Page 5 of His Last Gamble

CHAPTER TWO

Darkness fell suddenly that night, and from her tiny hotel balcony, Charmaine watched, enchanted, as the sun set over the sea, turning the evening from shimmering red to violet, to deepest purple.

The ringing of the telephone shattered the quiet, and reluctantly tearing her eyes away from the first twinkling stars appearing in the warm tropical night sky, she picked up the receiver, smiling instantly as she recognised her sister’s voice.

‘Hi, sis, how’s paradise?’

Charmaine laughed and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Fine, just lovely. How’s Desdemona shaping up?’

‘Oh, you know. Same as ever. Someday I’m going to find a director who actually wants her to fight back!’

Lucy, her half-sister, was currently wowing Stratford-upon-Avon critics with her portrayal of Shakespeare’s tragic heroine.

‘But you’re getting standing ovations. Mother would have been so proud,’ she pointed out.

Their mother had been an actress too, appearing in many British films in the fifties and sixties, before dying ten years ago. Her second marriage to Charmaine’s father had failed, although both girls were still very close to him. A well-respected actor himself, he had always been disappointed with Charmaine’s lack of talent, and had always regarded her success in the fashion world as a poor second best. Not that he’d ever said so. But both girls knew that Lucy, although not his blood, was far more his daughter.

‘I know. I’m thinking of trying to break into films. I’ve had it with this starving-artist-in-a-garret gig. My agent thinks it’s a good time for it. So who knows? My next call might be from Hollywood.’

Charmaine laughed. She could almost picture Lucy’s face, gamin, mobile, a perfect blank canvas for any emotion she cared to portray. But her voice, when it came next, sounded pensive, and Charmaine felt her knuckles tighten on the receiver.

‘So, you’re on Grand Bahama,’ she said, her voice too carefully nonchalant to be sincere. ‘I somehow assumed you’d be in the capital.’

‘Oh, you know Jo-Jo,’ Charmaine said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as tense as she felt. ‘He had his heart set on a specific beach.’ She didn’t mention the casino. She knew she must never mention that. If Lucy got just one whiff of what she was up to . . .

‘How are you feeling? No stage fright?’ she asked, trying to change the subject.

‘Nope,’ Lucy reassured her. ‘I’m having too much fun playing the fair Desdemona to be suffering from stage fright. Besides, Othello is quite a dish. We’re going out for Thai food tonight at this new restaurant by the river.’ Charmaine was pleased. It was only dinner with a fellow actor, but nonetheless a promising sign that her sister’s heart was healing.

For the next five minutes the two sisters chatted happily, then, with a little cry at the sight of the time, Charmaine said she had to go, and they rang off, promising to speak tomorrow.

She showered quickly, washing and blow-drying her hair, before tying it back in a complicated but flattering French pleat.

Next, she walked to her wardrobe and drew out the dark brown velvet dress. Too warm, really, for a balmy Bahamian night, but she needed it to boost her confidence. It was one of her own creations, from autumn of last year. Cut with almost puritanical simplicity, it clung to her like poured chocolate. A deep v, narrow but plunging almost to her navel at the front, was repeated with a wider v at the back, bearing the delicate bones and contours of her shoulders and spine. It clung tightly to thighs and hips, and stopped just above the ankle. Accessorising this with a matching pair of chocolate brown high-heels, she completed the ensemble with long amber and tiger’s-eye earrings and a delicate tiger’s-eye pendant that nestled in her cleavage.

As she suspected, the contrast to her lightly sun-kissed skin and bright fair hair was stunning.

She kept the make-up to a minimum. Rebecca, one of Jonniee’s make-up girls, had always assured her that she had perfect skin, and since Charmaine was still too much a novice with more complicated make-up, she decided to keep it simple. A little blusher, a touch of mascara and darkening to the brows, and a neutral lipstick.

She looked perfect for what she needed to do tonight. She looked like a model.

Gone was the girl who felt happiest in jeans and T-shirts, creating gorgeous evening gowns for others in the converted attic/studio of her small cottage. Gone was the girl who’d disappointed her father with her inability to even so much as star in the school nativity play. Gone was the shy, retiring girl who boys quickly gathered around, only to quickly leave again when they realised what a lie her looks truly were.

Because she didn’t know how to flirt. Didn’t know how to give them what they wanted. A pang for all those remembered and lonely nights shot through her, but she quickly shut them away. Time to concentrate on business. It was the illusion that mattered, after all. Her enemy would not see through the disguise, of that she was confident.

Tonight, the entire Jonniee gang was going to the Palace. It had been Jo-Jo’s idea, to give them an advance feel for the place. So tonight was the night — she could just feel it in her bones — when she’d be coming face to face with Payne Lacey.

The man who had almost killed her sister.

* * *

Payne Lacey checked the slim gold Patek Philippe watch on his wrist, and nodded. Not yet midnight and already the place was packed.

He was wearing black, not a tuxedo, but tailored slacks and jacket that had Savile Row written all over them. A white silk shirt with two buttons opened at the neck. Black Italian loafers, designed just for him by a little cobbler he’d discovered in Napoli, looked right at home against the plush navy-blue and gold-flecked Aubusson carpet that adorned the main salon.

Genuine oils lined oak-panelled rooms. Blazing chandeliers cast bright, sparkling light over the baize tables. At one of the corner tables, a Japanese billionaire was losing at poker, being fleeced by a delighted, unable-to-believe-his luck rancher from Wyoming.

The song of the slot machines from the hall contrasted with the murmur of voices and the clink of Baccarat crystal glassware as waiters and waitresses circled with champagne and their speciality cocktail. There were no clocks. The musical entertainment was confined to the next room. Nothing to distract the concentration of card players, dice throwers and roulette watchers.

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