And he was forced to live with that.
As the company kept expanding, Kate set up charitable foundations that contributed to colleges, churches and schools. She kept adding to her art collection. She acquired the great Renaissance and post-Renaissance artists Raphael and Titian, Tintoretto and E1 Greco; and the baroque painters Rubens, Caravaggio and Vandyck.
The Blackwell collection was reputed to be the most valuable private collection in the world. Reputed, because no one outside of invited guests was permitted to see it. Kate would not allow it to be photographed, nor would she discuss it with the press. She had strict, inflexible rules about the press. The personal life of the Blackwell family was off limits. Neither servants nor employees of the company were permitted to discuss the Blackwell family. It was impossible, of course, to stop rumors and speculation, for Kate Blackwell was an intriguing enigma—one of the richest, most powerful women in the world. There were a thousand questions about her, but few answers.
Kate telephoned the headmistress at Le Rosey. “I’m calling to find out how Tony is.”
“Ah, he is doing very well, Mrs. Blackwell. Your son is a superb student. He—”
“I wasn’t referring to that. I meant—” She hesitated, as though reluctant to admit there could be a weakness in the Blackwell family. “I meant his stammering.”
“Madame, there is no sign of any stammering. He is perfectly fine.”
Kate heaved an inward sigh of relief. She had known all along that it was only temporary, a passing phase of some kind. So much for doctors!
Tony arrived home four weeks later, and Kate was at the airport to meet him. He looked fit and handsome, and Kate felt a surge of pride. “Hello, my love. How are you?”
“I’m f-f-fine, M-m-mother. How are y-y-you?”
On his vacations at home, Tony eagerly looked forward to examining the new paintings his mother had acquired while he was away. He was awed by the masters, and enchanted by the French Impressionists: Monet, Renoir, Manet and Morisot. They evoked a magic world for Tony. He bought a set of paints and an easel and went to work. He thought his paintings were terrible, and he still refused to show them to anyone. How could they compare with the exquisite masterpieces?
Kate told him, “One day all these paintings will belong to you, darling.”
The thought of it filled the thirteen-year-old boy with a sense of unease. His mother did not understand. They could never be truly his, because he had done nothing to earn them. He had a fierce determination somehow to earn his own way. He had ambivalent feelings about being away from his mother, for everything around her was always exciting. She was at the center of a whirlwind, giving orders, making incredible deals, taking him to exotic places, introducing him to interesting people. She was an awesome figure, and Tony was inordinately proud of her. He thought she was the most fascinating woman in the world. He felt guilty because it was only in her presence that he stuttered.
Kate had no idea how deeply her son was in awe of her until one day when he was home on vacation he asked, “M-m-mother, do you r-r-run the world?”
And she had laughed and said, “Of course not. What made you ask such a silly question?”
“All my f-friends at school talk about you. Boy, you’re really s-something.”
“I am something,” Kate said. “I’m your mother.”
Tony wanted more than anything in the world to please Kate. He knew how much the company meant to her, how much she planned on his running it one day, and he was filled with regret, because he knew he could not. That was not what he intended to do with his life.
When he tried to explain this to his mother, she would laugh, “Nonsense, Tony. You’re much too young to know what you want to do with your future.”
And he would begin to stammer.
The idea of being a painter excited Tony. To be able to capture beauty and freeze it for all eternity; that was something worthwhile. He wanted to go abroad and study in Paris, but he knew he would have to broach the subject to his mother very carefully.