The Highest Stakes of All

by Sara Craven

  She settled herself with a sigh into one of the cane chairs on the small verandah, relishing the peace, longing to start her new book, but unable to dismiss from her mind the horrors she knew were awaiting her later that night.

  She had watched poker games in the past until her eyes glazed over, as they often did when a game continued through the small hours into dawn. But that was through boredom as much as tiredness. She had tried at first to establish some kind of interest in the game, but she still didn’t follow its intricacies or understand its attraction.

  In fact I wouldn’t care, she told herself, if I never saw another pack of cards as long as I live.

  But she wasn’t likely to be bored this evening. Far too much depended on it, and the role of mindless dolly-bird would be even more difficult to sustain than usual.

  It was a good ten minutes before Chris and Julie arrived with the baby, looking harassed.

  ‘He’s been really grumpy at supper,’ Julie reported. ‘Started crying and threw his food on the floor. I could feel waves of disapproval reaching me from the nannies all over the room.’

  She unstrapped a red-faced Matt from his pushchair and lifted him out, whereupon he began to cry again, a steady, bad-tempered wail.

  ‘Leave him to me,’ said Joanna, sounding more reassuring than she actually felt. ‘Go and have a smashing meal together, and I’ll bath him and get him settled.’

  Julie looked at her with a mixture of doubt and relief. ‘Well, if you’re quite sure …’

  Half an hour later, Joanna wasn’t certain of very much at all. Matt was standing up in his cot, roaring with discontent and shaking the bars, only desisting when Joanna picked him up and held him.

  ‘You haven’t got a temperature,’ she told him. ‘And I don’t think you’ve got a pain anywhere. I suspect, my lad, you’re just having a major strop.’

  Any attempt to get him back in the cot, however, met with stern resistance, so in the end Joanna bowed to the inevitable, heated up his milk, and carried him out to the twilit verandah, settling his squirming red-faced person gently but firmly in the crook of her arm.

  ‘This had better not become a habit,’ she said, dropping a kiss on his silky head.

  By the time he’d drunk nearly all the milk his eyelids were drooping, but he was still attempting to cry intermittently as he fought against sleep.

  ‘Drastic measures called for, I think,’ Joanna whispered to herself, and, cuddling him close, she began to sing, clearly and very sweetly, a song from her own early childhood, ‘"There were ten green bottles, hanging on the wall …"’

  As the number of bottles gradually decreased, she allowed her voice to sink lower and lower, until it was barely a murmur, and Matt, thumb in mouth, was finally fast asleep.

  Joanna sat for a while, looking down, smiling, at the sleeping baby. A faint breeze had risen, bringing a delicious waft of the garden’s evening scents. And also, she realised, something more alien. A faint but unmistakable aroma of cigar smoke.

  But Chris, she thought, puzzled, was a non-smoker. Besides, it would be another half-hour or more before he and Julie returned.

  Suddenly nervous, she wanted to call Who’s there? but hesitated for fear of waking Matt. In the next instant she thought she could hear the sound of footsteps quietly receding, yet wasn’t entirely sure.

  She got carefully to her feet, listening hard, but there was nothing—only the distant sound of the sea.

  I’m imagining things, she thought. Because I’m feeling jumpy about tonight. That’s all it is.

  Which was probably why the breeze seemed suddenly colder, too, she thought, shivering as she carried Matt inside and closed the door.

  The crochet dress did not improve on acquaintance, Joanna thought, sighing, as she made a last check of her appearance. Worn with knee-length white boots that laced up the front, the outfit presented itself as the kind of sexy tease which needed a certain amount of sophistication to carry off, and she knew she was nowhere near that level.

  However, she’d done her best. She’d used the heavier foundation she reserved for these occasions, transforming her face into a blank canvas, then smoothed shimmering silver on to her eyelids, accentuating it with softly smudged black liner, before adding two coats of mascara to her long lashes. The bronze blusher on her cheekbones had a touch of glitter, too, and she had applied a deeper shade of the same colour to her mouth.

  Fancy dress and a mask, she told herself, as she applied scent to her pulses, her temples, and the valley between her breasts. Think of it that way.

  There was room for very little but the basics in her tiny evening purse, and as she searched in her shoulder bag for the compact of pressed translucent powder she always wore, she found the slip of paper Chris and Julie had given her, with their name, address and telephone number.

  It was the nearest to a friendship she’d achieved since leaving Britain, and it was also a possible lifeline, she thought wryly as she tucked it carefully into her wallet.

  Denys was pacing the sitting room, and he gave a nod of judicious satisfaction as she emerged from the bedroom.

  ‘Once dinner is over,’ he told her, ‘someone will come to escort us up to the Gordanis suite.’

  ‘Very formal.’ Her tone was dry. ‘As are you,’ she added, removing a speck of fluff from the lapel of his dinner jacket. ‘Is the black tie strictly necessary?’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s a big night. And a very big game. Mr Gordanis can afford to impose his own rules.’

  But can you afford to play by them? was the question she did not dare ask as they took the lift down to the dining room.

  She ate sparingly at dinner, and drank even less, noting that her father was being equally abstemious. Afterwards they drank coffee on the terrace outside the dining room while the time ticked slowly past, building the tension inside her.

  She said, ‘Do you think it’s not going to happen—that we’ve been forgotten?’

  ‘No.’ Denys shook his head. ‘Apparently, he plays for amusement first with some of his friends. After they leave, the stakes rise and the game becomes serious. We’ll be sent for soon.’

  But it was well after midnight when Gaston Levaux appeared unsmilingly beside them. ‘Monsieur Vernon. I am here on behalf of Monsieur Vassos Gordanis who invites you to join him.’ He paused. ‘I should warn you that you will be required to pay one thousand dollars simply to buy into the game.’

  Oh, God, Joanna thought, suddenly weak with relief. We haven’t got a thousand cents. I never thought I’d be glad to be broke.

  But her father was meeting Monsieur Levaux’s questioning glance with an airy shrug. ‘There’s no problem about that. I was told he played in dollars and I have the money.’

  Thanks, no doubt, to Mrs Van Dyne, Joanna whispered under her breath, silently cursing all rich American widows.

  ‘I must also caution you that Monsieur Gordanis is a formidable opponent. It is not too late for you to make your excuses—or at least those of the mademoiselle,’ he added.

  ‘You really mustn’t concern yourself.’ There was a note of steel in Denys’s voice. ‘I’m looking forward to the game, and so is Joanna—aren’t you, darling?’

  Joanna saw the manager’s mouth tighten. As they walked to the lift, he spoke to her quietly in French. ‘Do you ever suffer from migraine, mademoiselle? If so, I suggest you develop one very quickly.’

  If only, thought Joanna, aware that she was being warned and a little startled by it. Knowing, too, that she would probably have to develop a brain tumour in order to deflect Denys from his purpose.

  When they reached the top floor, a small group of men were waiting in the corridor, laughing and talking. As Joanna emerged they fell silent, and she saw glances being exchanged, and even heard a murmur of, ‘Oh, là là!’ from one of them.

  You take no notice, she reminded herself stonily. You behave as if you were a dummy in a shop window. You don’t see, hear, talk or think. And you just pray that Dad wins—
and wins quickly.

  The double doors at the end of the corridor swung open as they approached. The room ahead was hazy with tobacco smoke, and the smell of alcohol hung in the air. Half a dozen men were standing around, chatting as they waited for play to recommence, while a waiter in a white jacket was moving among them, refilling glasses and emptying ashtrays.

  So many other rooms, she thought. So many other times, yet all the same.

  Except, she realised, that tonight there were no other women present. It was then she saw Vassos Gordanis walking towards the door, smiling expansively and talking to a man in a dark blue tuxedo, who also seemed to be leaving.

  As he saw Joanna, the smile faded from his pouched face, and she felt herself quail inwardly beneath his hard, opaque gaze.

  A sudden hush had fallen on the room as everyone turned to look at her, too, and she knew an overwhelming impulse to turn and run, only Denys’s hand was under her arm, urging her forward.

  ‘Come along, my sweet,’ he said. ‘Come and meet our host.’

  She thought, But we’ve just walked past him. And then the group in front of her fell back, revealing a circular table littered with chips and a scatter of playing cards.

  But, more importantly, revealing also the man who was seated facing her across the green baize.

  She knew him at once, of course. He was clean-shaven now, and the curling black hair was combed back, but the arrogant lines of his face with its high-bridged nose and strongly marked chin were quite unmistakable, as were the heavy-lidded dark eyes and that hard, frankly sensual mouth that she’d last seen smiling at her from the deck of Persephone.

  Only he wasn’t smiling now, and the hooded eyes studied her without any particular expression in their obsidian depths as he lounged back in his chair, his tie hanging loose and his frilled white shirt half-unbuttoned, providing her with an unwilling reminder of the bronze muscularity she’d seen only that morning.

  He had a half-smoked cheroot in one hand, while the other held a short string of amber beads, which he was sliding constantly and restlessly through his long fingers.

  He did not get to his feet at her approach, and instinct told her this was not prompted by any acceptance of male and female equality as preached by Jackie’s mother, who saw any demonstration of masculine courtesy as a form of subjugation and therefore an implied insult.

  No, this insult was quite intentional, she thought, designed to show her exactly where she stood in his personal scheme of things—which seemed to hover somewhere between contempt and indifference.

  Why didn’t you just bar me? she wanted to ask him. Tell my father that women were taboo? God knows I’d have been so grateful.

  Instead, here she was, a total fish out of water, the cynosure of all eyes.

  ‘Oh, Dad,’ she whispered to herself, swallowing as Gaston Levaux began to perform the introductions. ‘You really miscalculated here.’

  However, on the plus side, Vassos Gordanis could not possibly recognise her. After all, she looked totally different from the girl in the straw hat whom he’d seen earlier that day. Her distinctive hair had been completely hidden then, while the heavy layer of make-up she was now wearing completed her disguise.

  ‘And now,’ Monsieur Levaux added with open reluctance, ‘may I present to you Mademoiselle Joanna.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I was informed she would be joining us.’ His voice was low-pitched and husky, his English good in spite of his marked accent. The dark eyes swept her from head to foot in a glance that both assessed and dismissed. The firm mouth curled with faint insolence. ‘So this is Kyrios Vernon’s—lucky charm.’

  She heard smothered laughter from the group behind her, and felt her skin warm.

  ‘If she remains silent, then she may stay,’ Vassos Gordanis went on. ‘Tell me, kyrie, is she that miracle—a woman who knows her place and can keep her mouth shut? Or would it be better to send her back to her room before we begin?’

  ‘Yes,’ Joanna pleaded under breath. ‘Oh, please—yes.’

  But Denys was managing to mask his obvious discomfiture with a smile. ‘She’s indeed my mascot, Mr Gordanis. If she goes, she may take my luck with her. And she knows how to behave at these little gatherings. You have my word for it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Vassos Gordanis said softly, drawing on his cheroot and regarding its glowing end almost dispassionately. ‘I am sure I can believe that.’ He added silkily, ‘And we should all enjoy such good fortune.’

  Slipping the beads into the pocket of his dinner jacket, he gestured abruptly for a chair to be brought for Joanna and stationed exactly opposite to where he himself was sitting.

  Which was the last thing she’d expected—or wanted, she thought, forcing a taut smile as she moved to the offered seat. Usually she kept her distance at the edge of the room until Denys made an excuse to summon her to his side. As she sat down, she tried unobtrusively to smooth her brief skirt over her thighs, and realised that Vassos Gordanis was watching the nervous movement, the corner of his mouth curling sardonically.

  Remember what you told yourself earlier, she thought, taking a deep breath, and folding her hands carefully in her lap. You don’t talk, you don’t hear, you don’t think. And now—above all—you don’t look back at him.

  ‘Gentlemen.’ Their host acknowledged his other guests with a faint inclination of the head. ‘Join me, if you please.’

  He signalled again, and one of the dealers from the Casino came forward, gathering up the cards from the previous session before removing the cellophane cover from an unopened deck and beginning to shuffle it, swiftly and expertly. He dealt out six cards face upwards to decide the seating, and to her relief Denys was allotted the place beside her, with a tall blond American called Chuck on the other side.

  Fresh decanters of whisky and brandy were placed on a side table, while around the table jackets were discarded and cigarettes and cigars were lit.

  The stage is set, Joanna thought, and the serious business of the evening is about to commence.

  And knew she had never felt so uneasy in her life.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE game began quietly enough, the betting conservative, no very startling hands, and the atmosphere round the table relaxed.

  Providing that I discount my own state of mind, Joanna thought wryly, trying to draw comfort from the air of calm confidence that her father was currently exuding. But it was still early in the proceedings, she knew, and the players would simply be testing each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

  At the same time, she was conscious that the pair of them were very much outsiders. That the rest—a couple of Frenchmen, a burly South African and her American neighbour—were all clearly long-standing friends and acquaintances of Vassos Gordanis, and each of them powerful and successful in his own right. Not the kind of company expected to welcome strangers into their exclusive and wealthy midst.

  So, she wondered, what are we doing here? Why was it allowed?

  The person who might have known, of course, was Gaston Levaux, but he’d left while the first hand was being dealt. He wasn’t a friend by any stretch of the imagination, but for a moment she’d sensed he could be a reluctant ally.

  And at least he’d never been openly hostile like the man she’d originally mistaken for Vassos Gordanis, who’d turned out to be one of several solidly built employees, stationed a deferential couple of feet behind their boss’s chair.

  Joanna was well aware that this man’s overtly inimical gaze was focussed on her, and had been since the game began, and wondered if Denys had also noticed. And if so, would he take warning?

  His decision to bring her tonight had been a big mistake, she thought, biting her lip, so the best she could do was keep still and try to be as unobtrusive as possible, keeping her eyes fixed on her clasped hands and registering no reaction to the run of play.

  And her conviction that she was surplus to requirements was soon confirmed, when, after the first hour’s play, Denys was winning quite comf
ortably without any dubious assistance from her.

  It was true that the pots were only moderate, but that couldn’t be allowed to matter. Not when they were building steadily towards their agreed purpose.

  Just keep going in the same way, Daddy, please, she appealed silently, and we can be out of this room, this hotel, this place and on our way elsewhere by noon tomorrow.

  At the same time, she couldn’t avoid an odd feeling that the play so far had been almost deliberately restrained.

  ‘Cigarette, honey?’ The usual break had been called in the proceedings, and Chuck was offering her his pack of Chesterfields.

  ‘No, thank you.’ The room already felt like an oven, and her eyes were stinging from the smoke. She noticed thankfully that a member of the Gordanis entourage, in response to a murmured instruction, was sliding open one of the heavy glass doors which led out on to the balcony.

  ‘Then how about a Scotch or some bourbon?’ Her neighbour signalled to the waiter.

  She shook her head. ‘I—I don’t drink spirits.’

  ‘You don’t smoke or drink? Then your vices must be the more interesting kind,’ he drawled.

  Think what you like, Joanna advised him silently. And then go to hell.

  As the waiter came to her side she asked for Perrier water, and noticed his swift enquiring glance at Vassos Gordanis and saw the swift, barely perceptible nod in reply.

  He’s in control of everything, she thought with a sudden shiver. The air we breathe. Even what we have to drink.

  She found herself suddenly wondering how old he was. He looked to be only in his early to mid-thirties, yet in spite of that he’d managed somehow to survive the dangers of the past few years in Greece under the Colonels, and prosper.

  She recalled that Denys had mentioned he was a widower, and wondered how long he’d been married, and when his wife had died. Then paused, startled.

  Now, why would I want to know that? she asked herself blankly. When there are other aspects of the situation that should concern me more?

  Under the general buzz of conversation, she turned to Denys. She said very quietly, ‘I’m being watched.’