The Highest Stakes of All. Sara Craven

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      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.

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