Beloved number one internationally bestselling author Sidney Sheldon introduced the glamorous, scheming Blackwell family and its unforgettable matriarch, Kate Blackwell, in his worldwide bestseller Master of the Game. Now a generation has passed, and as the world has changed, so too has America's own royal family.
Yet the intervening years have not lessened the Blackwells' drama or talent for manipulation, domination, and passion. Though Kate is long gone, the children of her beloved granddaughters, Eve and Alexandra, battle to carry on her powerful legacy. Each is determined to control Kruger-Brent, Ltd., the multibillion-dollar international corporation with holdings in diverse industries around the globe. But only one can reign supreme. . . .
Lexi Templeton is a ruthless competitor with the brains and beauty to match. Raised by her psychiatrist father, Lexi burns to follow in her great-grandmother's footsteps and become her own Mistress of the Game.
She is not alone in her ambitions. Her handsome and nefarious cousin, Max Webster, the son of Eve, will stop at nothing to own the prize of Kruger-Brent. Driven by hatred, jealousy, and blinding devotion to his bitter and twisted mother, he will seduce, betray, and even kill to succeed.
And there is another player with plans of his own: a little-known descendant of Kate's great-grandfather. Growing up in poverty in Aberdeen, Scotland, handsome and cunning Gabriel McGregor is determined to fulfill his destiny . . a quest that will lead him deep into the heart of the Kruger-Brent empire.
In a family rife with secrets—murder, hidden identities, perversions—and a depraved sense of honor, the player who wins the game may be the only one who will survive.
Full of the late master's trademark elements—remarkable characters, dazzling plotting, and a page-turning narrative style—this sizzling sequel vividly captures the master's voice and irresistible magic. Vintage Sheldon, Mistress of the Game will enthrall loyal fans and introduce his enduring brand to legions more.
The novelist and screenwriter Sidney Sheldon remains one of the world’s top bestselling authors, having sold more than 300 million copies of his books. Are You Afraid of the Dark? was his most recent in a long line of huge hits on bestseller lists everywhere. He is also the only writer to have won an Oscar, a Tony, and an Edgar Award. The Guinness Book of World Records heralds him as the most translated author in the world. Sidney Sheldon passed away on January 30, 2007.
Tilly Bagshawe is a New York Times best-selling author. She lives in Los Angeles, California, and London with her husband and children.
Before he became a novelist, Sheldon had already won a Tony Award for Broadway's Redhead and an Academy Award for The Bachelor and the Bobby Soxer. He has written the screenplays for twenty-three motion pictures, including Easter Parade (with Judy Garland) and Annie Get Your Gun. In addition, he penned six other Broadway hits and created three long-running television series, including Hart to Hart and I Dream of Jeannie, which he also produced. A writer who delighted millions with his award-winning plays, movies, novels, and television shows, Sidney Sheldon reigned as one of the most popular storytellers of all time.
Author biography courtesy of Time Warner.
"When I was 17, I was happy to be working in a drugstore, because I could steal enough sleeping pills to commit suicide."
"I have bi-polar syndrome and was not aware what was disturbing me until I received an Academy Award and went to see a psychiatrist."
"I have worked 7 days a week as long as I can remember. A business manager of mine gave me $25 worth of tennis lessons. I went down to my tennis court and we played once a week. I really enjoyed it. Playing with the pro one day, my teacher said to me that the money had been spent and did I want to continue. I started to say yes, then I realized that I didn't want to be out on the tennis court. I wanted to be in my office writing. That was 25 years ago and I haven't been on my tennis court since."
Sidney Sheldon's Mistress of the Game
Chapter One
Danny Corretti looked down through the branches at the swirling mass of people below and felt gripped by a wave of vertigo.
"What the hell are we doing here?"
Closing his eyes, he tightened his grip around the ancient yew tree, making sure both he and his camera remained concealed in the thick green foliage.
"Making money," his companion whispered excitedly. "Look, there she is!"
"Where?"
Following his friend's line of vision, Danny Corretti trained his zoom lens on a figure huddled in the very center of the crowd of mourners. Dressed head to toe in black, with a thick, floor-length lace mantilla covering her immaculately cut Dior suit, it was impossible to make out her face. She could have been anyone. But she wasn't anyone.
"Are you kidding me?" Danny Corretti frowned. Below him the churchyard seemed to lurch ominously, the ancient graves rising and falling like horses on a ghoulish carousel. "I can't see shit. Are you sure it's her? It could be Johnny Carson under all that lace."
His companion grinned. "Not with that ass it couldn't. It's her all right."
From the tree to his left, Danny Corretti heard the low whir, whir, click of a rival camera. Refocusing his zoom, he began to shoot.
Come on, baby. Give Daddy a smile.
A clear shot of Eve Blackwell's face would be worth a cool hundred grand to whichever photographer got there first. Anyone skilled enough to capture her elusive baby bump could expect to earn twice that.
Two hundred grand!
Not a lot of money to the Blackwells perhaps, heirs to multibillion-dollar Kruger-Brent, Ltd., thediamond empire turned vast, multinational conglomerate that had made them the richest family in America; but a fortune to Danny Corretti. It was the Blackwells who had brought Danny and his fellow paparazzi to St. Stephen's churchyard on this chill February morning. They had come to bury their matriarch, Kate Blackwell, dead at last at the grand old age of ninety-two.
Look at them. Like bloated blackflies, swarming around the old lady's corpse. Revolting.
Danny Corretti felt his nausea return, but tried not to think about it, or about the excruciating pain in his back from being stuck up a tree for six straight hours. He longed to stretch out, but didn't dare move a muscle, in case he alerted the Kruger-Brent security guards to his presence. Watching the dour, black-clad figures pace the perimeter of the churchyard, pistols clutched like security blankets to their ex-Marine Corps chests, Danny Corretti felt a stab of fear. He doubted Kate Blackwell had hired any of them for their sense of humor.
You'll be okay. Just get the shot and get out of here. Come on, Eve, baby. Say cheese.
Danny Corretti wasn't really cut out for this sort of covert work. A tall, skinny man with preternaturally long legs and an unexpected shock of white-blond hair above his Italian olive complexion, there weren't too many hiding places in the Maine churchyard that could accommodate his lanky, six-foot-two frame. The yew tree had been his best option, but he'd had to arrive ludicrously early this morning to beat his rivals to such a coveted vantage point. As he clung to the upper branches now, every sinew of his body felt like it was on fire, despite the numbing cold of the day. He gritted his teeth, cursing his long legs to the heavens.
Just think of the money.
Ironically, if it weren't for his long legs, Danny wouldn't have been on this crazy job in the first place.
If it hadn't been for Danny's long legs, his mistress's husband would never have noticed his size-twelve feet sticking out from under the marital bed.
Ah, Carla. God, she was beautiful! Those breasts, as soft and succulent as two ripe peaches. No man could resist her. If only that neanderthal she married hadn't punched out early?.?.?.?
It was Danny's long legs that had gotten him beaten to a pulp and landed him (uninsured) in the local hospital. Thanks to his long legs, his wife, Loretta, had discovered his affair, divorced him, and taken the house. Now, thanks to his long legs, Loretta's rat-faced lawyer was demanding that Danny pay alimony to the tune of a thousand bucks a month.
A thousand bucks? Who did they think he was, Donald friggin' Trump?
Yes, Danny blamed his long legs entirely for his current predicament. Why else would he be spending his Sunday morning bent double and freezing his ass off in a four-hundred-year-old tree above a graveyard, risking his neck for one lousy picture of the woman the tabloids had dubbed "The Beast of the Blackwells"?
Danny Corretti's long legs had a lot to answer for.
He was gonna get that shot of Eve Blackwell if it killed him.
The priest's voice rang out through the February chill, deep and strong and powerful.
"Merciful God, you know the anguish of the sorrowful?.?.?."
Behind her thick veil, Eve Blackwell sneered. Sorrowful? To see that old witch dead and buried? Please. If I were ten years younger I'd be doing cartwheels.
Today Eve was burying one of her enemies. But she would not rest until she had buried them all.
One down, three to go.
"You are attentive to the prayers of the humble?.?.?."
Eve Blackwell glanced around at the small group of family and friends who had come to bid her grandmother Kate farewell and wondered if any of them could be described as humble.
There was her identical twin sister, Alexandra. At thirty-four, Alexandra was still a great beauty with her high cheekbones, mane of buttermilk hair and the striking gray eyes she had inherited from her great-grandfather, Kruger-Brent's founder, Jamie McGregor.
Eve's eyes narrowed with hatred. The same hatred she had felt for her twin since the day they emerged from the womb.
How dare she! How dare my sister still look beautiful.
Alexandra was weeping openly, clutching tightly to her son Robert's hand. Blond, delicate and sweet-natured, ten-year-old Robert was a carbon copy of his mother. A gifted pianist, he had been Kate Blackwell's favorite, and Kruger-Brent's heir apparent.
Not for much longer, thought Eve. Let's see how long the boy lasts without Kate around to protect him.
Eve Blackwell felt her chest tighten. How she loathed the pair of them, mother and son and their crocodile tears! If only it were Alexandra's body being lowered into the gaping, frozen earth today. Then Eve's happiness would truly be complete.
Beside Alexandra hovered her husband, the eminent psychiatrist Peter Templeton. Tall, dark, handsome and blue-eyed, Peter Templeton looked more like a quarterback than a psychiatrist. He and Alex made a handsome couple. Peter had once been arrogant enough to think he understood Eve. He believed he'd seen through her, through to the molten core of hatred that bubbled deep within. Alexandra, in her goodness, had never been able to see how much her twin sister hated her. But her husband knew better.
Sidney Sheldon's Mistress of the Game. Copyright © by Sidney Sheldon. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.Anonymous
Posted August 13, 2009
No text was provided for this review.
Overview
Beloved number one internationally bestselling author Sidney Sheldon introduced the glamorous, scheming Blackwell family and its unforgettable matriarch, Kate Blackwell, in his worldwide bestseller Master of the Game. Now a generation has passed, and as the world has changed, so too has America's own royal family.
Yet the intervening years have not lessened the Blackwells' drama or talent for manipulation, domination, and passion. Though Kate is long gone, the children of her ...