The Highest Stakes of All

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 comfortably 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.’

‘Of course you are, my pet.’ He flashed a conspiratorial smile at her. ‘You’re a very beautiful girl, and I want you to be looked at.’

‘But it’s not in the right way or by the right person,’ she protested, troubled. ‘I really think it would be better if I found some reason to leave.’

‘Don’t be silly, darling.’ His smile widened, became fixed. ‘Everything’s fine and I need you to stay exactly where you are. They’re raising the ante and the stakes are about to become very interesting.’ He took a satisfied breath. ‘We’re on our way, sweetheart. Trust me.’

‘Then at least allow me to get some fresh air before you make our fortune.’ She rose restlessly from her chair and walked towards the balcony door, taking care to look at no one, and to ignore the inevitable glances that came her way.

Once outside, she stood for a moment filling her lungs with a couple of deep, steadying breaths before advancing to the elaborate metal railing and leaning against it, moving her shoulders gently in an attempt to ease the tension in her muscles.

The darkness seemed to wrap her like a warm blanket, while below her the stillness of the hidden garden was disturbed only by the rasping of cicadas.

And beyond, in the bay, she could see the lights of the boats challenging the stars as they rode at anchor, dominated by the looming grandeur of Persephone.

No matter where I turn, she mused wryly, Vassos Gordanis seems to be dominating the picture.

But he’d chosen an odd name for his yacht, she thought, recalling the stories of the Greek myths she’d read at school. Persephone, if memory served, had no connection with the sea. She’d been a springtime goddess captured and carried off by Hades, the dark god of the Underworld, while she was picking flowers.

‘A classic example,’ her teacher Miss Gordon had said, ‘of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

As a result of Persephone’s abduction, so the story went, her mother Demeter was in such grief that she forbade the crops to grow until her daughter came back to her.

So Zeus, the supreme deity, decreed that Persephone should be returned to earth, as long as she had nothing to eat or drink while she was in Hades’ power.

Only one day she’d found her favourite fruit—a pomegranate—in a dish on the table and eaten six of its seeds, enough to condemn her to spend half of each year in the Underworld. While the earth above stayed cold and barren, only coming back to life with her return for six months each spring.

‘Which is,’ Miss Gordon told them, ‘a nice, convenient explanation for the annual change in the seasons.’

At the time, a much younger Joanna had mused wistfully that if Persephone had only managed to resist the temptation of the pomegranate altogether it would have been summer all the year round, with no frozen knees on the hockey pitch, chilblains, or horrible colds.

Now, with a swift wry smile at her own naïveté, she turned to go back into the suite, pausing with a gasp as she realised her way was blocked by a tall, lean and quite unmistakable figure lounging in the doorway.

Joanna took an instinctive step backwards. She said huskily, ‘I—I didn’t know anyone was there.’

The question Why have you followed me? was also hovering on her lips, but she bit it back. It was his suite, after all, and his balcony. And very soon it would be his hotel, too, so he could go where he pleased.

But it disturbed her that she’d been totally unaware of his presence, and especially that, while his face was shadowed, he could see her plainly in the light emanating from the room. And once again found herself cursing how little she was wearing.

Ridiculous, she thought with sudden breathlessness, to feel so exposed, so vulnerable, yet she did—even though Denys was within earshot.

He said softly, ‘Forgive me for having startled you, thespinis.’ He paused. ‘It’s a beautiful night, ne?’

She said, ‘I—I just needed some air.’

He nodded. ‘You find the atmosphere in the room tense, perhaps. It is understandable—when there is so much at stake.’

‘Really?’ She lifted her chin. ‘I’d have said play has been quite moderate.’

‘So far,’ he said. ‘But the evening has hardly begun. And, after all, so much depends on you, thespinis.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You are Kyrios Vernon’s lucky charm. He has said so.’

She bit her lip. ‘Denys doesn’t need a mascot. He’s a very good player.’

‘I think he will need to be.’ Another pause. ‘But I came to tell you that your drink is waiting.’ He added softly, ‘And that is a circumstance, perhaps, the only one, when the ice should not melt too soon.’

The words seemed to tingle over her skin in some strange way.

She swallowed. ‘Is—is the game about to restart?’

‘Yes,’ he said, after a pause. ‘It is getting late and I think we should waste no more time.’

He stood aside courteously to allow her to pass, but Joanna hesitated, reluctant to reduce the distance between them by so much as an inch.

Eventually she forced herself to move, edging past him, eyes on the ground, hoping her anxiety had not been recognised. Because it might amuse him, and she remembered his smile only too well, she told herself, renewed unease quivering in her senses.

No matter how many signals I may get from Dad, she thought as she went back into the suite, I cannot come on to Vassos Gordanis. He disturbs me in a way that has nothing to do with his being the richest man I’ve ever met.

And it doesn’t involve him lusting after me, either, because he isn’t the one who can’t keep his eyes off me. He leaves that to the paid staff. Besides, I can usually recognise that response from men and I’ve learned to cope, if necessary.

Though not always with the greatest success, a small voice in her head reminded her, at least not in Australia.

I just know there’s something else about him, she told herself restively, pushing the unbidden memory away. Something that I’ve never encountered before, and can’t fathom. Some facet I don’t even want to know about.

Please, she thought passionately, releasing her pent-up breath. Please let it all be over soon, so I never have to see him again.

All the players had changed seats during the break, her father included, but to her dismay Joanna found she was once again stationed directly opposite Vassos Gordanis.

She reached for her glass, and gulped down some of the promised water, thankful for its refreshing chill against the dryness of her throat. And the ice was still intact, she thought, recalling his odd remark. It hadn’t melted too soon at all.

Don’t think about him, she told herself. Concentrate on the play.

She soon realised that her father’s forecast that the stakes would be getting higher was fully justified.

The first pot, won by the South African Hansi Dorten with a straight, was worth over three thousand dollars, and she was relieved that Denys had decided to fold when the draw did not improve his original pair of tens.

But in the next hand his cards yielded a spade flush. There was a flurry of betting, then Chuck, Hansi and one of the Frenchmen all folded. But Vassos Gordanis, Henri de Morvan and Denys did not, each of them continuing to call and raise until there were over twenty thousand dollars’ worth of chips in the middle of the table.

Joanna’s hands curled into tense fists. This was it, she thought. The amount they needed to get them out of here, and some to spare. Make or break.

A second later it was all over. Vassos Gordanis shrugged ruefully, and tossed his cards towards the dealer, and Henri de Morvan followed suit.

Joanna watched Denys rake the chips towards him, her heart somersaulting. She had to bite the inside of her lip to stop a sheer grin of exultation spreading across her face. Because she didn’t want any of these people, least of all the dark man sitting opposite, to know how much this mattered. How vital this was for her future. For everything.

She put her hand on her father’s arm, pressing it warningly. Stop now, she urged silently. It’s a big enough win, so make an excuse, cash in your chips and we’ll get out of here.

But Denys was already selecting chips for the next game.

‘Denys.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper, her fingers tightening on his sleeve. ‘Why don’t we call it a night now—and celebrate?’

He glanced at her impatiently, ignoring the pleading in her eyes. ‘Don’t be silly, sweetheart. Your magic is working, and I’m on a winning streak, so we’re going nowhere.’

But you promised, she wanted to cry aloud. You promised—you know you did….

And remembered too late that he’d sworn once before that she would never again have to use her eyes, her smile and her young body to divert another man’s attention from the game, and how soon his word had been broken.

Or she would not be here, half-dressed, at this moment.

She sat, almost sick with fear, while the hand was played, but all the others folded after the draw this time, leaving Denys with another two thousand dollars to add to his winnings.

He sent her a triumphant wink as he prepared for the next game.

‘Third time lucky, darling,’ he muttered.

Then make this the last, Joanna implored silently. Please—please, Daddy. Quit while we’re ahead.

I’ve never felt like this before, she thought. When he’s been as confident as this, I’ve been right there with him. But maybe I’ve never been quite so disillusioned with my life before.

Yet in her heart she knew that wasn’t it. That ever since Persephone had arrived in the bay and her father had announced his plans her every instinct had been screaming in warning.

And nothing that had happened since had done anything to reassure her.

She had learned to show no emotion, so her face was still, her eyes shuttered and her hands clasped loosely again in her lap as she saw Denys had been dealt a pair of kings and a pair of nines, with a small club as his fifth card. He discarded the club, asking for one, and received in return from the dealer the king of diamonds.

Three of a kind and a pair, Joanna thought, her heart beginning to pound. Full house. Good—but good enough? I just don’t know.

The two Frenchmen folded quickly, but Hansi Dorten and Chuck briskly pushed up the betting, with Vassos Gordanis and Denys matching each call and raise.

Joanna reached for her glass and swallowed the remaining water as the pile of chips in front of her father began to diminish with startling speed.

‘I’m out,’ Chuck said wryly in answer to the South African’s call and raise of five thousand.

‘Fold,’ Joanna whispered under her breath when it was Denys’s turn to bet. ‘Remember why you’re here doing this, and leave us with something.’

Only to watch, helplessly, as her father pushed another pile of chips into the middle of the table and called.

‘I also know when to stop,’ Hansi Dorten said, tossing his hand on to the discard pile.

Vassos Gordanis counted out the requisite chips and added them to the pot. ‘Call,’ he said quietly. His hand moved again. ‘And raise another ten thousand.’

Joanna was trembling inside. Showdown, she thought. The point of no return. Denys and Vassos Gordanis facing each other across the table, and between them—what? Thirty thousand dollars? Forty thousand? More?

Small change to a millionaire. The world to us. Or it could have been.

Because Dad hasn’t enough left now for another call. Not at this kind of limit. He’s been squeezed out. And we’re wiped. We won’t even be able to cover the bill for the suite.

Vassos Gordanis leaned back in his chair. ‘What do you wish to do, kyrie?’ It was a courteous, almost bland question.

Denys squared his shoulders. ‘Naturally bet again, Mr Gordanis, if you are prepared to accept my IOU.’

The dark gaze looked past him with faint enquiry, and Joanna realised, startled, that Gaston Levaux had come back into the room, and was leaning against the wall, shaking his head in grim negation.

‘I think our good Levaux doubts that you would have the ability to pay this debt if, of course, it falls due.’ Vassos Gordanis reached pensively for another cheroot and lit it. ‘However, there is a good deal of money at stake, and I wish to be fair. So I will give you the opportunity to back your hand once more—but only once. Therefore, you may call, and you may also raise me to whatever limit you wish and I will match it. Double the raise. Treble it, if you please. It is of no consequence.’

Denys stared at him, frowning. ‘I don’t take you for a philanthropist, Mr Gordanis, and I am not a charity case.’

‘No,’ the other returned softly. ‘We are both gamblers, are we not? So, if you win, you take the money. All of it. There will be no dispute. I say it in front of witnesses.’

Joanna risked a swift glance round the table. The other men were very still, looking down unsmilingly at the table in front of them, but there was a tension in the air that was almost tangible.

‘And if I lose?’ Her father’s voice was hoarse.

Vassos Gordanis shrugged. ‘Then the money will be mine, naturally,’ he returned levelly.

His eyes, brilliant as jet, and as cold, rested on Joanna, and she felt a tremor of awareness bordering on fear shiver through her body, as if cold fingers had trailed a path down her spine.

‘But,’ he added musingly, ‘you would also owe me the amount you have wagered, and I would require that to be repaid.’

‘And how could I possibly do that?’ Denys flung at him.

‘Not in cash, certainly.’ He drew reflectively on his cheroot. ‘But—in kind. That would be a different matter.’

‘What the hell do you mean?’ Denys demanded aggressively.

‘I am wondering how much you are prepared to risk, Kyrios Vernon.’ He nodded at Joanna. ‘The beauty at your side, for instance. This girl—your charming talisman. How much do you consider she is worth to you?’

He leaned forward suddenly, and Joanna recoiled instinctively as she suddenly realised how right she was to have been afraid. And how much there still existed to terrify her.

‘Because that is the pledge I require, my friend,’ Vassos Gordanis went on, looking now at her father. ‘In full and final settlement. If you play and lose, you give me the girl, and when she comes to me I take her for as long as I want her.’ He paused. ‘I also ask that you give me your word you will honour your debt as I have done, in front of witnesses,’ he added almost casually.

As if, Joanna thought, a bubble of hysteria welling up inside her, he was attaching a postscript to a letter.

She wanted to protest. To scream at them all that she would never—never—submit to such a shameful bargain. That there was no amount of money on earth that could persuade her, either. That she would rather skivvy in the hotel, washing dishes or cleaning rooms, until their accommodation was paid for. Or starve in the gutter if she could get no work.

And, most of all, she wanted to tell them that Denys was not some kind of sugar daddy, as they apparently assumed, nor her pretended uncle—but her own real father, who would protect her with his life if need be.

Yet the ensuing silence was like a hand placed over her mouth. Her lips parted to speak but no sound emerged.

She would have given anything to get to her feet and storm out of the room in disgust, but all her energy seemed to have drained away, leaving her feeling as if she’d been nailed to the chair, unable to move so much as a hand in her own defence.

And if I tried to leave, she thought suddenly, would it be allowed?

Denys was speaking coldly, ‘I presume, Mr Gordanis, that this is some crude and sordid joke.’

‘And I have to tell you, Kyrios Vernon, that I am not joking,’ Vassos Gordanis retorted. ‘The money is there for the taking, by one of us. If you wish to fight for it, you must wager the girl. It is quite simple.’ He shrugged again, his mouth twisting sardonically. ‘But of course you do not have to accept my offer. You may prefer to fold and go on your way. Or you can be as serious as I am myself by naming your own figure and gambling on the cards you hold. Unless you have lost faith in the hand you have been defending?’

‘No,’ Denys denied thickly. ‘I have not.’

Joanna felt as if she’d turned to ice. No? she thought almost blankly. Had she really heard him say no?

Because surely that had to be her response, as in—No, this cannot be happening.

Her father couldn’t be contemplating playing on. It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t be staking her immediate future—her happiness—her innocence—on that kind of flimsy chance.

Even if he’d held a virtually unbeatable Royal Flush he shouldn’t consider it. Not if he loved her.

Slowly she turned to stare at her father, willing him to look back, to meet the disbelief, the agony in her eyes, although instinct told her he would not.

Even my mother, she thought, anguished, always came second to this addiction—this monster eating away inside him. I think that in my secret heart I’ve always known that, so why did I ever imagine he’d be different with me?

She tried to say something. To beg for a reprieve—if not from Denys then from their adversary, who sat waiting, his face an expressionless bronze mask as the silence seemed to stretch into eternity.