His Last Gamble (14 page)

Charmaine watched Jinx slip back out through Payne's office door and slink away, like a cat that had not only had the cream, but the odd canary or two as well.

She bit her lip and tried to concentrate on what Coral was saying, but found it almost impossible. They were doing the final shots inside the Casino, and she was wearing a shimmering bronze silk creation that worked wonders with the red lighting Phil had set up.

But her mind was far from work.

What had Jinx been up to in the office with Payne? True, she'd gone in there without an invitation, that much she'd been able to see for herself, but he'd hardly thrown her out within ten seconds flat, had he?

‘Fizz, you're up next,' the photographer called, and Charmaine sank back into one of the few armchairs scattered about the casino's main gambling room, her eyes straying broodingly to the closed office door again and again. What had they talked about in there? Why had Jinx looked so pleased with herself?

Had Payne got bored with her already? And if so, who could blame him? From his point of view, she blew hot and cold, one minute egging him on, the next pushing him away, and who needed that in their lives?

Time
dragged.

It had seemed to drag ever since that awful afternoon on his yacht. She'd been pathetic! Crying like a baby, just because she couldn't have something she wanted. It was shameful. Except she that she knew, deep down inside, that it wasn't, not really. Because she wasn't being denied a new car, or a flash holiday, or the latest in designer earrings. She was being denied the man she loved, and her heart was breaking because of it. And if you couldn't cry over something like that, what could you cry over?

There was no way around it—she was in a world of hurt, and trying to pretend it was all some minor inconvenience that she'd grow out of one day was not helping one little bit.

Neither was Payne's attitude towards her. Ever since they'd got back from that ill-fated afternoon's snorkelling, he'd been aloof and distant. Oh, not obviously so—he still paid her attention, still bought her drinks, paid her attention and looked the epitome of the attentive boyfriend. But she knew differently. She could see it in his eyes. He was holding back, playing a role, probably as a prelude to letting her down gently. And why not? He probably still thought that she'd had a fit of the vapours over one little harmless shark, and in this day and age, what man wanted a shrinking violet for a partner?

Certainly not a man like Payne. A man who
bet
hotels on a turn of the card! He'd want a woman as wild and free-spirited as himself, not some damp squib of an English rose.

And she couldn't tell him differently, that was what was so frustrating. To be in love with someone who didn't love you was one thing. To be in love with someone you knew you couldn't and mustn't have was yet another. But to be in love with someone who thought you were wet and pathetic was something else altogether!

She bit her lip to prevent more tears of self-pity forming in her eyes, and forced herself to concentrate on the photo shoot. The stunning black model who was draped across an art-deco bar and sipping an outrageous cocktail was wearing one of Jo-Jo's designs in beige suede. She was flirting with Phil's camera as if with the man of her dreams. Charmaine was sure that Fizz would never disappoint a man.

Oh stop it, she told herself morosely. She would just have to take it and lump it. Other women got over broken hearts and lived to tell the tale. She would do the same.

Just then the door to his office opened and Payne walked out, and she caught her breath painfully. He was wearing a black tuxedo and red bow tie, and looked stunning.

Of course, this was the night when friends and invited guests were going to join the shoot as background ‘extras'. She supposed it amused the island's great and good to
be
an accessory in a glossy photo-shoot. It was probably all part and parcel of their glamorous life styles—dinner in Paris, Royal Ascot, the film festival at Cannes, oh yes—and helping out their good friend Payne, by being photographed in his casino by a famous Fashion House.

Some had already arrived and were sipping cocktails at the bar further along, the men eyeing her openly, whilst their women appraised her gown with envy.

It all felt so empty. So pointless.

She saw Payne scan the room, his eyes finding hers and lingering for just a wonderful, wonderful moment, then moving on. She let out a long, harsh breath, and wished she didn't have the whole evening still to get through.

A half an hour later, Payne was still mingling with his friends and guests when Phil called her name.

She was aware of being the centre of interest now, and forced her bare shoulders back and put a sway into her walk. After all, she was putting on a show, nothing more. Nobody in this room, with the exception of Jo-Jo, probably even thought of her as a person. To the men, she was just a beautiful model—someone to brag about meeting perhaps, over a dinner at the club. To the women, she was merely a clothes horse, someone to show how the gown she was wearing might look on themselves.

Her
hair was done up in a complicated top knot, allowing various strands of platinum hair to curl down past her ears, her neck, and rest lightly on one shoulder. With the gown she wore simple beaten copper earrings and nothing else. The dress was very much the star.

‘All right, I think we'll have you by the backgammon table,' Phil said, thinking immediately that Charmaine was oozing class, and backgammon was the game most people associated with the upper crust. She certainly looked as if she could be married to some Earl or playboy Prince.

‘Now, I want you to look off a little to your left and look wistful,' Phil instructed and Charmaine nodded, doing as she was told. And found herself looking straight at Payne, who was sandwiched between an obvious husband-and-wife couple who were both talking to him at once. What was worse, he was obviously talking about her, but in that throw-away offhand kind of way that you talked about mere acquaintances.

If he was trying to make it clear to her that he was distancing himself from her, he couldn't have done a better job if he'd taken out an ad.

‘Great, wonderful,' Phil enthused, snapping away. ‘Now, I want you look amused, as if something entertaining were happening just in front of you.'

Charmaine couldn't help but smile at that. Something entertaining was happening right
in
front of her, she thought helplessly. If you counted watching your whole world crumble as such.

‘Fine, fine. A little more aggro now. As if you want to hit out.'

And so it went on. Finally she was allowed to go, and Dee-Dee took over. She began to make her way towards the dressing room, although there was no hurry to change, when suddenly the woman half of the husband and wife team, called her over.

‘Hello there, coo-eee,' she called loudly, in an unmistakable Australian accent. ‘Do you want a drink chuck?' she asked, deftly relieving a waiter of a glass of champagne as she did so.

Charmaine could hardly turn her back and walk away, could she? But she felt her feet dragging as they carried her over to where Payne watched her approach with hooded eyes.

‘Madge, Timmo, this is Charmaine Reece, the fashion designer,' he introduced her, not as a model, but under her real auspices, and she shot him a quick, angry look.

She knew that Coral, who was flirting with a current Hollywood superstar, had overheard, and had shot a quick, surprised look her way.

‘How do you do,' Charmaine said politely, shaking hands with the couple. Timmo had the look of a farmer, not too tall but wiry, and burnt the colour of a hazelnut, and she could well imagine him owning vast areas of the
Australian
outback. Both of them had that warm and open-hearted attitude so particular of the Australians.

‘Here, try this,' Madge said, handing over the glass. ‘Bubbly always picks me right up. I reckon getting your picture taken like that takes more out of you than people might think.'

Charmaine smiled and gratefully took the glass. She was feeling thirsty, and drained.

‘Hello, here's Max,' Timmo said, and they all turned to watch a tall, dark-haired man come across the crowded room to meet them.

‘Hello everyone,' the newcomer said amiably, and instantly Charmaine recognised his voice. This was the man who'd been talking to Payne in the garden that day. The one Payne had been angry with.

Charmaine's eyes sharpened on him in curiosity. He was a good looking man, a few years older than Payne, and probably in some lucrative business such as antiques or wine growing. He had that look about him.

‘Max, you look done in sweetheart,' Madge said tactlessly, but the other man merely shrugged.

‘Combination of jet-lag and depression,' he said surprisingly, but with a self-mocking smile.

‘Oh, trouble?' Madge said, instantly and unashamedly curious, and Payne grimaced openly.

‘Trust you,' Timmo said to his wife, but
everyone
else smiled, and it was obvious to Charmaine that these were all old and trusted friends, and that nobody took Madge's larger-than-life personality to heart.

‘Actually yes,' Max said ruefully. ‘And since it'll be all over the island before long, I suppose you might as well be the first to know, Madge. Maria and I are splitting up.'

‘Oh darlin', that's a blow,' Madge said, instantly sympathetic.

‘It's been coming for some time,' Max said philosophically, but not without regret and Charmaine tried to sidle away. This was obviously not the kind of conversation meant for strangers.

‘Payne, I was wondering if you knew a good divorce lawyer,' she heard Max say, as she mumbled something vague about needing to get into her next outfit.

‘And before you lay into me, it's not for me, but for Maria,' Max added, whilst Madge gave her a small wave goodbye, before turning back to far more interesting goings-on. ‘I want her to have the best. I don't want any hard feelings.'

Charmaine wondered if that's how all divorces were nowadays. It sounded wonderfully civilised, but she still felt sad as she walked back to the small office that was the dressing room and got into her next outfit. Even though she didn't know the couple involved, the failure of a marriage had to be
something
that left the world a little worse off than before.

Jinx was leaning across a desk, applying another shade of eyeshadow when she walked in, and Charmaine felt her spirits droop even lower. But luckily, just then Fizz came in, having finished her second stint, and immediately began regaling Jinx with the tale of her latest lover—a French Count, who was married and refusing to leave his wife and three children.

This is definitely not the kind of life for me, Charmaine thought, trying not to feel shocked, as she slipped the fabulous bronze gown over her head and slipped into a slinky black beaded cocktail dress, her final outfit of the shoot. She was just not cut out for the hardness of it all. Perhaps a small country cottage and Wordsworth were all she was fit for.

When she went back into the main salon, Max's prediction that his news would soon be all over town was proving true, because already she could overhear people talking about it.

‘I heard he was seeing some other woman,' a formidable looking society dowager, dripping diamonds and malice, whispered loudly to another, slightly younger and more blasé woman.

‘An actress I heard,' she murmured vaguely. ‘They usually are, aren't they. Or models.'

And suddenly Charmaine realised they'd
both
broken off their conversation to look at her! Blushing scarlet, she hurried away, her head down, and feeling—foolishly—ashamed.

Yes, there was no doubt about it, she couldn't wait to get away from this place. It had brought her nothing but misery and heartache.

But as she took her place next to Coral and waited for her turn with Phil, she found her eyes seeking out one man. And she knew that in spite of everything, and even given the whole wide world to choose from, there was no other place she'd rather be than right here, right now.

Because this was where Payne was.

* * *

It was nearly midnight by the time the photo-shoot finally ended, and she was the first one away, slipping out into the gardens with relief. She guessed the ‘wrap' party would go on until well into the early hours, but she was exhausted.

She made her way back to the hotel, the lobby of which was deserted at that hour, and made her way to her room.

She had just slipped off her shoes, taken down her hair and wiped off her make up when there was a tap at her door. She paused in front of the mirror, a cotton wool bud in one hand, a bottle of cleanser in the other.

Who
on earth? She put the things down and walked to the door and tentatively opened it.

‘Payne!' she gasped, opening the door wider even before she considered the consequences. ‘What are you doing here?' she blurted.

‘Sorry but you left this behind,' he said, handing over her bag.

‘Oh, thanks,' she said blankly. He could always have handed it in downstairs, or waited until the morning, couldn't he?

‘Er, come in,' she said. ‘I was just about to have some coffee,' she lied. ‘Would you like a cup?'

‘Love it. It's been one hell of a night,' he said wryly, coming in and looking around the small but pretty room with interest.

Charmaine, more nervous than she could ever remember being in the whole of her life, plugged in the kettle and reached for one of the sachets of coffee that the hotel provided. ‘Milk, sugar?'

‘Black's fine,' he said, his eyes going to the bed, and smiling at the sight of her plain white night-shirt. No sexy teddy for Charmaine.

He prowled the room, coming to a halt at the dressing table and the photograph placed in pride of place on it. It was a picture of two women, faces pressed together, both laughing at the camera. Charmaine was unmistakable of course, her face make-up free, big blue eyes like Ceylon sapphires sparkling out at him.