there digesting the information she had just heard. Only the evening before they had dined together. Kate had known Alfred Maurier for fifteen years, and what she had just been told was entirely out of character for him, unthinkable. And yet, men were susceptible. If Alexandra had set out to lure Alfred into bed ...

Kate picked up the telephone and said to the operator, "I wish to place a call to Switzerland. L'Institut Fernwood at Lausanne."

When Eve returned home late that afternoon, she was flushed with satisfaction, not because she had enjoyed sex with Count Maurier, but because of her victory over him. If I can have him to easily, Eve thought, I can have anyone. I can own the world. She walked into the library and found Kate there.

"Hello, Gran. Did you have a lovely day?"

Kate stood there studying her lovely young granddaughter. "Not a very good one, I'm afraid. What about you?"

"Oh, I did a little shopping. I didn't see anything more I really wanted. You bought me everything. You always—"

"Close the door, Eve."

Something in Kate's voice sent out a warning signal. Eve dosed the large oak door.

"Sit down." "Is something wrong, Gran?"

"That's what you're going to tell me. I was going to invite Alfred Maurier here, but I decided to spare us all that humiliation."

Eve's brain began to spin. This was impossible! There was no way anyone could have found out about her and Alfred Maurier. She had left him only an hour earlier. "I—I don't understand what you're talking about."

"Then let me put it bluntly. You were in bed this afternoon with Count Maurier."

Tears sprang to Eve's eyes. "I—I was hoping you'd never find out what he did to me, because he's your friend." She fought to keep her voice steady. "It was terrible. He telephoned and invited me to lunch and got me drunk and—"

"Shut up!" Kate's voice was like a whiplash. Her eyes were filled with loathing. "You're despicable."

Kate had spent the most painful hour of her life, coming to a realization of the truth about her granddaughter. She could hear again the voice of the headmistress saying, Mrs.

Blackwell, young women will be young women, and if one of them has a discreet affair, it is none of my business. But Eve was so blatantly promiscuous that for the good of the school...

And Eve had blamed Alexandra.

Kate started to remember the accidents. The fire, when Alexandra almost burned to death. Alexandra's fall from the cliff. Alexandra being knocked out of the boat Eve was sailing, and almost drowning. Kate could hear Eve's voice recounting the details of her

"rape" by her English teacher: Mr. Parkinson said he wanted to discuss my English work with me. He asked me to come to his house on a Sunday afternoon. When I got there, he was alone in the house. He said he wanted to show me something in the bedroom. I followed him upstairs. He forced me onto the bed, and he...

Kate remembered the incident at Briarcrest when Eve was accused of selling marijuana and the blame had been put on Alexandra. Eve had not blamed Alexandra, she had defended her. That was Eve's technique—to be the villain and play the heroine. Oh, she was clever.

Now Kate studied the beautiful, angel-faced monster in front of her. I built all my future plans around you. It was you who was going to take control of Kruger-Brent one day. It was you I loved

and cherished. Kate said, "I want you to leave this house. I never want to see you again."

Eve had gone very pale.

"You're a whore. I think I could live with that. But you're also deceitful and cunning and a psychopathic liar. I cannot live with that."

It was all happening too fast. Eve said desperately, "Gran, if Alexandra has been telling you lies about me—"

"Alexandra doesn't know anything about this. I just had a long talk with Mrs. Collins."

"Is that all?" Eve forced a note of relief in her voice. "Mrs. Collins hates me because—"

Kate was filled with a sudden weariness. "It won't work, Eve. Not anymore. It's over. I've sent for my lawyer. I'm disinheriting you."

Eve felt her world crumbling around her. "You can't. How— how will I live?"

"You will be given a small allowance. From now on, you will live your own life. Do anything you please." Kate's voice hardened. "But if I ever hear or read one word of scandal about you, if you ever disgrace the Blackwell name in any way, your allowance will stop forever. Is that clear?"

Eve looked into her grandmother's eyes and knew this time there would be no reprieve.

A dozen excuses sprang to her lips, but they died there.

Kate rose to her feet and said in an unsteady voice, "I don't suppose this will mean anything to you, but this is—this is the most difficult thing I've ever had to do in my life."

And Kate turned and walked out of the room, her back stiff and straight.

Kate sat in her darkened bedroom alone, wondering why everything had gone wrong.

If David had not been killed, and Tony could have known his father...

If Tony had not wanted to be an artist...

If Marianne had lived ...

If. A two-letter word for futility.

The future was clay, to be molded day by day, but the past was bedrock, immutable.

Everyone I've loved has betrayed me, Kate thought. Tony. Marianne. Eve. Sartre said it well: "Hell is other people." She wondered when the pain would go away.

If Kate was filled with pain, Eve was filled with fury. All she had done was to enjoy herself in bed for an hour or two, and her grandmother acted as though Eve had committed some unspeakable crime. The old-fashioned bitch! No, not old-fashioned: senile. That was it.

She was senile. Eve would find a good attorney and have the new will laughed out of court. Her father and grandmother were both insane. No one was going to disinherit her.

Kruger-Brent was her company. How many times had her grandmother told her that one day it would belong to her. And Alexandra! All this time Alexandra had been undermining her, whispering God-knows-what poison into their grandmother's ears. Alexandra wanted the company for herself. The terrible part was that now she would probably get it. What had happened this afternoon was bad enough, but the thought of Alexandra gaining control was unbearable. / can't let that happen, Eve thought. I'll find a way to stop her. She closed the snaps on her suitcase and went to find her sister.

Alexandra was in the garden reading. She looked up as Eve approached.

"Alex, I've decided to go back to New York."

Alexandra looked at her sister in surprise. "Now? Gran's planning a cruise to the Dalmatian coast next week. You—"

"Who cares about the Dalmatian coast? I've been thinking a lot about this. It's time I had my own apartment." She smiled. "I'm a big girl now. So I'm going to find the most divine little apartment, and if you're good, I'll let you spend the night once in a while." That's just the right note, Eve thought. Friendly, but not gushy. Don't let her know you're on to her.

Alexandra was studying her sister with concern. "Does Gran know?"

"I told her this afternoon. She hates the idea, of course, but she understands. I wanted to get a job, but she insisted on giving me an allowance."

Alexandra asked, "Would you like me to come with you?"

The goddamned, two-faced bitch! First she forced her out of the house, and now she was pretending she wanted to go with her. Well, they're not going to dispose of little Eve so easily. I'll show them all. She would have her own apartment—she would find some fabulous decorator to do it—and she would have complete freedom to come and go as she pleased. She could invite men up to her place and have them spend the night. She would be truly free for the first time in her life. It was an exhilarating thought.

Now she said, "You're sweet, Alex, but I'd like to be on my own for a while."

Alexandra looked at her sister and felt a deep sense of loss. It would be the first time they had ever been parted. "We'll see each other often, won't we?"

"Of course we will," Eve promised. "More than you imagine."

When Eve returned to New York, she checked into a mid-town hotel, as she had been instructed. An hour later, Brad Rogers telephoned.

"Your grandmother called from Paris, Eve. Apparently there's some problem between you two."

"Not really," Eve laughed. "It's just a little family—" She was about to launch into an elaborate defense when she suddenly realized the danger that lay in that direction. From now on, she would have to be very careful. She had never had to think about money. It had always been there. Now it loomed large in her thoughts. She had no idea how large her allowance was going to be and for the first time in her life Eve felt fear.

"She told you she's having a new will drawn up?" Brad asked.

"Yes, she mentioned something about it." She was determined to play it cool.

"I think we had better discuss this in person. How's Monday at three?"

"That will be fine, Brad."

"My office. All right?"

'I'll be there."

At five minutes before three, Eve entered the Kruger-Brent, Ltd., Building. She was greeted deferentially by the security guard, the elevator starter and even the elevator operator. Everyone knows me, Eve thought. I'm a Blackwell. The elevator took her to the executive floor, and a few moments later Eve was seated in Brad Rogers's office.

Brad had been surprised when Kate telephoned him to say she was going to disinherit Eve, for he knew how much Kate cared about this particular granddaughter and what plans she had for her. Brad could not imagine what had happened. Well, it was none of his business. If Kate wanted to discuss it with him, she would. His job was to carry out her orders. He felt a momentary flash of pity for the lovely young woman before him. Kate had not been much older when he had first met her. Neither had he. And now he was a gray-haired old fool, still hoping that one day Kate Blackwell would realize there was someone who loved her very deeply.

He said to Eve, "I have some papers for you to sign. If you'll just read them over and—"

"That won't be necessary."

"Eve, it's important that you understand." He began to explain. "Under your grandmother's will, you're the beneficiary of an irrevocable trust fund currently in excess of five million dollars. Your grandmother is the executor. At her discretion, the money can be paid to you at any time from the age of twenty-one to thirty-five." He cleared his throat.

"She has elected to give it to you when you reach age thirty-five."

It was a slap in the face.

"Beginning today, you will receive a weekly allowance of two hundred fifty dollars."

It was impossible! One decent dress cost more than that. There was no way she could live on $250 a week. This was being done to humiliate her. This bastard was probably in on it with her grandmother. He was sitting behind his big desk, enjoying himself, laughing.

She wanted to pick up the large bronze paperweight in front of him and smash his head in.

She could almost feel the crunch of bone under her hand.

Brad droned on. "You are not to have any charge accounts, private or otherwise, and you are not to use the Blackwell name at any stores. Anything you purchase must be paid for in cash."

The nightmare was getting worse and worse.

"Next. If there is any gossip connected with your name in any newspaper or magazine—local or foreign—your weekly income will be stopped. Is that clear?"

"Yes." Her voice was a whisper.

"You and your sister Alexandra were issued insurance policies on your grandmother's life for five million dollars apiece. The policy you hold was canceled as of this morning. At the end of one year," Brad went on, "if your grandmother is satisfied with your behavior, your weekly allowance will be doubled." He hesitated. "There is one final stipulation."

She wants to hang me in public by my thumbs. "Yes?"

Brad Rogers looked uncomfortable. "Your grandmother does not wish ever to see you again, Eve."

Well, I want to see you one more time, old woman. I want to see you dying in agony.

Brad's voice trickled through to the cauldron of Eve's mind. "If you have any problems, you are to telephone me. She does not want you to come to this building again, or to visit any of the family estates."

He had tried to argue with Kate about that. "My God, Kate, she's your granddaughter, your flesh and blood. You're treating her like a leper."

"She is a leper."

And the discussion had ended.

Now Brad said awkwardly, "Well, I think that covers everything. Are there any questions, Eve?"

"No." She was in shock.

"Then if you'll just sign these papers ..."

Ten minutes later, Eve was on the street again. There was a check for $250 in her purse.

The following morning Eve called on a real-estate agent and began looking for an apartment. In her fantasies, she had envisioned a beautiful penthouse overlooking Central Park, the rooms done in white with modern furniture, and a terrace where she could entertain guests. Reality came as a stunning blow. It seemed there were no Park Avenue penthouses available for someone with an income of $250 a week. What was available was a one-room studio apartment in Little Italy with a couch that became a bed, a nook that the real-estate agent euphemistically referred to as the "library," a small kitchenette and a tiny bathroom with stained tile.

"Is—is this the best you have?" Eve asked.

"No," the agent informed her. "I've got a twenty-room town-house on Sutton Place for a half a million dollars, plus maintenance."

You bastard! Eve thought.

Real despair did not hit Eve until the following afternoon when she moved in. It was a prison. Her dressing room at home had been as large as this entire apartment. She thought of Alexandra enjoying herself in the huge house on Fifth Avenue. My God, why couldn't Alexandra have burned to death? It had been so close! If she had died and Eve had been the only heiress, things would have been different. Her grandmother would not have dared disinherit her.

But if Kate Blackwell thought that Eve intended to give up her heritage that easily, she did not know her granddaughter. Eve had no intention of trying to live on $250 a week.

There was five million dollars that belonged to her, sitting in a bank, and that vicious old woman was keeping it from her. There has to be a way to get my hands on that money. I will find it.

The solution came the following day.

"And what can I do for you, Miss Blackwell?" Alvin Seagram asked deferentially. He was vice-president of the National Union Bank, and he was, in fact, prepared to do almost anything. What kind Fates had brought this young woman to him? If he could secure the Kruger-Brent account, or any part of it, his career would rise like a rocket.

'There's some money in trust for me," Eve explained. "Five million dollars. Because of the rules of the trust, it won't come to me until I'm thirty-five years old." She smiled ingenuously. 'That seems so long from now."

"At your age, I'm sure it does," the banker smiled. "You're— nineteen?"

'Twenty-one."

"And beautiful, if you'll permit me to say so, Miss Blackwell.'

Eve smiled demurely. "Thank you, Mr. Seagram." It was going to be simpler than she thought. The man's an idiot.

He could feel the rapport between them. She likes me. "How exactly may we help you?"

"Well, I was wondering if it would be possible to borrow an advance on my trust fund.

You see, I need the money now more than I'll need it later. I'm engaged to be married. My fiance is a construction engineer working in Israel, and he won't be back in this country for another three years."

Alvin Seagram was all sympathy. "I understand perfectly." His heart was pounding wildly.

Of course, he could grant her request. Money was advanced against trust funds all the time. And when he had satisfied her, she would sent him other members of the Blackwell family, and he would satisfy them. Oh, how he would satisfy them! After that, there would be no stopping him. He would be made a member of the executive board of National Union. Perhaps one day its chairman. And he owed all this to the delicious little blonde seated across the desk.

"No problem at all," Alvin Seagram assured Eve. "It's a very simple transaction. You understand that we could not loan you the entire amount, but we could certainly let you have, say, a million immediately. Would that be satisfactory?"

"Perfectly," Eve said, trying not to show her exhilaration.

"Fine. If you'll just give me the details of the trust ..." He picked up a pen.

"You can get in touch with Brad Rogers at Kruger-Brent. He'll give you all the information you need." "I'll give him a call right away." Eve rose. "How long will it take?"

"No more than a day or two. I'll rush it through personally." She held out a lovely, delicate hand. "You're very kind."

The moment Eve was out of the office, Alvin Seagram picked up the telephone. "Get me Mr. Brad Rogers at Kruger-Brent, Limited." The very name sent a delicious shiver up his spine.

Two days later Eve returned to the bank and was ushered into Alvin Seagram's office.

His first words were, "I'm afraid I can't help you, Miss Blackwell."

Eve could not believe what she was hearing. "I don't understand. You said it was simple.

You said—"

"I'm sorry. I was not in possession of all the facts."

How vividly he recalled the conversation with Brad Rogers. "Yes, there is a five-million-dollar trust fund in Eve Blackwell's name. Your bank is perfectly free to advance any amount of money you wish against it. However, I think it only fair to caution you that Kate Blackwell would consider it an unfriendly act."

There was no need for Brad Rogers to spell out what the consequences could be.

Kruger-Brent had powerful friends everywhere. And if those friends started pulling money out of National Union, Alvin Seagram did not have to guess what it would do to his career.

"I'm sorry," he repeated to Eve. "There's nothing I can do."

Eve looked at him, frustrated. But she would not let this man know what a blow he had dealt her. 'Thank you for your trouble. There are other banks in New York. Good day."

"Miss Blackwell," Alvin Seagram told her, "there isn't a bank in the world that will loan you one penny against that trust."

Alexandra was puzzled. In the past, her grandmother had made it obvious in a hundred ways that she favored Eve. Now,

overnight everything had changed. She knew something terrible had happened between Kate and Eve, but she had no idea what it could have been.

Whenever Alexandra tried to bring up the subject, her grandmother would say, "There is nothing to discuss. Eve chose her own life."

Nor could Alexandra get anything out of Eve.

Kate Blackwell began spending a great deal of time with Alexandra. Alexandra was intrigued. She was not merely in her grandmother's presence, she was becoming an actual part of her life. It was as though her grandmother were seeing her for the first time.

Alexandra had an odd feeling she was being evaluated.

Kate was seeing her granddaughter for the first time, and because she had been bitterly deceived once, she was doubly careful in forming an opinion about Eve's twin. She spent every possible moment with Alexandra, and she probed and questioned and listened. And in the end she was satisfied.

It was not easy to know Alexandra. She was a private person, more reserved than Eve.

Alexandra had a quick, lively intelligence, and her innocence, combined with her beauty, made her all the more endearing. She had always received countless invitations to parties and dinners and the theater, but now it was Kate who decided which invitations Alexandra should accept and which ones she should refuse. The fact that a suitor was eligible was not enough—not nearly enough. What Kate was looking for was a man capable of helping Alexandra run Kate's dynasty. She said nothing of this to Alexandra. There would be time enough for that when Kate found the right man for her granddaughter. Sometimes, in the lonely early-morning hours when Kate had trouble sleeping, she thought about Eve.

Eve was doing beautifully. The episode with her grandmother had bruised her ego so badly that for a short time she had forgotten something very important: She had forgotten how attractive she was to men. At the first party she was invited to after she moved into her own apartment, she gave her telephone number

to six men—four of them married—and within twenty-four hours she had heard from all six of them. From that day on, Eve knew she would no longer have to worry about money.

She was showered with gifts: expensive jewelry, paintings and, more often, cash.

"I've just ordered a new credenza, and my allowance check hasn't come. Would you mind, darling?"

And they never minded.

When Eve went out in public, she made sure she was escorted by men who were single.

Married men she saw afternoons at her apartment. Eve was very discreet. She was careful to see that her name was kept out of gossip columns, not because she was any longer concerned about her allowance being stopped, but because she was determined that one day her grandmother was going to come crawling to her. Kate Blackwell needed an heir to take over Kruger-Brent. Alexandra is not equipped to be anything but a stupid housewife, Eve gloated.

One afternoon, leafing through a new issue of Town and Country, Eve came across a photograph of Alexandra dancing with an attractive man. Eve was not looking at Alexandra, she was looking at the man. And realizing that if Alexandra married and had a son, it would be a disaster for Eve and her plans.

She stared at the picture a long time.

Over a period of a year, Alexandra had called Eve regularly, for lunch or dinner, and Eve had always put her off with excuses. Now Eve decided it was time to have a talk with her sister. She invited Alexandra to her apartment.

Alexandra had not seen the apartment before, and Eve braced herself for pity. But all Alexandra said was, "It's charming, Eve. It's very cozy, isn't it?"

Eve smiled. "It suits me. I wanted something intime." She had pawned enough jewelry and paintings so that she could have moved into a beautiful apartment, but Kate would have learned of it and would have demanded to know where the money had come from.

For the moment, the watchword was discretion.

"How is Gran?" Eve asked.

"She's fine." Alexandra hesitated. "Eve, I don't know what happened between you two, but you know if there's anything I can do to help, I'll—"

Eve sighed. "She didn't tell you?"

"No. She won't discuss it."

"I don't blame her. The poor dear probably feels as guilty as hell. I met a wonderful young doctor. We were going to be married. We went to bed together. Gran found out about it. She told me to get out of the house, that she never wanted to see me again. I'm afraid our grandmother is very old-fashioned, Alex."

She watched the look of dismay on Alexandra's face. "That's terrible! The two of you must go to Gran. I'm sure she would—"

"He was killed in an airplane accident."

"Oh, Eve! Why didn't you tell me this before?"

'1 was too ashamed to tell anyone, even you." She squeezed her sister's hand. "And you know I tell you everything."

"Let me talk to Gran. I'll explain—"

"No! I have too much pride. Promise me you'll never discuss this with her. Ever!"

"But I'm sure she would—"

"Promise!"

Alexandra sighed. "All right."

"Believe me, I'm very happy here. I come and go as I please. It's great!"

Alexandra looked at her sister and thought how much she had missed Eve.

Eve put her arm around Alexandra and began to tease. "Now, enough about me. Tell me what's going on in your life. Have you met Prince Charming yet? I'll bet you have!"

"No."

Eve studied her sister. It was a mirror image of herself, and she was determined to destroy it. "You will, darling."

"I'm in no hurry. I decided it's time I started earning a living. I talked to Gran about it.

Next week I'm going to meet with the head of an advertising agency about a job."

They had lunch at a little bistro near Eve's apartment, and Eve insisted on paying. She wanted nothing from her sister.

When they were bidding each other good-bye, Alexandra said, "Eve, if you need any money—"

"Don't be silly, darling. I have more than enough."

Alexandra persisted. "Still, if you run short, you can have anything I've got."

Eve looked into Alexandra's eyes and said, "I'm counting on that." She smiled. "But I really don't need a thing, Alex." She did not need crumbs. She intended to have the whole cake. The question was: How was she going to get it?

There was a weekend party in Nassau.

"It wouldn't be the same without you, Eve. All your friends will be here."

The caller was Nita Ludwig, a girl whom Eve had known at school in Switzerland.

She would meet some new men. The present crop was tiresome.

"It sounds like fun," Eve said. "I'll be there."

That afternoon she pawned an emerald bracelet she had been given a week earlier by an infatuated insurance executive with a wife and three children, and bought some new summer outfits at Lord & Taylor and a round-trip ticket to Nassau. She was on the plane the following morning.

The Ludwig estate was a large, sprawling mansion on the beach. The main house had thirty rooms, and the smallest was larger than Eve's entire apartment. Eve was escorted to her room by a uniformed maid, who unpacked for her while Eve freshened up. Then she went down to meet her fellow guests.

There were sixteen people in the drawing room, and they had one thing in common: They were wealthy. Nita Ludwig was a firm believer in the "birds of a feather" philosophy.

These people felt the same way about the same things; they were comfortable with one another because they spoke the same language. They shared the commonality of the best boarding schools and colleges, luxurious estates, yachts, private jets and tax problems.

A columnist had dubbed them the "jet set," an appellation they derided publicly and enjoyed privately. They were the privileged, the chosen few, set apart from all others by a discriminating god. Let the rest of the world believe that money could not buy everything.

These people knew better. Money bought them beauty and love and luxury and a place in heaven. And it was from all this that Eve had been excluded by the whim of a narrow-minded old lady. But not for long, Eve thought.

She entered the drawing room and the conversation dropped as Eve walked in. In a room full of beautiful women, she was the most beautiful of all. Nita took Eve around to greet her friends, and to introduce her to the people she did not know. Eve was charming and pleasant, and she studied each man with a knowing eye, expertly selecting her targets. Most of the older men were married, but that only made it easier.

A bald-headed man dressed in plaid slacks and Hawaiian sport shirt came up to her. "I'll bet you get tired of people telling you you're beautiful, honey."

Eve rewarded him with a warm smile. "I never get tired of that, Mr.—?"

"Peterson. Call me Dan. You should be a Hollywood star."

"I'm afraid I have no talent for acting."

"I'll bet you've got a lot of other talents, though."

Eve smiled enigmatically. "You never know until you try, do you, Dan?"

He wet his lips. "You down here alone?"

"Yes."

"I've got my yacht anchored in the bay. Maybe you and I could take a little cruise tomorrow?"

'That sounds lovely," Eve said.

He grinned. "I don't know why we've never met before. I've known your grandmother, Kate, for years."

The smile stayed on Eve's face, but it took a great effort. "Gran's a darling," Eve said. "I think we'd better join the others."

"Sure, honey." He winked. "Remember tomorrow."