Tidal Wave (17 page)

He thought it might have something to do with atmospheric
contrasts — the rough, stormy weather building up outside while he was cocooned in the warmth, safety, and luxury of the quiet ship. Most of the passengers were secluded in their cabins now. Nicholas liked the pounding of the waves against the ship as it thrust forward, the sound of the wind slapping against the portholes. The soft overhead lighting down the long, empty passageways was exciting to him, knowing that the ship teemed with life behind closed doors.

Couples coupling in seclusion were isolated from the outside world and cushioned in comfort against the mighty caprices of nature and the elements. Yet there was danger too because of the fragility of the comfort and security as they were floating on the seemingly bottomless ocean, totally dependent on the whims of the winds and the tides.

Nicholas’s imagination played games with him of wild, thrilling sex acted out between partners, odd sexual combinations, lust and some pain. Aggression, submission, exquisite desires and release and with it all, always lots of love and affection.

Where was she? Where could she be? Why had she not come to him?

In the card room he found several poker-playing men in dinner jackets, dress shirts undone and black silk ties dangling like ribbons round their necks while they chomped on expensive Corona cigars. A sleepy-eyed barman and two stewards stood silent and tired against one of the oak-paneled walls.

The other bars were closed. He even tried second class, on the lower deck, but she was nowhere to be found. He was on his way down to third class when suddenly it struck him — of course, the casino! She had to be in the casino.

He turned and, rushing through the corridor, he bumped into Cotille, who was looking for Marvin’s cabin.

She said, “It’s all right, Nicholas. I called and asked him if I could come to him. But I’m lost.”

Nicholas put her in the right direction and thought to himself, poor Cotille, she certainly is lost. I hope Marvin
can set her straight. He watched her scurry down the hall and he remembered what a perfect beauty she once was. Then he hurried to the casino.

He saw Arabella the very first moment he entered. She was sitting at the roulette table. The light from the silk-covered shade hanging over the center of the table fell over her like a soft, amber spotlight. Mike Mackay, the Texan, was sitting on her left. A handsome gigolo, Weston Warfield, was on her right with Missy, Arabella’s secretary, next to him. Xu stood squarely behind Arabella’s chair.

Nicholas recognized a French couple he knew playing opposite her. The rest of the table was occupied by several Arab sheikhs, and a few well-dressed beauties standing behind them. There was a woman, an octogenarian, dressed in black lace with a diamond choker and ropes of pearls. Her fine white hair was swept high on her head framing what was left of a once-beautiful face, now ravaged by time. In her bony, wrinkled, liver-spotted hand, she held a long, slender cigarette holder; her diamonds sparkled.

The croupier called, “
Vingt-cinq, rouge
,” and raked in the chips, paying out thousand-dollar chips to the elegant elderly woman and one of the Arab sheikhs. The second croupier, who was sitting on a high chair overseeing the table, climbed down and called, “Place your bets, please, ladies and gentlemen, place your bets.” Then he changed place with the working croupier.

The casino on the
Tatanya Annanovna
was reminiscent of the casino at Monte Carlo on a smaller scale, but it was no less luxurious. Ships in international waters are allowed gambling, and on this ship there were no slot machines — only baccarat, roulette, and similar high-stakes, high-risk games. At this time of the night all the small bettors had departed, along with the losers and those who feared losing. The tension was high as fortunes were gained or lost by the real high rollers.

Nicholas slipped into the casino without being noticed and stood in the shadows, drinking her in. She looked delectable,
ravishing. He wanted to eat her up, mouthful by mouthful, swallow her whole.

He had to smile. There was something about Arabella that always made him want to smile — the type of smile that rises right from the toes and goes all through the body and leaves you infused with joy. That was the way he had felt when he first saw her step out of the helicopter, when they made love, and now, when she had forced him to come after her, to the casino, it was the same thing. Was it because she had the world by the tail and shook it the way she wanted to and didn’t know it? Or was it that she had the world by its tail and knew it? He wondered. He reached in his breast pocket and took out one of his cigars, clipped the end off, and lighted it while standing in the shadows of the room. He admitted to himself that he was more than infatuated. Perhaps he was in love with Arabella Crawford.

Arabella had just picked up one of her ten-thousand-dollar chips from the stack in front of her when she saw the flash of a flame in the shadows across the room. His face was lighted as he puffed and turned the cigar slowly, lighting it evenly. Her heart skipped a beat. He had come for her, after all.

The croupier called out, “Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets, please. Place your bets.”

Mike Mackay put eighty-seven thousand dollars on the red six. He turned to Arabella and said, “Ah knew you were a gambler, Belle. Come on, let’s see what stuff you’re made of now! Ya not gonna hold back now, gal, are ya?”

“Ah sure am,” mimicked Arabella.

“Ah’m on to you, gal. I been watchin’ your play. You always hold back a portion of your winnings and your original stake. But you’re a heavy winner; tonight, go with your luck gal. Let’s see you gamble.”

Other bets were placed — some heavy, very heavy, some not so dramatic, and some meager but still acceptable.

Arabella listened to Mike while discreetly watching Nicholas walk slowly around the shadowy room toward the roulette table. Until his arrival she had been enjoying the
gambling. But the fun of the table slipped away because now she could only think of him and how much she wanted him.

The action at the table was quick, electric, and exciting. Arabella was still in it but part of her wasn’t. She looked across the room and saw him talking to a man and woman. He was laughing. Then he turned and their eyes met. She felt herself inadvertently stop breathing. The way he looked at her made her feel aroused, so feminine, and longing to feel him inside her. She contracted her vaginal muscles, drew in her breath, and thought about what coming had felt like with him that morning. He broke their gaze to say good-bye to the couple and then continued walking toward her.

Arabella made up her mind she was for the red six, the same as Mike Mackay. It had not come up and should have long before now. It was time. Mike had made a good choice; she was sure it was the red six to win.

Arabella pulled out twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of chips, her original stake for the evening, and put it to one side. She took off all but ten percent of her winnings and added that to it, having never forgotten her gambling skill that had helped make her a millionaire. Then she placed the remaining forty thousand dollars’ worth of chips on the red six.

Arabella heard Mike Mackay say, “Now you’re talking, gal. I tell you that number is ours for sure. This is no time to hold back. I wish Marcia could be here to see this. She’ll be sorry she retired early when she hears about this action.”

She felt a firm hand on her shoulder and for a split second closed her eyes, ecstatic from his mere touch. He squeezed lightly; she felt her nipples grow erect and she blushed but did not turn around. He bent down and whispered in her ear, “You’ve won. He’s right. This is no time to hold back.”

She turned around and looked into his face. He smiled at her and said, “Let’s go all the way. Throw caution to the wind. I promise you, you’ll never be sorry. We cannot lose.”

Was he implying more or making a promise? Was he being obscure, or did he detect her slight hesitation or moment
of vulnerability? She waivered briefly but then turned her attention from him back to the game.

“Hi there, Nicholas!” said Mike, putting out his hand. The two men shook hands. “How about a bet, boy? Last chance for tonight.”

“No, Mike. I’m going to leave this to Arabella.”

Arabella turned back to the table. She watched as the croupier bent forward, ready to spin the wheel. Very quickly she put all the rest of her chips on the red six, then turned and smiled broadly at Mike and Nicholas. Looking lovingly into Nicholas’s eyes, she said, “This is the first time I’ve ever gambled everything on one number.”

She stood up and watched as the wheel continued to spin. Nicholas, standing behind her, attempted to put his hands on her waist but could not quite make it because Xu was solidly in the way. Arabella turned to her handsome Chinese bodyguard and said, “Xu, this is Mr. Nicholas Frayne. It’s all right. He is a friend.”

Nicholas said, “How do you do, Xu?”

“Mr. Frayne,” Xu replied and dutifully stepped back to one side.

Nicholas moved up behind Arabella, both hands on her waist now, and pulled her back against him, pressing her body against his erection. He couldn’t keep his hands off her. Her looks were delectable, the moment so exciting. He wished the room were darker and he had the courage to discreetly lift her dress and take her right there where they were standing. He imagined his throbbing erect cock moving in and out of her sweet warmth and wetness as she came, while they continued to watch the wheel spin and the little white ball bounce along.

Everyone seemed to stop breathing. The room was silent with anticipation. There was more money at stake on this one game than many people would see in a lifetime.

The wheel slowed down. Mike Mackay stood up and the ball popped right into fate’s slot — the red six. Mike banged his hand on the table, grabbed hold of Arabella, and gave her a hug.

Arabella looked over the big Texan’s shoulder and smiled at Nicholas, saying softly “It’s thrilling taking the high jump with you. Just look at all those lovely chips!”

Nicholas kissed two of his fingers and pressed them to her lips. “Fantastic, Arabella. You’re the big winner. How much, do you reckon?”

“Oh, somewhere about two hundred thousand dollars,” she said, smiling, feeling very proud of herself.

“Ah told you, gal, you’re a gambler!” said Mike. “Nicholas — or can I call you Nick?”

“Yes, fine, Mike.”

“Nick, she’s fantastic! What did ah tell Marcia? Ah told Marcia she was a clever girl, a gamblin’ woman. Remember gal, except for makin’ whoopee there’s nothin’ better than winnin’. I only won half of what she did — about one hundred thousand — and ah’m real happy ’bout that.”

Nicholas put his arm around Arabella’s waist and pulled her toward him. He smiled at her and said, “Happy? You do like winning, don’t you?”

“Who doesn’t?” she said. “Yes, I’m happy.”

Weston Warfield did not look happy. But Mike Mackay ordered champagne for everyone.

The losers were not really unhappy. They had the essential quality so necessary in a gambler — they knew how to be good losers. And they all believed they would be winners tomorrow night. Bottles were opened, champagne poured, toasts were made. It never really became a party; it disintegrated before it even began. The excitement of the spinning wheel was gone, the gamblers were tired, the evening was over.

Nicholas stood at the end of the bar, talking to Xu and Missy. Arabella had been swept away from him by Weston Warfield to a table where Mike Mackay was sitting with a French couple, drinking Dom Perignon.

Nicholas recognized the none too subtle play Warfield was making for Arabella and was amused as he thought, Poor bastard, he hasn’t got a chance.

Pete Peters, the purser, joined the three of them at the
bar. He was clearly flirting with Missy, who didn’t seem to mind a bit. Nicholas also knew this was no hour for mere socializing. This was the time for love and sex. He considered going directly to Arabella and whisking her away from the lusting Warfield, but that was not his style. He also did not want to force Arabella to expose any of her private life in front of that dolt. Was he feeling a tad jealous? Causing embarrassment was not the Frayne way of doing things. Instead he called a waiter over, and asked for a pencil and paper to write a note. The message read, “My room or yours?”

He watched the waiter whisper something in Arabella’s ear, then pass her the note. The waiter returned to Nicholas and discreetly handed him the folded piece of paper. Inside was a key. She had scribbled “Mine.” He looked across the room at her as he slipped the key into his pocket and began to smile. Their eyes met and she smiled back at him, then quickly looked away to the people at her table.

A few minutes later Nicholas said good night to Xu, Missy and Pete. He walked over to the table where Arabella was sitting and said good night to everyone. As he was thanking Mike Mackay, the big Texan stood up and put his arm around Nicholas. They spoke for a few minutes while walking through the casino, then shook hands, and Nicholas was gone.

Nicholas took the key from his pocket and let himself into Arabella’s suite. The lamps were on, and although the room was not in disarray it had the appearance of activity going on. He walked through the room to the sofa and noticed that the coffee table on which they had lunched the day before was now stacked high with books. The flowers he had sent were there and still filling the room with their sweet scent. He noticed that the large bottle of Armani had not been opened. It had been placed squarely in the center of the console near one of the sofas.

He touched it as he went by, then slipped out of his shoes, placing them neatly against the wall, out of the way, then removed his jacket and his tie and draped them over
a chair. He undid the top buttons of his shirt and sat down on the sofa, next to a stack of portfolios and more books. He put his glasses on and began looking through them.

There were books on travel, maps, books on typography, photographs of a ranch, magnificent estates in France and America. Books on architecture and several folders marked “Real Estate.” He picked them up — California, Florida, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Nevada, Barbados, Fiji. He put them down again and looked at another stack of books:
The Joy of Cooking; The Settlement Cookbook;
Elizabeth David;
Real Bread; Mastering the Art of French Cooking; The Constance Spry Cookbook; Cuisine Minceur
and
Cuisine Gourmande
by Michel Guerard.