Chapter Ten
Lycos’s expression was shuttered. His adrenaline levels were slightly raised, but not from excitement. The very reverse. He knew exactly what mental state he was entering as he walked with Arielle at his side into the grand townhouse, windows lit up for the party already underway, in an elegant terrace off the Place de l’étoile in a wealthy Right Bank arrondissement.
Did he regret accepting the invitation for tonight? Arielle had been wary about just what was involved. But she’d agreed, all the same, and Lycos got the impression she was curious about this side of his life. The one that was so familiar to him.
It’s the life I’ve been leading with Arielle that is unfamiliar to me.
Peaceful days at the mas, one following another in bucolic ease. And the days here in Paris sightseeing, visiting art galleries and museums, going to classical music concerts and the opera—Arielle was expanding his own experiences.
Tonight, it was his turn to show her his world.
Thoughts flickered as he made his way forward, greeting those he knew. Paul Ronsard would not be here this evening as he was in London on business. Lycos was glad, for Arielle’s sake. That exchange over the horse had obviously upset her.
But the guests here tonight, even if not known personally to him, were all of a similar kind. Drawn together for one reason only—to gamble. It was the world he knew and had made his own.
But is it still?
He’d told Arielle that gambling was no longer the way he made his money. That he continued with it only to keep his skills honed. And that was why he was here tonight. Arielle, at his side, was looking stunning again in a couture gown, her throat adorned with a diamond necklace. Tonight, she would witness the way in which he had come to be able to afford to buy such lavish gifts for her.
He moved on through the gathering guests, guiding Arielle forward at his side.
Arielle smiled politely and took a canape. She was making minimal contribution to whatever conversation was taking place. Some of the people in their group were familiar from that race day she hadn’t enjoyed and all were of the same type. Opulent, self-congratulatory, over-pleased with themselves, men and women both. The latter visibly on display.
Does Lycos really like these people?
She couldn’t tell. His expression was shuttered and there was a detachment about him that gave him an air of reserve. She realised he’d stopped meeting her eyes, seemed to have withdrawn into himself. Nor was he drinking alcohol, she noticed. Only bottled water, sparkling and flavourless.
He’s keeping his mind clear. Sharp. He can risk no impairment of mental function.
She felt a knot of tension tighten within her. Soon, she supposed, the gaming would begin. For Lycos’s sake she would endure it.
It’s important to him. Gambling is not casual self-indulgence to him. It’s his skill, his ability, his achievement. It was the ladder that took him out of poverty. Out of that sad, unhappy childhood. That let him make something of his life. That has given him the means to live life as wealth makes possible.
And who was she to be hypocritical about wealth? Had Naomi not married her father she herself would be wealthy, not just scraping by on the modest sum he’d made over to her as a student. Oh, she’d have been nowhere near Lycos’s league, but she’d have had enough to allow her to do what she liked with her life. Not to have to work to earn a living, but be able to look after her beloved mas. To follow her music and have a pleasant, financially carefree life. Her father had made his money through shrewd property investment. Lycos had made his through his skill at cards. He won from those who, like all those here tonight, could easily afford to lose. If they pitted their wits against the Wolf and came off the worse for it, so what?
She felt a faint touch on her bare arm.
‘Arielle?’ Lycos was addressing her. His voice was polite, his tone detached.
She realised he was making a move and so were others. Docilely she went with him. Lycos had already told her on the way here that she was welcome in the card room, but must remain quiet, standing away from the tables.
‘I have to remain entirely focussed. There will be breaks from time to time, but during play there must be no distractions. You will have to leave me entirely alone. Do you understand?’
She’d nodded. She had no intention of getting involved in the slightest.
He’s welcome to fleece anyone here! I couldn’t care less!
Would he do so tonight? It seemed likely, according to his reputation. He was, after all, the Wolf and those who played against him did so of their own choice.
At their own risk.
Just as I am with him at my own risk.
The thought was in her head before she could stop it.
But what was it she was risking? And what might she lose?
She headed upstairs, Lycos at her side, unwilling to answer either question.
Lycos sat at the table he’d selected. The world had disappeared. All that existed were the cards displayed in his hand and the calculations running through his head. He paid little attention to the other players. Only to what cards they played, what money they staked and when. He was entirely focussed on the progress of the game. His mind was in a flow state, everything else obliterated from consciousness except that necessary to move the state of play to where he wanted it to go. Adapting his decisions to what each new card, his or his opponents’, denoted.
Emotion, of any kind, was entirely absent. His play was remorseless. His face expressionless.
The Wolf was here to win.
Arielle suppressed an inner sigh. She could make no sense of what was happening. At first, she’d been warily curious to see what was involved, but it had not taken long to realise that a game in which she had no idea what the rules of play were would be impossible to follow. Watching the players push their chips forward was unnerving, given their cash value, but she had no idea why they were making the stakes they were making. She certainly had no idea at all what Lycos was doing, or why. She could tell nothing about him whatsoever. His expression was entirely blank. Nothing showed in his face, eyes or body language.
Players had ‘tells’, so watching the occasional movie featuring gambling had told her, but that didn’t seem to apply to Lycos.
It’s like watching a robot.
He showed nothing, whether the pile of chips that were his rose or fell.
That wasn’t so with all of the players though. Some players, at the end of a game, showed satisfaction or chagrin. When a game ended, they remarked to each other and discussed what had happened. Lycos kept silent. No one tried to talk to him or engage him. Until the next game started, he simply took a used pack of cards and shuffled it mechanically to occupy his hands. His face remained expressionless, his eyes blank, while he took an occasional sip of water from the glass in front of him. She did not try and engage him either. He made no move to turn to her, talk to her, or even to acknowledge her existence.
She found it chilling.
On impulse, she slipped from the room. The atmosphere in there was oppressive. Everyone there simply wanted to make money. To win, to triumph, to beat their opponents, to outdo them. Including, presumably, Lycos.
It was a side of him she’d never seen and she found it unnerving.
Out on the landing she hesitated for a moment, then scooped up the long skirt of her gown and made her way up the next set of stairs. The bathrooms set aside for guests were up here, so she recalled someone mentioning. Maybe she could lurk up there until Lycos called it quits.
When would he, she wondered?
If I really get bored and I can’t stand it, I’ll head back to the hotel in a taxi and just text him to let him know that I’ve gone.
She doubted he would notice or even realise she wasn’t in the card room any longer.
A door standing ajar on the deserted upper floor indicated that it was a bathroom and she approached it. As she did, she heard a voice speaking and paused. It was coming from the bathroom. She didn’t want to eavesdrop, but had no choice.
‘I know and I don’t want to do it! I know how risky it is! But I’m going to, all the same. I’ve got to try! It’s all I can think of. It’s our only chance.’
She could half see the speaker, his body in profile, holding a mobile phone to his ear. He fell silent a moment, then spoke again, sounding impatient. Stressed.
‘There’s no point saying that! I know what I’m doing. Look, I have to go.’
She saw him disconnect the call and then stride out of the bathroom. His expression was steely and tension radiated from him. As he saw Arielle he halted abruptly. He was a young man, in his early twenties she judged. He was good-looking and his French, she realised, had been distinctly upper-class.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, sounding curt as he skirted around her to head downstairs with a rapid gait.
She thought no more about it as she headed into the plush bathroom. Deliberately she dallied in there, retouching her lipstick, re-spritzing her perfume and then availing herself of a basket of necessities on the vanity unit. She searched through a tiny sewing kit to extract a couple of safety pins. She hoicked up her decolletage, which she fancied was too low, and fastened it discreetly. Eventually she could delay no longer.
Would Lycos still be immersed in his card game?
Probably.
At least she didn’t have to worry about him losing. After all, he was the Wolf, she thought sardonically. And anyway, with his wealth he could presumably shrug off any losses.
She frowned. It couldn’t always have been like that. When he was young and trying to make his fortune, it must have been nerve-wracking for him.
The words of that young man on the phone just now came back to her. In his tone, anxiety warring with determination.
Had Lycos once been like that? Needing to win. Fearing to lose.
Well, that didn’t apply any longer. Reluctantly she headed downstairs again, and slipped into the card room where Lycos was playing. Someone had already said it was the room with the deepest play. Just right for the Wolf.
He was still there, at the same table. Players came to him, it seemed, for now there were fresh faces around him.
Do they not care about losing to him, which is what seems likely to happen?
Presumably not. Everyone here was rich and was gambling for pleasure. They could afford to lose to Lycos. What they seemed to want, she’d seen, was to have played against him whether they won or lost.
Two new players took their places. One of them was apparently known to Lycos who afforded him the slightest nod and a brief greeting but nothing more. Fresh decks of cards were being set down and the two other players were arranging their chips. As for Lycos, he sat motionless. Arielle wondered whether to approach him, but refrained, mindful of his admonition not to distract him.
Another player joined the table, taking the place opposite Lycos, setting down his chips with an air of studied deliberation. Arielle recognised him. It was the young man who’d been on the phone upstairs. He sat back in his chair, one hand resting on the baize, a gold signet ring with an aristocratic crest on it, glinted in the light. He seemed to give off an air of unconcern but Arielle frowned. The unconcern seemed forced. Or was it, considering who he was playing against, mere bravado? Arrogance even?
A voice beside her spoke as she stood near the wall.
‘His father’s a vicomte,’ the woman, also an observer, murmured. ‘Handsome, isn’t he? And he knows it! He’s brave to choose the Wolf’s table though!’ She gave a low laugh and moved away towards the bar that occupied one side of the room.
Arielle leant back against the wall behind Lycos. Play started at his table. The cards were dealt and drawn. Chips were moved about. She couldn’t tell what was happening. The hush and palpable concentration in the room oppressed her. Play continued at several tables and she suppressed a yawn.
Her eyes started to glaze.
Lycos watched as the player opposite him hesitated then moved more chips forward. He knew why and he knew what his own reaction would be whatever decision was made next. But he also knew what the player’s next decision would be and moments later it was confirmed. More of the player’s chips were pushed forward.
It was a stupid move because Lycos knew what cards he was likely to be holding and that the chances of improving them by his next draw were not good. But then he wasn’t a skilful player. He made rash, unwise decisions. The light glinted off his crested signet ring and the ‘de’ in front of his name when introductions had been made told Lycos what he was. Some cocky aristocratic sprig, playing way out of his league. He would lose. And badly.
Play continued. Lycos continued to win.
The way the Wolf always did.
Arielle edged over to the bar set up at the far side of the room. She didn’t want any alcohol, but her throat was dry. Asking for a flavoured tonic water, she perched on a bar stool. The room was a lot emptier now than it had been earlier. Observers had wandered off and two of the card tables were deserted. Now, maybe, she thought, only the hard-core gamblers remained. She sipped her tonic water, watching Lycos’s table. After a while one of his opponents folded and left the table. The second was, it seemed to her, playing half-heartedly. The third, the young man, the vicomte’s son, was betting heavily.
Very heavily.
Arielle started to frown. There was something else different about him now. He was no longer unconcernedly leant back, resting his signet-ring fingered hand casually on the baize. In fact, he wasn’t looking unconcerned at all.
His jaw was taut, mouth compressed, his face pale and, in his cheek, Arielle could see a tic working. Tension sat across his shoulders. His movements, as he drew cards or moved chips forward, were jerky.
He was losing. She could see that plainly enough. And his chips were going only in one direction. Towards his opponent. The Wolf.
Her eyes went to Lycos. His face was still expressionless, unreadable. From time to time his blank gaze rested on the young man, then returned to his own hand. The other players’ chips continued to dwindle. Arielle could see a new emotion show on the younger player’s face. Saw it and saw too that his movements were no longer just hesitant. His hands were trembling.
And in his face, and in his eyes, was a look of disbelief.
And something more…
Desperation.
Lycos set down his hand.
To his left the other player exclaimed with a pungent oath and displayed his own hand. Strong, but not enough to beat the Wolf.
Lycos’s eyes went to the player opposite. The cocky aristocratic sprig with whom he’d all but wiped the floor. He waited expectantly. For a moment, the young man hesitated, then showed his cards. Lycos said nothing, only gathered the chips in play towards himself. The player to his left got to his feet.
‘Enough. The Wolf wins. Again. Damn him!’
Lycos said nothing, only gave a curt nod as the man left the table. His eyes rested on the remaining player.
‘Well?’ His voice was expressionless.
For a moment there was silence. He could see the young man’s face work. Then his chin went up defiantly.
‘I don’t quit, m’sieu,’ he said. His voice was gritted.
‘As you wish,’ said Lycos. His glance dropped to the meagre pile of chips still at the young man’s side. ‘Are you good for credit?’
Something flashed in the young man’s eyes, as though he’d been insulted.
‘D’accord,’ he said.
Lycos gave another curt nod. ‘Very well.’
He reached for a new pack of cards.
Arielle lurched to her feet, abandoning her drink. Rapidly she went up to Lycos.
He had started to deal. Her hand went to his shoulder.
‘Lycos, no—’
Her voice was low. Insistent.
He stilled. He did not turn, or look at her.
‘Laisse moi—’
It was not said loudly, and it might have been a robot speaking, but still she recoiled as if he had struck her. Then she leant forward, voice urgent.
‘Lycos, for God’s sake. Don’t play him again! Can’t you see—’
His head snapped round. His eyes were like a basilisk’s. He gave her a murderous look.
For one endless moment she held that basilisk stare. Then she dragged her gaze across the table. To the young man. He was scarcely more than a boy.
‘Don’t play,’ she said directly to him. ‘Accept your losses and go home.’
She got no answer. Instead, someone took her arm and drew her away. It was the player who had just lost to Lycos and had accepted his losses with a pungent oath.
‘Leave them,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing you can do. The boy has to learn.’ His voice came sardonic. ‘And believe me, the Wolf will teach him.’
Arielle’s eyes flared. ‘But he’s terrified! Can’t you see it? He’s way out of his depth, and—’
‘And it is not your business, or the Wolf’s.’ He gave a shrug. ‘His father’s a vicomte. He can stand the loss.’
‘Then why is he so terrified?’
The man shrugged again. ‘Loss of face,’ he said. ‘But he was a fool to join the table. Anyone could have told him that. Take my advice. Let this play out to the end. You can’t stop it anyway. Not if Lycos is willing to accept vowels—the kid’s IOU. Who knows…’ he gave a rough laugh, ‘…the Wolf might end the night the owner of an aristocrat’s château!’
He walked away, leaving the room on a heavy tread. The room was all but deserted now. No other tables were in play.
Silently, Arielle went back to her place by the wall, behind Lycos. She felt sick. Sick and angry. Angry like the way she’d felt at the racecourse when that vile man had said he was killing his horse because it hadn’t made him any money.
Sick like the way she’d felt when Lycos had turned up at the mas and told her that he’d won it in a game of cards.
And now—
With heart thudding, she watched the game unfold until its inevitable conclusion.
Lycos crossed to the bar. The evening was finished. He ordered a martini and knocked it back in one. Then he glanced around. He frowned. Arielle had disappeared. His frown deepened. He had not meant to shut her down like that, but he had warned her that she must not interrupt him.
Let alone for such a reason.
His mouth curled. In his jacket pocket was a signed and witnessed IOU, the signature a shaky scrawl. Of the vicomte’s gilded son there was no sign. Off to lick his wounded ego no doubt.
He pushed back his empty martini glass. Wherever Arielle had got to, she would find him ready to go home. Chips cashed, winnings ready to bank.
Time to celebrate. And he knew just how he would do so. Had it not been for years of rigid self-discipline Arielle tonight would have been a fatal distraction. But now, now she could distract him all she liked. He would apologise for snapping at her. They would get back to the hotel and order room service. He was hungry now for more than Arielle. And then for dessert… Well, the night was long and dessert could take a long, long time to feast on…
He left the room, heading downstairs. Arielle must have gone down already.
Arielle leant against the wall outside the bathroom. The door was closed shut, but she could hear the sound of retching. She knew who it was, she had followed him upstairs. He had held it together until Lycos had left the table. Then he had walked, like a zombie, white-faced, from the room.
The sound of retching ended and she heard water running. She backed away, down to the dimly lit end of the corridor, out of sight. He would not want his misery witnessed.
Only when she heard footsteps heading down did she move. On heavy tread she made her way downstairs to the entrance hall.
She saw Lycos waiting there.
His expression as she came up to him was warm.
But hers was like stone.
Lycos sat back in the taxi, Arielle beside him. She was looking out of the window, drawn a little apart from him and very quiet. He assumed she was tired. As for himself, he knew this state of mind too. Mentally exhausted, half still fully focussed, half detached. It took him a while to come down from the mental state he needed to be in to follow the play and fall of the cards. He sat back musing absently, eyes unseeing, as the Paris traffic went past at this late hour. The last time he’d played had been when he’d taken down Gerald Maitland. Taken his money and his mas and then driven up the Rhône valley through the night.
It had proved a fateful journey. And a fateful win.
It brought Arielle into my life.
His head turned slightly, eyes half-open. She sat, face averted, in half profile. On impulse he reached for her hand, folding his around it. It felt cold to his touch. Inert.
Arielle waited until they were back in their room at the hotel. Her head was aching, a tight band around it. She made for the bathroom.
‘I need a shower,’ she said. She knew her voice sounded strained, but she also knew why. She barely looked at Lycos.
He nodded. ‘I’ll get on to room service. What would you like?’
‘Oh…whatever,’ she managed to say. She shut the bathroom door, wanting only privacy.
Her mind was in turmoil, yet blank at the same time. For a moment she stared at herself in the mirror over the vanity. She looked like a stranger. Alien.
But then so had Lycos, sitting at that card table.
In her head she heard his low, bitten out words when she’d tried to intervene in his demolition of that hapless boy.
‘Laisse moi!’
She inhaled a sharp breath, which stabbed her as if a knife. Face contorting, with a sudden movement, she started to strip off her finery. Dress hooked on the back of the door, necklace with its pendent diamond dropped into the toiletries’ basket. She reached for her face cleanser and removed all of her make-up. When she’d finished her face looked bare.
And bleak.
Discarding her undies, she stepped into the shower, turning the water on full. Drenching her body. Washing something away.
Something she needed to wash away.
Lycos opened the door to room service. He was barefoot and dressed in his bathrobe, feeling a lot more comfortable out of his tux. Mentally he had pretty much come back down from his detached, elevated state. He was hungry for food. And for Arielle. He stood aside while the waiter set out the dishes and then left the room. He heard the shower cut out and Arielle emerged. Like him, she was dressed in a bathrobe. Her face was clear of make-up and her hair had been brushed out. His face lit up with a smile and he held her chair at the table for her.
‘I’ve gone Italian,’ he announced. ‘I hope that appeals?’
She nodded, taking her place. He looked at her. She seemed different but he wasn’t quite sure how.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, concerned.
She pressed her lips a moment. ‘Headache,’ she said.
‘You should eat something. This evening was not relaxing.’
‘No,’ she agreed. She didn’t meet his eyes.
Leaving the pasta carbonara to stay warm in its covered tureen, Lycos raised his glass. He’d ordered a robust Italian red wine to go with the pasta.
‘Well, here’s to it being over and to us relaxing. Santé!’ he toasted.
She did not answer him, but she picked up her wine glass and took a draught. As she set back the glass, so did he.
‘Tomorrow,’ he announced, ‘we’ll have the day entirely to ourselves. And the evening. No more socialising.’ He looked at her, his expression quizzical. ‘And no more gaming parties.’
She looked at him now, across the table. ‘Lycos, why do you still gamble? You don’t need the money any more.’
He met her eyes. They were troubled. Questioning.
‘No, I don’t,’ he agreed. ‘But as I’ve told you, I don’t want to lose my edge. It’s the one skill I have.’
‘But you don’t need it any more.’
He looked at her and chose his words carefully, so she would understand.
‘Tell me something. You trained as a musician. You studied it for three years. It’s your skill. If someone asked you why you still play the piano, even though you don’t make a living out of it, what would you tell them?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not the same.’
‘Why not?’
She didn’t answer. He let it be. He was hungry and served up the pasta, getting stuck in with gusto. Arielle ate too, but less hungrily. There was still that different air about her. She seemed withdrawn, troubled.
He didn’t want that feeling to be there.
Clearing his dish, he set down his fork. Looked across at her.
‘Arielle, I owe you an apology. And I give it to you freely. I’d hoped I’d given you fair warning that you must not interrupt or distract me during play.’ He paused, looking directly at her. She wasn’t meeting his eyes.
‘Is that why you’re upset with me?’ he said.
She still didn’t look at him, but she set down her fork.
‘No,’ she said. Her voice was low. ‘It was because of that boy. That boy I tried to stop you playing with!’
‘Boy?’ he said blankly.
Her eyes flashed. ‘Yes, boy! Because that’s all he was, Lycos! Barely of a legal age to gamble! You demolished him! You totally demolished him! How much did he lose in the end? You made him sign some kind of IOU on top of taking everything else he had! His hand shook when he signed it. I saw it!’
Lycos sat back. His face had shuttered.
‘He knew what he was getting into. There were other tables he could have joined, where the play was not so deep. And he would not have had to face playing me. He chose to do so, Arielle. And that is not my responsibility! I have a well-known reputation and those who take it into their heads to challenge me do so at their own risk! If some spoilt rich kid wants to boast that he played against the Wolf, and got wiped out instead, that’s his problem!’
His voice rose slightly.
‘I’ve seen types like him all my life. Arrogant, conceited, flaunting their money, taking it for granted, wasting it on anything they want to waste it on, including their gaming losses. So what makes that pampered kid tonight any different from your stepbrother? Do you bleed over him being taken to the cleaners by the Wolf? No, you don’t. So don’t bleed over some wet-behind-the-ears idiot who fancied himself playing against me and got taught a life-long lesson for his pains. Not that it will cost him anything!’
His voice twisted derisively.
‘He’ll just dip into his trust fund, that’s all. Or trot to his doting papa, the vicomte, to pay his debt for him! All that’s injured is his pride as he slinks off with his tail between his legs!’
‘Lycos, he looked sick and was white as a sheet. And I heard him throwing up afterwards, in the bathroom.’
He shrugged angrily. ‘So what? He was probably liquored up.’
‘He was sick with fear. He looked terrified as he left the room. And even before he joined your table I’d heard him on his phone—’
Lycos slapped his hand down on the table. Cutting her off. ‘Arielle. Enough. I am not going to repeat myself. He could have cut his losses at any time and folded. He didn’t. It was his choice, his responsibility, his problem.’
He took a scything breath.
‘I’m not discussing it any more. If I gamble again, I won’t take you with me since it obviously upsets you so much.’
He took another breath, less scything this time.
‘Now, let’s just relax, OK?’
He reached for the wine, topped up their glasses and drank from his own. He glanced across at Arielle again. She’d gone quiet, and he should be glad of it, but relaxed she was not. He wanted her relaxed.
‘So,’ he opened, deliberately moving on and away from what had so unnecessarily upset her. ‘What would you like to do tomorrow? Shall we even stay in Paris? If you’ve seen enough, we could head out to Normandy, Brittany, down to the Loire? What appeals? You choose,’ he said invitingly.
‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘Or maybe we could head east, tour the Champagne vineyards if you prefer,’ he suggested.
‘I… I don’t know.’
‘Well, we can decide tomorrow. Right now, that tiramisu is calling!’ he said good-humouredly.
He cleared their plates, spooned out generous portions of the tiramisu and poured out the dessert wine to go with it. He tucked into both heartily. Arielle less so. As she pushed her plate aside, he reached across, drew the back of his fingers softly down her cheek. Hunger was flaring in him again for Arielle.
She drew back. Looked across at him, but with that shuttered, half look again.
‘Lycos, I… I’m sorry. I’m going to have to take some aspirin. My head just isn’t clearing. I’m sorry,’ she said again.
Lycos breathed out, subduing his own feelings. ‘No need to apologise. Do you have any? Any aspirin, or anything else?’
She stood up. ‘Yes, in my toilet bag. I won’t be a moment.’ She disappeared into the bathroom. Lycos remained sitting at the table. This wasn’t about a headache. This was about the evening that had passed. This was about the Wolf.
But it’s who I am. And if she didn’t like it…?
Impatiently, he brushed the question away. It didn’t need to be answered.
It’s got nothing to do with what there is between us.
Nor would he let it be.
