Master of the Game

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.

“Dr. Harley tells me you have a problem.”

George sighed. “I’m afraid I have two.”

“Why don’t you tell me about them?”

“I feel so ashamed. That’s why I—I insisted on coming to see you.” He leaned forward in his chair and said earnestly, “I did something I’ve never done before in my life, Doctor. I struck a woman.”

Peter waited.

“We were having an argument and I blacked out, and when I came to, I had…hit her.” He let his voice break slightly. “It was terrible.”

Peter Templeton’s inner voice told him he already knew what George Mellis’s problem was. He enjoyed beating up women.

“Was it your wife you struck?”

“My sister-in-law.”

Peter had occasionally come across items about the Blackwell twins in newspapers or magazines when they appeared at charity events or society affairs. They were identical, Peter recalled, and strikingly beautiful. So this man had hit his sister-in-law. Peter found that mildly interesting. He also found it interesting that George Mellis made it sound as though he had merely slapped her once or twice. If that had been true, John Harley would not have insisted that Peter see Mellis.

“You say you hit her. Did you hurt her?”

“As a matter of fact, I hurt her pretty badly. As I told you, Doctor, I blacked out. When I came to, I—I couldn’t believe it.”

When I came to. The classic defense. I didn’t do it, my subconscious did it.

“Do you have any idea what caused that reaction?”

“I’ve been under a terrible strain lately. My father has been seriously ill. He’s had several heart attacks. I’ve been deeply concerned about him. We’re a close family.”

“Is your father here?”

“He’s in Greece.”

That Mellis. “You said you had two problems.”

“Yes. My wife, Alexandra…” He stopped.

“You’re having marital problems?”

“Not in the sense you mean. We love each other very much. It’s just that—” He hesitated. “Alexandra hasn’t been well lately.”

“Physically?”

“Emotionally. She’s constantly depressed. She keeps talking about suicide.”

“Has she sought professional help?”

George smiled sadly. “She refuses.”

Too bad, Peter thought. Some Park Avenue doctor is being cheated out of a fortune. “Have you discussed this with Dr. Harley?”

“No.”

“Since he’s the family doctor, I would suggest you speak with him. If he feels it’s necessary, he’ll recommend a psychiatrist.”

George Mellis said nervously, “No. I don’t want Alexandra to feel I’m discussing her behind her back. I’m afraid Dr. Harley would—”

“That’s all right, Mr. Mellis. I’ll give him a call.”

“Eve, we’re in trouble,” George snapped. “Big trouble.”

“What happened?”

“I did exactly as you told me. I said I was concerned about Alexandra, that she was suicidal.”

“And?”

“The sonofabitch is going to call John Harley and discuss it with him!”

“Oh, Christ! We can’t let him.”

Eve began to pace. She stopped suddenly. “All right. I’ll handle Harley. Do you have another appointment with Templeton?”

“Yes.”

“Keep it.”

The following morning Eve went to see Dr. Harley at his office. John Harley liked the Blackwell family. He had watched the children grow up. He had gone through the tragedy of Marianne’s death and the attack on Kate, and putting Tony away in a sanitarium. Kate had suffered so much. And then the rift between Kate and Eve. He could not imagine what had caused it, but it was none of his business. His business was to keep the family physically healthy.

When Eve walked into his office, Dr. Harley looked at her and said, “Keith Webster did a fantastic job!” The only telltale mark was a very thin, barely visible red scar across her forehead. Eve said, “Dr. Webster is going to remove the scar in a month or so.”

Dr. Harley patted Eve’s arm. “It only makes you more beautiful, Eve. I’m very pleased.” He motioned her to a chair. “What can I do for you?”

“This isn’t about me, John. It’s about Alex.”

Dr. Harley frowned. “Is she having a problem? Something to do with George?”

“Oh, no,” Eve said quickly. “George is behaving perfectly. In fact, it’s George who’s concerned about her. Alex has been acting strangely lately. She’s been very depressed. Suicidal, even.”

Dr. Harley looked at Eve and said flatly, “I don’t believe it. That doesn’t sound like Alexandra.”

“I know. I didn’t believe it either, so I went to see her. I was shocked by the change in her. She’s in a state of deep depression. I’m really worried, John. I can’t go to Gran about it—That’s why I came to you. You’ve got to do something.” Her eyes misted. “I’ve lost my grandmother. I couldn’t bear to lose my sister.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“I’m not sure. I pleaded with her to talk to you about it. At first she refused, but I finally persuaded her. You’ve got to help her.”

“Of course I will. Have her come in tomorrow morning. And try not to worry, Eve. There are new medications that work miracles.”

Dr. Harley walked her to the door of his office. He wished Kate were not so unforgiving. Eve was such a caring person.

When Eve returned to her apartment, she carefully cold-creamed away the red scar on her forehead.

The following morning at ten o’clock, Dr. Harley’s receptionist announced, “Mrs. George Mellis is here to see you, Doctor.”

“Send her in.”

She walked in slowly, unsure of herself. She was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

John Harley took her hand and said, “It’s good to see you, Alexandra. Now what’s this I hear about your having problems?”

Her voice was low. “I feel foolish bothering you, John. I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with me. If Eve hadn’t insisted, I never would have come. I feel fine, physically.”

“What about emotionally?”

She hesitated. “I don’t sleep very well.”

“What else?”

“You’ll think I’m a hypochondriac…”

“I know you better than that, Alexandra.”

She lowered her eyes. “I feel depressed all the time. Sort of anxious and…tired. George goes out of his way to make me happy and to think up things for us to do together and places for us to go. The problem is that I don’t feel like doing anything or going anywhere. Everything seems so—hopeless.”

He was listening to every word, studying her. “Anything else?”

“I—I think about killing myself.” Her voice was so soft he could barely hear her. She looked up at him and said, “Am I going crazy?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t think you’re going crazy. Have you ever heard of anhedonia?”

She shook her head.

“It’s a biological disturbance that causes the symptoms you’ve described. It’s a fairly common condition, and there are some new drugs that make it easy to treat. These drugs have no side effects, and they’re effective. I’m going to examine you, but I’m sure we won’t find anything really wrong.”

When the examination was completed and she had gotten dressed again, Dr. Harley said, “I’m going to give you a prescription for Wellbutrin. It’s part of a new generation of antidepressants—one of the new wonder drugs.”

She watched listlessly as he wrote out a prescription.

“I want you to come back and see me a week from today. In the meantime, if you have any problems, call me, day or night.” He handed her the prescription.

“Thank you, John,” she said. “I just hope these will stop the dream.”

“What dream?”

“Oh, I thought I told you. It’s the same one every night. I’m on a boat and it’s windy, and I hear the sea calling. I walk to the rail and I look down and I see myself in the water, drowning…”

She walked out of Dr. Harley’s office and onto the street. She leaned against the building, taking deep breaths. I did it, Eve thought exultantly. I got away with it. She threw the prescription away.