The Highest Stakes of All (2 page)

She’d sighed. ‘We’re just so disappointed with it all. It isn’t a bit as we’d hoped. Now we feel we simply want to go home.’

Joanna could only sympathise but she was unsurprised. The hotel was a place where little children might be seen but not heard, and Matt had a good pair of lungs on him.

But the St Gregoire had accepted this family, however reluctantly, and it was totally unfair to prevent them sampling the culinary delights on offer in the restaurant.

She took a deep breath. ‘I’ve had an idea,’ she said. ‘We—I—never have dinner until at least nine. If you’re prepared to eat early, I’ll come to the bungalow each night as soon as the children’s supper is over and look after Matt for you, so that you can dine together in the restaurant.’

There was a silence, then Julie said, ‘No, we couldn’t ask you. Couldn’t impose like that.’

‘I’d love to do it.’ Joanna bent, and ran a finger down Matt’s round pink cheek, receiving a toothless grin as a reward. ‘I can’t produce any references,’ she added ruefully. ‘But I used to babysit a lot for our neighbours in England. And I—I miss it.’

Husband and wife exchanged glances, then Chris leaned forward, his pleasant, freckled face serious.

‘Well, if you really mean it, we’d be endlessly grateful. We were actually going to find out today how much it would cost to cut our losses and fly home.’

‘Oh, you can’t do that.’ Joanna shook her head decisively. ‘Because the food really is fantastic. You mustn’t miss out on it.’

The final details of the arrangement were hammered out there and then. Julie assured her that Matt was a good sleeper who rarely woke in the evenings, but that she’d leave a bottle ready just in case. In return Joanna made it clear she would accept no payment whatsoever.

And on that they’d shaken hands on the deal.

Denys had received the news with far less amiability.

‘What the hell are you thinking of?’ he demanded incredulously. ‘Who are these people?’

‘A sweet couple with a nice baby they can’t take into the restaurant for dinner,’ Joanna informed him calmly.

‘Then why don’t they order room service, or switch from dinner to lunch?’ he demanded irritably.

Joanna gave him a straight look. ‘Because they’d be charged a lot extra and they can’t afford it. Not a pleasant position to be in,’ she added with faint emphasis. ‘And as long as I’m ready to eat with you later, why should you care?’

‘Because you might be seen, and there could be talk. You’re not here as some kind of domestic help, Joanna,’ he added with a snap.

‘No,’ she said. ‘But strangely I find I prefer it. And, whatever you say, I’ve promised. They’re nice people, very different to those I usually have to mix with these days, and I have no intention of letting them down.’

It was a decision she hadn’t regretted once, not even on the rare occasions when Matt had woken and grizzled. That brief hour or so in the lamp-lit peace of the bungalow’s small terrace had become a welcome refuge.

A blissful break before she had to be on show, pretending to be someone else, she thought now with an inward sigh.

She said, ‘I shall really miss my baby-watch.’

‘Like an aching tooth,’ Julie laughed. ‘But surely you’ll be leaving soon yourself, won’t you?’

Joanna looked away. ‘I—I’m not certain. It’s not really up to me.’

‘Well, think about us slaving away in the UK while you’re still living in the lap of luxury.’

Joanna’s smile held a touch of bitterness. ‘There’s more than one form of slavery,’ she said quietly. ‘And, believe me, I’d be out of here tomorrow, given the chance.’

Julie stared at her, her bright face suddenly troubled. ‘Are you really so unhappy?’ she asked gently.

‘No, no, of course not.’ Joanna shook her head. ‘Just a touch of the blues, that’s all. I—I have some big career choices looming.’
And that’s only part of it.

Julie got to her feet. ‘Well, if you want my opinion, you should become a nanny,’ she said, adding hastily, ‘But not the stiff and starchy sort. I think you’d be magic, and then, when Chris and I get seriously rich, we can hire you.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ Joanna said with forced cheerfulness.

‘And as for wanting to get out of here,’ Julie went on, ‘my gran always says, “Be careful what you wish for, because you might get it.” So watch yourself, and please don’t get whisked away before dinner tonight.’

Joanna laughed. ‘I promise. But after dinner—all bets are off.’

Alone again, she returned to her book but found it difficult to concentrate. Julie’s suggestion that she might become a professional nanny had set new ideas and career possibilities buzzing in her head, and she couldn’t dismiss them, although she could foresee the problems of trying to free herself from the current situation.

She knew that Uncle Martin would get her back to the UK if she asked for his help.

But Dad needs me, she thought. He said so from the start. Things were going well for him then. So how can I desert him when the going’s got tough?

She collected her things together, put on her tunic, and began to stroll back towards the hotel. She hadn’t gone far when she spotted the hotel manager heading towards her, looking harassed and talking volubly, hands waving, to a plump middle-aged man with a swarthy skin and heavy moustache who was walking beside him, expensively dressed in a silk suit.

And Monsieur Levaux is the last person I need to run into right now, Joanna thought grimly. Plus I wouldn’t fool him even if I was wearing a sack over my head.

She turned swiftly away, taking a narrower path to the right which circled the gardens and led out onto a small promontory beyond.

As usual, she had it to herself. Few of the guests ventured far from the pool, the beach or the various bars.

She lifted her face to meet the slight breeze from the sea as she walked across the tussocks of grass to the farthest point, and looked out over the rippling azure water.

The big yacht was still there, riding at anchor like a dignified swan, with small boats circling it like inquisitive ducklings.

On impulse, Joanna went over to the telescope that someone had helpfully erected on a small concrete platform, and fed the requisite number of centimes into the slot. She adjusted the focus and guided the tube into a slow sweep of the whole bay before returning to its current most prominent feature.

The first thing she looked for was the name, but the letters along the bow were in Greek, so she was none the wiser.

However, it couldn’t belong to Onassis, because he’d died the previous year, nor, indeed, the rich sheikh her father had been hoping for.

And is that a good thing or a bad? Joanna wondered wryly.

In close-up, the yacht was even more spectacular, and Joanna found herself speculating how many crew members it took to preserve that stringently immaculate appearance. There certainly didn’t seem to be many of them around at the moment, scrubbing and polishing.

In fact, she could see just one solitary individual leaning on the rail of the upper deck, and adjusted the telescope for a closer look. Her immediate thought was that he didn’t belong in his pristine surroundings. On the contrary.

He wore no shirt, and she was treated to an uninterrupted view of deeply bronzed powerful shoulders and a muscular torso. With his tousled mane of black hair and the shadow of a beard masking his chin, he looked more like a pirate than a deckhand. In fact he made the place look distinctly untidy, she thought, deciding that he was probably someone from the engine room who’d come up for a breath of air.

She saw his hand move, and something glint in the sunshine. And with a sharp, startled catch of her breath, she suddenly realised that the tables had been turned.

That she herself was now under scrutiny—through a powerful pair of binoculars. And that he was grinning at her, displaying very white teeth, and lifting his hand in a casual, almost mocking salute.

How had he known she was looking at him? she asked herself as a wave of embarrassed heat swamped her from head to toe. And why on earth had she allowed herself to be caught in the act like some—some peeping Thomasina.

On the other hand, why wasn’t he swabbing the decks or splicing the mainbrace—whatever that was? Doing something useful instead of—spying back?

Feeling intensely stupid, and wanting to scream in vexation at the same time, Joanna hurriedly abandoned the telescope and walked away with as much dignity as she could muster.

Which wasn’t easy when every instinct she possessed and every nerve-ending in her body was telling her with total certainty that he was watching her go.

And knowing at the same time that it would be quite fatal to look back and check—even for a moment.

CHAPTER TWO

‘So
THERE
you are.’ Denys marched briskly into the sitting room, kicking the door shut behind him.

Joanna, curled up in the corner of the sofa, finishing off the remains of her breakfast rolls which had not improved with keeping, glanced up warily.

‘It’s where you told me to be,’ she pointed out mildly, observing with faint disquiet the brightness in his eyes, and the tinge of excited red in his face. There was a bunched tension about him too that she remembered from other times. That, and the way he kept clenching and opening one fist.

She added, ‘Has something happened?’

‘It has indeed, my pet. We’re about to hit the jackpot—bigtime.’ He paused for effect. ‘Do you know the name of that yacht in the bay?’

Oh, God, she thought, cringing inwardly as she remembered that insolent, mocking grin. It would have to be that.

‘I didn’t learn Greek at school,’ she said. ‘Only Latin.’

He waved an impatient hand. ‘Well, she’s called
Persephone.
And she’s owned by no less a person than Vassos Gordanis.’

Joanna frowned. ‘Should I have heard of him?’

‘You’re hearing now.’ Denys came to sit beside her. ‘He’s Atlas Airlines.’ He counted on his fingers. ‘He’s the Andromeda tanker fleet. He’s the Hellenica hotel chain—the outfit currently buying the building we’re living in, along with all the other BelCote hotels.’

He smiled exultantly. ‘He’s one of the super-rich. Had the wit to stay out of harm’s way on his boat and some island he owns in the Aegean, avoiding politics during these past years in Greece when the Colonels were in charge. But when the Junta was finally overthrown last year he began to operate freely again, and they say he’s set to climb into the financial stratosphere.’

Joanna suddenly remembered the portly man in the silk suit she’d seen with Gaston Levaux. So that was what a Greek tycoon looked like, she thought, reflecting that the heavy-jowl-ed face had possessed undoubted shrewdness if nothing else to write home about.

‘How did you discover all this?’ she asked.

‘Nora Van Dyne told me over bridge this morning.’ His face clouded momentarily. ‘She’ll never make a card player. Talks too damned much. But she knows everything that’s going on, and this time she told me something I wanted to hear.’

And don’t I wish she hadn’t? Joanna thought wanly. Why couldn’t she go on chatting about the New York cultural scene, the cute things her grandchildren said last Thanksgiving, and what her late husband paid for all that wonderful jewellery she wears morning, noon and night?

Denys leaned forward. ‘Do you know why he decided to buy the St Gregoire? Because he comes here each year to play poker with some of his cronies and business connections and has got to like the place. They have dinner in a private suite on the top floor, then they get down to the real business of the evening—by invitation only, of course.’

‘I see.’ Joanna managed to conceal her relief. ‘Well, that settles that.’

‘On the contrary, my pet. I had a quiet word with Levaux, asked him to pull a few strings. Get me into the game.’ He smiled with satisfaction. ‘And somehow he’s done it. Probably thinks it’s the only way he’ll get paid.’

Joanna moved restively. ‘Dad—are you quite sure about this?’

‘Have a little faith, darling.’ Denys spoke reproachfully. ‘It’s the answer to our prayers.’

Not for me, Joanna thought. Not for me.

‘But I’ll need you to pull all the stops out tonight,’ he added, confirming her worst fears. ‘So get down to the boutique. I’ve already spoken to Marie Claude, and she’s picked out a dress for you.’

‘But it’s a private game,’ Joanna protested desperately. ‘You—you said so. I wouldn’t be allowed in.’

‘That’s fixed, too. Levaux has explained I can’t play without you—my talisman—my little lucky charm—and it appears that Mr Gordanis is prepared to stretch a point on this occasion.’

He paused. ‘According to Nora, he’s a widower with more than just an eye for the girls. In fact he’s got one hell of a reputation. So you definitely have to be there.’

Joanna recoiled inwardly, knowing only too well what would be expected of her tonight and with a man whose sole attraction had to be his money. Because it would never be his looks.

She thought how she would have to smile and flutter her mascaraed lashes. Would have to toss back her hair and cross her legs as she perched artlessly on the arm of Denys’s chair, distracting his opponent for that vital instant when he most needed to concentrate on the cards in his hand.

After all, she’d done it so often before, she thought bitterly. Had learned to move her young, slim body in deliberate, provocative enticement in order to make men stare at her, their fantasies going into overdrive, and their minds dangerously off the game.

She’d hoped, after the incident in Australia the previous year, that she’d be let off the hook, but her reprieve had only lasted a couple of months. Then it was business as usual, responding, when Denys signalled by brushing his forefinger across his lips, as if she was on auto-pilot.

She felt a knot of tension tighten in her chest. ‘Dad—I’d really rather not be involved in this.’

‘But you already are, my pet.’ There was a harsh note in his voice. ‘If we can’t pay our hotel bill, you won’t be spared. You know that. So be a good girl and collect your dress from Marie Claude. And I don’t want you rushing to get ready this evening,’ he added warningly. ‘You need to take your time. Make sure you look dazzling. So tell those people they’ll have to look after their own brat for once.’

Joanna sat up very straight. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I can’t. I won’t. Or you’ll be on your own in that suite tonight, looking down the barrel of this tycoon’s gun.’

‘You’ll do as you’re told, young lady—’

‘No, Dad,’ she interrupted quietly and firmly. ‘Not this time. After all, you can hardly drag me in there by force, not if I’m to convince this Mr Gordanis that he’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a man.’

She took a deep breath. ‘But first I’m going to babysit for Chris and Julie, or the deal’s off. And I have to tell you that this is going to be the last time I act as a diversion for you, because each time I do it I feel sick to my stomach.’

She paused again. ‘You told me you wanted me with you because I was all you had left. Because I reminded you of my mother. So what do you think she’d say if she could see me—paraded around like this, like some—cheap tart?’

‘My dear child.’ Denys’s tone was uneasy as well as placatory. ‘I think you’re taking our little deception much too seriously.’

‘Am I?’ Joanna asked bitterly. ‘I wonder if the men whose wallets I’ve helped to empty would agree with you.’

‘Well, you certainly don’t have to worry about Mr Gordanis,’ Denys said with faint surliness. ‘His bank account will survive a quick raid.’

‘I’m not worried about him,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s you.’ She hesitated. ‘Dad—swear to me that if you start winning tonight you’ll get out while you’re ahead. Make enough to cover our expenses here and a couple of plane tickets to somewhere else, then stop.’ She put a hand on his arm. ‘Please—I’m begging you. Because I need a real life.’

He sighed impatiently. ‘Oh, all right. If that’s what you want. But I think you’re being quite ridiculous, Joanna.’

‘I can deal with that,’ she said. ‘It’s feeling dirty that I can’t handle.’ She paused again, awkwardly. ‘There won’t be any other—problems, will there?’

His mouth tightened. ‘That was a one-off,’ he said. ‘As I told you at the time.’

Yes, she thought unhappily. You told me. So I have to trust you. And I just pray that when tonight’s over I’ll feel able to do that again.

The dress from the boutique did nothing to reassure her, or lift the bleakness of her mood. It was a black crochet affair, with a deeply scooped neck and a skirt that just reached mid-thigh. The sleeves provided the most concealment, fitting closely to the elbow then flaring to the wrist, but that was little comfort when, underneath, the dress accommodated nothing more than a body stocking, giving the troubling impression that she could be naked.

She’d looked at herself in the mirror of the tiny changing room with something like despair. ‘Surely there must be something else? Something not quite so—revealing?’

Marie Claude had shrugged, her eyes cynical. ‘You have a good body. Use it while you are young.’

So Joanna took the dress back to the suite, and hung it in the
armoire.

She spent the rest of the afternoon washing her hair and conditioning it until it shone with all the rich depth of a horse chestnut, then gave herself a pedicure, painting her toenails in the clear light red that matched her fingertips.

Lastly, she arranged the cosmetics she planned to use later on the dressing table, together with her precious bottle of Miss Dior, before changing into shorts and a tee shirt, and heading off to Chris and Julie’s bungalow situated on the farthest edge of the hotel gardens.

Its remoteness didn’t bother Joanna, who loved the sense of privacy imparted by the surrounding hedges of flowering shrubs.

‘I expect we’ve been dumped here out of the way,’ Julie had confided. ‘But that’s fine by us. Because if Matt decides to squall we don’t have to worry about disturbing the neighbours.’

It had another advantage, too, thought Joanna. There was no direct sea view, so she was spared the sight of the
Persephone
together with her owner and any stray members of her crew who might still be hanging around, behaving like God’s gift to women.

The sun was getting lower in the sky, but it was still warm, so she let herself in and took a bottle of chilled Coke from the refrigerator in the tiny kitchen, and the copy of
Watership Down
which Julie had promised to leave for her ‘together with a box of tissues. It’s all about rabbits'.

‘And I’ll give you
Jaws,’
Chris had teased. ‘By way of contrast.’

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.