Mediterranean Nights (7 page)

‘That's splendid.' His face lit up. ‘Come on, let's get out of here, the atmosphere in this place is just frightful. How I've stood it these last few nights I can't think, but I suppose you don't notice it if you play.'

‘Why do you come then?' she inquired.

‘Well—er—I suppose you haven't noticed me, but as a matter of fact—I come to look at you—I say,' he added anxiously, ‘that's not another brick, is it?'

Sally laughed; she had noticed him, but she was not going to admit it. ‘There is another proverb,' she said, ‘about cats and kings.'

They had left the Salle de Jeux and ensconced themselves at a little table with a bottle of Bollinger in an ice bucket between them.

He offered her a cigarette as he remarked: ‘You must have lost a packet in the last few nights.'

‘Two thousand in a fortnight,' remarked Sally bitterly.

‘My hat! That's an awful lot of money—you must be jolly rich.'

‘I'm not, I've just behaved like an idiot—that's all.'

‘Well, please don't think I mean to be rude or anything—but why not stop now? You'll never win it back.'

She made a grimace. ‘I'm going home the day after tomorrow, so I've no choice, and anyhow I've no money left.'

They sat silent for a while, then she said: ‘I made up my mind to win five thousand pounds when I came out here; instead I've lost every bean I've got.'

‘Are you on your own?' he hazarded.

‘Oh no—I came with Aged Aunt—she'll pay the hotel bill and see me safely home.'

‘I've never seen her with you.'

‘Aged Aunt doesn't play. She likes her bridge in the evening with the other old trout, and her walk in the morning—otherwise
she sleeps all day. Why she ever comes to Monte I can't think.'

‘Does she know about…?' He hesitated, not quite sure how to describe the
débâcle
of the evening without offence.

‘Good gracious no! She'd have a fit if she did—but I'll take good care she doesn't. It's my own stupid funeral.'

He sat looking at her intently, admiring the long eyelashes that veiled her grey eyes—the well-marked brows and the curve of her cheek; suddenly she spoke abruptly: ‘I suppose you're wondering why I've been such a fool—and you're too polite to ask? Well, I'll tell you if you like.'

He smiled. ‘I don't want to pry, but it is a bit staggering for a girl to drop two thousand pounds in ten days. In any case I'd awfully like to know your name.'

Sally had not the least desire to find this strange young man on the doorstep of her hotel next morning, so she replied without hesitation: ‘My name is Julia Markham, and we're staying at the Metropole,' both of which statements were quite untrue. Yet, although she had no wish to continue this chance acquaintance she wished intensely to pour out her woes to some sympathetic ear. Aged Aunt was out of the question—she knew no one of her own age in Monte Carlo, and this young man had brought it on himself, so she leant forward with both arms on the little table, cupped her little, firm, round chin in her hands and continued.

‘It's like this. Father died when I was quite young, and I never knew my mother. Aged Aunt brought me up. We've got a place in Gloucestershire; it's rather lovely really; not very big, you know—but it's been in the family for three hundred years. Father was frightfully keen that it should not go to anyone with another name, and, poor darling, he never had a son. He put the property in trust with enough money to keep it up, and in addition to that he put aside a further thirty thousand pounds. I was to live there until I was twenty-one—after that I was to have a year to make up my mind. If I decided to marry my cousin, I was to have the property and he was to have the thirty thousand pounds. If I didn't he got the place and the thirty thousand went to the hospitals. You see, Father wanted him to keep the name going, but he wanted me to have the place—the money was the bait to make Cousin Henry marry me.'

The young man's eyes widened. ‘
Bait
' he was thinking, ‘the father must have died when his daughter was very young indeed to think that bait would be necessary to entice a man to marry her,' but he kept his thoughts discreetly to himself and merely said: ‘Seems a bit hard on you, doesn't it—what's Cousin Henry like?'

‘I don't know; he lives in Canada. Last time he was in England I was at school in Paris—he's coming over again next week.' An angry light came into Sally's grey eyes. ‘But whatever he's like I won't marry him—I've made up my mind about that.'

‘I must say I think it was rather rotten of your father to cut you off like that.'

‘Not really.' She shook her head. ‘He didn't mean to, he was awfully rich when he made that will, and he left me the residue of his estate. I shouldn't have missed the thirty thousand if it hadn't been for the war, but all his investments were in Russia and he was nearly ruined. It was the shock that killed him, I think. Of course, they couldn't touch the place or the thirty thousand, but by the time everything was cleared up there was only a little over two thousand for me.'

‘What appalling luck—wills are tricky things, they often pan out quite differently to their maker's intentions. But what's all this got to do with your mighty flutter—is it that two thousand that you've just done in?'

Sally nodded gravely, it really was a comfort to talk to this nice young man. That's it,' she said. ‘You see I'm nearly twenty-two and I had to make some arrangements for the future—you can't live on a hundred a year—at least I can't, but two-fifty is different. There's a little cottage outside the Park that's going quite cheap, and I've got an idea that I could write a bit. If I could have turned my two thousand into five I could have managed, but that's impossible now. I suppose it's charity with Aged Aunt, or some rotten job in London.'

‘You've quite made up your mind not to marry Cousin Henry then?'

‘Quite.' Sally viciously jabbed the butt of her cigarette in the ash-tray. ‘I've never seen him and I don't want to. I've hated the idea ever since I was old enough to think. What makes me so furious is that I had such marvellous luck in
my first week, by the fourth night I was up seven hundred pounds.'

He opened his mouth to speak, but she broke in quickly: ‘If you say “beginner's luck” I shall cry—or go home to bed!'

‘All right, I won't,' he smiled, ‘but all the same, if I played I'd always follow anyone who was new to it.'

‘It must have been just about the time when you turned up that I started to lose,' she said, then mentally kicked herself as she realised that she had admitted noticing him in the rooms.

Sally knew that he had seen her slip, but he did not charge her with it. Instead he leant across the table and said earnestly:

‘Look here, if my presence has been responsible for your bad luck, it's in my power to change it yet.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Let me lend you a few
milles
.'

Sally turned away her head. ‘No thank you,' she said, a trifle coldly.

‘Please,' he begged. ‘I don't mean a big sum, nothing that you couldn't repay by selling an odd piece of jewellery or something.'

‘I thought you were urging me just now not to gamble any more?'

‘I was—I should be still if you had any money left. In any case you can't hope to get your two thousand back, but you might pick up a bit—borrowed money always brings luck.'

Sally was thinking quickly. She had been so certain somehow that tonight she was going to make a pile. Not tomorrow night, which would be her last in Monte Carlo, but tonight. There was that old ring her godmother had left her—it must be worth quite a lot. During her stay in Monte Carlo she had unconsciously absorbed the atmosphere of superstition with its talk of ‘lucky days—unlucky seats—charms, systems, and amulets'—it was not the first time that she had heard that saying, ‘Borrowed money is lucky'. What if there was something in it after all?

‘One
mille
? she declared suddenly, ‘one
mille
and no more. If I lose it I'll send you the money from England, if you don't mind that?'

‘Of course not.' He finished his champagne and stood up. ‘Come along and get some chips.' They changed the thousand-franc note at the
caisse
, and he handed her the plaques. Sally chose a table that she had never played at before and secured a vacant place near the croupier. The rooms were crowded now, but there was little noise, only the quiet calling of the croupiers, and the click—click—click as the ivory ball rattled in the wheel of fortune. The cigar smoke hung heavily in the close, still air—the covered lights threw their brilliance on the baize-covered table.

At first Sally played carefully, and as is usually the case when care is brought into the game, found her capital diminishing in driblets. Then she came home on a number—that heartened her and she began to play more freely. The game swung first one way—then the other; but whenever she got up to a
mille
in addition to her borrowed money she went down again; then, when she had been playing for about half an hour a long run on her slender resources began—she found herself reduced to a bare nine plaques.

‘Go for a number,' he advised, leaning over her shoulder, ‘it is your only chance.'

‘All right,' Sally agreed, smiling, ‘neck or nothing this time.' She chose the number seven and covered it—one in the centre, one on each side, and one on every corner.

‘
Rien ne va plus, Messieurs, Mesdames
,' came the soft call of the croupier; the little white ball was jumping from slot to slot in the slowing wheel—it hesitated, then dropped into number seven.

Where Sally's nine plaques had been were now the equivalent of one hundred and forty-five. Unsmiling, the croupier flicked them towards her with his rake. She drew them in, setting aside the ones of higher value. Again she covered the seven—again it won: the croupier threw her two big plaques and a number of smaller ones. She shifted to number eleven, but ten turned up—her
cheval
brought her seventeen and her corners eight apiece. With her loss of six, she was twenty-six to the good on the turn. Next time eleven turned up, she was on it still and had won again. A little murmur of excitement ran round the table. For the next two spins a higher number won, but with the third the luck came back to the lower figures once more; she was on six, and two was called.
After that the luck seemed to settle in the lower dozen—in half an hour she won six times on her numbers, and every second spin her
cheval
and corners more than covered her bets. She had increased her stakes now and was putting on maximums every time. A little crowd had gathered to watch her play—her stacks of plaques were growing rapidly. She had a bad period after that first brilliant run of fortune for about twenty minutes, but it made no serious inroad on her winnings. The luck came back to the lower numbers and she won three times on number six.

Suddenly she stood up. ‘I'm going to the
louis
table,' she declared, gathering her piles of plaques together. ‘My chance has come.' He did not attempt to stop her, but moved quietly at her side. For a few minutes she watched the higher play at the new table without making any bet, then she leant forward and plastered the seventeen. It was a spectacular entrance to a spectacular game. As though to welcome her the little ball clicked into seventeen—the middle dozen at the higher table favoured her, just as the lower numbers had before. Time after time her bets came home—steadily the chips of higher value mounted in three piles before her.

People began to follow her luck after a while, but she began to dodge about the table and the luck always followed her choice.

At half past two the croupier spoke to an official of the casino, and for a few moments play was suspended. Sally had accomplished the gambler's dream—more money had to be sent for—technically, she had broken the bank at Monte Carlo.

When the money arrived she still played on and added yet another hoard to her amazing winnings in the ensuing half-hour. At three o'clock the young man tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Time for you to stop,' he said gently.

‘Must I?' Sally looked up, her grey eyes shining with excitement. She felt that she could go on and on—that her luck would never change. ‘Must I?' she pleaded. ‘Just a little longer.'

He shook his dark, attractive head, his firm mouth showed no relenting; she got up slowly from the table. ‘We'll cash them in,' he said, and began to stuff the plaques into his pockets.

Sally turned to the croupier and gave him a
mille
note. With a charming smile and low, ‘
Merci—bon soir
' she turned and followed her fairy godfather to the
caisse
. Directly she left the table she felt how right he was to make her stop. Another half-hour and all that money might have melted away again; now it was safe—she had won a little fortune. Smiling, she watched him change the plaques into notes of high denominations. He was busy for quite ten minutes; as they walked away he held them out to her—a bulging, solid sheaf. Then he drew them back as he said with a smile: ‘Too much for your little bag, I'd better take care of them for the moment—you won't be tempted to change your mind about that cousin now.' He split the bundle, pushing the two wads into his pockets.

Sally smiled back; she knew that the cottage was hers now—all through a
mille
of borrowed money. ‘Thanks,' she said, ‘I'll get my coat, then if you'll take me back to my hotel we'll put them in the safe till the morning.'

She was only gone five minutes—five glorious minutes of visualising again those marvellous coups—those masses and masses of counters being pushed towards her—that great solid roll of bank-notes that was hers. What a perfect darling that young man was—how wonderful of him to have made her leave the table at just the right moment. If she had stayed she would be certain to have lost it all again; but when she came out of the cloakroom, that marvellous young man was no longer there.