His Last Gamble (15 page)

And he recognised the other woman
instantly
too.

Lucy.

His eyes narrowed, his hand, which had been in the act of reaching out to bring the photograph closer, suddenly froze in mid air.

Was Lucy part of her famous family? Well, why not? Now he came to think of it, he could remember Lucy talking about having an older sister. And he'd instantly recognised the name of the venerable doyen of the British stage and screen for the last fifty years when Lucy had talked about her father.

So Charmaine was the other daughter. The one who didn't like the limelight.

Things were beginning to make sense at last.

He turned abruptly as he sensed Charmaine coming towards him with two coffee mugs, and he quickly moved away from the table.

‘Thanks,' he headed towards the French windows and stepped out onto the modest balcony and Charmaine, after a moment's hesitation, stepped out to join him.

‘Are the nights always this lovely?' she asked wistfully, looking up at a velvety sky, the stars bright as diamonds, whilst a half moon silvered the Caribbean Sea as it lapped against the white sandy beach just yards away.

‘Yes, usually,' Payne said quietly. ‘You've fallen in love with the place too then?'

Charmaine caught her breath. ‘Yes,' she husked. ‘Yes, I've fallen in love with Barbados.'

And
you. Oh, and you.

She turned abruptly and leant on the rail, looking out over the sea, turning her face from him, lest he read the truth in her eyes. Even in the moonlight, she was afraid that he'd be able to see right through her.

‘You looked wonderful tonight,' Payne said. ‘You were really professional. You could carry on modelling if you wanted.'

Charmaine laughed. ‘Oh no. Once was enough. Never again.'

Besides, there'd be no reason to go on with this farce once she was back in England.

The thought of going back to Oxfordshire held no appeal anymore, and the thought saddened her. Once her little cottage and pretty garden, Wordsworth and her work, had been her entire universe and more than enough to keep her happy.

Now though, with the exception of Wordsworth, she felt she could give up all the rest tomorrow without a moment's regret. If only this man would say he loved her.

‘Why don't you stay?' Payne said, startling her nearly out of her wits because, just for a moment, she was convinced that it was her own mind that had asked the question out loud.

‘Oh no. No, I couldn't do that,' she said at last.

‘Why not? You can design clothes here as well as anywhere. Who knows—Barbados
might
even inspire you to greater heights,' he pointed out.

‘I have a cat,' she said flatly, then jumped as he burst out laughing.

‘Well you can always bring your cat over here. What's her name?'

‘His name is Wordsworth. He's a black and white long-haired.'

‘I'd like to meet him,' Payne said seriously, although his eyes, when she looked up at him, were twinkling.

Charmaine knew that the likelihood of Payne ever meeting her beloved pet was virtually nil. Now the shoot was over, the girls would be flying back after a few days' holiday, and she would go with them.

And never see this man again.

‘It's late,' she said abruptly, her voice unknowingly harsh and brittle.

‘Is that a polite way of asking me to go?' Payne mused dryly.

‘Perhaps. But I thought you'd be only too pleased to go. You've been doing your best to make it clear you want to keep some distance between us,' she snapped, then stopped, appalled.

How had she let her own pain make her blurt out her sense of injury like that? What was wrong with her? But to her incredulity, he didn't try to deny it. Instead he looked at her long and levelly for a few moments, then nodded.

‘Yes,
I suppose I have,' he said at last, with devastating honesty. ‘The thing is, I feel so guilty still, and I'm not used to it. I felt like such a heel over that shark business, that I told myself I'd never let anything like it happen again. It seemed the only way was to keep you at arm's length. But it doesn't seem to be working, does it?' he added ruefully, and looked down at her, so close beside him that he could feel her hair brush against his arm as the sea breeze fanned the long silvery locks against his forearms.

All he had to do was reach out and there she'd be—warm and sensuous, a honey trap no man would ever regret falling into.

Charmaine gaped at him. ‘Guilty? But why? I mean, you have nothing to feel guilty about.'

‘No? Not even nearly frightening you to death?'

For a second, she couldn't even think what he meant. Then it hit her. ‘Oh, the shark,' she said dismissively, waving one hand negligently in the air. ‘Oh, I've forgotten all about that already. Anyway . . .'

She stuttered to an abrupt stop.

‘Anyway what?' he all but whispered, but she was already drawing away from him and shaking her head.

‘Oh nothing. It doesn't matter.'

For a second he was silent, as if giving her a chance to change her mind or tell him something. Then he seemed to sigh heavily.

‘So
we're calling a truce then?' he asked gently.

‘Yes, a truce,' Charmaine heard herself repeating, even if against her better judgement.

‘In that case, how about a picnic tomorrow? I know just the place. I'll pick you up at eleven?'

Charmaine nodded weakly. She knew she should have put him off and made an excuse. She knew she was only prolonging the inevitable and letting herself in for more heartache this way, but she just couldn't resist it.

A few more hours in his company. A little while longer to hear his voice and bask in his attention. Surely it wasn't too much to ask?

Lucy need never know.

‘All right, eleven,' she said softly.

CHAPTER TEN

Payne drove around the outskirts of Speightstown and headed north, knowing the perfect scenic spot for their picnic. Every now and then he glanced across at her, wondering what she was thinking, and believing that now, at last, he had a pretty good idea.

The thing was—what did he do about it?

‘You're quiet today,' he observed, changing
the
sports car down into a lower gear as they toiled up a steep incline. ‘Nothing wrong is there?'

‘No,' Charmaine said instantly. ‘What could be wrong?'

‘Oh, I don't know,' Payne shrugged, and when she still didn't speak, sighed quietly to himself. Well, he'd given her every chance to come clean. But since she seemed determined to keep on her chosen path, he had no choice but to follow her along it. But that didn't mean to say he wasn't going to influence the direction it took. Or throw up a few interesting diversions along the way!

He parked not far from Cuckold Point, with its spectacular views and wild, windswept coastline. The spot he chose was a hollow in an open field, in the shelter of a large tree which kept them discreetly hidden from any other visitors roaming about on this part of the island.

Charmaine watched him take a large picnic hamper from the back of the car and then followed somewhat nervously. All around gulls and other inshore birds sang and called, whilst under her feet, wild flowers grew in profusion. She couldn't see the ocean, but could both hear and smell it, its evocative presence a constant seduction.

Payne had tossed a fleecy red and black plaid blanket over his arm and now he flung it out, covering the grass and flowers, before
slipping
onto his knees and reaching into the basket.

‘I hope you like Bucks Fizz,' he said, bringing out a cooler. ‘I had the chef squeeze the oranges fresh from the tree this morning, and the Brut is from a friend of mine in France who always ships over a crate of his premiere best every year.'

Charmaine sank down on the other side of the blanket and nodded. ‘It sounds wonderful,' she said, and reached for a blade of grass and plucked it restlessly.

She was wearing a pale lemon summer dress in faux silk with a silver and blue geometric pattern. With her long fair hair falling loose, and her blue eyes bluer than the sky, she looked more beautiful than Payne could ever remember seeing her appear before—even when in full ‘model' make up and cutting edge, designer chic.

‘Let's see—we have cracked crab and salad, little lobster patties, cold whole roasted quail and prosciutto and figs.'

Charmaine watched him take out cutlery and real bone china plates, and a couple of fluted crystal glasses, and couldn't help but smile. Back home, a picnic meant a few sandwiches and a piece of cake!

‘There's what looks like fruit soaked in Kirsch for afters and I think . . .' he pulled off the lid of a sealed desert dish, ‘yes, apricot snow.'

Charmaine
had no idea what that was, and when he glanced up and caught her wry smile, challenged softly, ‘what?'

She shrugged. ‘Nothing. It's just that . . . well, you live in a different world.' She waved a hand helplessly over the magnificent spread. Just how did she explain that all of this was like a dream?

Payne nodded, and leaving the delicious things spread out around them, sat forward and contemplatively leaned his forearms on his raised knees. He was wearing a pair of immaculately tailored beige slacks and a white and beige shirt. He looked too good to be true.

But right now, he was frowning slightly. ‘I know just what you mean,' he said at last. ‘But it's not really real, you know.'

Charmaine frowned in puzzlement. ‘What do you mean? Not real?'

Payne grinned across at her, his grey eyes thoughtful. ‘Did I ever tell you that I was born in what had once been a small mining town in mid Wales. No? Well, I was, and at least half the population were on the dole after the pits closed.' He too reached down and plucked a blade of grass.

He'd never unburdened his soul to a woman before, but, surprisingly, he felt very little fear or unease. And yet, perhaps he wasn't so surprised at that. Charmaine was like none of his previous women. And for certain, the same rules no longer applied!

‘I
went to the local Comprehensive school, which was understaffed, and pretty grim,' he confessed, without drama or self pity. ‘I left at sixteen, packed my bags and never looked back.'

He sighed. ‘I was young and had nothing to lose. Why not? I started back-packing around Europe, taking the odd job here and there, learning more about life than any A-level syllabus could teach me.'

Charmaine nodded, fascinated. Her own childhood had been a bed of roses by comparison. She'd always lived in the beauty of the English countryside, cushioned by her family and had always been well taken care of.

‘It was interesting, and taught me a lot,' Payne said, and something in his voice made Charmaine suspect that he was leaving out a lot of the harder realities.

Thinking about it, she realised that he must have faced a lot of things in his younger years. Muggings, sleeping rough on occasion, fighting off the lure of drugs and who knew what else.

‘And one of the things I learned was that I was lucky,' he went on smoothly. ‘I mean, really lucky. It began by playing cards one night in this Italian youth hostel. I'd never really played cards before—not for money. Not seriously. But I won that night. Not a lot, just a can of coke and the best bed in the dorm.' He shrugged and smiled in remembrance, then tossed the blade of grass
away.
‘After that I played again and again, and won far more often than I lost. I began to see it as a talent. Just like some people have a flair for cookery, or can sketch a perfect tree, I saw my luck at gambling in the same way. So, if people who can cook can train hard and become chefs, and people who can draw become artists or take courses to go into related fields like advertising or architecture, why shouldn't I use my edge in exactly the same way? So I left Italy and headed for Monaco, my equivalent of Oxford or Yale.'

Charmaine stared at him curiously. ‘And what happened there?'

‘I got a job in the casino,' Payne said. ‘I watched, and listened and learned. But never placed a single bet. Not the whole time I was there.'

Charmaine frowned. ‘Why not?'

‘Because I'd realised by then that I wanted to be more than an itinerant gambler. I wanted to gamble for fun, for pleasure, just to see how far I could push it. And I still do that, every now and then.'

‘Hence the car,' Charmaine said, in sudden understanding. ‘Just what did you use to bet against it?' she just had to ask.

Payne grinned. ‘The Queen of Diamonds,' he said quietly.

Charmaine gasped. ‘But she's worth far more than the car.'

‘I know. That's why her owner snapped up
the
bet. But as you see, I ended up with both car and yacht. But that's what I was talking about just now—that was just for the sheer hell of it,' Payne explained, knowing that it was important that she understand. ‘But I realised very early on that you can't build a life on that. That's why I went into business. Hotels, luxury cars, commodities for a while, and eventually came into the casino itself—ironically because of a gamble.'

He laughed, then sighed. ‘But do you know what I did, the first time I had some serious money in my pocket? I bought my mum and dad, and my sister and her husband a semi detached house each in Aberystwyth. That was real. Owning ‘The Palace' wasn't. Do you see the difference?'

Charmaine nodded simply. ‘Yes.'

‘So this picnic—it's fancy, it's luxurious, it's a fantasy meal, but it's not real in the same way as eating a really good Cornish pasty is real, when you're really hungry.'

‘And I'll bet you know that from experience,' Charmaine said softly. ‘Yes, I understand.'

‘So I live in Barbados and love it, and run the casino and it makes me happy, but I never make the mistake of thinking that my life depends on it.'