Modern™ Romance are pleased to present this new and exciting mini-series!

MEN WITHOUT MERCY

Arrogant and proud, unashamedly male!

Modern™ Romance with a retro twist …

Step back in time to when men were men—and women knew just how to tame them!

‘What kind of barbarian are you?’ Joanna asked, her voice shaking.

‘A rich one,’ he said flatly. ‘And one whom it is unwise to cross—unless you are prepared to suffer the consequences. But perhaps, thespinis, you thought you were immune?’

‘How could I possibly have crossed you?’ she protested. ‘Twenty-four hours ago I—I didn’t know you existed.’

‘Whereas I have been aware of you for the past year,’ he said. ‘And have looked forward to our meeting. I do not think I shall be disappointed.’

The dark eyes went over her. Slowly and quite deliberately stripping her naked, she realised dazedly.

‘Please me,’ he went on, ‘and you will find me generous.’

‘And if I don’t please you?’

He shrugged. ‘Then you will learn to do so, and quickly,’ he returned, almost indifferently. ‘You have no other option, as I am sure you will come to see when you have considered the matter further.’

He paused. ‘Your clothes and other possessions have already been packed, and tonight you will be flown to Greece, where you will wait for me on my island of Pellas.’

His slow smile made her shiver.

‘I find anticipation increases the appetite—don’t you …?’

About the Author

SARA CRAVEN was born in South Devon and grew up in a house full of books. She worked as a local journalist, covering everything from flower shows to murders, and started writing for Mills & Boon® in 1975. When not writing, she enjoys films, music, theatre, cooking, and eating in good restaurants. She now lives near her family in Warwickshire. Sara has appeared as a contestant on the former Channel Four game show Fifteen to One, and in 1997 was the UK television Mastermind champion. In 2005 she was a member of the Romantic Novelists’ team on University Challenge—the Professionals.

Recent titles by the same author:

HIS UNTAMED INNOCENT

RUTHLESS AWAKENING

THE SANTANGELI MARRIAGE

ONE NIGHT WITH HIS VIRGIN MISTRESS

THE HIGHEST STAKES OF ALL

SARA CRAVEN

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

South of France, 1975

‘PICKINGS,’ Denys Vernon said with immense satisfaction. ‘And very rich pickings by the look of it.’

Stifling a sigh, Joanna put down the tartine she was buttering, and followed her father’s gaze to the new yacht that had appeared overnight in the bay below the Hotel St Gregoire.

It was certainly large and extremely opulent, effortlessly diminishing the lesser craft anchored nearby. A floating palace, she thought, of gleaming white paint and chrome. Very swish. And suddenly there. Out of nowhere.

‘A wealthy sheikh, perhaps.’ Denys continued his musings aloud. ‘Or even foreign royalty.’

‘Or merely someone sheltering from last night’s storm,’ Joanna suggested more practically. She paused. ‘And, speaking of storms, the manager stopped me last night and asked when our bill would be settled. And he wasn’t smiling.’

‘Infernal bloody cheek,’ Denys snorted. ‘Gaston Levaux is becoming obsessive about cash. If he’s not careful, the whole place will become insufferably bourgeois.’

‘Just because he wants to be paid?’ Joanna asked mildly. ‘I thought making money was our sole reason for being here, too.’ She gave him a level look. ‘And the fact that we haven’t been doing so well lately must have been reported back to the office.’

‘I’m still ahead of the game,’ Denys said sharply. ‘All I need is one good night.’ His eyes strayed back to the yacht. ‘And one wealthy idiot who thinks he can play poker.’

‘And maybe Monsieur Levaux is concerned about his job,’ Joanna continued reflectively. ‘People are saying openly that the entire BelCote chain is being sold off. He won’t want any bad debts on his books when the new owners take over.’

‘Well, I’m sure he doesn’t need your concern.’ Denys looked her over. ‘I think you should visit the hotel boutique, my pet. Buy a new dress as a demonstration of good faith.’ He nodded. ‘Something short and not too sweet to show off your tan.’

‘Dad, I have plenty of clothes.’ Joanna spoke with a touch of weariness. ‘Besides, we have no money to waste on empty gestures.’

‘Not waste, darling. Investment. And please keep your voice down when you call me—that,’ he added irritably. ‘Someone might hear.’

‘And draw the correct conclusion that I’m actually your daughter instead of your supposed niece?’ She shook her head. ‘How long can we keep this farce going?’

And, in particular, how long before you grow up? she wondered in unhappy silence as her father’s mouth tightened petulantly. Before you acknowledge that you haven’t been forty for some time. That your hair is only blond because it’s tinted, and you’re not wrinkled because you’ve had an expensive facelift.

‘It’s working very well. For one thing, it explains the same surname on our passports,’ Denys retorted. ‘And, as I told you at the outset, it doesn’t suit my image to have a daughter who’s nearly nineteen.’

And it doesn’t suit me at all, Joanna thought bitterly. How long will it be before I can have a real life—the life I once planned?

Teaching languages had been her aim. She’d been studying for her A levels prior to university when her mother had been taken suddenly ill, and diagnosed with inoperable cancer. Two months later she was dead, and Joanna’s relatively stable existence up to that point ended, too.

Denys, summoned home from America as soon as his wife’s condition became known, had been genuinely grief-stricken. It had been his inability to settle rather than any lack of caring that had kept them apart for so much of their married life. Gail Vernon wanted a permanent home for her only child. Denys needed to gamble much as he needed to draw breath.

However, he was a generous if erratic provider, and, to Joanna, he had seemed an almost god-like being, suntanned and handsome, whenever he returned to the UK. A dispenser of laughter and largesse, she thought, his cases stuffed with scent, jewellery and other exotic gifts as well as the elegant clothes he had made for him in the Far East.

‘If he ever gets stopped at Customs, he’ll end up in jail,’ his older brother Martin had muttered.

Yet, somehow, it had never happened. And perhaps Uncle Martin had been right when he also said Denys had the devil’s own luck. But lately that luck had not been much in evidence. He’d sustained some heavy losses, and his recoveries had not been as positive as they needed to be.

He was invariably cagey about the exact state of their finances, and Joanna’s attempts to discover how they stood had never been successful.

‘Everything’s fine, my pet,’ was his usual airy reply. ‘Stop worrying your pretty head and smile.’

A response that had Joanna grinding her teeth. As so much did these days.

At the beginning, of course, it had all seemed like a great adventure. The last thing she’d expected was to be taken out of school and whisked off abroad to share her father’s peripatetic lifestyle, travelling from one gambling centre to another as the mood took him.

Uncle Martin and Aunt Sylvie had protested vociferously, saying that she could make a home with them while she finished her education, but Denys had been adamant.

‘She’s all I have left,’ he’d repeated over and over again. ‘All that remains of her mother. Can’t you understand that I need her with me?’ he’d added. ‘Besides, a change of scene will be good for her. Get her away from all these painful memories of my lovely Gail.’

With hindsight, Joanna wondered rather sadly if he’d have been so set on her company if she’d still been the quiet, shy child with braces on her teeth. Instead, she’d soared into slender, long-legged womanhood, her chestnut hair falling in a silken swathe to her waist, and green eyes that seemed to ask what the world had to offer.

Which, at first, seemed to be a great deal. The travelling, the hotel suites, the super-charged atmosphere of the casinos had been immensely exciting for an almost eighteen-year-old.

Even the shock when she learned that Denys wasn’t prepared to acknowledge their real relationship hadn’t detracted too much from the appeal of their nomadic existence. Or not immediately.

She’d realised quite soon that women of all ages found her father attractive, and tried, without much success, not to let it bother her. But while Denys was charming, flattering and grateful, he was determined to make it clear that it would go no further than that.

‘I need you to be my shield—keeping my admirers at a distance,’ he’d told her seriously. His tone had become wheedling. ‘Treat it as part of the game, darling. Mummy always told me how good you were in your school plays. Now’s your chance to show me how well you can really act.’

But why were you never there to see for yourself? Joanna wanted to ask, but didn’t, because her father was continuing.

‘All you have to do, my pet, is stick close to me, smile and say as little as possible.’

On the whole, Joanna thought she’d managed pretty well, even when the leering looks and muttered remarks from many of the men she encountered made her want to run away and hide.

The mother of Jackie, her best friend at school, had become involved in the women’s movement, and held consciousness-raising sessions at her house. The iniquity of women being regarded as sex objects by men, had been among the favourite themes at those meetings, and while she and Jackie had giggled about it afterwards, Joanna now thought ruefully that Mrs Henderson might have had a point.

Eventually, it had all ceased to be a game, and she’d begun to see her new life for the tawdry sham it really was, and be troubled by it. Realising at the same time that there was no feasible way out. That, for the time being, she was trapped.

Denys was speaking again, his voice excited. ‘I’m going to start making enquiries. Find out who the new arrival is, and if he’s likely to visit the Casino.’ He gave her a minatory nod. ‘I’ll see you back here after lunch.’

Here we go again, Joanna thought with a sigh as she heard the suite door close behind him. Looking for a non-existent pot of gold at the end of a dodgy rainbow.

‘All I need is one big win.’ She had lost count of how many times her father had said this over the past months.

And she sent up a silent prayer to the god of gamblers that the unknown owner would stay safely aboard his yacht for the duration. Although that, of course, would not help with the looming threat of the hotel bill.

She stayed on the balcony for a while, drinking another cup of coffee and enjoying the sunlit freshness of the morning after the unexpected heavy rain with thunder, lightning and squally winds of the previous night. But she was still unable to fully relax, not while the question of how long they could go on living like this continued to haunt her.

‘You’re my little mascot,’ Denys had told her jubilantly in the early days, but she hadn’t brought him much luck recently.

I shall have to start avoiding the front desk and use the staff entrance in the daytime, too, instead of just the evenings, she thought wryly as she pushed back her chair and went through the sliding glass doors into the sitting room.

The chambermaids were due soon, and she had to make sure that all signs of her nightly occupation of the sofa were removed from their eagle-eyed scrutiny.

It seemed a long time since their budget had been able to run to a suite with two bedrooms, and while she didn’t begrudge her father his comfortable night’s sleep, quite understanding that he needed to wake completely refreshed in order to keep his wits sharp, nevertheless she missed the peace and privacy which the sitting room could not provide.

When she was sure all was as it should be, she packed sun oil, her coin purse and a paperback book into her raffia bag, together with two leftover rolls from breakfast wrapped in tissues to provide her with a makeshift lunch.

She pinned her hair up into a loose knot, covering it with a wide-brimmed straw hat, then pulled a white cheesecloth tunic over her turquoise bikini, donned her sunglasses and picked up her towel. Thus camouflaged, she set off down to the swimming pool.

Few people, if any, recognised her in the daytime. Wearing espadrilles instead of the platform-soled high heels that Denys insisted on took at least a couple of inches from her height, and with her hair hidden, her face scrubbed clean of its evening make-up, and wearing a modestly cut bikini, she attracted little attention even from men who’d been sending her openly amorous looks the night before.

The St Gregoire charged a hefty number of francs for the hire of its loungers on the paved sun terraces, so Joanna invariably chose instead to spread her towel on one of the lawns encircling the pool, a practice not forbidden, but muttered at by the man who came to collect the money from the paying guests.

Ignore him, Joanna told herself, rubbing oil into her exposed skin already tanned a judicious golden brown. And try to pretend the grass isn’t damp while you’re about it.

She turned on to her stomach, and retrieved the book she’d found in a second-hand store just before they’d left for France, a former prize-winning detective story by a British author called P. D. James, which had attracted Joanna because its title, An Unsuitable Job for a Woman, seemed to sum up her current situation.

Maybe I could become a private investigator, she mused, finding her place in the story. Except I don’t have someone likely to die and leave me a detective agency.

A more likely scenario, if things went badly wrong this time, was a swift return to the UK and a job for Denys in Uncle Martin’s light engineering works. It had been offered before, prompted, Joanna suspected, by her uncle’s very real concern for her future. Although he’d had plenty of troubles of his own in the past few years with the imposition of the three-day week, strikes and constant power cuts to contend with.

But her father had replied, as always, that it would kill him to be tied to a desk, and he had to be a free spirit, although Joanna could see no freedom in having bills you were unable to pay. One day, she thought, he might have to bite on the bullet and accept Uncle Martin’s offer.

And for me, a secretarial course, I suppose, she mused resignedly. But I’d settle for that, if it meant a normal life. And not being lonely any more. I’m just not the adventurous type, and I only wish I’d realised that much sooner.

It wasn’t really possible to make friends when they were so often on the move, but other girls tended to steer clear anyway. And apart from one occasion in Australia, which she’d tried hard to forget, she’d been left severely alone by young men, too.

She stopped herself on the point of another sigh. Forget the self-pity, she adjured herself, and find out how private investigator Cordelia Gray is going to solve her first solo case.

At that moment, she heard her name called, and turned to see Julie Phillips approaching across the grass.

Joanna sat up smiling. ‘Hi, there.’ She looked around. ‘What have you done with Matthew?’

‘Chris has taken him down to the village.’ Julie sat down beside her, shading her eyes from the sun. ‘He wanted to buy something for his mother from that little pottery shop.’ She sighed. ‘I can hardly believe our week is up. And, would you believe, we’re almost sorry to be going home. For which we have you to thank, of course.’

‘That’s nonsense,’ Joanna said roundly. ‘It was just lucky I happened to be at the desk that day, and was able to help.’

She’d been waiting to buy some stamps when she’d overheard the clearly distressed young couple protesting to an unsympathetic desk clerk about the hotel’s policy of barring babies and young children from the restaurant after seven p.m.

As their French was clearly minimal, she’d helped translate for them, even though their objections were ultimately met with a shrug of complete indifference.

They’d adjourned to the terrace bar for coffee, where Joanna had learned they’d won their South of France holiday in a magazine competition, but their intended destination had been a three-star hotel in the BelCote chain.

A fire had resulted in a grudging upgrade to the St Gregoire.

‘But we felt from the moment we got here yesterday that they didn’t really want us.’ Julie had said. ‘They made a fuss about putting a cot in the bungalow, told us there was no babysitting service, then dropped the bombshell about the restaurant. If we wanted to eat there, we had to have the special children’s supper at six.’

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.

Fancy dress and a mask, she told herself, as she applied scent to her pulses, her temples, and the valley between her breasts. Think of it that way.

There was room for very little but the basics in her tiny evening purse, and as she searched in her shoulder bag for the compact of pressed translucent powder she always wore, she found the slip of paper Chris and Julie had given her, with their name, address and telephone number.

It was the nearest to a friendship she’d achieved since leaving Britain, and it was also a possible lifeline, she thought wryly as she tucked it carefully into her wallet.

Denys was pacing the sitting room, and he gave a nod of judicious satisfaction as she emerged from the bedroom.

‘Once dinner is over,’ he told her, ‘someone will come to escort us up to the Gordanis suite.’

‘Very formal.’ Her tone was dry. ‘As are you,’ she added, removing a speck of fluff from the lapel of his dinner jacket. ‘Is the black tie strictly necessary?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s a big night. And a very big game. Mr Gordanis can afford to impose his own rules.’

But can you afford to play by them? was the question she did not dare ask as they took the lift down to the dining room.

She ate sparingly at dinner, and drank even less, noting that her father was being equally abstemious. Afterwards they drank coffee on the terrace outside the dining room while the time ticked slowly past, building the tension inside her.

She said, ‘Do you think it’s not going to happen—that we’ve been forgotten?’

‘No.’ Denys shook his head. ‘Apparently, he plays for amusement first with some of his friends. After they leave, the stakes rise and the game becomes serious. We’ll be sent for soon.’

But it was well after midnight when Gaston Levaux appeared unsmilingly beside them. ‘Monsieur Vernon. I am here on behalf of Monsieur Vassos Gordanis who invites you to join him.’ He paused. ‘I should warn you that you will be required to pay one thousand dollars simply to buy into the game.’

Oh, God, Joanna thought, suddenly weak with relief. We haven’t got a thousand cents. I never thought I’d be glad to be broke.

But her father was meeting Monsieur Levaux’s questioning glance with an airy shrug. ‘There’s no problem about that. I was told he played in dollars and I have the money.’

Thanks, no doubt, to Mrs Van Dyne, Joanna whispered under her breath, silently cursing all rich American widows.

‘I must also caution you that Monsieur Gordanis is a formidable opponent. It is not too late for you to make your excuses—or at least those of the mademoiselle,’ he added.

‘You really mustn’t concern yourself.’ There was a note of steel in Denys’s voice. ‘I’m looking forward to the game, and so is Joanna—aren’t you, darling?’

Joanna saw the manager’s mouth tighten. As they walked to the lift, he spoke to her quietly in French. ‘Do you ever suffer from migraine, mademoiselle? If so, I suggest you develop one very quickly.’

If only, thought Joanna, aware that she was being warned and a little startled by it. Knowing, too, that she would probably have to develop a brain tumour in order to deflect Denys from his purpose.

When they reached the top floor, a small group of men were waiting in the corridor, laughing and talking. As Joanna emerged they fell silent, and she saw glances being exchanged, and even heard a murmur of, ‘Oh, là là!’ from one of them.

You take no notice, she reminded herself stonily. You behave as if you were a dummy in a shop window. You don’t see, hear, talk or think. And you just pray that Dad wins—and wins quickly.

The double doors at the end of the corridor swung open as they approached. The room ahead was hazy with tobacco smoke, and the smell of alcohol hung in the air. Half a dozen men were standing around, chatting as they waited for play to recommence, while a waiter in a white jacket was moving among them, refilling glasses and emptying ashtrays.

So many other rooms, she thought. So many other times, yet all the same.

Except, she realised, that tonight there were no other women present. It was then she saw Vassos Gordanis walking towards the door, smiling expansively and talking to a man in a dark blue tuxedo, who also seemed to be leaving.

As he saw Joanna, the smile faded from his pouched face, and she felt herself quail inwardly beneath his hard, opaque gaze.

A sudden hush had fallen on the room as everyone turned to look at her, too, and she knew an overwhelming impulse to turn and run, only Denys’s hand was under her arm, urging her forward.

‘Come along, my sweet,’ he said. ‘Come and meet our host.’

She thought, But we’ve just walked past him. And then the group in front of her fell back, revealing a circular table littered with chips and a scatter of playing cards.

But, more importantly, revealing also the man who was seated facing her across the green baize.

She knew him at once, of course. He was clean-shaven now, and the curling black hair was combed back, but the arrogant lines of his face with its high-bridged nose and strongly marked chin were quite unmistakable, as were the heavy-lidded dark eyes and that hard, frankly sensual mouth that she’d last seen smiling at her from the deck of Persephone.

Only he wasn’t smiling now, and the hooded eyes studied her without any particular expression in their obsidian depths as he lounged back in his chair, his tie hanging loose and his frilled white shirt half-unbuttoned, providing her with an unwilling reminder of the bronze muscularity she’d seen only that morning.

He had a half-smoked cheroot in one hand, while the other held a short string of amber beads, which he was sliding constantly and restlessly through his long fingers.

He did not get to his feet at her approach, and instinct told her this was not prompted by any acceptance of male and female equality as preached by Jackie’s mother, who saw any demonstration of masculine courtesy as a form of subjugation and therefore an implied insult.

No, this insult was quite intentional, she thought, designed to show her exactly where she stood in his personal scheme of things—which seemed to hover somewhere between contempt and indifference.

Why didn’t you just bar me? she wanted to ask him. Tell my father that women were taboo? God knows I’d have been so grateful.

Instead, here she was, a total fish out of water, the cynosure of all eyes.

‘Oh, Dad,’ she whispered to herself, swallowing as Gaston Levaux began to perform the introductions. ‘You really miscalculated here.’

However, on the plus side, Vassos Gordanis could not possibly recognise her. After all, she looked totally different from the girl in the straw hat whom he’d seen earlier that day. Her distinctive hair had been completely hidden then, while the heavy layer of make-up she was now wearing completed her disguise.

‘And now,’ Monsieur Levaux added with open reluctance, ‘may I present to you Mademoiselle Joanna.’

‘Ah, yes, I was informed she would be joining us.’ His voice was low-pitched and husky, his English good in spite of his marked accent. The dark eyes swept her from head to foot in a glance that both assessed and dismissed. The firm mouth curled with faint insolence. ‘So this is Kyrios Vernon’s—lucky charm.’

She heard smothered laughter from the group behind her, and felt her skin warm.

‘If she remains silent, then she may stay,’ Vassos Gordanis went on. ‘Tell me, kyrie, is she that miracle—a woman who knows her place and can keep her mouth shut? Or would it be better to send her back to her room before we begin?’

‘Yes,’ Joanna pleaded under breath. ‘Oh, please—yes.’

But Denys was managing to mask his obvious discomfiture with a smile. ‘She’s indeed my mascot, Mr Gordanis. If she goes, she may take my luck with her. And she knows how to behave at these little gatherings. You have my word for it.’

‘Yes,’ Vassos Gordanis said softly, drawing on his cheroot and regarding its glowing end almost dispassionately. ‘I am sure I can believe that.’ He added silkily, ‘And we should all enjoy such good fortune.’

Slipping the beads into the pocket of his dinner jacket, he gestured abruptly for a chair to be brought for Joanna and stationed exactly opposite to where he himself was sitting.

Which was the last thing she’d expected—or wanted, she thought, forcing a taut smile as she moved to the offered seat. Usually she kept her distance at the edge of the room until Denys made an excuse to summon her to his side. As she sat down, she tried unobtrusively to smooth her brief skirt over her thighs, and realised that Vassos Gordanis was watching the nervous movement, the corner of his mouth curling sardonically.

Remember what you told yourself earlier, she thought, taking a deep breath, and folding her hands carefully in her lap. You don’t talk, you don’t hear, you don’t think. And now—above all—you don’t look back at him.

‘Gentlemen.’ Their host acknowledged his other guests with a faint inclination of the head. ‘Join me, if you please.’

He signalled again, and one of the dealers from the Casino came forward, gathering up the cards from the previous session before removing the cellophane cover from an unopened deck and beginning to shuffle it, swiftly and expertly. He dealt out six cards face upwards to decide the seating, and to her relief Denys was allotted the place beside her, with a tall blond American called Chuck on the other side.

Fresh decanters of whisky and brandy were placed on a side table, while around the table jackets were discarded and cigarettes and cigars were lit.

The stage is set, Joanna thought, and the serious business of the evening is about to commence.

And knew she had never felt so uneasy in her life.

CHAPTER THREE

THE game began quietly enough, the betting conservative, no very startling hands, and the atmosphere round the table relaxed.

Providing that I discount my own state of mind, Joanna thought wryly, trying to draw comfort from the air of calm confidence that her father was currently exuding. But it was still early in the proceedings, she knew, and the players would simply be testing each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

At the same time, she was conscious that the pair of them were very much outsiders. That the rest—a couple of Frenchmen, a burly South African and her American neighbour—were all clearly long-standing friends and acquaintances of Vassos Gordanis, and each of them powerful and successful in his own right. Not the kind of company expected to welcome strangers into their exclusive and wealthy midst.

So, she wondered, what are we doing here? Why was it allowed?

The person who might have known, of course, was Gaston Levaux, but he’d left while the first hand was being dealt. He wasn’t a friend by any stretch of the imagination, but for a moment she’d sensed he could be a reluctant ally.

And at least he’d never been openly hostile like the man she’d originally mistaken for Vassos Gordanis, who’d turned out to be one of several solidly built employees, stationed a deferential couple of feet behind their boss’s chair.

Joanna was well aware that this man’s overtly inimical gaze was focussed on her, and had been since the game began, and wondered if Denys had also noticed. And if so, would he take warning?

His decision to bring her tonight had been a big mistake, she thought, biting her lip, so the best she could do was keep still and try to be as unobtrusive as possible, keeping her eyes fixed on her clasped hands and registering no reaction to the run of play.

And her conviction that she was surplus to requirements was soon confirmed, when, after the first hour’s play, Denys was winning quite comfortably without any dubious assistance from her.

It was true that the pots were only moderate, but that couldn’t be allowed to matter. Not when they were building steadily towards their agreed purpose.

Just keep going in the same way, Daddy, please, she appealed silently, and we can be out of this room, this hotel, this place and on our way elsewhere by noon tomorrow.

At the same time, she couldn’t avoid an odd feeling that the play so far had been almost deliberately restrained.

‘Cigarette, honey?’ The usual break had been called in the proceedings, and Chuck was offering her his pack of Chesterfields.

‘No, thank you.’ The room already felt like an oven, and her eyes were stinging from the smoke. She noticed thankfully that a member of the Gordanis entourage, in response to a murmured instruction, was sliding open one of the heavy glass doors which led out on to the balcony.

‘Then how about a Scotch or some bourbon?’ Her neighbour signalled to the waiter.

She shook her head. ‘I—I don’t drink spirits.’

‘You don’t smoke or drink? Then your vices must be the more interesting kind,’ he drawled.

Think what you like, Joanna advised him silently. And then go to hell.

As the waiter came to her side she asked for Perrier water, and noticed his swift enquiring glance at Vassos Gordanis and saw the swift, barely perceptible nod in reply.

He’s in control of everything, she thought with a sudden shiver. The air we breathe. Even what we have to drink.

She found herself suddenly wondering how old he was. He looked to be only in his early to mid-thirties, yet in spite of that he’d managed somehow to survive the dangers of the past few years in Greece under the Colonels, and prosper.

She recalled that Denys had mentioned he was a widower, and wondered how long he’d been married, and when his wife had died. Then paused, startled.

Now, why would I want to know that? she asked herself blankly. When there are other aspects of the situation that should concern me more?

Under the general buzz of conversation, she turned to Denys. She said very quietly, ‘I’m being watched.’

‘Of course you are, my pet.’ He flashed a conspiratorial smile at her. ‘You’re a very beautiful girl, and I want you to be looked at.’

‘But it’s not in the right way or by the right person,’ she protested, troubled. ‘I really think it would be better if I found some reason to leave.’

‘Don’t be silly, darling.’ His smile widened, became fixed. ‘Everything’s fine and I need you to stay exactly where you are. They’re raising the ante and the stakes are about to become very interesting.’ He took a satisfied breath. ‘We’re on our way, sweetheart. Trust me.’

‘Then at least allow me to get some fresh air before you make our fortune.’ She rose restlessly from her chair and walked towards the balcony door, taking care to look at no one, and to ignore the inevitable glances that came her way.

Once outside, she stood for a moment filling her lungs with a couple of deep, steadying breaths before advancing to the elaborate metal railing and leaning against it, moving her shoulders gently in an attempt to ease the tension in her muscles.

The darkness seemed to wrap her like a warm blanket, while below her the stillness of the hidden garden was disturbed only by the rasping of cicadas.

And beyond, in the bay, she could see the lights of the boats challenging the stars as they rode at anchor, dominated by the looming grandeur of Persephone.

No matter where I turn, she mused wryly, Vassos Gordanis seems to be dominating the picture.

But he’d chosen an odd name for his yacht, she thought, recalling the stories of the Greek myths she’d read at school. Persephone, if memory served, had no connection with the sea. She’d been a springtime goddess captured and carried off by Hades, the dark god of the Underworld, while she was picking flowers.

‘A classic example,’ her teacher Miss Gordon had said, ‘of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

As a result of Persephone’s abduction, so the story went, her mother Demeter was in such grief that she forbade the crops to grow until her daughter came back to her.

So Zeus, the supreme deity, decreed that Persephone should be returned to earth, as long as she had nothing to eat or drink while she was in Hades’ power.

Only one day she’d found her favourite fruit—a pomegranate—in a dish on the table and eaten six of its seeds, enough to condemn her to spend half of each year in the Underworld. While the earth above stayed cold and barren, only coming back to life with her return for six months each spring.

‘Which is,’ Miss Gordon told them, ‘a nice, convenient explanation for the annual change in the seasons.’

At the time, a much younger Joanna had mused wistfully that if Persephone had only managed to resist the temptation of the pomegranate altogether it would have been summer all the year round, with no frozen knees on the hockey pitch, chilblains, or horrible colds.

Now, with a swift wry smile at her own naïveté, she turned to go back into the suite, pausing with a gasp as she realised her way was blocked by a tall, lean and quite unmistakable figure lounging in the doorway.

Joanna took an instinctive step backwards. She said huskily, ‘I—I didn’t know anyone was there.’

The question Why have you followed me? was also hovering on her lips, but she bit it back. It was his suite, after all, and his balcony. And very soon it would be his hotel, too, so he could go where he pleased.

But it disturbed her that she’d been totally unaware of his presence, and especially that, while his face was shadowed, he could see her plainly in the light emanating from the room. And once again found herself cursing how little she was wearing.

Ridiculous, she thought with sudden breathlessness, to feel so exposed, so vulnerable, yet she did—even though Denys was within earshot.

He said softly, ‘Forgive me for having startled you, thespinis.’ He paused. ‘It’s a beautiful night, ne?’

She said, ‘I—I just needed some air.’

He nodded. ‘You find the atmosphere in the room tense, perhaps. It is understandable—when there is so much at stake.’

‘Really?’ She lifted her chin. ‘I’d have said play has been quite moderate.’

‘So far,’ he said. ‘But the evening has hardly begun. And, after all, so much depends on you, thespinis.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You are Kyrios Vernon’s lucky charm. He has said so.’

She bit her lip. ‘Denys doesn’t need a mascot. He’s a very good player.’

‘I think he will need to be.’ Another pause. ‘But I came to tell you that your drink is waiting.’ He added softly, ‘And that is a circumstance, perhaps, the only one, when the ice should not melt too soon.’

The words seemed to tingle over her skin in some strange way.

She swallowed. ‘Is—is the game about to restart?’

‘Yes,’ he said, after a pause. ‘It is getting late and I think we should waste no more time.’

He stood aside courteously to allow her to pass, but Joanna hesitated, reluctant to reduce the distance between them by so much as an inch.

Eventually she forced herself to move, edging past him, eyes on the ground, hoping her anxiety had not been recognised. Because it might amuse him, and she remembered his smile only too well, she told herself, renewed unease quivering in her senses.

No matter how many signals I may get from Dad, she thought as she went back into the suite, I cannot come on to Vassos Gordanis. He disturbs me in a way that has nothing to do with his being the richest man I’ve ever met.

And it doesn’t involve him lusting after me, either, because he isn’t the one who can’t keep his eyes off me. He leaves that to the paid staff. Besides, I can usually recognise that response from men and I’ve learned to cope, if necessary.

Though not always with the greatest success, a small voice in her head reminded her, at least not in Australia.

I just know there’s something else about him, she told herself restively, pushing the unbidden memory away. Something that I’ve never encountered before, and can’t fathom. Some facet I don’t even want to know about.

Please, she thought passionately, releasing her pent-up breath. Please let it all be over soon, so I never have to see him again.

All the players had changed seats during the break, her father included, but to her dismay Joanna found she was once again stationed directly opposite Vassos Gordanis.

She reached for her glass, and gulped down some of the promised water, thankful for its refreshing chill against the dryness of her throat. And the ice was still intact, she thought, recalling his odd remark. It hadn’t melted too soon at all.

Don’t think about him, she told herself. Concentrate on the play.

She soon realised that her father’s forecast that the stakes would be getting higher was fully justified.

The first pot, won by the South African Hansi Dorten with a straight, was worth over three thousand dollars, and she was relieved that Denys had decided to fold when the draw did not improve his original pair of tens.

But in the next hand his cards yielded a spade flush. There was a flurry of betting, then Chuck, Hansi and one of the Frenchmen all folded. But Vassos Gordanis, Henri de Morvan and Denys did not, each of them continuing to call and raise until there were over twenty thousand dollars’ worth of chips in the middle of the table.

Joanna’s hands curled into tense fists. This was it, she thought. The amount they needed to get them out of here, and some to spare. Make or break.

A second later it was all over. Vassos Gordanis shrugged ruefully, and tossed his cards towards the dealer, and Henri de Morvan followed suit.

Joanna watched Denys rake the chips towards him, her heart somersaulting. She had to bite the inside of her lip to stop a sheer grin of exultation spreading across her face. Because she didn’t want any of these people, least of all the dark man sitting opposite, to know how much this mattered. How vital this was for her future. For everything.

She put her hand on her father’s arm, pressing it warningly. Stop now, she urged silently. It’s a big enough win, so make an excuse, cash in your chips and we’ll get out of here.

But Denys was already selecting chips for the next game.

‘Denys.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper, her fingers tightening on his sleeve. ‘Why don’t we call it a night now—and celebrate?’

He glanced at her impatiently, ignoring the pleading in her eyes. ‘Don’t be silly, sweetheart. Your magic is working, and I’m on a winning streak, so we’re going nowhere.’

But you promised, she wanted to cry aloud. You promised—you know you did….

And remembered too late that he’d sworn once before that she would never again have to use her eyes, her smile and her young body to divert another man’s attention from the game, and how soon his word had been broken.

Or she would not be here, half-dressed, at this moment.

She sat, almost sick with fear, while the hand was played, but all the others folded after the draw this time, leaving Denys with another two thousand dollars to add to his winnings.

He sent her a triumphant wink as he prepared for the next game.

‘Third time lucky, darling,’ he muttered.

Then make this the last, Joanna implored silently. Please—please, Daddy. Quit while we’re ahead.

I’ve never felt like this before, she thought. When he’s been as confident as this, I’ve been right there with him. But maybe I’ve never been quite so disillusioned with my life before.

Yet in her heart she knew that wasn’t it. That ever since Persephone had arrived in the bay and her father had announced his plans her every instinct had been screaming in warning.

And nothing that had happened since had done anything to reassure her.

She had learned to show no emotion, so her face was still, her eyes shuttered and her hands clasped loosely again in her lap as she saw Denys had been dealt a pair of kings and a pair of nines, with a small club as his fifth card. He discarded the club, asking for one, and received in return from the dealer the king of diamonds.

Three of a kind and a pair, Joanna thought, her heart beginning to pound. Full house. Good—but good enough? I just don’t know.

The two Frenchmen folded quickly, but Hansi Dorten and Chuck briskly pushed up the betting, with Vassos Gordanis and Denys matching each call and raise.

Joanna reached for her glass and swallowed the remaining water as the pile of chips in front of her father began to diminish with startling speed.

‘I’m out,’ Chuck said wryly in answer to the South African’s call and raise of five thousand.

‘Fold,’ Joanna whispered under her breath when it was Denys’s turn to bet. ‘Remember why you’re here doing this, and leave us with something.’

Only to watch, helplessly, as her father pushed another pile of chips into the middle of the table and called.

‘I also know when to stop,’ Hansi Dorten said, tossing his hand on to the discard pile.

Vassos Gordanis counted out the requisite chips and added them to the pot. ‘Call,’ he said quietly. His hand moved again. ‘And raise another ten thousand.’

Joanna was trembling inside. Showdown, she thought. The point of no return. Denys and Vassos Gordanis facing each other across the table, and between them—what? Thirty thousand dollars? Forty thousand? More?

Small change to a millionaire. The world to us. Or it could have been.

Because Dad hasn’t enough left now for another call. Not at this kind of limit. He’s been squeezed out. And we’re wiped. We won’t even be able to cover the bill for the suite.

Vassos Gordanis leaned back in his chair. ‘What do you wish to do, kyrie?’ It was a courteous, almost bland question.

Denys squared his shoulders. ‘Naturally bet again, Mr Gordanis, if you are prepared to accept my IOU.’

The dark gaze looked past him with faint enquiry, and Joanna realised, startled, that Gaston Levaux had come back into the room, and was leaning against the wall, shaking his head in grim negation.

‘I think our good Levaux doubts that you would have the ability to pay this debt if, of course, it falls due.’ Vassos Gordanis reached pensively for another cheroot and lit it. ‘However, there is a good deal of money at stake, and I wish to be fair. So I will give you the opportunity to back your hand once more—but only once. Therefore, you may call, and you may also raise me to whatever limit you wish and I will match it. Double the raise. Treble it, if you please. It is of no consequence.’

Denys stared at him, frowning. ‘I don’t take you for a philanthropist, Mr Gordanis, and I am not a charity case.’

‘No,’ the other returned softly. ‘We are both gamblers, are we not? So, if you win, you take the money. All of it. There will be no dispute. I say it in front of witnesses.’

Joanna risked a swift glance round the table. The other men were very still, looking down unsmilingly at the table in front of them, but there was a tension in the air that was almost tangible.

‘And if I lose?’ Her father’s voice was hoarse.

Vassos Gordanis shrugged. ‘Then the money will be mine, naturally,’ he returned levelly.

His eyes, brilliant as jet, and as cold, rested on Joanna, and she felt a tremor of awareness bordering on fear shiver through her body, as if cold fingers had trailed a path down her spine.

‘But,’ he added musingly, ‘you would also owe me the amount you have wagered, and I would require that to be repaid.’

‘And how could I possibly do that?’ Denys flung at him.

‘Not in cash, certainly.’ He drew reflectively on his cheroot. ‘But—in kind. That would be a different matter.’

‘What the hell do you mean?’ Denys demanded aggressively.

‘I am wondering how much you are prepared to risk, Kyrios Vernon.’ He nodded at Joanna. ‘The beauty at your side, for instance. This girl—your charming talisman. How much do you consider she is worth to you?’

He leaned forward suddenly, and Joanna recoiled instinctively as she suddenly realised how right she was to have been afraid. And how much there still existed to terrify her.

‘Because that is the pledge I require, my friend,’ Vassos Gordanis went on, looking now at her father. ‘In full and final settlement. If you play and lose, you give me the girl, and when she comes to me I take her for as long as I want her.’ He paused. ‘I also ask that you give me your word you will honour your debt as I have done, in front of witnesses,’ he added almost casually.

As if, Joanna thought, a bubble of hysteria welling up inside her, he was attaching a postscript to a letter.

She wanted to protest. To scream at them all that she would never—never—submit to such a shameful bargain. That there was no amount of money on earth that could persuade her, either. That she would rather skivvy in the hotel, washing dishes or cleaning rooms, until their accommodation was paid for. Or starve in the gutter if she could get no work.

And, most of all, she wanted to tell them that Denys was not some kind of sugar daddy, as they apparently assumed, nor her pretended uncle—but her own real father, who would protect her with his life if need be.

Yet the ensuing silence was like a hand placed over her mouth. Her lips parted to speak but no sound emerged.

She would have given anything to get to her feet and storm out of the room in disgust, but all her energy seemed to have drained away, leaving her feeling as if she’d been nailed to the chair, unable to move so much as a hand in her own defence.

And if I tried to leave, she thought suddenly, would it be allowed?

Denys was speaking coldly, ‘I presume, Mr Gordanis, that this is some crude and sordid joke.’

‘And I have to tell you, Kyrios Vernon, that I am not joking,’ Vassos Gordanis retorted. ‘The money is there for the taking, by one of us. If you wish to fight for it, you must wager the girl. It is quite simple.’ He shrugged again, his mouth twisting sardonically. ‘But of course you do not have to accept my offer. You may prefer to fold and go on your way. Or you can be as serious as I am myself by naming your own figure and gambling on the cards you hold. Unless you have lost faith in the hand you have been defending?’

‘No,’ Denys denied thickly. ‘I have not.’

Joanna felt as if she’d turned to ice. No? she thought almost blankly. Had she really heard him say no?

Because surely that had to be her response, as in—No, this cannot be happening.

Her father couldn’t be contemplating playing on. It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t be staking her immediate future—her happiness—her innocence—on that kind of flimsy chance.

Even if he’d held a virtually unbeatable Royal Flush he shouldn’t consider it. Not if he loved her.

Slowly she turned to stare at her father, willing him to look back, to meet the disbelief, the agony in her eyes, although instinct told her he would not.

Even my mother, she thought, anguished, always came second to this addiction—this monster eating away inside him. I think that in my secret heart I’ve always known that, so why did I ever imagine he’d be different with me?

She tried to say something. To beg for a reprieve—if not from Denys then from their adversary, who sat waiting, his face an expressionless bronze mask as the silence seemed to stretch into eternity.

Eventually, Denys spoke. ‘I call,’ he said hoarsely. ‘And I raise—five hundred thousand.’

Vassos Gordanis looked at him, his brows lifted. ‘Trying to scare me off, kyrie?’ he enquired mockingly. ‘I fear you will not do so. In fact, I am even more eager now to discover what could make her worth so high a price.’

He gestured imperatively, and the stout man approached and put a chequebook and pen on the table in front of him.

As if in a trance, Joanna watched him write the cheque and sign it, then place it with the pile of chips.

‘I call,’ he said, and sat back.

Denys put down his hand, face upwards. ‘Full house,’ he said. ‘With kings.’

There was a pause, then Vassos Gordanis sighed, and lifted one shoulder in a philosophical shrug.

Bluffing, Joanna thought, a wild hope building inside her. He’s been bluffing and Daddy’s known it all along.

Hardly breathing, she watched their adversary turn his cards over. Saw the queen of diamonds go down, followed by the queen of clubs, to be joined next by the queen of spades.

He’s got a full house too, she thought, her throat tightening in excitement and sheer relief as he put down his next card, the five of clubs. Queens and fives, which Dad’s kings will beat. So I’m safe.

Only to see his long fingers place the last card on the table. A red card, depicting a woman holding a flower.

Joanna looked at it and the world stopped. Four of a kind, she thought numbly. Oh, God, he has four of a kind.

‘The queen of hearts,’ Vassos Gordanis said softly. ‘So I win. Everything.’

And smiled at her.

CHAPTER FOUR

IT WAS, she thought, like being enclosed in a glass case. A place where she could see what was happening but take no part in it, and where her voice could not be heard.

Aware, but isolated. But still able to think. To reason.

The queen of hearts …

At first she told herself that it must be a joke. That no one could possibly win another human being for a bet, however large.

Sooner or later, she thought painfully, this ghastly humiliation would come to an end, and she and her father would be allowed to leave, even if all they took with them was their freedom to do so. Because they were in worse trouble than they’d ever been in their lives, as Gaston Levaux’s tight-lipped presence only confirmed.

We don’t just owe the hotel, she realised. There’s also Mrs Van Dyne, who may not be very happy when she finds out what a total mess we’re in.

But I mustn’t think like that. When we’re out of here, we can work something out. Denys will bounce back somehow, as he always does. I’m sure of it. I’ll really ask Monsieur Levaux to find me a job in the kitchens or as a chambermaid. Something. Anything. And we’ll survive. We always have before.

She forced herself to lift her chin, trying to appear unconcerned as she focussed once again on the events taking place in front of her. Trying, also, to ignore a cold, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she saw Vassos Gordanis reach for his cheque and quite deliberately tear it into small pieces, before placing the fragments in his ashtray and setting fire to them.

As she observed him summon Gaston Levaux and issue low-voiced instructions which she could not hear, but which, some instinct warned, concerned Denys and herself.

As she watched the other players get to their feet, shaking hands with their host and each other, but avoiding even a sideways glance at her or at her father, who remained motionless in his chair, his head buried in his hands.

Behaving, she thought, in a way that suggests they’re too embarrassed to acknowledge our continuing presence in the room.

And she began to realise, as fear stirred within her, that the outcome of the evening might not be as simple as she’d hoped, or tried to believe.

As Chuck passed her, she impulsively caught at his sleeve. ‘Help me.’ Her voice was a thread. ‘Help me—please.’

‘Nothing doing, honey.’ He detached himself firmly from her clasp. ‘I’m a married man, and I know what my wife would say if I turned up with a cute little number like you.’ He paused. ‘Besides, if you can’t stand the heat, you should’ve stayed out of the kitchen.’